#ill grab as many as i can find off the internet soon i think. just at least get them all in one place for people u know

[tillman]

my dearest roms they are like children to me ......

[jadelynlace]

ink drinker / modern vikings au, Ivar x F!Reader

author’s note: long story short, I wrote this series but used an OFC that I use for most of my longer series. many thanks to @victoria-styles for her suggestion of making it a reader / Y/N story. major plot tweaks as well.

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend: you.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✎

“Not into the million dollar bullshit?” You heard a voice beckon from behind you, stepping forwards with a light to start the cigarette that hung between your Oxford red stained lips.

“Crawling through the depths of hell sounds more pleasant than being here,” You grumbled back through the cloud of grey smoke slipping past your lips. You watched the figure next to you light up his own cigarette, taking note at how his fingers curled around the stick as he laughed with your words. “I’m only here to calm Hvitserk,”

“And he’s not even here,” He said back with a laugh, blue eyes peeking to grab at yours.

“Structure fire across town,” You tell him. “Told him that if he’s so inclined he can bring the truck over here and spray the party with the water,” Ivar laughed at that.

“Fuck, you clean up nice. And I love a woman in uniform,” He teases, smirking as you do too. It went silent for a second between you two, sticks of chemicals on your lips as his eyes did not miss the way your dress hugged at your body, how your stilettos were secured around your ankles. He couldn’t pull his mind back quickly enough before he was imagining them over his shoulders, your lips that curled around the filter and how they might look around his cock. How you were the first person who gave him complete reign over the ink he was going to forever mark your body with.

“Let’s just say I’d rather slice my own tongue off and choke on it than admit to that, actually wearing something other than the blues, and enjoying it,” You groan as the man next to you laughs, a sick snicker coming from his lips and you find yourself smiling too. “But you don’t clean up half bad yourself, Ivar,” You tease back as your eyes catch sight of the roll of his sleeves, how he maneuvers the buttons and pulls the white fabric back to show the first indications of sleeved out arms.

“Where do you want to go?” Ivar asks, taking the cigarette from his mouth to stub.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t think I fucking stuttered,” He started in challenge. “You said you didn’t want to be here, so where would you like to go?” He asks a quick swipe of his tongue over his lips as he cocks his head to the side awaiting your answer.

“Alright, Ragnarsson, you’re fucking on,” You laugh back, crushing your own stick with the spike of your heel as you follow him.

*

Hvitserk was a man who took most things with a grain of salt, others came with a few shots of whiskey. He had seen the darker side of humanity, and you were right there with him when he did. Your interest in becoming certified for emergency medicine had followed you since your high school graduation, and you were right on the top of the sign up sheet when class enrolled. And you stayed on top when your graduated. Company firings and how it lead to short staffing, moving of some onto better things lead to an opening you leapt on and found yourself paired with a paramedic with blonde hair and a smile that could cause most of the human population to smile back. It did not take long for a friendship to strike up, even outside of the station and the blazing sirens. His humor, his companionship kept you sane, kept the darkness of the horrid calls at bay, you two grew close, quickly.

Even if company policy allowed the romantic attachments between co-workers, you still couldn’t find yourself catching some sort of feeling to Hvitserk. He was a friend, your best, and it was left at that. You trusted him with your life, you’d gladly lay on the stretcher and head into the emergency room as long as he was the paramedic who was treating you.

Sigurd came next in the line of his brothers, an obsession with music, and nothing but the best that world could offer. He had an artistic hand, Hvitserk drove you towards his place of employment for permanent artwork to your liking and that was how you met Ivar. He watched you tip toe through his portfolio, but if Sigurd had talent, then Ivar was a God. You had never seen such movement on skin where he would trace his ink. You didn’t want to pull a design off of the internet and ask Ivar to put in on you, it seemed almost rude, instead you told him where you wanted it, and told him to go crazy. He looked at you in such a way, thinking you were joking. Perhaps too un-educated in the world of tattoos, but you held your ground and he was proud of such a feat.

Work was all too consuming, trying to leave space for time other than the blood pressure cuffs and patient history. You’d spend time out on town with Hvitserk, his brothers soon in tow, a party of their own that they could become. You were shocked Hvitserk hadn’t caught on, that none of them had, how long you had been spreading your legs for Ivar in secret. Petty bantering between the two of you, the others making bets to see whom would kill whom first, but that chatter went towards the foreplay that would follow you two into the bedroom. The most shock you came to realize was how Ivar was always there in the morning—it took a lot of you to convince him to leave, but he always mumbled something about five more minutes just for holding you.

Perhaps it was how your days were spent doused in testosterone, one of the three women of the entire station, entire company, leaving you to be able to handle yourself around men with egos far bigger than the dicks they would carry. That was how you were so seamlessly integrated into the Ragnarsson brother’s, struck up like the sister they never got. That was how Ivar found himself thinking about you far more than a friend with or without benefits would, how tightly you snug around his cock, how you look and sounded when you came for him, how you had pulled more from him than any other woman he had slept with. How you made him feel appreciated and not like a man who needed to navigate himself with his dick to get what women he wanted. How you didn’t toss him to the side after the first fuck. You drove him crazy and he didn’t have the words to admit to it.

“If I hear a grumble from you one more time Ivar, I am going to kick you out of the shop,” Sigurd spoke from his spot at the front desk, thumbing through a magazine of industry products as Ivar hissed a curse at him in reply. “What the fuck is you problem?”

“Y/N,” Ivar answered all too quickly.

“What? She hurt your ego too bad last time we were out? Didn’t stroke it enough to your liking?” Sigurd teased.

“No,” Ivar said. “She didn’t stroke me enough to my liking,” But Ivar said the words far too quickly before he could catch them.

“Are you fucking her?” Sigurd said, sitting up in his chair. “You two are fucking?” He laughed.

“Shut up,” Ivar grumbled, a toss of his pencil flying to grace the space Sigurd was at.

“She cut your dick off? That the issue?” He teased. “Hvitserk’s going to go ape-shit, dude,”

“That’s why we’re not telling him yet, right Sigurd?” Ivar said “Right, Sigurd?” He repeated with an extended finger at his brother.

“How long have you two been fucking—I need to know that, for science, and because I am still in shock. How did you—her? She’s too good for you Ivar, you have to be careful there,”

“Two years,” Ivar remarked and Sigurd nearly fell out of his chair.

“Fuck! You ask her out yet?”

“We’re not talking about this—or telling anyone else, right?” Ivar said again.

“Yes, sir,” Sigurd nodded, a fake salute from his hand as his mind was still scrambled.

“Don’t call me sir,” Ivar snapped.

“Yes ma’am,”

*

You’d never forget the call that came through dispatch a month after you and Ivar had started to screw around more often than fuck buddies would. The address sounded familiar, but Hvitserk was the one who made the connection it was the shop. Ink Drinker was a parlor bathed in black; walls and dark floors that made the rooms look like they never ended. The art displayed belonged to that of Ivar, of Sigurd, of the few others who came and went for their tattoo work. The owner had wooden sculptures of his own to line the spaces, but you had only ever seen the man through his social media.

You feared suddenly something happening to Ivar, or Sigurd, readying yourself for the sight that may hold them there, but it wasn’t them. A patron had passed out to the sight of the needles, sending Ivar to sour his entire mood at the weakness for something he found so simple. His flash of anger changed suddenly when you and his brother showed up, jumping from the rig in full expectance to see either sibling in a bloody mess after fighting to their death.

“I called and specifically asked for Hvitserk Ragnarsson and his partner,” Sigurd teased as the teenager came too, apologizing and still paying Ivar for the appointment he was too scared to cancel.

“I was hoping it would be a trauma call, you finally snapping and kicking Ivar’s ass,” You answered back, smirking at Ivar as he rolled his eyes in distaste. Ivar’s eyes climbed your whole body as you worked, the uniform marking your hierarchy and importance as you took the patient to the hospital. His text message not ten minutes later almost made you head back just to smack him.

“You’re keeping the uniform on next time we fuck.”

Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @victoria-styles @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon

[montrealmadison]

t'étais réel parce qu'il t'aimait

or, “you were real because he loved you”

i work at a place that accepts children’s book donations, so when “the velveteen rabbit” came across my desk the other day, the beginnings of this popped into my head. then the lovely lau at @weneedtotalkaboutfic​ posted this and also this about ftm!bitty and my brain just took off! enjoy <3

“Has her fever gone down?”

Bitty blows out a long breath and twists around to look at the clock, on the off chance that it’ll give him a better answer than the truth—but all it tells him is that it’s 8:07, and he’s exhausted.

“No.” He pins the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he can dry his hands. “Hasn’t budged all day.”

On the other end, his mama hums sympathetically. “It will, baby. Y’all are doin’ everything right.”

“Thanks,” he sighs, folding the dishtowel over the oven handle. “It’s just—I hate that she’s so uncomfortable.”

Bitty used to think that he’d made his peace with chaos. He’s moved schools, changed sports, reinvented himself half a hundred times. He’s come out on national television and transitioned publicly on the Internet. He’s written a book, is in the process of drafting another. He’s married to one of the most prominent NHL players in the league, for crying out loud.

But sick toddlers, Bitty is learning, are a whole other hockey game.

read more below or on ao3

Thankfully, at least the kitchen routine is muscle memory at this point: pots dried, dishwasher started, dog fed and watered for the night. The mess in here isn’t too bad, all things considered. He checks the lock on the back door and then lets himself sag against the counter, just a little. It’s been a day. A week, really. He's barely slept for the stress of it all.

“Dicky, honey, you sound like you need a break.” He can picture the frown on his mama’s face when she says it. Funny how her voice still feels like a hug from seven states away. “How’s Jack? Is he alright?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Upstairs puttin’ Ellie to bed, bless him.”

“Good. Well, listen, y’all call anytime if you need us, alright? Your daddy and I will be up, we’re goin’ to the Callahans’.”

“Ooh. Save the good gossip for me?”

“You know I will,” Mama promises with a laugh. “Now go on and sit down for me. I love you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Love you too,” Bitty says, almost absently, and flops onto the couch as the line clicks into silence.

He tries to relax—promise, he really does—but he only makes it about five minutes before the worry wins out and he has to get up again. He just can’t sit still today, especially when he hasn’t heard anything from upstairs in so long. He climbs the stairs and starts down the hall towards Giselle’s room, but pauses and peeks around the doorframe at the soft sound of Jack’s voice.

In the dim light, he can just make out Jack’s giant form carefully folded to fit into Ellie’s bed, one foot planted firmly on the floor to keep him balanced. Bitty presses a hand over his mouth, trying to resist the sudden urge to laugh at the sight of his husband trying to fit in a bed made for a toddler. Thankfully, it works, because neither Jack nor Giselle notice him—their daughter’s curled up next to her papa, tired and sleep-soft, with her flushed little face on Jack’s chest and her slow-blinking eyes fixed on the book in his hands.

The dog’s on the floor in here, too, tail thumping away against the carpet. He huffs, looks up at Bitty with big, understanding eyes as if to say: We got it in here.

Which is clearly the case—they’re already in the middle of a story. Jack is reading in soft, measured tones: “And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

It's the French translation, but Bitty feels himself melt almost immediately. He’d recognize The Velveteen Rabbit anywhere. It’d been his favorite as a baby, part of the reason his mama had come home one day with Señor Bun, and—well, the rest is Bittle family history. He leans in the doorway, closes his eyes and drifts while Jack reads.

He’s had a lot of time, now, to learn the differences between French Jack and English Jack, and why each language is important to him—especially where teaching his children is concerned. In French, his voice is softer, lilting, expressive in a way that transfixes Giselle and Bitty alike. Bitty himself has fallen asleep to the sound of that voice many times, and is mostly impressed that Ellie can still fight her own exhaustion just to listen a little longer.

Jack turns the page, and Bitty watches as his face and his voice soften with emotion at the next line: “And then, one day, the Boy was ill.”

Oh. Bitty remembers this part well, too—remembers the feeling of his own mama curled around him when he was sick as a kid. Remembers Coach’s shadow in the doorway, his quieter concern, his gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder. Jack goes on: “But the Rabbit snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to.”

Bitty remembers Señor Bun, equally patient, snuggled up under his chin, and has an idea. He backs quietly out of the room and retreats down the hall to their bedroom, where the bunny himself is propped on the pillows, waiting for them to come to bed. Bittly inhales the familiar scent of the fabric, looks into his bright embroidered eyes. He swears they look understanding somehow.

“You ready to work your magic, buddy?” he asks. “Let’s go.”

Jack does notice him this time, eyes crinkling in acknowledgment when he sees Bitty in the doorway. His voice is getting softer now, the words slowing in time with Giselle’s blinks, and Bitty crosses the room to lay Señor Bun in their daughter’s arms.

Neither of them move until they’re sure that Giselle is asleep at last; even then, Jack extracts himself from the bed as quietly as possible, smoothes the covers over her with a feather-light touch. When they meet in the hallway, Jack presses his face into Bitty’s neck. They stand there in the quiet, breathing together, for a long time.

“How is she?” Bitty finally asks.

“Hot,” Jack says, frowning. “I gave her another Tylenol.”

Bitty sighs deep, presses his forehead into Jack’s chest. “Mm, okay. Let’s hope she kicks this soon.”

“She will,” says Jack. “She’s our kid, that’s gotta count for something, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Despite himself, Bitty finds that a smile comes easily enough. It always does with Jack’s reassurance. “Gotta be tough in this family.”

Jack laughs lightly. “Yeah.”

They retreat to their bedroom, turning off lights as they go. Their nighttime routine, too, is as comfortable as breathing now. When Bitty comes back from brushing his teeth, he finds Jack in bed, reading glasses on, still flipping through The Velveteen Rabbit.

“I’m glad you picked that one for her,” says Bitty slowly. “That was my favorite book as a kid.”

Jack turns it over in his hands, looks up at Bitty with warmth in his eyes. “This one?” he asks, smiling. “That explains Señor Bun, eh?”

“Yeah.” Bitty has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat, and almost immediately finds himself blinking back hot tears. He bites his lip. “Well, and I, um—no, it’s stupid.”

“Bits?” says Jack, concerned. He closes the book and sits up. “Hey, no it’s not. Why else was it important?”

Bitty looks down. “I used to want to be Real,” he says, all in a rush. “Just like the Rabbit. Used to wish there’d be a fairy that would see how unhappy I was, and come and—oh, Lord—”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain; all of a sudden he’s crying in earnest, days of pent-up stress and fear rushing past the floodgates at once. Jack makes a soft sound and holds Bitty close, letting him cry it out, rocking him just a little. His hands are big and warm on Bitty’s back.

“Shh, bud, hey,” he says. “That’s not stupid at all.”

Bitty sniffles and scrubs at his eyes, lets out a burst of slightly hysterical laughter. “I—God. I don’t know what it is, I was looking at you and Ellie and—I don't know, I just wish the person I was when I first read it could see me now. I wish that little kid hadn’t had to go through all the shit I did to get here.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls back a little. Bitty looks up, confused—but Jack’s just reaching behind him to grab the book off his nightstand, flipping through it until he finds the page he wants. Then he puts an arm back around Bitty’s shoulders and pulls him close, kisses his temple.

“Generally,” he reads, in English this time, “by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”

He fixes Bitty with those bottomless blue eyes. "I hope you'll let me keep telling you," he says slowly, "that it all meant something, bud. You made yourself real. You gave us our daughter."

Bitty laughs, watery. "I did."

"You did." Jack kisses him again, soft and full of meaning. "And I promise I'll never stop trying to understand."

[queerebrum]

Your Problem Now

y’know this was supposed to be 1k words. That is my goal for ficlets. And yet, here we are!! Enjoy your 1.7k of Sterrish (Stiles x Derek x Parrish) relationship reflection and sickfic fluff, @wolfflock​ & the rest of you that encouraged this.

--

Jordan had just finished putting on his belt when his phone rang on the nightstand. He glanced first at the alarm clock for the time and then back to the phone. Whoever was calling him, it wasn’t Derek, who was usually awake but not yet willing to socialize at this time of day, and it certainly wasn’t Stiles, who was unbearable if woken before 8am.

He reached for the phone and stared at the caller ID with a raised eyebrow. Answering it with a hard swallow he said, “Good morning, Sheriff.”

Calls from the Sheriff were always awkward. Calls from the Sheriff before 7am were downright terrifying. “Jordan, you’re off today,” Noah said, leaving no room for argument.

Jordan blinked a few times. “Okay. Did I do something wrong?” he asked, carefully reviewing memories of the last few days of his shift.

“No. Stiles is sick and I’ve decided that if you’re going to date my eighteen year old son the least you can do is be the one to deal with him when he’s sick.” There was a brief pause. “Or, y’know, the two to deal with him. I’ll let you call Derek. I’m surprised he’s not already at my door, supernatural senses and all.”

Jordan nodded, still frozen in the middle of his bedroom with the phone pressed to his ear. He decided against pointing out to Noah that he too was technically supernatural, and that Derek’s senses weren’t that enhanced. Instead of arguing anything – arguing with either Stilinski was an exhausting and often pointless process – he just said, “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“I’m taking one of your sick days for this.” Noah said, his tone lighter.

Jordan laughed at that. “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

--

‘Stiles is sick I guess? Sheriff says it’s our job to take care of him. See you there?’

Derek yawned and reread the text from Jordan. He grabbed for his half-full cup of coffee and took another long pull, letting the warm, bitter taste settle against his tongue as he mulled over the words.

He had many questions about the content of the text, but the number of question marks seemed to indicate that Jordan too was unsure of exactly what was going on. Derek briefly ran through what he’d planned to get done today.

Which really was nothing he couldn’t put off, because he spent his days as an independently-wealthy 20-something reading books and staring at a blank laptop screen trying to write literally anything that someone might want to read. Sometimes he sat through werewolf council conference calls, which was his duty as the pack Second. Those weren’t really all that more exciting than staring at a blank computer screen, though.

‘Should I bring anything?’ He sent back.

Jordan’s response was: ‘I’m already at Target. What do you know about human illness anyway? :P’ Derek glared at the phone, but Jordan was right. He sat back in his chair, finishing the cup of coffee and climbing to his feet to grab another one from the pot.

Being a werewolf, he knew the coffee was probably just a placebo effect at this point. Both Stiles and Jordan were well aware that waiting until after Derek had his second cup of coffee to interact was the suggested course of action most mornings. It was probably a good thing they didn’t all live together. (Yet.)

Jordan was an early riser, Stiles needed to sleep in, and Derek was a bear (or...a wolf) until he’d had two cups of liquid happiness. It made Derek wonder what their future would look like. Finishing his second cup, he headed to his bedroom with a smile on his face.

It didn’t really matter what his future looked like, as long as he had Jordan and Stiles.

--

Jordan expected Derek to have beaten him to the Stilinski house, with his overprotective werewolf instincts, but he was surprised to find the driveway empty aside from the old blue Jeep. He pulled up behind it and got out, carrying the bag of odds and ends he’d picked up from Target on the way.

The Sheriff hadn’t said what kind of sick Stiles was, so Jordan had no choice but to pick up a variety of things: cough drops, dayquil, pepto bismol, a box of tissues, several cans of chicken noodle soup and three of the big gatorade bottles. Once, Jordan had purchased a movie, and the look of abject horror on Stiles’s face when he realized Jordan had spent actual money on something like that had dissuaded him from making such mistakes again.

(“Where are we supposed to get movies then?” “The internet, Jord.”)

He carried his bag of supplies - double bagged with the weight of the gatorade and cans of soup - up to the front door and tried the handle. He was surprised to find it unlocked but well, he had told Noah he’d be there as soon as he could. That, and, even sick, he knew better than to underestimate Stiles. He may be human, but that didn’t make him helpless.

“Stiles?” Jordan called, realizing as he entered that he actually had no idea how Noah knew Stiles was sick. It was only just now coming up on 8am, which meant that given normal circumstances, Stiles would still be asleep.

The loud sound of a nose being blown upstairs gave Jordan his answer. Whatever kind of sick Stiles was had probably woken him up. “Ub here.” Stiles called, miserably.

Jordan tried not to laugh as he kicked off his shoes and headed up the stairs, pushing open Stiles’s bedroom door. “A little birdy told me you weren’t feeling well.” He said, dropping onto the corner of the bed. “And...forced me into using a sick day?”

Stiles looked awful. He was even paler than usual, moles looking especially dark against the sickly pallor of his skin. His nose was red and irritated, and he kept sniffling every few minutes. He coughed a few times before he spoke too, small, coughs that seemed to more relieve a tickle than actually dislodge something from his lungs. “My dad called you?”

Jordan took off his jacket and tossed it somewhere in the direction of Stiles’s computer chair before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Your dad decided that you needed company, I guess.” Jordan couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips as Stiles, seemingly magnetized, fell forward to rest his head on Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan wrapped his arms around Stiles’s body, stroking one hand along his back. “Did he call Derek?” Stiles asked, somewhat muffled between the stuffy nose and his face pressed into Jordan’s shirt.

“No, he told me I could do that. Even made a joke about Derek already knowing you were sick because of werewolf instincts.” Jordan traced the knobs of Stiles’s spine, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “He’ll be over soon. I think I texted him during his first cup of coffee.” That reminded him. “Did you wake up sick?”

Stiles nodded, halfheartedly, still not lifting his head. “I started coughing in the middle of the night. Woke dad ub.”

Stiles leaned away after he finished speaking, as if saying the word ‘cough’ had manifested the very action itself, tucking his face into the corner of his elbow and letting out a string of bark-like noises that Jordan was now sure didn’t seem productive in the slightest. Sometime in the middle of it, there were footsteps on the stairs, and Jordan glanced back over his shoulder to smile at Derek, whose face was pinched in concern.

“Oh hey–” “–Der, nice of you–” “–to join us.” Stiles managed between coughs, eventually flopping back onto the bed with one of his arms thrown over his eyes. “Fuck.”

Derek had similarly divested himself of his jacket, and he squeezed Jordan on the shoulder briefly as he made his way over to the other side of the bed. Jordan glanced up and smiled, Derek leaning in for a brief, comfortable kiss.

Sometimes, it still mystified Jordan that he was here. He watched Derek sit down on the opposite side of Stiles’s bed, lean over and rest his ear against Stiles’s chest. Jordan felt his smile widen, watching the careful way Derek rested his other arm along Stiles’s, twining their fingers together as he listened.

After a minute, he sat up. “Just wheezy. I think you’ll live.”

Jordan had to bite back a laugh at the malice in the glance Stiles gave Derek when he lifted his arm. “Okay you two.” Jordan nudged Derek’s shoulder with his own. “Be nice, he’s sick.”

“You’re no fun,” Derek teased, but his smile was bright.

Even Stiles’s face had shifted into a smile, and Jordan felt one of his hands – warmer than Stiles usually ran – slid into his own. “I’m glad you’re here.” Stiles said, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m gonna go back to sleep though, It’s still so fucking early.”

Jordan lifted Stiles’s hand to his own lips to press a kiss into it. “I brought medicine. You should take something and then you can nap.” He stood up, wandering to where he’d dropped the bag. He rifled through it to find the dayquil and the cough suppressant, tossing one of the Gatorade’s over his shoulder with the full confidence that his werewolf boyfriend would catch it.

He turned around to see Derek crack the gatorade and pass it off to Stiles, who drank from it while Jordan fought with the packaging on the medicine.

And fought.

And fought.

The damn blister packs were supposed to be childproof not hellhound proof.

Derek was snickering into Stiles’s shoulder, Stiles petting Derek’s hair and biting his lip to hold in his own chuckling. Jordan finally tossed the pack at Derek. “Here, you open it then.”

Derek, ever the show off, flicked out a claw and sliced into the packaging – and directly into the liquid capsule, watching orange-red liquid slide down his finger, sending Jordan into a laughing fit and Stiles into yet another coughing fit.

Several minutes later, Derek’s hands were clean, Stiles had been adequately medicated, and they were all snuggled down into Stiles’s bed for what Jordan suspected would be the first of several naps today. Stiles was on his side, his back pressed along the length of Derek’s chest. Jordan faced Stiles, one if his arms tucked over both of his boyfriends, and his forehead pressed against the sleepy humans.

“Love you.” Stiles murmured quietly. Derek whispered it against the back of Stiles’s neck and reached over to squeeze Jordan’s side. Jordan grinned, more thankful than he could have predicted for the day off.

“Love you both.”

[imagines-and-requests]

Game Over

(A/N): My first ever imagine! I actually thought of this randomly and thought it would be fun to write. I also love Dabi and I wanted him to be the first character I write about. Please enjoy and send any requests if you guys want me to write something for you! Also I don't know much about animal crossing so please no hate if there is some incorrect information about it.

Pairings: Dabi x Female reader

Warnings: suggestive content towards end, a bit of fluff, crack, language

What made you think it was a good idea to touch Shigaraki’s Nintendo switch you had no idea. You were always a curious person and to see why the said man was almost always glued to the gaming system on days where the league  didn't have much to do made you wonder what the appeal was about it. You where never interested in video games since you got distracted easily but you decided to give it a try while he wasn't home.

You flopped yourself on the seat opposite of where Shigaraki was sitting on the beat up couch. He was, as usual, playing on his nintendo switch. You scan the room to make sure no one was there and when the coast was clear a devious smirk made its way onto your lips. You quickly made it disappear and put on your poker face. 

“Hey Shigi” You call out. He grunts in annoyance and you give him an innocent smile. 

“Do you mind running to the store for me? I noticed that we ran out of a few ingredients that I need for tonights dinner.” 

“Why can't you do it?” He asks with annoyance. Your innocent smile fades and an evil glint makes its way into your eyes. 

“I’m the one making dinner aren't I?” 

“Send someone else.” 

“Everyone else is either out or on a mission. Come on it shouldn't take more than half an hour. The store is literally down the street.” You huff. He sighs in defeat and tosses his Nintendo on the couch. He grabs the list that was in your hand and quickly scans it. 

While Shigiraki was known to have a short temper with everyone else you seemed to get special treatment from the leagues leader. While it surprised the others it was never much of a shocker to you. That is one of your many skills that made you a good spy for the league. You had a trusting and pleasing personality that can make the strongest person weak for you.

“Ill be back soon, don’t do anything idiotic.” He calls over his shoulder. You remain in your seat until you hear the door close. Once you hear it you immediately pounce out of your seat and swipe the Nintendo. 

You stare at the console in your hands with a  triumphant smirk and turn it on. You waited anxiously as the nintendo started up, curious to see what he was playing that had his attention for hours on end. 

And what you saw made you blink in disbelief. 

“Animal crossing!?” You state incredulously. 

You have heard of the popular game and seen memes about it on the internet. But you would have never have thought that the leader of the infamous league of villains would actually play a game that was so adorable and innocent. 

You decided to play with his character and watch it walk around. Once you started playing with the controls you began to understand how to work the game and started building some houses for Shigaraki’s village. 

“Damn, he’s really living his best life in this village.” You mumble to yourself. 

It was painstakingly obvious how much effort Shigaraki have put into his village. He had many crops that were ready to be harvested, the supply of food being able to feed at least 100 characters. Maybe even more. Your thumb accidentally slipped on a button and an option pulled up to create a new character. An evil smirk made its way onto your face and decided that it would be funny to prank Shigaraki by making a character that resembled you live in his village. 

As you where designing the character you heard a door close. Alarm ran through your nerves until you heard your best friend cheerily call for you. You let out a relieved sigh and relax.

“I’m in here bitch.” You call out with your eyes glued to the game. Twice walks in and then notices the device in your hands. 

“No way! You were able to swipe Shigi’s nintendo!” Twice excitedly ask. He then becomes calm and rubs his forehead anxiously. “If he finds out he's going to kill you.” 

“Not if he doesn't find out he won't. Besides, don’t pretend you weren't as curious as I was about what he was playing. You wanted to know why he was so secretive about people seeing his screen as much as I did.” You shrug. You look up at him and gave him an innocent smile. 

“Care to find out what his little secret was?” 

Without another word Twice plops on the spot next to you on the couch and looks over your shoulder. His eyes widen when he sees the adorable characters on the screen. 

“He was playing animal crossing?” He asks incredulously and you nod enthusiastically. Once the idea registered into his brain he began to laugh loudly. 

“Who would have thought that he would be playing something like this?” he asked. You nodded in agreement and a beat of silence follows suit, you notice Twice was thinking and it began to make you nervous. 

As much as you love your best friend, Twice and the concept of thinking was never a good combo. Especially because of his quirk. 

“I want to play.” 

“Hell no.” you immediately respond. 

“Oh come on (Y/N)! I just want to give it a try.” 

“No Twice. If something happens Shigi will find out and kill both of us. No offense but you're not really careful in general and I’m not in the mood to die today.” You deadpan. 

Not happy with your answer, Twice grabs the Nintendo and yanks it. Due to your quick reflexes you were able to stop him by gripping the other end of the Nintendo. You glare at Twice and tug the device towards your direction. He maintains his grip on the end he had a hold of and grunts in annoyance. After a few seconds of glaring both you and Twice started playing a game of tug-a-war with the device. 

“Let go Twice! You're going to break it!” 

“Never!”

After a few tugs back and fourth Twice ended up to be the victorious one. He laughs triumphantly while giving you a haughty smile. In response you give him the middle finger and cross your arms over your chest, allowing the couch to sink in your pouting and defeated form. Twice turns his attention to the screen and after a few seconds you watch from the corner of your eye how he blanched through his mask. 

Nervous butterflies, and not the good kind that you get around Dabi, begins to flutter in your stomach. 

“Twice...why are you being unusually quiet?” You ask slowly. Without a word Twice slowly turns the device’s screen towards you and what you saw made you want to throw up. 

The home screen was in view but you did not see the option to continue the game, only the option to start building your village. 

From scratch.

You and Twice deleted Shigaraki’s process. 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK” You chant. You swipe the Nintendo from Twice and try to see if there was an option to retrieve the data. Twice watched anxiously as you fiddled with the buttons. After a couple of minutes filled with nothing but silence and tension you toss the Nintendo next to you and flop the back of your head on the cushion.

“Thats it, we’re dead.” You sigh in defeat as you look blankly at the ceiling. 

“No! There’s got to be something we can do!” Twice states. He grabs the Nintendo and begins to rapidly fiddle with the buttons. 

“Twice...” 

“Maybe we can ask Toga if she knows anything about it! She's always been good at stuff like this.” 

“Twice-” 

“Or we could ask Mr. Compress if he can come up with a plan to trick-” 

“TWICE!” You yell and clap your hands on his shoulders to gain his attention. He looks at you with wide eyes and you shake him to snap him out of it.

“It’s gone. There is nothing we can do. Game over.” You tell him slowly. 

As if the situation couldn't have gotten worse you hear the front door slam close. Both you and Twice instinctively spring into action. You quickly put the Nintendo where Shigaraki last left it you pull out your phone and quickly pull up tiktok. Twice immediately follows by laying down on the other side of the couch from where the Nintendo sat and threw his legs over your lap. He quickly picks up a magazine that was sitting on the coffee table and opens up to a page. After a few seconds Shigaraki enters the room and sees you two in your position. You look up from your phone and give him your usual care free smile. 

“Hey Shigaraki! How did it go?”

“Boring. I got the stuff you needed and put it in the kitchen.” He says. He walks over to his Nintendo and plops himself at the couch opposite of where you and Twice where sitting. You and Twice anxiously watch as Shigiraki starts up his Nintendo. You feel Twice anxiously shift and you pinch his side without Shigaraki noticing. 

After a few seconds tension fills the air. You watch Shigaraki’s body tense up and freeze. You hold your breath and watch to see what his reaction would be. He calmly turns off his Nintendo and looks over at the two of you. 

“I thought I told you not to do anything idiotic.” Shigaraki darkly states. You swallow and meet his gaze.

“What are you talking about Shigi?” You nervously chuckle while Twice nods quickly in agreement at your statement. 

“Don’t play dumb with me. You two really thought you could get away with it?” He asks coldly. 

Silence fills the room again and the only thing you notice besides Shigaraki’s silent fury is the drop of sweat running down your neck. 

After a few seconds you see his fingers twitch. 

“SCATTER! ” You yell as you push Twice’s legs off your lap. He stumbles to the floor but quickly follows your lead as you dash out of the room with Shigaraki chasing after you two. 

“COME BACK HERE AND FIGHT ME!” you hear him yell. You and twice run down a hallway and try to make it for the bathroom. Before you can enter Twice beats you to the door and slams it in your face. You growl and angrily pound on the door with the palms of your hand.

“Open up you traitor!” You yell.

“No way! every man for himself (Y/N)!” 

“There’s no “I” in team you whore.” You growl with clenched fists. 

“There is in Twice!” 

Before you can retort back you begin to hear Shigaraki’s pounding footsteps from the other side of the hallway. You growl in frustration and slam the door once more with your palm. 

“I’ll remember this Twice!” You threaten and with that you make a run for it. You look behind your shoulder and a small bit or relief settles in your stomach when you don't see Shigaraki until you run into something. Before your butt can meet the floor someone grabs your wrist and tugs you towards their body. Relief washes over you when you meet your boyfriends bright cerulean eyes. 

“What the fuck has you so worked up?” He drawls. Before you can respond you hear Shigaraki’s heavy footsteps become louder. You gasp and hide behind Dabi, clenching the material of his coat that sits between his shoulder blades. He looks over his shoulder to see your frightened eyes and he looks towards where the footsteps were coming from. 

Though Dabi doesn't have much of an external caring streak, when it comes to his girl he would do anything for her. If something is after her he would immediately jump into action and do everything he can to keep her safe. 

Shigaraki stops where he is at when he meets Dabi’s gaze. He uses the time to quickly catch his breath and Dabi raises an eyebrow at the man. 

“What’s up boss? Seems like your struggeling to breath there.” Dabi smirks. You peak behind your boyfriends form and meet Shigaraki’s angry gaze. You squeak and duck behind Dabi. 

“(Y/N),” Shigaraki snarls, “touched something of mine and ruined all of the hard work I put into it. And for that she must be eliminated.” 

“Oh come on Shigi, you and I both know that (Y/N) is one of your greatest assets in this team. Besides...” Dabi trails off and a cruel shit-eating smirk makes its way on his lips, stretching his burnt skin along with the staples that decorate his face. “You'll have to go through me first before you can get to (Y/N). And I have a feeling that finding a new place to stay for the team is the last thing you want right now.” 

Shigaraki growls in defeat and glares at you pair of (Y/E/C) eyes peaking behind Dabi’s form. 

“Congratulations, looks like you get to live another day. But if you touch anything of mine again I won't hesitate to kill you.” Shigaraki threatens  and with that he leaves. 

Once his form is out of sight you sigh and turn towards your boyfriend. You wrap your arms around his neck and flutter your eyelashes dramatically at him. 

“My savior.” You coo and peck his cheek. He instinctively wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you closer to his body. A deep chuckle ghosts over your ear, making the hairs at the end of your neck stand on end. 

“Anything for you doll. Now, mind telling me what you did to get Shigaraki’s panties in a twist?” 

You quickly explain the story to him and afterwards he gives you a shit eating smirk. He grabs your waist and you squeak in surprise as he flings you over his shoulder and begins to walk towards your shared bedroom.

“Hey! Let me go you neanderthal.” You giggle jokingly. 

“No can do sweetheart, from what I heard it looks like I truly did save your life. And for that I want something in return.” Dabi chuckles.

You playfully pinch his butt and in response he smacks yours. 

“Lets play a few games of our own. How about it doll?”

~~~~~~~~

BONUS: 

“bon appetite bitchachos.” You call out into the living room where all of the villains were relaxing. In Response your friends enter the kitchen and take their place around the table where the food was set up. Dabi sits next to you and gives your thigh a squeeze underneath the table. You playfully smack his hand away and give him warning glare. 

“Not at the table Dabi. We may be villains but we are villains with class.” You tell him with a smirk and he rolls his eyes at you. 

“Tell him (Y/N).” Toga playfully calls out and in response Dabi narrows his eyes at her. 

“I don’t think anyone asked for your input nutjob” Dabi states. Before Toga can respond you grab your fork and slam the end of it on the table, making everyones conversation at the table cease. They all stare at you with wide eyes and after composing yourself you give them an innocent smile. 

“I hope you all enjoy it, I put a lot of work into this meal.” At “alot” you glare at Twice and he swallows nervously. He knows your still mad at him for ditching you when Shigaraki was out to kill you both since you haven't talked to him since then. 

At that everyone gave thanks and dug in. You watched as Twice picked up his glass of water and took a gulp. Once his taste buds registered the familiar bitter taste he spluttered and began to cough violently, forcing the liquid down his throat. 

Once he calmed down he noticed how your figure was haunched over your seat, laughing hysterically as you clutched your stomach. 

“Vodka (Y/N). Really?” Twice sighed childishly. With that everyone at the table began to laugh except Shigaraki, who continued to eat his food as if nothing happened, and Dabi, who was smirking at his girlfriends antics. 

“What can I say Twice?” You hum and you pause to take a sip of your drink.

“Karma is a bitch”

[batz]

youre just super cool and i. have post notifications on for you because you make me feel secure in an odd way and i wanna befriend u so bad but I'm!!!! nerbous,,,ALSO TELL US JR RAGGEY ANN MOVIE IDEA!!! 💞

OMG M SORRY FR TAKING SO LONG 2 RESPOND 2 THIS AAAA im just so rambley and whrn i ws asked abt the movie idea i essentially like..... froze up... my brain working 2 fast......... thinking abt Everything.......

ALSO omg u can come off anon whenever! i pride myself on bein chill (when it counts ofc..!) so dw fhskdhddjd i hope ur havin a good day..!

ALSO OK RAGGEDY ANN MOVIE IDEA again ill make a post about it soon but ill give some key points 2 it

- i want it to be 2D, but cgi/live-action works too. the medium doesnt exactly matter as long as it looks good. big thing is you never see the humans faces, the key focus is on the toys and should only Be on the toys. my voice hc for Ann would have 2 be Kate Micucci. but Andy is up in the air, rlly any weird white boy internet comedian works, like john mulaney or smthn? idk :/

- its a musical! obviously. u cant have a raggedy movie with some musical numbers. i would like it to be broadway-esque in genre but if they have 2 have a cash grab radiofriendly song in there thats cool too as long as its like... good

- main plot is a volland raggedy ann (one of the first made raggedys from 1918-late 1920s) is trying to find her brother after years of being separated. but due to being holed up in an attic for almost like. 90 years. she doesnt really remember much of him, other than the fact that they have matching tags indicating their previous owner. she sets out on a journey to find him, and its ur typical fish out of water/Im In The Future Woah kinda deal. when she does find andy, its in a toy museum, full of other raggedys..! andy is this rough n tough kinda guy, very rude and very brash. key point here is andy doesnt think ann is His Ann, kinda having this preconceived notion that His Ann would've been Cool and Adventurous. not the mousey kinda naive Ann he met, even tho This Ann is very certain that they were Real Sibs! (the brand does exist within the movies universe, so there are TONS of different anns and andys, thus the reason why andy is so skeptical). anyway shenanigans ensue, adventures are had, etc etc. the key point to this whole thing is that you never really get to know if they truly are sibs, at least, the sibs they knew Way Back When. but they grow closer n eventually see eachothr as sibs and thATS what MATTERS

- i want the moral of the story to be that, like, blood relation doesnt equate family. yea you never exactly Know if this ann and andy were 'actually' sibs but you know that by the end of the movie they are. its just a good moral thats not rlly explored in a lot childrens media.

- anns character is more similar to the 1977 animated movie, but with some. actual character. so, shes sweet n kind n affectionate, but also a little ditzy and naive. alongside that, shes rlly smart, handy and brave! shes forgetful, but adamant about the things she remembers. shes also fairly wise, in this childlike way. as her animator from the 1977 movie, shes like a wise little girl who is also 70 years old. shes like,,, v quirky fun lead, with some deep seated issues but also Gets Shit Done.

-andy is also similar to the 1977 movie, but again with like, some actual character added to him. hes a strong tough terrific boy, who's also audacious in nature? like hes just rude and obnoxious and a know-it-all. but, alongside that, he's insecure and anxious when met with Real Challenge. he often frets about remaining in Good Condition, mainly bc hes already had to get his leg reattached once, hes worth a LOT u know!!! but hes also sentimental, in a way that one would either not notice or not get to see. he takes his past very seriously, and even though he cant remember too much since, again, 100ish years is a long time, he finds himself drawn 2 what once was! so like, ur typical brave cocky lead, but also hes kind of just a big baby..!

- their personality differences definitely cause them to butt heads, and woild obv cause the keypoint in the movie where they go their separate ways. (NO it wont be the misunderstanding trope i hate those... itll probably just be an outright disagreement)

- i wont get into the actually Plot yet, bc i had too many ideas, but im certain itll lean toward either trying to find Ann's Andy, with Rude Andy™ being the sidekick. or something to do with the toy museum andy resides in.. hmmmm

- yea!!!! im being crimge but I DOMT CARE.... have a raggedy post!!!!

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 7

Chapter title: Secrets and sorrows Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: None A/N: This chapter tore the hell out of my emotions, and I actually expect it to do much the same to you. I’d apologize for that but I know you’ll all stick with me to the end, because the story has a long way to go to get to that happy ending you all want so much! Enjoy! X

The next three weeks were some of the best weeks of my life. Being Taron’s girlfriend, being loved by him, was an exceptional experience. Despite both of us being incredibly busy and in the thick of filming, he never let a day go by where he didn’t remind me in some way that I was loved and that I was his. I’d never had a relationship that had felt so genuinely real and sweet and supportive, and it made a difference in how I felt about my own life to that point.

One of my favorite moments had been the evening I was making dinner, some kind of cauliflower pasta recipe Taron had agreed to be the guinea pig for. He and Clara were seated at the dining table, going over her fractions homework. Clara’s frustration at not understanding the problems was palpable, but I just remember how patient and calm Taron remained until that look of understanding dawned on my daughter’s face. They’d both looked up at me, leaning in the kitchen doorway, with the sweetest looks on their faces.

Their bond was growing every day, made even stronger when, unbeknownst to me, a special delivery had been made of a Steinway upright studio piano so Clara could continue her lessons at home. I will never forget the look on her face when she realized it really was hers and it would be staying in my front room. Taron rebuffed every “you shouldn’t have” I tried to give him, telling me he knew first-hand how important it was to be supported in the pursuit of your art. I couldn’t deny him that, because I knew it to be true as well. Still, a few internet searches later made me gasp at how much he had spent on us; I knew I could never repay him.

But that was just the thing; he didn’t want or need repayment. He did things for people out of the kindness of his heart; he never expected someone to give him a favor back. He was generous to a fault, and whether he knew how much money he was worth or not, he never affected an attitude that he was affluent. He remained the working class boy he’d spent his childhood growing up as, the boy who needed financial help from his family just to audition for RADA. And I think I loved him even more for that.

Trying to pin Markus down, though, that was a whole other story. I knew I needed to tell him we were definitely done, but every time I tried to make plans to grab a coffee he had something else come up. We were dancing every day, learning choreography for both “Saturday Night’s Alright” and “Bitch Is Back,” and my body hurt in every way it was possible to hurt. Both of those pieces were massive, and when they secured set locations we would have to be ready to go. 

I’m pretty sure I spent more time at Rocketman rehearsals those few weeks than I did teaching my own classes, but I was beginning to wonder if Markus was blowing me off because he already suspected what I needed to tell him. I had finally decided to just grab him after rehearsal that day and make it final, and the stress and anxiety of it made me feel slightly queasy.

We had just finished rehearsal and Leah immediately came up to me before I could pull Markus aside. “Are you okay?” she asked me, and I shrugged.

“Of course. I mean, I’m with Taron now anyway,” I said, watching Markus flirt a bit shamelessly with another dancer, and she was all-too-happy to be receiving his attention. I’m not really sure how someone could manage to make a leotard look slutty, but she certainly got an A for the effort.

“Markus can be a dick, forget that. What I mean is that you’re really pale but your cheeks are also really flushed,” Leah said, staring at my face.

“Oh, that, I don’t feel great, no,” I shook my head. “I’m kind of nauseous, but hey, I’m here. The show must go on,” I said, giving her a faint smile.

“Or it really doesn’t if you’re really sick, Juliette,” she said. “Maybe you should sit down for a moment.”

“I just need to deal with Markus and get home and take a nice long soak and get some sleep. I’ll be fine,” I said, giving her a tight smile even though I was fighting the urge to lose my lunch at that moment. “See you tomorrow?” I said, and she nodded, still looking concerned. But when I turned away from her to find Markus, he had already disappeared, and I was in no state to try and chase him down.

I changed into my sneaks and gathered up my bag and, as I was leaving, had to make a detour into the bathroom to puke after all. I hadn’t had much to eat that day anyway, so it was mostly orange Gatorade and bile and I felt worse for throwing up, since it was now burning in my throat and sinuses.

“Ugh, fuck,” I groaned as I left the stall, trying to wipe the clammy sweat off my forehead. The truth was that I was waking up most mornings feeling a little ill and sometimes it lasted long into the day. I was beginning to think I needed to go to the doctor, but it seemed to come and go at random. I imagined it was likely just stress from everything going on, but it would probably be wise to see the doctor anyway. I washed up, splashing water on my face, and smiled as I scrolled through my texts. Taron never failed to make me feel better no matter what.

I left the bathroom and passed Riley and her posse hanging out in the hallway, ignoring their stares and the whispered comments on how I must be bulimic because that’s why I was always running to the bathroom during rehearsals and why I stayed so skinny. I had no idea what they were talking about, and ignoring them was always the safest bet, but their bullying still got under my skin some days. I wished I could turn to them and tell them off, but that probably wouldn’t satisfy anything or make me feel better.

The subway ride to my mother’s to pick up Clara, and subsequently home, made me feel even more queasy, and I lost my appetite for dinner for the rest of the evening. After I helped Clara with her homework, her piano lessons, and made her food, I ended up just laying in front of the telly, exhausted and lacking any energy, for the rest of the evening. It wasn’t the most inspiring end to the day, and just as I was crawling into bed, Taron called me. 

“Hey love!” he replied when I answered the phone, probably sounding as sleepy as I felt.

“Hey T,” I groaned, rolling over slightly in my bed, all of my muscles protesting.

“Everything alright?” he asked, the excitement draining from his voice slightly.

“I just feel miserable, honestly,” I said softly. “I think I might go to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Oh, babe, you should have called me over. I’d bring you the best soup my mam made to make me feel better,” he said sweetly.

“I just need sleep. And probably strong drugs,” I mumbled into the phone.

“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow to the clinic?” he asked, and I shook my head before realizing he couldn’t see that.

“I’ll not have you cancel on your film scenes to go wait in a clinic lobby. I’m sure it’s just some kind of bug. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, and I could hear him pacing on the other end, the way he did when he was anxious about something.

“Alright, but if you need me, you know I’ll be there, right?” he said quietly.

“Of course, babe. I know that. With my whole heart, I know that,” I smiled softly. We chatted a bit more but I couldn’t hardly keep my eyes open, and soon we ended our call and I passed out.

I actually felt better in the morning, enough to keep some dry toast down, and after seeing Clara off to school, I managed to teach my first two classes of the day before taking my lunch break to go to the clinic. My stomach had started to churn again, and I was ready to just be over this stomach bug. I got checked in and had to groan at the long wait time, having to text the Rocketman choreographer that I’d be running late to rehearsals but he only told me to take care of myself and he’d see me later, and to let him know if that somehow changed.

I was a nervous wreck by the time my name was called, and after having my vitals checked (and frowning over the fact that I’d gained 10 pounds despite my diet restrictions) and explaining my symptoms to the nurse, I was left to wait in the room for another 15 minutes, shivering in the cold air. I bounced my knee and aimlessly scrolled through Facebook until the doctor came in. After describing my symptoms, yet again, even though they were in my chart, the doctor asked if there was even a remote chance that I could be pregnant. And since I couldn’t answer that with utter confidence, she made me take the dreaded urine test. 

I was so nervous I nearly couldn’t do it, and then had to wait even longer for the results to come back, my stomach tied in knots for an entirely different reason. I’d had my period, though, so I’d never thought to take the home tests I’d bought. I’d believed that was a sure sign I wasn’t. But what if I’d been wrong? I thought to myself, my head a complete jumble.

When the doctor knocked and came back in the room, interrupting my train of thought, I nearly fell off the table for having been holding my breath so long. I was clutching my phone in my hand so hard my knuckles were turning white.

“Well, Juliette, your symptoms are very explainable by one very simple thing. You are indeed pregnant, about seven weeks or so,” the doctor replied, as gently as possible.

“But it can’t be,” I whispered, feeling the walls of the room closing in around me, the tightness in my chest threatening to overwhelm me. “I had my period,” I said stupidly.

“Many women still have menstrual cycles, especially in the first trimester. It’s quite common, and some can even exhibit period symptoms throughout the entire pregnancy. But the results are very clear,” she explained sympathetically after gauging my reaction as not-of-the-excited variety.

When I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, the doctor continued, giving me a prescription to help with the nausea and telling me I needed to follow up with my Ob-Gyn. I could only nod my head, still frozen in the ocean of confusion, fear, anxiety, joy and excitement that came with “You’re pregnant.” Where do I go from here? I had no idea.

I left the clinic in an absolute daze, and instead of going to Rocketman rehearsal, I ended up wandering around Regents Park, not really seeing anything at all as I worked through the torrent of emotions and thoughts and questions inside my head. Seven weeks meant the baby was definitely Markus’ - that was the only good thing about this situation. I wouldn’t have to spend months wondering who the father might be. 

But now I wasn’t sure what to do; I was in love with Taron, but how could I possibly ask him to carry this burden with me, to take this responsibility on when it was another man’s? Even more so, I was adamant that Clara know her father; I would fight just as hard to make sure this baby knew his or hers. And I had yet to actually leave Markus, so maybe the right thing to do was to decide to be with him even if it didn’t make my heart entirely happy. I now had a responsibility to this baby to not be selfish, to not choose only my own happiness but what would be best for all of us.

I gently touched my belly and smiled for a moment; a new chapter in my life was most definitely beginning.

I finally made it to rehearsals, texting Taron that we needed to talk later, as soon as we could manage to find time. He responded immediately that he’d meet me after rehearsals were over, so I spent the next few hours trying to dance through my anxiety. As soon as I stepped out of the rehearsal room, bag slung over my shoulder, Taron was there waiting for me.

“Juliette, darling, everything alright?” he asked, kissing me on the forehead and making me feel intrinsically sad.

“No, not really,” I said softly, nodding toward one of the empty studios. We stepped inside and instantly I felt smaller, diminished by what I was going to do, a lesser person somehow.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” he asked, his eyes wide and full of the vulnerability that had endeared me to him, my hands clutched tightly in his.

“I can’t do this,” I said so quietly I wasn’t sure he even heard me. “I can’t be with you, Taron,” I mumbled, hearing his sharp intake of breath and feeling it like a knife wound in my heart.

“What the hell do you mean?” he asked, slowly dropping my hands and staring at me.

“I have to break up with you. I’m going to choose Markus,” I said numbly, unfeeling.

“You told me you loved me,” he said, the hurt in his voice hurting me.

“That was a lie,” I said, trying not to tear up. I’m not sure I sounded even remotely convincing.

“No, it wasn’t a lie,” he said, shaking his head and calling my bluff. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, at all. I don’t understand it, but I won’t play these games with you,” he said, waiting for me to explain myself. But I couldn’t tell him about the baby now; it would only hurt him further. “I gave my heart to you. You can’t just toss it away or pick it back up when it’s convenient to you,” he said, not an ounce of anger in his words, only resignation. His eyes were a bit red at that point, and if I wasn’t already feeling low, seeing him nearly cry would have broken me down further.

He sighed heavily when I still said nothing. “When you’re good and ready to love someone proper, come back to me. But until then, I wish you all the best,” he said gruffly, tearing himself away and leaving me standing alone in the studio, the pain in my heart echoing silently off the walls.

****

It turns out that I deserved the biggest Oscar award in the world. To act sincerely happy when your heart is shattered into a million jagged pieces is no small feat. Markus, for his part, was beyond thrilled that I had chosen to be with him after all, and while he wasn’t Taron in any capacity, he was still kind to me at least. I had yet to tell him that I was pregnant though; somehow that felt like a secret I needed to protect until the moment I couldn’t hide it any longer. 

For now, I continued to dance, eating anti-nausea meds like Pez candies and trying to find the right balance between eating enough food to sustain myself and the baby but not so much that I’d gain any more than I had to. If the production never found out I was knocked up, then no one else would have to be the wiser. I hadn’t told my mum yet either, afraid of her judgment, nor Madison, even though I desperately needed to talk to someone about this. All she knew was that I had decided to cast my lot in with Markus and that I was, according to her, figuratively insane.

The worst part was the cold politeness I now received from Taron any time we ran into each other at the studios. I hated what we had become, hated the pain I had caused him and myself. I knew he’d shut himself down to protect his own feelings against me, but knowing how warm and compassionate and open he could be just made this feel even worse. Still, I knew for certain that he couldn’t know about the baby, and so I bore the ups and downs of the pregnancy for weeks in silence, sometimes dreading getting out of bed, sometimes full of a strange energy I couldn’t explain. But glowing I was not; I mostly felt bedraggled and exhausted, so much that even Clara asked if I was sick one day.

But you can only go so long without support before you totally break; I learned that lesson the hard way. Five weeks later, after a back-breaking rehearsal, I just totally felt something inside me snap. We were about to start night shoots for the “Saturday Night’s Alright” scenes but I couldn’t even muster the excitement I had originally felt when I signed my contract. I felt like I was going through the motions of everything, and I was worried I wouldn’t even be a proper fit for the film. I was living a lie, only partly happy in this pseudo-relationship I was trying to build with Markus. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t me, and keeping the baby a secret was crushing me. I also desperately missed Taron, and I can’t tell you how many times I nearly dialed his number, because I knew despite everything he would have picked up the phone, and he would have listened, and he would have tried to help me find a solution even if he wasn’t with me. That was just the person he was; I felt like I had lost my best friend.

I pulled Markus into the same empty studio I had broken Taron’s heart in, and sat down on the floor, my hips aching something fierce.

“Markus, I have to tell you something. Please don’t freak out,” I said quietly, as he sprawled out on the floor next to me, his sweaty shirt sticking to his muscular chest.

“What is it, babe?” he asked, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. While I loved when Taron called me babe, something about the way Markus said it always made me cringe slightly. For a moment I nearly chickened out in telling him my news, but I couldn’t keep going on like this. At some point he would notice when I was naked that my just-beginning-to-show stomach bump was more than just a large meal I wasn’t even eating.

“You remember that first time we had sex, right?” I said, looking over at him and biting my lip.

“Of course I remember that,” he chuckled. “I fell for you that night,” he said, a boyishly cute grin on his face.

“Yeah, well, we did a lot more that night than just sleep together. Markus, we made a baby. I’m pregnant,” I said quietly, but my words still sounded too loud.

“Woah, no way,” he said, sitting up immediately. “You… you’re sure of that?” he asked, and I nodded.

“I had a test at the clinic, I’m sure,” I said. “I’m twelve weeks already.”

“And you’re sure it’s mine?” he asked, making me sigh.

“Of course it is. Taron’s always used protection, for one, and for two, the timeline is right. It was you.”

He was quiet for a long few minutes, trying to process this news, I’m guessing. “You’re running out of time then,” he finally spoke.

“Running out of time? For what?” I asked, confused.

“Well you’re not going to keep the thing, are you?” he said, and I couldn’t help it, my jaw dropped.

“Of course I’m going to keep your son or daughter. This baby isn’t some ‘thing.’ It’s not garbage you throw away,” I said, feeling the anger rising in my chest.

“Woah, I didn’t mean it like that Juliette. But I sure as hell am not ready to become a father,” he said, holding up his hands to me.

“You don’t get to make that decision now, Markus. You have to take responsibility for what you did,” I nearly hissed. “And what about Clara? You can’t date me without considering her!”

“Yeah, but Clara’s old enough to wipe her own ass. And I’m not her father, she already has one of those she spends time with. I’m fine with that, but a baby is a whole other story. You can’t possibly want this too, it will ruin your career,” he pointed out, and I could only stare at him, unable to process what he was saying.

“My career? Being a mum was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life and I will choose my family over my career every single day of my life. But of course, you wouldn’t know what that’s like because you don’t even want to try,” I said, my face flushing red.

“I’m sorry Juliette. I just can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d support you if you want to, you know, terminate it, but I won’t be the one raising it,” he said. “I’m not going to shatter my life like that,” he continued.

“Then get out. Get out of my face. Don’t ever talk to me again,” I said, my voice shaking in both anger and anguish. “This baby will be better off without someone who doesn’t want it. But I do, and my baby will always know how much I love him or her.”

I buried my head in my hands, bursting into tears as I heard Markus leave the room without another word. I’m not sure what I had expected, but that was not it. I hadn’t remotely prepared myself for the possibility that he would have wanted me to get an abortion, that he would reject fatherhood so thoroughly. Were any of us ever ready to be a parent, even people who had looked forward to it for so long? There was something so deeply terrifying about being responsible for the needs of such a tiny human being, of trying to help them thrive in a world meant for destruction. But that was also the greatest role I had ever held, far more rewarding than any production I had ever graced the stage in. And it wasn’t until the words had left my mouth that I realized how deeply, fiercely I wanted and needed this baby too.

I have no idea how long I cried in that empty studio. I have no idea who discovered me like that through the tiny window in the door. And I have no idea who went and got Taron, but suddenly he was there, pulling me into his safe, comforting arms. I don’t know how long we sat like that, until I had long cried all my tears out and my body had stopped shaking and his fingers grew tired of stroking my hair.

He had stayed silent, patient, until I finally pulled away enough to sit up on my own. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” he asked, absolutely no judgment in his voice. His expression was nothing but kind and compassionate, worried for my well-being over his own.

“I found out I was pregnant five weeks ago,” I said softly. “That’s why I was feeling so ill. I went to the clinic and we did a test. I was already seven weeks at that point. I thought … I thought it would be the right thing to do to give Markus a chance to be the father of the baby he created with me but he wants no part in it. He told me to get rid of it, and I can’t,” I whispered.

“That’s why you tried to break things off with me?” Taron asked gently, smoothing back my hair from my face as I nodded. “Oh Juliette,” he said softly. “I knew there was something, some reason for it. I knew that wasn’t what you wanted, that you were breaking your own heart. I’ve only been waiting for you,” he said, making me want to cry again. “I am here for you in everything, through everything. And we will face this together too. When I told you I loved you, there were no conditions attached. And I love Clara too, and I will love Markus’ baby as it were my own. Because that’s how I love, endlessly,” he said, and my eyes watered up again.

“I can’t ask that of you, Taron,” I said, wiping at my face hastily, but he just reached over and gently brushed my tears from my cheeks before gathering my hands in his own.

“You’re not asking me to do anything. This is something I need too. Maybe it doesn’t happen exactly the way I imagined it would, but that doesn’t mean I can’t accept it, adapt to it, and grow with it. Life has a way of challenging people, but that doesn’t make it all bad. And I right imagine that this could be so much more of a blessing, yeah?”

“My God, you’re a saint. An absolute angel, Taron. I don’t deserve this, at all. I pushed you away,” I said, trembling slightly so he pulled me back into his arms and kissed my forehead sweetly.

“I’m just Taron,” he smiled. “And you do deserve to be happy, and to be loved, and to be absolutely fucking cherished. So I am here for as long as you want me to be here,” he said. “I never really stopped.”

“Even with this?” I asked, touching my belly, which I had started to hide beneath dance sweats because leotards just weren’t cutting it anymore.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he grinned and I’m pretty sure I broke apart in a whole new way at that statement.

“Taron,” I breathed slowly, just gazing at him, feeling excited and a bit bewildered too. “Are you sure?”

“100 percent, Juliette. Now stop asking me that because I won’t change my mind,” he chuckled sweetly. “Now let’s get you up off this floor, and let’s go have a celebratory dinner, shall we?” he said.

“But don’t you have more filming to get back to?” I asked, a bit wide-eyed and still feeling a bit like I was floating a few feet off the ground. My head was swimming with the crazy turn of events.

“Dex understands. You needed me, it’s really as simple as that,” he replied, helping me stand up and even shouldering my stinky dance bag himself, making me roll my eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Taron, not invalid,” I teased him and he just shrugged.

“I’d carry it for you any day,” he smirked, even holding the studio door open for me too. “Get used to it,” he said, before playfully slapping me on the bum as I walked by. “Also just wanted to do that,” he said cheekily, making me groan at that but also feel so grateful that we hadn’t lost what made us feel so special.

“So who all knows about this?” he asked me as we walked out to his car.

“Just you and Markus, really. I hadn’t told anyone before today,” I said softly. “I couldn’t handle it on my own anymore. I was feeling so alone.”

“Well you aren’t alone now, at all. And you should tell your mum, and Madison. Tell them the baby is mine if you like, if you’re worried about anyone judging you. It might as well be, because I’m going to love it that way,” he said, squeezing my hand in his. “But you should feel happy, and proud, and excited. I want that for you,” he grinned, changing everything about the fear and confusion I’d felt just a few weeks before.

“How are you so perfect, Taron?” I asked, shaking my head in awe of him.

“I just wear my heart on my sleeve. It’s not that hard to care about people more than yourself. I find that pays itself back in dividends. And it’s not hard to love you, you know. You’ve brought a lot of color and light into my life in a way I didn’t understand it could be before,” he said softly. “And now I have even more to look forward to.”

“Damnit, T,” I said through the blush rising in my cheeks. “I don’t know how to handle when you say things like that,” I laughed. “It’s like living inside a fairy tale.”

“Fairy tales were written because the truth in them does exist. They aren’t unattainable, impossible figments of our imagination. They can be elusive, yes, and rare, but sometimes you do find yourself living inside one.”

I could only gaze after him as he unlocked the car, opening the door for me again, as I felt every bit of myself being put right again. We decided on our favorite pizza place, but I first made him stop by my house so I could shower and change into more suitable clothes. Clara was with Zayn that night, so we took our time eating and enjoying our relationship again, a relationship that nothing could seem to derail.

I had the idea to stop over at my mum’s, because of all the people who should know, who had been through thick and thin for me with Clara, it was her. Taron almost seemed cutely nervous as we sat on the couch and I broke the news to her. My mom honestly screamed in excitement, jumping up and enveloping us both in a bone-crushing hug. I had no idea why I was so worried about her reaction after all; we never mentioned the baby’s lineage and let her assume since Taron was there. We figured it would be easier this way, to not have to deliver the news with a long introductory caveat, and if the question came up later we could explain then.

As we were driving back to my home, it hit me with a sudden jolt that I would have to meet Taron’s parents, and that we would be sharing the news with his family too. Something about that made everything feel far more real to me, that this was honestly going to be my life. That I would truly become a part of his life, not just in the few dates we managed to squeeze between rehearsals and film sequences, but that we would honestly be creating a life together. There would be many things to have to discuss and figure out in the near future, but tonight wasn’t the night for all of that.

Later, when we were laying on the couch, my head in his lap, the telly on a low murmur and both of us trying to not pass out, everything just felt right. Troy was snoozing on the rug, and I felt as emotionally satisfied as it was possible to feel, and far too stuffed with pizza than I had a right to be. I didn’t have to put on any kind of show with Taron; there was no performance here. We could both comfortably be ourselves, even if that was tired and cranky or moody or whatever.

“Tomorrow’s a big day,” I said with a yawn.

“God, don’t remind me. Night shoots,” he groaned playfully.

“I think it’s exciting,” I grinned. “The set already looks insanely cool. I can’t imagine it all lit up at night!” I smiled. We’d already had a few camera blockings at the carnival they had built specifically for this scene. I was honestly excited about the four days we’d be shooting tomorrow, despite the massive amount of logistics that would go into it. We were definitely in for some long, long nights.

“You think that because you haven’t done it yet,” he giggled. “Speaking of, we should probably head for bed ourselves now. Try to store up some of that energy we’ll be needing.”

I grinned at that and happily followed him back to my bedroom. We both quickly got ready for bed and fell into it, and I was all too happy to see him resting between my frilly sheets and pillows. “You’re cute,” I grinned, kissing the tip of his nose, which he wrinkled in response.

“Well don’t give me a big ego about it,” he teased me lightly, pulling me down to him so that I squealed and then kissing me proper a few times.

“Get some sleep, love,” he smiled, his eyes already drifting shut in exhaustion.

“You too, T. Thanks for saving me today,” I said softly.

“Always,” he breathed out, falling asleep shortly after, his eyelashes sweetly resting against his cheeks in slumber.

Despite my own exhaustion, I was still a whirlwind of emotion and I couldn’t quite fall asleep, so I silently slipped out of bed and grabbed my phone, sitting on the bathroom floor and calling Madison even though it was late and not caring if it woke her up.

“What on earth is going on with you!” she fairly screeched into the phone when she answered, clearly not asleep. “You’ve barely talked to me for weeks. I’m so-”

“I’m pregnant!” I cut in, and she instantly stopped what she was saying.

“What?!” Madison yelled into the phone, so I had to hold it away from my ear for a moment.

“Jesus, Mads. Calm down. Things have really changed,” I said, explaining why I’d broken up with Taron, how things went down with Markus, and that Taron had been more forgiving than I deserved him to be toward me.

“So you’re back together again?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. I’m not sure we really were ever apart. He knew I hadn’t made the decision I wanted to make. That the lie was that I didn’t want him. He knew that the whole time. He truly knows me better than I know myself,” I smiled softly.

“And what about, you know, Markus’ baby?”

“That Markus refuses to acknowledge? Yeah, Taron said it’s his now. He wants to be a dad, and he’s claiming this as his.”

“That’s love, right there, Juliette. It’s staring you right in the face. Don’t you dare ever try and throw that away again, you hear? I will kick your little ballerina ass with my own pointe shoes if I have to!” she squealed, making me laugh too.

“I think I’m done screwing everything up here,” I replied with a laugh. “The universe couldn’t be louder and clearer.”

“That’s for damn sure. Now I’m just curious when he’s going to put a ring on that finger of yours!” she giggled.

“Woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet,” I cautioned.

“Dream a little, Juliette. He’s obviously a bit of a romantic. You know he’s going to make an honest woman of you. You’d better get on Pinterest and start planning. Oh, and I’d better be your maid of honor,” she said, making me laugh again. I listened to her chatter on about weddings and babies and all the possibilities, feeling bemused but also a little hopeful. I had no idea what a future with Taron looked like, not really, balancing kids and our careers. But I was certain that it would be happy; not easy, not perfect, but always fulfilling and supportive.

“Alright, Mads, I should go,” I said with a yawn, breaking into her reverie of my own someday maybe wedding.

“Oh, of course. Momma ought to get her baby rest,” she teased me, but it was all in love and excitement for me.

“You know it,” I giggled. “And that hottie in my bed tonight, snoring away,” I snickered.

“Jesus, you lucky bitch,” Madison joked, sort of.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grinned. “Night, Mads. Love you long.”

“Love you hard, Juliette,” she grinned back before we managed to hang up the call. I leaned my head back against the wall for a long moment, smiling to myself. I could honestly do this - I could have a happy life, I thought to myself.

I used the toilet one last time, already starting to feel the need to do that more often, before slipping back into bed with Taron, realizing just how much I had missed seeing the silhouette of his sleeping form. We had grown so comfortable with each other, that that absence over five weeks had been misery. But like magnets, we had found our way back to each other, his openness, vulnerability and forgiving heart never once questioning whether I should be in his life. He already knew that was where I belonged, and I loved him so much for never doubting it. I needed him, and he accepted that, and trusted so much of himself to my broken heart.

“Love you, T,” I said in the darkness, brushing my fingers lightly through his hair, before settling in next to him, feeling every ache and pain, emotionally wrought, but also feeling a deep satisfaction too. There was a certain courage in what he was choosing to do, and I respected him whole-heartedly for it. The universe had given me the greatest gifts, the man beside me, and the baby inside me. As I fell into the sweetest slumber, I promised myself I wasn’t ever going to let go now.

How will Taron and Juliette’s lives intersect, now that there’s a baby between them? Find out in Chapter 8 HERE.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Eleven

Part Ten

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, violence, explicit sexual situations

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———————————————————————

“Mom?“ I ask, paralyzed by her stare, absentmindedly moving closer to Nikki as if there’s a chance she’ll lunge for my throat and he’ll keep her off of me. 

Her empty, cold, eyes study the both of us, not matching her warm smile. She’s putting on a facade and we know it.

"Sweetheart, we have been flipping over every rock in this city looking for you.” She tells me, relieved.

“You two aren’t the easiest couple to find.“ My dad adds calmly, giving me a genuine, sympathetic smile.

Nikki and I exchange looks as my mother starts tapping her foot, keeping her overbearing smile on her face as she waits for us to invite them inside.

I finally give up and step behind Nikki, giving the three of them room to come inside as I say, "You can come sit down.”

Nikki gives me a glare at my invitation to them, and I lick my lips, mouthing “sorry” to him.

“Quaint little place you’ve got here, Sweetie.” My mom points out, keeping her frozen smile as she looks over the empty alcohol containers in the garbage can and packs of cigarettes scattered about.

Although she’s still smiling, her eyes appear to be disgusted and angry, looking at Nikki as if all of this is his doing. He’s the Devil that kidnapped her perfect Vivian from grace.

She finally sits down beside my father on the couch, hesitating due to a suspicious stain on the cushion.

Her fingers brush a smooth, curled piece of her bangs out of her eyes, and she moves her knees to the side to keep herself modest in her pastel yellow dress.

“Come talk to us, dear,“ She tells me and motions for me to come sit on the coffee table in front of her.

Her eyes flitter down my exposed legs, peeping at the short pajama shorts I’m wearing, partnered with one of Nikki’s T-shirt’s that she takes notice of. But that damn smile doesn’t falter a bit.

Once I’m sitting in front of her, she’s grasping at the both of my hands, gently, trying to make me believe she’s calm when I know she wants to scream at me.

“I think we are long overdue for a talk, Vivian.” She explains, choosing her words carefully.

“I think so, too.“ I admit, trying to keep my voice calm but it’s shaking.

“We left things off on the wrong foot, you remember?” She asks, reaching to me to fix a stray hair of mine.

“Yes, ma'am.” I have no idea why she has this much power over me. Anytime I speak to her I regress into a seven year old, scared to say the wrong thing and get her in to a frenzy.

“Your father and I have been talking a lot the past few days, and we’ve decided we want you to come back home.” She informs me and I furrow my brows a little.

“What?”

“Kicking you out of the house for making your own decisions was out of line and uncalled for, is what your mother is trying to say.” My dad speaks up, leaning forward. He looks at my mother with a glaring undertone, and she brushes it off, keeping her eyes on me.

“I was a bit theatrical.” She confesses shamelessly, chuckling a little. “But I was caught off guard by it, Viv. Your whole life has been dedicated to making sure you were going to end up at a prestigious school with fine academics and a pristine performance program. We took all the proper measures to make sure you never hurt your feet so you’d have a long Ballet career, we kept your mind and your body in shape…you were so close, darling, and you suddenly decided you didn’t want to dance or go to school. All of the time and energy spent over the years for you to accomplish something and you backed out at the last minute. I got angry. Could you blame me?”

“Dance was fun to me, mom. It was a passion I had but you took it way too serious. I burnt out on it because all you ever had me doing was eating, sleeping, and breathing school and dance. And I know it requires dedication but, mom, I had no business dancing for six hours a day, every day after school.” I point out, wanting to add “which is why I skipped the last four months of practice,” but decide against it.

“You had nothing better to do.” She argues.

“I had friends to hang out with, mom. I had things I wanted to be able to do.”

Her smile falls off her face, now, replaced by her pursing her lips.

“Well, you’re certainly showing us that, now, aren’t you?” She asks me and I close my eyes for a moment. “I’m just curious as to when exactly you two met?” She asks Nikki, passive aggressively.

She doesn’t know he’s one of the few people that can’t have his arm bent behind his back until he cries “mercy” because he has absolutely nothing to lose.

They’re just staring at each other, sizing each other up, having an unspoken dick measuring contest, and I already know Nikki Sixx will win.

“We met early in the year last year.“ He replies, from his place, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

"I take it that it wasn’t at a church service.” She states, her eyes coming back to me.

“No, the Starwood.” I tell her and she raises her brows.

“After I played a show.“ Nikki adds, his eyes cutting slightly to study her reaction. She just blinks a couple of times before speaking.

"Young man, my husband and I would like to speak to our daughter alone for a few minutes, if you would so kindly give us a moment.” Her tone is bitter, contradictory to her words.

Nikki hesitates, and I give him a reassuring nod. No matter how scared I get of my mother at times, I’d never ask him to endure one of her tantrums just so I’d feel more comfortable.

He gives her a dirty look before grabbing his cigarettes and stepping outside.

As soon as he’s gone, my mother’s pulling a folded up news paper clipping out of her purse.

“‘Mötley Crüe lead singer, Vince Neil, publicly poked fun at the ill fitting fact that one of the sleaziest Rockstars on the Sunset Strip, the band’s bassist—Nikki Sixx—is happily accepting the ball and chain and is scheduled to be married later this year to Vivian Kinston, while on stage.’“ She reads from the article before tossing it to the coffee table right beside me. "I can take you not being completely honest with us and dropping out of college. Every teenager rebels a little bit at some point and not going to college right after high school is not the worst thing you could have done, regardless of how I reacted to it, no, it is not as bad as I made it seem and I do apologize for my overreaction.” She says quickly, completely beside herself before she continues. “But this,” She motions around, referring to my living situation. “Is far beyond a little teenage rebellion, Vivian. And you know as well I, that living with a man—who openly disrespects our God—and making a mockery out of the sanctity of the marriage bed, is blasphemous.”

“Charlette,” My dad starts in a relaxed tone, trying to calm her down.

“She is sleeping with that boy!” She points to the front door Nikki just went out of moments before.

I’m humiliated by her words, Pastor Garett seemingly burning his eyes in to my soul.

“We don’t know that.” My father tries to defend me, earning a scoff of disbelief from my mother.

“That boy and everyone like him only live for three things: sex and drugs and ungodly music. He has a plethora of drugs and music so the sex isn’t far from the equation. I am not ignorant.”

“His name is ‘Nikki’, mom. I’m marrying him so he is so much more than just 'that boy’ you speak of as if he’s a disease.” I state boldly.

“You are not marrying that boy, Vivian. You are coming home with me and your father and you will attend as many counseling sessions with Brother Garrett that you need to in order to rid yourself of this disobedient demon clinging to you!”

“There’s no demon clinging to me! I haven’t completely thrown away God or turned my back on him, I still have relationship with him and—”

“You can have the entire bible memorized front and back, go to every church service at every church in the area that there will ever be but it doesn’t make a difference to God, or anyone else, when you come home every night and play house with the Devil!”

“I am not perfect, mom, and God doesn’t expect me to be perfect but I am doing the best that I can given the circumstances!”

“You weren’t given these circumstances of dousing yourself in impurity and uncleanliness, you dove head first in to it!”

“You kicked me out of the house and I had nowhere else to go but to Nikki, so yes, mom, I was given these circumstances!”

“So I suppose I am to blame for you having sex with him, too?! All of this is on me now, is that it?!”

“What he and I do—whether it’s have sex or get married—is between us and God, and you have no right and no place to go out of your way to try to control it!”

“It is my job as your mother to make sure you are doing what God would have you do and you’re obviously not listening to a thing he’s been trying to say because you’ve been too busy running around the Sodom and Gomorrah that is the Sunset Strip with your hand down the pants of a fool—who could care less about you, might I add—and you know this is not what we do, Vivian.”

“Stop talking. Just because it’s something you wouldn’t choose to do doesn’t mean it’s something I shouldn’t do.” I say, my blood burning as she doesn’t listen.

I quickly realize it’s a fear of my mother that’s kept me from being sure about Nikki, and this further fuels my resentment towards her.

“All of this is just a game to him, Viv. They love seeing who can corrupt the most honest girl and then when she’s strung out or ends up pregnant, they leave.” She replies venomously, stepping closer to me.

“Charlette, enough of this.” My dad cuts in, grasping at her but she snatches away from him.

“You’ve already dropped your education and career for him. You’ve bent your morals and orders, given to you by the Lord, for him…”

I don’t want to hear anymore, standing up and walking to the door before she follows and grabs my wrist, stopping me, choosing her words purposefully to get a reaction out of me the way she always does.

“…You have allowed him to get in to your head and convince you to be of the world instead of just in it and history has an ugly way of repeating itself. This is looking an awful lot like the beginning of Lily’s end.”

This is the last straw.

Seeing red, belligerence and lost patience fuels my movements as I scream, wrapping my hands around her throat and tackling her on to the coffee table, roughly.

Liquid splashes over my bare legs, and I hear Brother Garrett shouting out scriptures and praying in tongues.

My fight is interrupted by familiar hands grabbing at my waist and yanking me away from her.

Nikki stumbles back, taking me to the floor with him, but he doesn’t remove his tight grip around my torso as my mother cries out and wails in my father’s arms.

I’m so wound up that I’m shaking uncontrollably, my entire body prickling with heat and sweat as my skin warms up with adrenaline and anger. My back is pulled in to Nikki’s torso as his arms wrap around me to keep me in place.

My mother’s crying further spurs on my intolerance and I heave out heavy breaths.

“Get. Her. Out. Of. Here.” I say through clenched teeth to my father.

“Vivian—” He goes to argue but is stop him.

“Get her out!“ I demand, causing him to startle a little bit before he and Garrett are going as quickly as they can to the door, guiding my discombobulated mother along with them.

They leave us in the aftermath of a wasted effort.

It quickly hits me that I just viciously attacked the woman who birthed me and raised me, and I take in a sharp breath, Nikki’s arms loosening from around me as we sit in silence.

“I just tried to kill my mother.” I croak out, my voice raspy and raw from screaming so much, shattering the silence around us.

“I got mine arrested.” He replies and I can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, trying to cheer me up.

“If one of us ever turns in to our mothers, we have to kill the other.” I say lowly.

He doesn’t respond, his lips pressing to my hair and I lean my head against his chest, trying to accept the fact I’m no longer my parent’s daughter. I’m officially freed of my chains.

I never spoke to my mother again. I expected her to take me to court for assaulting her, but she never did. I learned sooner after she became one of the loudest voices supporting the Washington Wives, using me as her testimony and claiming that Mötley seduced me to sell my soul to the Devil in exchange for fame and wealth, the way that they did.

I wanted to write her and ask her where exactly was the “wealth” we sold our souls for because, at the time, we were barely able to pay our phone bills.

In the months to follow, the guys had managed to open for Kiss, but only opened for five shows before Gene Simmons kicked them off the tour for “bad behavior”…a.k.a Tommy screwed Eric Carr’s girlfriend and it wasn’t appreciated.

I, eventually, was no longer worried about my parents seeing or hearing what exactly I was doing, so I started going out with the guys a lot more often, which was a blessing and a curse.

May of ‘83 came around in the blink of an eye, and America was finally meeting Mötley Crüe at their biggest show to date.

The thunder of the echoing voices speaking excitedly on the other side of the curtains rattles through the atmosphere backstage.

“We’re gonna fuckin’ die.” Mick states, matter of fact, and I frown at him.

I can practically feel the anxiety and nervousness rolling off Nikki, Tommy and Mick, as we wait with Doc in the small hallway for Vince to get done in the dressing room.

“Boys,” Tom says as he approaches us. “On behalf of Elektra Records, I just wanna wish you good luck tonight.”

Nikki gives him a small nod before going back to looking around anxiously.

“Where’s Vince?” Tom asks and Doc replies before anyone else can.

“Just saw him in the dressing room, getting ready.” Doc tells him.

“Well, this is your first big show and there’s 18,000 people out there tonight, so…please don’t fuck this up.“ Tom looks at the three of them as if that helps any with the pressure already on them.

"Thanks, Tom.” Doc gives him a fake smile and once Tom’s out of earshot, Doc’s smile falls from his face. “Fuck all that.” He tells them sternly. “You guys just do what you do.”

Just as he says this, Tommy drops the drumstick he’s been twirling, which he never does.

“Fuck!” He whisper yells as Doc and Mick chuckle, picking up the drumstick.

“Jesus Christ,“ Nikki nervously whispers, motioning for Mick and Tommy to start heading towards the stage.

"You guys will be fine.” I assure Nikki, nudging his arm with my elbow as we walk to the steel stairs.

He doesn’t seem to believe me and I bite my lip before unclasping my crucifix and hand it to him.

“It helps me be less nervous.” I explain as he examines the small, diamond cross carefully before putting it on. It doesn’t necessarily match with his overzealous costume but he doesn’t seem to care, slinging his arm around my neck as he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to my lips.

Just as he’s pulling away, I see Tom’s girlfriend stepping from the hallway the dressing rooms are, joining Tom who’s oblivious to where she came from as Vince comes from the same hall, fixing his pants and sprinting so he won’t be late.

Nikki notices this, too.

“Vinnie, c'mon, man. Let’s go!” Nikki claps once as Vince laughs out, running up the stairs.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. You do realize we just signed a record deal with his company and that fucking his girlfriend could seriously fuck that up?” Nikki asks him in a hushed voice, obviously unhappy.

“Only if he finds out, man.” Vince replies with a wide smile, pretty proud of himself.

Nikki looks at me as if trying to decide whether to be proud of Vince’s balls, or kill him for being so thoughtless.

“He won’t find out. It will be fine.” I assure him. “Everything is okay. You guys can do this, I know you can.” I add, giving them one last smile before turning to walk away and give them their little moment, and he exhales just as Tommy’s throwing the top half of his body over the railing of the balcony, throwing up.

“Seriously,” Mick says, shaking his head. “We’re gonna die.”

“I’m okay!” Tommy pipes once he’s finished, swishing alcohol around his mouth to get rid of the puke taste.

“Alright, c'mon, gather round guys.” Nikki starts, getting them to huddle together.

I’m not sure exactly what he says to them, all I hear is “we are Mötley fucking Crüe! So let’s destroy these motherfuckers!”

The announcer is soon introducing them to the crowd as they step out and everyone in the audience goes absolutely insane.

I join Tom, his girlfriend, and Doc to watch the performance from the sidelines, saying a silent prayer in my head for them to do well so they won’t screw their careers up before they even leave the starting line.

They start playing, and Vince comes over the microphone, saying:

“Title track from our up and coming album! We call it, 'Shout at the Devil’!”

The crowd goes even more wild and I listen to the song intently, mainly because Nikki won’t let me hear any of their new music until the album is complete.

Once they’re done with their performance, Nikki’s rushing to me, excitedly.

“You guys did so—”

I’m cut off by a bruising kiss, the two of us trying to contain our smiles as he pulls away.

“What was that for?” I ask him, wiping some of his smeared lipstick from around his mouth. He just gives me a devious smirk, and picks me up by my thighs, tossing me over his shoulder.

I laugh, clinging to him as he runs to the hall with the dressing rooms in it.

“Nikki, where ya goin’?!” Doc calls after us, probably wanting to give the guys an encouraging speech or something.

“We’ll be there in a second!” I answer for Nikki, hearing him open the door of his dressing room.

Once we’re inside, he’s sliding me off from his shoulder and pinning my body against the door, pushing the hem of my skirt up my thighs and I let out a shallow breath, wrapping my legs around his waist as our tongues move in sync, one of my hands gripping his bicep while the other rests against his face.

He yanks my hair to the side to expose my neck, his tongue sliding against the skin and I moan, my hand groping at the tent in his leather pants, causing him to groan lowly which ignites a strong sensation between my legs. My other hand fumbles with his belt buckle, the sparkling of my crucifix catches my eye, though and I stop for a moment.

“Wait, wait,” I gasp out for breath and he pulls away a little, his lips brushing against mine.

“What’s wrong?” He asks and I shake my head a little, blinking slowly.

“This needs to come off,” I take my necklace off of him and toss it on to the vanity a few feet away.

“Yeah, so does this,“ he mumbles against my lips, tugging at my g-string and I giggle as he pulls it down my legs so I can unwrap myself from him momentarily to get it off.

He tosses the fabric to the floor and I yank his belt loose, unlacing his pants as his fingers make no hesitation slide up and down my sex, teasing me until I’m barely able to do anything but grind against his hand and claw at his clothed chest.

Taking my hand from his shirt, he lifts my fingers to his lips, enclosing his mouth around my point finger, his tongue and teeth moving torturously slow around it as he buries himself in me to the hilt.

My mouth falls open, his eyes locked with mine as a slick, open mouth grin forms around my finger, his teeth keeping it from falling.

He drops my hand and wraps his hand around my throat, pounding in to me. My already tender flesh is abused further, not yet recovered from our last session earlier today.

"Oh, fuck, Nikki,” I breathe out, my teeth digging in to my lip to keep from being too loud as my nails scratch down his arms.

“You have such a filthy mouth,” He says pointedly, a throaty noise of satisfaction wrapped around his words.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I shoot back weakly, still managing to argue with him.

Before I know it, he’s putting one of my legs over his shoulder, allowing him to hit at a different angle, and a slew of curse words fall from my lips as tears building up in my eyes.

“God, you’re so fuckin’…“ he’s unable to finish his sentence, looking between us to watch himself push and pull in and out of me, roughly.

Heat swelters in my core, my toes trying to curl in my strapped heels and I tighten around him further.

"Nikki, I can’t do this, it’s too much.” I whine, a tear rolling down my face once he’s reaching between us and rubbing at the sensitive nerve endings to force my orgasm out of me.

“You’re gonna let every fuckin’ one know who the fuck you belong to.“ He borderline threatens and I let out high pitches whimpers with each stroke of his fingers and stretch of my walls as he pulls out of me, only to push back in, filling me up completely as if my body’s been created specifically for his.

My body reacts to his touch, my lips practically screaming out his name in choked sobs as he bites down on my shoulder, opting me to finish around him.

My forehead falls to his shoulder, exhaustion leaking from every pore of mine.

He releases, coating my insides, the two of us staying still for a moment as I try to recollect my hazy mind, completely wasted from the amount of adrenaline and Nikki coursing through me.

By the time we get home at three in the morning, Nikki’s doped up on quaaludes, wine and whiskey, barely making it to the bed without face planting.

“Oops,” He slurs as I help him catch his balance on the foot of the bed.

“You good?” I ask, and he waves me off.

“I gotta…” he trails off, rubbing at his eye like a sleepy child. “…it.” He motions to his side of the bed before tripping over himself and falling on the mattress on his stomach, nearly passing out there.

“No, you don’t got it.” I mumble softly, tugging at his boots and helping him crawl to his side of the bed.

He’s out of it by the time his head hits the pillow and I can’t help but smile to myself a moment.

How in the hell did I get here? If someone would have told me three years ago I’d be engaged to someone like Nikki Sixx, I’d think they were out of their mind.

I change in to a pair of flannel pajama pants and a tank too before heading to the bathroom to get my makeup off.

Once I’m done, I stare at myself in the mirror, rubbing my swollen lips together, looking over the apparent bite mark on my shoulder that Tommy and Vince wouldn’t let me live down at all tonight.

I chuckle, remembering their teasing, before a more serious topic resurfaces in my mind. Not able to help myself, I open the bathroom cabinet and sift through all of the clutter of miscellaneous, reaching for what I’m looking for in the very back corner of the cabinet. I’m careful not to drop it once I grab ahold of it.

I sit on the floor and look down at the mirror of the pregnancy predictor, seeing the red ring that I stared at for three hours after the positive result had first shown up last night.

My eyes drift to the plain, silver band on my ring finger, feeling a calmness instead of uneasiness like I had before.

Words that Nikki had spoken to me the last day I saw my mother, echos in my mind:

“It sucks but we’ll be fine. We’re Nikki and Viv. Things always turn out okay for us, somehow.”

I feel as if he might’ve been right.

[itsjustinknow]

a short piece i wrote for my therapist that i never got to show her (so why not put it on the internet)

Warnings: drinking/smoking referenced, accidental (more or less) misgendering brought up, not necessarily harm but implied. it surrounds my relationship with one of my cousins, who was close to me growing up, and his father was not the best person. nothing explicit really besides the drinking part, but i still thought to put that in. also discussion of religion, albeit briefly (specifically Catholicism), and some talk of mental illness.

We’re sitting on the bed of his father’s truck: him drinking from a cracked bottle in the moonlight, and me swinging my feet wishing I had a cigarette. Not because I liked the smell, or the taste, or the idea of poisoning my lungs, but because I needed something to calm myself down and during times like these my impulses would always get the best of me. Never thought you’d take up drinking, I say, eyeing the way the drops fall through long, thin lines from where his godfather dropped it. It was the reason he had it now. He swallowed. Might as well. He’s got the slightest glare as he stares at me from the corner of his eye. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think I was fooling myself. Since I’m just as much like my dad as you say I am. I roll my eyes. You know I only say that when your mom comes crying to me. If you didn’t make her then I wouldn’t talk.

(An hour ago, his mother told me she wished I was her daughter instead, or at least, that I was around more to keep him in line. I smiled and told her I was always around if she needed anything. She’s never realized that we’re practically the same person, my cousin and I. It’s just that one of us is smart enough to shut up.)

He turns his gaze back to the bottle, frowns at it, shrugs, and takes another sip. She’ll be alright. I’m leaving soon.

I know, I say, and I go back to warming my shaking hands.

He laughs at my fidgeting. Why do you do that?

I shrug. Always been jumpy, haven’t I? That’s a lie, and he knows it, but I’m not sure either of us want to point it out. I don’t know what I want, just that I want, and it’s an ache in my chest burning a hole through my skull, and if I don’t do something, I might just throw myself from the truck and see where I land. It’s why I wish I smoked, somedays. Was a bitch to get up here, though. My dad never lets me bring my walker when visiting relatives. Too unseemly, might scare them. In my head, I tell him I sometimes want them to be scared, to see me and realize just how fucked up it all is, and then realized that I’m exactly the same bitch I was at 12 at 16, at 18, at every age. Maybe they’d stop pitying me.

I don’t say that, though. Too unseemly. Might scare them more than I’d prefer.

My hands twitch. He doesn’t notice this time. You’re weird, is all he says. I raise both eyebrows, because I never got the hang of just one. Like you?

He shakes his head. No, like you. Like a ------- brand of weird. I shrug, Maybe, I guess, but I can’t push away the shitty taste in my mouth at the use of That name. I told him once, last time I was here. It was three days after Christmas. We stayed up watching horror movies, one of those apocalypse survival flicks that just came out. He always agrees with the one self-absorbed pragmatic asshole, saying he’s right even if everyone else in the film makes you think he’s wrong. It’s always a man, isn’t it? I’m the movie critic of the two of us, pointing out inconsistencies, judging how every turn is handled. He says if he’s ever in the apocalypse he’ll grab his father’s shotgun and go out in a blaze of fire and glory. If he goes out, of course. I tell him he’ll probably die like that. He tells me to shut up and watch the movie. 

(Halfway through the final act, he tells me he’ll carry me if I want. The girl on screen kills herself, the so-called insane killer laughing in the background with blood on his hands. I tell him to shut up and watch the movie.)

Now I’m fidgeting again, thinking about men and women and bad movie tropes that turn my brain into a time bomb even I know will one day go off but it’ll take me before it does anyone I love, when he asks What are you going to do when I’m gone?

I swing my feet over the edge. Finish school, I say, because that’s the obvious answer and he’ll be annoyed that I said it, go to college. 

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. Yeah, but what else? 

I think about it. My mom wants me to go to that retreat. 

He snorts at that and downs the rest of the bottle in one go. That place is wack, except I’m already laughing at the phrasing as he gives me another of his pointed looks, I’m for real, it’s like they brainwash people!

I let myself grin. You’re just mad that you knocked out five minutes into adoration. 

He tilts his head and looks at the sky. I can’t do the same because it’ll cause too many electric shocks in one go. I don’t know what that was, he says, softly, like it should be a whisper but it’s just a touch too loud, because he always is, but I don’t think it was God. I don’t comment on the lack of my or even our (because since when have we had the same God?). 

What’s the difference?

He turns back to me, eyes hollow, somewhere far away but still right here in front of me. Because isn’t their God the kind of God that says people like us shouldn’t exist?

I swing my feet. It takes a second for me to respond. Gotta be something that keeps changing your ship date.

Yeah, he says, staring back down to my shaking hands, to the shards of glass on the ground from nights past, to the moonlight reflecting off of them. It’s a time loop, really, saying these goodbyes and odd heartfelt moments only to be told not quite, not yet and then start the dance all over again. Every time. Usually he was the one invited to quinces an the lot. I always sit in the corner and steal snacks. 

He’s still staring when he said I don’t think that’s God.

He laughs, I jolt, but of course he thinks it’s funny. He always finds a way to make it funny. He’s going to have to try a harder, he goes on. Shoot, break both my legs or something. 

I find myself grinning again, What, the hurricane wasn’t good enough?

Ehhhh it didn’t affect me directly, so not really.

But don’t you like it? I’m leaning towards him now, full-on grinning, my legs have stopped swinging and my hands are still. 

He blinks twice before responding. What, being here at home? Hell nah.

No, I say, something being bigger than us. Something that can stop you and it works. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you like it when something can finally challenge you? When it can kick you in the fucking teeth?

He doesn’t say anything and I think I’ve gone too far this time, if this is when he leaves, because I couldn’t keep my mouth fucking shut. Because when you’ve been told your entire life you’re simultaneously the best and the worst, the good and the bad, the brightest and the moodiest bitch, you start to wonder. You start to think. Toy start to get tired and you start to get twitchy, like a time bomb waiting to go off at any second. You want to burn just to see how they’d react. Sweet girl, never did anything wrong. Fucking bitch deserves to rot in hell. I’m tired of the time loop, tired of being a paradox. I want to bring the whole world down with me, to see God and laugh. 

Of course, that would be inappropriate. Keep your voice down, you don’t know who’s listening. 

Fuck. I’m not even a girl.

He doesn’t share that sentiment. He shakes his head and laughs. I don’t know. Seems like your weird stuff. The ------- weirdness. 

I lean back at the sound of That name. Asshole. He’s face value, sometimes, wears his world on his sleeves and knuckles, breaks it again and again, boldly and loudly in his blaze of glory, riding off into a piss colored sunset with nothing but the shit on his shoes and the knowledge that he won. I, at least, wanted an audience. He never believed in a quiet existence. I sometimes wish I could build my world like his. 

You wanna watch Black Mirror? he asks. I’ll let you pick first. He knows what I like and doesn’t admit to liking it back. 

I eye the ground before me. You’re gonna have to help me. 

He jumps off. Bet. You’ll be walking in no time. I don’t bother to correct him. But I kick him before he can carry me, laugh when he drags me by the arm, already practically picking me up by the time we get to the back door. He pushes me through. I turn around. He’s gone. I’m not on the step anymore; I’m lying on the gravel, no walls, no ceiling, just the stars above me and the crackle of a fire somewhere in the distance. It’s done now. He’s gone. I don’t have to say goodbye. But I keep my shoes on in case I do. We’re the only ones who could ever kick each other in the fucking teeth. Now, I have to do it myself. He wouldn’t want me to wait for him. Maybe, just this once, I’ll break the rules. 

I miss him too much to make a metaphor. 

The fire burns. I am still waiting.

[ukulelecal]

Biggest Fan pt. 4

In which you’re a famous singer and Calum is a fan of your music.

Warnings: maybe like one swear, but other than that not really

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Requested By: Anonymous originally

“hi can you do a blurb on calum where you’re also famous and u find out he’s interested in you and low key loves your music? shebjdjsj idk jus make it fluffy and ill love u forever”

A/N: another obnoxiously long wait, another part!!!! finally!! we got some cute calum all up in this bitch YEESS im in love with him. sorry its short (well like not super short but shorter than part 3), i wasn’t sure what else could happen without making it extensive for just one part. but give me some feedback, tell me what you thought!! also, do you guys want more parts? i could probably end it here if yall are done with this, but i also have some ideas for some more things that could happen!!! aka i could kill yall with some cuteness!! or make you cry with some angst!! what do you guys think???

Requests are OPEN!

*Gif not mine*

Series Masterlist

Your head was pounding. Your stomach was churning. All the telltale signs of a hangover.

A groan fell from your lips, bringing your hand up to rub your eyes. After they adjusted to the light coming in from the windows, you glanced at the bed next to yours; Cara and Sam were still sleeping soundly. Your eyes then fell on the clock, squinting to see clearly. 12:34 PM. You hadn’t even realized you slept that late.

The occurrences of the previous night were one massive blur. You remembered getting ready to leave and meeting up with Calum and Mali, having a couple shots, but after that? Not much came back to you.

It wasn’t until you picked up your phone, seeing a text from Calum, that perhaps the most significant event of the night finally popped into your head.

You admitted your feelings to Calum. You kissed him.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to smile or punch yourself in the face.

Sure, you had been wanting something like that to happen. But, in a club and being totally wasted wasn’t exactly how you imagined it happening. You couldn’t really complain, though. He liked you back.

He liked you back.

Yeah, you had to smile.

You glanced down at your phone again, actually reading the text that Calum sent you.

Calum: I have to get back on the road later today. I really need to see you again before I go.

You bit your lip softly, typing out a reply.

Y/N: Definitely. Where should we meet up?

You set your phone back down on the nightstand to wait for a reply, and kicked the blankets off of you. Might as well start getting ready if you were going to meet up with Calum. You quietly padded to the bathroom, trying not to wake up Cara and Sam, and glanced in the mirror. Oh, yikes. You had managed to change out of your clothes before crashing in bed, apparently, but neglected to remove your makeup. Your eye makeup was smudged everywhere, and your lipstick was smeared a bit.

Well, that probably wasn’t entirely from sleeping.

You grabbed a makeup wipe and cleaned everything off, then thoroughly washed your face. From outside the bathroom, you heard your phone vibrate, and you quickly scurried out to check. There was another text from Calum.

Calum: You can come to my hotel, if that’s okay. I’ll take you back to yours on my way to the airport after.

Y/N: Sounds good, Cal

He proceeded to send you the name of the hotel and his room number, and you scurried over to your suitcase to get some clothes. You decided on something cute but casual, just for a meet up. A pair of mom jeans, and a simple white t-shirt tucked in.

As you went about your morning routine, you pondered exactly what you and Calum were going to talk about. The night before was inevitably going to come up, but that conversation could go in many different directions. You weren’t sure exactly how it would turn out.

Still, you meant every word you had said. You liked him a lot. Although your time together in person was limited, you texted and Skyped him a lot and got to know him very well. You fell for him from miles away.

After you finished getting ready, making yourself look as presentable as possible being quite hungover, you shook Cara and Sam awake, earning tired groans in response.

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” you chuckled. “Just wanted to let you know I’m going to go see Calum for a bit. I shouldn’t be too long.”

Cara grumbled something incoherent and buried her head deeper into the pillows. Rolling your eyes, you reached for the pad of paper and pen that hotels provided, and wrote out a quick note. Chances were, neither of them were going to remember a thing you said, if they even heard you at all.

You slipped on some shoes, grabbed your phone and room key, and headed out the door.

On the way down to the lobby, you put the address to Calum’s hotel into your phone to see how far it was. Turns out, it wasn’t far at all, only a couple blocks away. You decided against calling an Uber; you could walk.

You turned left out of your hotel and started your walk. It went by quickly and uneventfully, and you soon found yourself in the lobby of the hotel Calum was staying at. You headed towards the elevators and went up to the sixth floor, where he had said his room was. You then followed the signs to room 659.

Taking a deep breath, you gently rapped on the door. It opened a couple moments later to reveal Calum dressed in black joggers and a green hoodie with the word “empathy” printed across the front.

“Hey,” he said, a sleepy grin resting on his face. You could tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the disastrous state of his hair, that he was feeling the effects of a hangover as well.

“Hi,” you replied, and he stepped to the side to let you in. Letting the door fall shut behind you, he gestured to the bed, sheets wrinkled and messy from a night of sleep, for you to sit. You gingerly plopped yourself down on the edge, and Calum did the same next to you.

“So, um, have you seen the pictures?” Calum asked, scratching the back of his head as he turned to look at you, face slightly scrunched up. You furrowed your eyebrows at the question.

“What pictures?” You asked, confused. The only thing you had done on your phone was text Calum, not check social media. He sighed and grabbed his phone that was resting on his pile of pillows, and unlocked it; you didn’t want to be nosy, but you couldn’t help but notice that his lockscreen was a photo of his dog, Duke. He had shown you pictures of him when you were in Paris. You smiled a little. Hopefully you’d get to meet the little guy.

Then the familiar blue of Twitter appeared on his screen, and Calum used his thumb to scroll until he found what he was looking for. He clicked on a picture and handed you his phone to see.

Your heart dropped in your stomach a bit as you swiped through the many.

The pictures were all of you and Calum at the club. You were used to having your picture taken when you were just trying to do normal things or have fun, but these weren’t exactly the same. There were a couple of you and him dancing, but the majority were of you and him kissing.

It was those that made you slightly uncomfortable. Calum had you pinned against the wall, hands gripping your hips and your arms thrown around his neck, having a sloppy makeout session. That wasn’t the type of picture you wanted of yourself getting spread around the Internet.

“Oh,” you breathed out softly. Wordlessly, you handed Calum his phone back, gently taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I know,” he sighed, tossing the electronic back on the pillows. “I wish they would just leave us alone, you know?”

“Yeah.” It was normal for you to be scrolling through Twitter and suddenly find a picture of yourself walking down the street, getting into your car, having lunch with a friend. It definitely did get pretty annoying. “What are people saying about them?”

Calum sighed again, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“Similar things to what they said about the Paris pictures,” he began. “There were more of them that weren’t so nice, I guess.”

“Of course,” you grumbled under your breath, more to yourself rather than Calum. Another thing you were, unfortunately, used to was hate on the Internet. You had seen it all; jabs at your music, your appearance, your clothes, your personality. Most of the time, you tried not to even read it, ignore it the best you could, but curiosity got the best of you every once in a while. Nonetheless, you tried not to let it bother you. “What are we going to do, then?”

Calum hesitated before answering.

“I’m not sure what there is to do. Just don’t acknowledge it, I guess.”

You weren’t sure why you felt a wave of disappointment wash over you.

“And, about last night…” Calum continued, voice trailing off. Your eyes widened a bit.

This had been what you really wanted to talk about. You knew what you were hoping for him to say, but there was always the possibility that he could take it back. Tell you he was drunk and it didn’t mean anything. That you should just keep being friends.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asked, voice soft, and you could hear the slightest shake in his voice. A small smile graced your features.

“Of course I meant it,” you replied, just above a whisper. “I really do like you, a lot.”

Calum smiled, and your smile grew to match his.

“Did you?” You questioned, letting your head fall daintily to the side. Calum chuckled.

“Every word.”

He suddenly stood up, reaching his hand out. You gingerly grabbed it, letting him pull you to your feet and close to him. Looking up to meet his gaze, you found his brown eyes boring into you, and you felt your heart flutter.

Those damn eyes got you every time.

“I don’t think we had a very proper kiss last night,” he mused, running his thumb over your hands that were held between the two of you. “C-Can I kiss you again?”

Calum was mentally cursing himself for stuttering, but you were nodding and smiling fondly up at him, already starting to slowly lean in. He moved his hands to cup your cheeks, closing the distance between you.

This was more like the romantic first kiss you had imagined.

Your hands found his shoulders, letting them rest there.

Your heart was pounding. You were weak in the knees. You were wrapped around his finger.

He felt the same. Ever since he met you in Chicago, he knew you were special. It was a leap of faith for him to tweet you that day, so long ago, and he about died when you replied. He couldn’t be more glad.

The kiss eventually broke, and you stayed with your foreheads resting against each other, dazed smiles on both of your faces. Before either of you had the chance to say anything, Calum’s phone rang from where it sat on the bed. Of course, something had to ruin the moment.

He sighed heavily, mumbling out an apology before reaching for it.

After he hit decline to whoever was calling him, he tossed it down and reached for your hands again.

“I have to leave for my flight,” he sighed, almost sounding upset that he had to go. As much as you wanted to have more time with him, more than just these few minutes, you knew he had a tour to get back to.

“Okay,” you replied, giving his hands a light squeeze. “I can walk back to my hotel.”

“Are you sure? I can ask my driver to drop you off on the way.” You shook your head. “No, don’t worry about it. I’m only a couple blocks away.”

He nodded, pulling you in for a hug. You breathed out deeply as you wrapped your arms around his torso, taking in his scent. You knew it would be a while before you saw each other again, maybe not even until after he finished the North American leg of his tour, which was the last one.

You just didn’t want to leave him.

“Text me later, okay?” You mumbled into his chest, eyes unintentionally falling shut.

“Definitely.”

You pulled away from the hug, looking up at him with a grin.

“Bye, Calum.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

Hesitantly, you removed yourselves from each other grasps, and Calum walked you to the door.

Just as you stepped foot into the hallway, Calum grabbed your wrist and spun you around.

“One more,” he breathed out, pulling you in for another kiss. You melted into it. How was a simple kiss so heavenly?

“Now I’m good,” he chuckled when he pulled away, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little as well. You bid your final goodbyes, and before you knew it, you were on your way back to your hotel.

…

After you returned and relayed every single detail of what happened onto the finally awake Cara and Sam, you decided to spend the day relaxing by the pool.

You were laying out on your chair, catching some California sun, when the thought came to you; you and Calum for sure liked each other, but nothing ever became official. What were you?

You wanted to wait, didn’t want to seem desperate, but it was nagging you. Did shared feelings and a few kisses mean you were together? Official? Unofficial?

Letting out a deep breath, you reached for your phone, typing a simple, straightforward text out to Calum.

Y/N: Cal? What are we?

You weren’t expecting a reply right away, assuming he was probably on the plane, but much to your surprise, you got one just a few minutes later.

Calum: I mean, I kind of wanted to ask you this in person, but that depends on how you answer this question

The typing bubbles appeared, signalling he was still typing. You bit your lip as your heart pounded in your chest. The next text couldn’t come soon enough.

Calum: Would you like to be my girlfriend, Y/N?

And everything suddenly seemed like it fell into place.

Y/N: I would love to be your girlfriend, Calum. And I would love for you to be my boyfriend

Calum: You’re fucking adorable. I wish I was there to kiss you right now

You giggled a little, covering your mouth with your hand.

Y/N: Can’t wait until I see you again so we can do boyfriend-girlfriend things like kissing xo

Calum: Soon, just a few weeks left. I’m boarding now, I’ll call you later, ok?

Y/N: Ok. Have a safe flight!

His response was a few heart emojis, and you locked your phone. There was no way in hell you could wipe the smile off your face.

It was official. Boyfriend-girlfriend official.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Cara asked, returning with Sam from the bar where they had been getting drinks. You giggled, covering your face with your hands.

“He asked me out,” you mumbled from behind your hands, earning excited squeals from your friends.

“Now we can like, go on double dates and stuff!”

You laughed at the comment from Sam, finally removing your hands from your face.

It was surreal, but it was happening. After he tweeted you never thought you’d end up dating. After Chicago, it was a thought in your mind. After Paris, you wanted it. Now, here you were.

[fandomfindings]

Controlling

Pairing(s): (Bucky Barnes x reader) (Thor x sibling!reader) (Loki x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 1.9K

Warning(s):Semi-rude jokes 

Summary:You are Thor’s and Loki's younger sibling and they get protective and a bit controlling when they find out you're dating Bucky.

Please note that a lot of the jokes made in this imagine I do not mean. This is meant to be light-hearted and fun, please do not take some of the harsher jokes seriously.

You were wandering around the tower in search of your boyfriend Bucky. You two were supposed to meet up for your daily jog but he was nowhere to be seen. You had checked your room, his room, and even Steve’s room but nothing. The last place you thought to check was the training room.

As you got closer and closer to the training room you began to hear familiar voices. The voices of your two older brothers and they obviously weren’t talking to each other but to your poor boyfriend.

“What are your true intentions with our sibling?” questioned Loki giving Bucky a cold stare.

“In one word how would describe the internet?” Thor questioned honestly causing Loki and Bucky to look at him confused.

“The inter what?” Bucky wondered.

"You've got to be kidding me.” You muttered to yourself as you fully walked into the training room. You moved to stand next to Bucky and wrapped an arm around his waist, he copied your actions and smiled to you lovingly.

“Can I have a word with my brothers?" You questioned Bucky, moving your gaze from him to your brothers to send them a glare.  

"Yeah of course. I'll see you later." Bucky said and kissed your forehead before leaving.

Loki rolled his eyes at the intimate interaction between you two. Thor’s response, however, was a little different considering he bucked at Bucky as he left the room, confusing not only Bucky but you and Loki alike. This was something he surely picked up from a Midgardian.

"What is wrong with you?" You asked Thor once Bucky was no longer in sight.

"Is that not how Midgardians intimidate others?" Thor questioned. You were about to try and correct him but he honestly was kind of right.

"That's not the point. What I really want to know is why you two are interrogating my boyfriend.” You stated crossing your arms across your chest in a judging manner.

"Isn't it obvious? We do not believe he is good enough for you. You could do so much better really." Loki commented.

"For your information I really like Bucky." You argued.

"He's an assassin.” Loki pointed out trying to counter your supposed argument.

"Ex-assassin which he technically had no control of.” You began. “You really have no room to speak so ill of him, you tried to enslave his entire race. Need I also remind you that you killed 80 people in 2 days.” You once again argued.

"Don't bring up my past."

“Then don’t interrogate my boyfriend.”

Days passed and you thought your brothers had got the message but you were wrong. The next time you saw all three of them in a room together you were already scared. What could they possibly be up to now?

“You must prove that you are worthy of (Y/N) and the only way to do that is by lifting my hammer,” Thor instructed as he placed the hammer on the table before Bucky. Bucky didn’t know this but it was basically impossible for anyone but Thor to lift his hammer.

Bucky grabbed the hammer by its handle and began to pull at it. To no one’s surprise, the hammer did not budge. Bucky went to try again but you stopped him.

“They’re just messing with you, Buck. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.” You told him and rubbed his arm soothingly. You once again asked Bucky to leave you alone with your brothers and he did,but not with a kiss to your lips first. Once he left you looked to your brothers with annoyance evident upon your features.

Before you could lecture them Thor spoke, “He is obviously not worthy of you.”

"And a Midgardian no less, "Loki added.

"Thor dated Jane." You rebutted.

"Yes, but he is an idiot.”Loki began but was cut off by Thor.

"Hey!" Thor interjected, offended by what Loki had said about him, but Loki paid him no mind.

Loki continued, “I expect better for you."

“What is that suppose to mean.” You said appalled at Loki’s words. He can’t just go around belittling the people you care about.

“He has the name of a horse," Thor said, causing you and Loki to look him questioningly.

Regardless of his weird side note, you contradicted it by saying, "His real name is James.”

"Then where does the Bucky come from?” Thor questioned.

"The Buchanan in his name.”

"You just said his name is James,” said Loki.

"He is making a liar of you,” Thor said in distress causing you to groan.

 “Would you two shut up! His full name is James Buchanan Barnes.” You explained trying to put some sense into your brother’s head.

"What an atrocious name he has,” Loki mentioned wanting to add more cons to why you shouldn’t be dating Bucky, but it wasn’t going to work.

"What an atrocious face you have.”You countered as a child would.

"People say we favor in the face so what a horrible thing to say.”

"You're adopted!” You exclaimed finally reaching your boiling point.

"You're mom's adopted,” Loki said under his breath feeding into your child like behavior. He words however were still not low enough for you not to hear.

"We have the same mother!”You yelled completely disregarding what you had just said.

"You just said I was adopted!” Loki yelled back actually noticing that you contradicted yourself.

"You both are adopted so such your faces,” Thor said trying to be the voice of reason in the situation. However, what he spoke confused you.

"Wait am I adopted?” You wondered out loud.

"I wouldn't be surprised really,” Loki stated.

" Yes who knows what Odin was up to back then,” said Thor.

"We're getting off topic. Whether I’m adopted or not you two still do not have the right to control who I see fit as a significant other.”

"We're not controlling just suggesting that you look into other options,” Thor said trying to diffuse the conflict a bit.

"No, we're controlling," Loki said bluntly as he crossed his arms across his chest. You point at Loki trying to tell Thor that Loki was right. They were controlling.

The conversion continues on for a while until you get fed up. You use your powers to in a since glue their lips closed, so you can try to get your point across once again.

"Look I appreciate the concern but nothing that you two oafs say will get me to end my relationship with Bucky.” You said and turned to leave the room knowing that they could free themselves from the weak magic you used on them.

For the next couple of days, you avoided your brothers. However, they were obviously not avoiding you. Every time you were with Bucky you would turn in a direction to see one or both of them there spying on you. You thought that was the worst it could get but you were sadly mistaken.

Today was a new day and you were going to try your best to have a peaceful day with Bucky. However, as soon as you saw him you knew something was wrong. Something was different about him and you knew exactly what it was. This wasn't Bucky at all, it was Loki appearing to look as so. This was getting ridiculous.

"Hey, Buck." You said going in for a kiss knowing Loki would dodge it. He does by placing his hand on your face stopping you in your tracts. You giggle at his reaction. This should be fun.

"I'm sick and I don't want you to get sick either," Loki said as an excuse not to kiss you even though Bucky would in an instant.

"Oh come on we've swapped more than spit while one of us was sick." You said sending a wink to the fake Bucky. You see him physically tense as you said the words causing you to internally laugh. You could tell that you were making your older brother uncomfortable and you loved it.

You two decided to watch a movie but you were too distracted from trying to get under Loki’s skin. Every time you would try to get closer to him he would move away almost twice that distance. You grew tired of his games and wanted to move things along.

"What is up with you today is something wrong?” You asked innocently trying not to make it evident that you knew it was Loki pretending to be Bucky.

"Actually I think we should break up.” ‘Bucky’ said.

"Fine, if that's what you want. Though it’s kind of hard to break up if we were never dating in the first place.”

" I’m sorry what?” Loki questioned a little confused.

"I can't date my brother can I Loki. " You said sending him a distasteful grimace. Loki's eyes go wide and he quickly stands to his feet ridding himself of the impression magic.

"Look.” Loki began.

"No, you look. You can't just go around meddling in my life. And to disguise yourself as him is five steps too far. Honestly, what is wrong with you?”

"We just want what is best for you,” Loki said trying to calm you down. He realized that he and Thor had finally overstepped many boundaries.

"He's what’s best for me! If you couldn't tell from your hours of stalking he makes me happy. He makes me a better person just by being in the same room as me. He is kind, sweet and actually cares about me. He listens when I need listening to and he speaks when I need to be spoken to. And let's not forget that he can put up with you and Thor's shit." You finish, leaving Loki stunned.

You go to leave the room but not without one last thing. "By the way, his eyes are blue, not brown, know your subject big brother."

That night after your encounter with Loki you ranted to Bucky about how intolerable they were being. You were tired of your brother’s antics and Bucky could tell. He decided to take matters into his own hands after you had fallen asleep.

He went off to find your brothers which was honestly a bit of a task. He surprisingly found them in the library reading parenting books. Bucky took this aspect with a grain of salt and decided to have a chat with them.

“Listen I know you don’t think I’m good enough for (Y/N) and you may be right but I know how much love I have to give and I know that (Y/N) has all of it. I appreciate that you both care so much about your younger sibling but this is getting a bit out of hand. I don’t have to prove my worth or love to either of you, as long as (Y/N) knows it I’m happy.”

“You’re right,” said Thor.

“And another thing.” Bucky began but stopped once he realized what Thor had said. ”Wait what?”

“He said you’re right. We got a bit too overprotective but can you really blame us. We love our younger sibling, we just wanted to make sure you truly did as well.” Loki explained solemnly.

“Well, I could have told you that.” You said making your presence known to the three gentlemen. You walked over to give your brothers a hug for they had finally seen the error in their ways.

“Are we done with this whole ordeal?” Bucky questioned bringing you into a side hug.

“Yes,” Thor said smiling from ear to ear. You smiled to Bucky and happily placed a kiss onto his lips.

“As long as we don’t have to see any of that,” said Loki as you and Bucky continued to kiss.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this imagine as much as I enjoyed writing it. I wish I could have written this better and in a shorter amount of time but you win some and you lose some. Anyway please let me know what you guys think!

Lots of Love <3

[innerpostmentality]

Sometimes Beginnings start with Goodbye Part II - What’s Left

This is a TRR AU fan fic inspired by the Choices book series The Royal Romance All rights and many thanks are given to Pixelberry Studios for the use of their characters. This fic is written for my friend @tornbetween2loves who is celebrating her birthday and requested the prompt “let me love you” for Drake X MC where MC accepts Liam’s proposal. She requested some angsty heartbreak. Please read the parts in order or it may be confusing. You can find all parts on my Masterlist. Still more story but I wanted to post this for her today. There will be at least three parts. I still haven’t decided if I’m brave enough for this paddling pool. I’m sorry this one doesn’t have any fluff.  Angst is really hard for me. I promise there will be better in the future. Rating: M - Mature themes                                          Word count: 3000 ish Warnings: discussions of serious illness, hospital setting   Tagging: @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet @kennaxval @stopforamoment @bobasheebaby @cora-nova @indiacater @hopefulmoonobject @drakewalkerwhipped @carabeth

    The phone rang a third time and dropped to voice mail. “You are not in my book. Leave a message.”

  Bastien closed his eyes and the muscle in his jaw twitched before he heard the beep that demanded his reply. “Your Grace this is Bastien. I’m at Agia Sofia Hospital where Drake has been admitted. I, I am sorry to have disturbed you.” 

  He hung up. What was he thinking calling the Dutchess of Lythikos? ‘Hey I’m stuck at the hospital wanna come have coffee with me? I don’t want to be alone.’ He shook his head and his phone rang.   “Ya!” “You left a message. Do you need anything? I’m on my way. I should be there in a few hours.”   Her voice was different. He was puzzling about that unfamiliar tone.   “Bastien… are, are you doing well?”   He closed his eyes and sighed. “The doctor advised me to call someone. It’s been… Thank you for calling me back your Grace.”   “Ah kanena provlima. Is Savannah there?” He could hear her moving around occasionally calling out orders.

 “Not yet. Her Grace is not able to be here until tomorrow afternoon.”   “Have you eaten?”           “No. No. That one. … I don’t know how long. Yes. Yes of course.” “Pardon Bastien. Just trying to guess what I may need.”   Her voice, the sounds of normalcy in the background. It was embarrassing to him how comforting it was. Bastien never gave himself time to be lonely or bored. There was always, always something that demanded his attention and it was his job to pay meticulous attention to every detail. Lives, the lives of the royal family had depended on that dedication and focus for over twenty years. He couldn’t ever remember a time when he felt as helpless and lost as the last four hours, five hours he amended as he reflexively checked his watch.   “Bastien? Can you hear me? Ya? Ya?”

  “Oh, me synchoreite your Grace. I, no, I haven’t eaten.”

  There was an audible sigh. He knew her left brow was raised. Could practically hear her scolding him in that moment before she replied.   “Bastien, I want you to go get something to eat. A little. I’ll be there as soon as I can but it will still be three hours. Do this for me so I don’t have to beat you up when I get there.  Now I’m thinking you’ve already called everyone. But is there anything you need?”   That tone was in her voice again and it was terribly distracting as he was trying to listen to what she was saying and interpret her tone at the same time. 

  “I need a change of clothes. I haven’t called Leo, or Hana, or Kiera. I didn’t call Maxwell but I expect that Savannah would tell him. There’s not much for me to tell at this point. The doctor couldn’t tell me much because I’m not family. She asked me a lot of questions… It’s not good.”   “Bastien…” There was a long silent pause, finally, “I’m going to make some calls and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  He sat there staring at his phone for a long time thinking about the conversation. Thinking how at odds it was with what he knew of Olivia Nevrakis.

                          ***********************************************

   It was 9:30 in the evening when Maxwell came into the ICU waiting room with a rolling suitcase. He didn’t spot Bastien at first. The figure in green surgical scrubs with his left elbow propped on the chair arm his left hand holding his brow while he looked at his phone didn’t match any image of Bastien Lykel that Maxwell had.

   Bastien looked up smelling the fresh woodsy Ambre Topkapi cologne that Maxwell Beaumont always favored and spotted him looking slightly lost and as serious as he’d ever seen him look. There were only ten other people in the waiting room at this time of the night. He raised his hand and saw the surprised look on Maxwell’s face as he spotted him and headed over. 

  He stood to greet him. Maxwell pulled him into a hug. “Thank, thank you Lord Beaumont.” He patted Maxwell’s back awkwardly.   Maxwell felt his stomach knot as he took in Bastien. He’d gone camping with Bastien and Drake and never seen Bastien look so distressed and disheveled. He remembered joking with Leo when they were young about Bastien never seeming to have afternoon scruff. He speculated that he kept a razor in his pocket so he could shave anytime a hair might dare to grow. And Leo assured him that Bastien simply intimidated his beard into not growing when he was at work. It would all grow out overnight and he would look like a great bear when he woke up in the morning before he shaved it.  “Bastien, no formalities. I just got the message. What happened?”  He cleared his throat struggling with his emotions, again. “I don’t know, Maxwell.” Shaking his head he ran his hands through the dark fullness of his hair. “I found him unconscious in his bathroom floor. I’ve no idea how long, how long he’d been out…” Bastien closed his eyes and locked his jaw struggling with the need to just weep over the vision he kept replaying of the moment he found Drake.   Maxwell was hugging him again. “Hey Bastien, my man, I brought you some clothes and things if you want to ditch the doctor disguise. Though I have to say you lend a whole George Clooney debonair style to them.” He patted him on the back and let him go. Giving him a concerned smile. “Oh, and I was supposed to make sure you had gotten something to eat. Olivia was… Well she was very Olivia about it all.”   Not trusting his voice Bastien just nodded and took the suitcase from him. He had another moment when he opened the suitcase and found that Maxwell had packed him a full suit, a couple of handkerchiefs, ties, shirts, boxers, and socks. But there in the bottom was also a carefully folded set of denim clothes for Drake.

   He turned on the water in the handicapped sink washed his face and hair and wept. For a few moments with the water running he just wept. Then he caught a deep breath. Turned the water on cold and ran the icy water over his head and face before grabbing one of the hand towels Maxwell had packed to dry himself off. He shaved. Brushed his teeth. And changed into the suit. For the first time in hours he felt in control of himself again when he left the bathroom and headed back to the waiting room and Maxwell.  Maxwell looked up from his phone when Bastien returned. “You should have called me Bastien.”

 Bastien heard the hurt in the young man’s voice though his face was open and friendly as always. “Me synchoreite. Truly. I called Savannah and just presumed that they would let you know.”

 “Yeah. I’m sure they would have but I wasn’t there. I’ve been helping out with a children’s theater group here in the capital. So I just got a text from them saying I should call them when I got a chance. I was going to call them when I got back to my room; but Olivia lit up my phone with calls and texts and voice messages.” He shrugged. “It worked out. I just wish you had called me.” He smiled. 

  Bastien knew Maxwell was truly hurt when he saw that smile. It was a tell of his since childhood. When Maxwell was hurt emotionally he would smile. When he was around someone who was in distress he would say something funny or complimentary to cheer them up. 

“You’re looking better.” He fidgeted a bit not wanting to cause more distress. “So um, what has the doctor told you?”

 Shaking his head Bastien sat down. “Nothing. I’m not immediate family so they won’t tell me anything. Savannah said they would be here tomorrow afternoon. Bianca won’t be in for a couple of days. I expect Liam and Giselle around six in the morning. I suspect they will talk with the King and Queen.”

 Maxwell stood up with a determined look. “Well I’m his brother. So let’s see what the doctor will tell me.”

 Bastien smiled remembering when Maxwell helped him locate Tariq. “Let’s go see if we can find Dr. Ardes.”

  He took Maxwell to the ICU nurses station and introduced him as Drake’s brother-in-law and returned the scrubs they had lent him thanking them. The head nurse looked at Drake’s chart and immediately called the doctor. After a brief conversation she told them the doctor would come find them in the waiting room and they were sent back to the same place as before.

  Maxwell sat down looking a little frustrated. But Bastien pulled out his phone and started searching the internet. A few minutes later Bastien was looking grimly at the screen and Maxwell realized it. “What’s up Bas?”

  Bastien shook his head. “This isn’t good. I saw a few things on his chart. I just wanted to see if I could find out what they meant.”

  Just then he saw Dr. Ardes walk in. He stood up and introduced her. “Lord Beaumont this is Dr. Ardes. She is the doctor who spoke to me earlier who has been taking care of Drake.”

  Dr. Ardes extended her hand to Maxwell and rather than shaking it he took it and bowed over it. “Thank you for taking care of my brother, Dr. Ardes. Mr. Lykel raised Drake and his sister after their father was killed in the line of duty. You have full permission to discuss anything with him that you would with us. He is family I assure you.”

  Bastien caught the faint dilation of her pupils and slight flush as Maxwell bowed over her hand. She had changed her clothes since speaking to him earlier. Of course there was no way to know what she had dealt with in the last couple of hours since speaking with him.

  “Thank you for coming Lord Beaumont”, she smiled at them and nodded for them to take their seats. Bastien understood the subtle authoritarian move at the same time he admired the skill she executed it with.

  She looked at her watch before she started. “A little over six hours ago your brother was brought in to the emergency center here unresponsive, dehydrated, with low blood pressure and with mild hypothermia, that’s low body temperature. That’s what we know for certain.

  He was displaying symptoms of Sepsis which is a systemic blood infection and possible Wernicke-Korsakoff Syndrome as indicated by terribly low Thiamine levels and certain abnormalities in response. This is what we suspect at this point and what we are testing and treating him for.

  Right now his kidneys are having problems and we are trying to get them to respond using fluids via IV. Because we don’t know how long he has been unconscious I would like to go ahead and put him on dialysis. That might give his kidneys a little help while we wait for the lab work to come back and hopefully identify the source of the infection.

  He has had a couple of seizures we suspect are related to his drinking. We are giving him massive doses of broad spectrum antibiotics as well as Thiamine in his IV for the Sepsis and Wernicke. Once we get some of the lab work back hopefully we’ll be able to use targeted antibiotics.

  I’m certain you have questions. I will answer to the best of my ability.”

  Maxwell looked pale and was blinking trying to process all the information.

  Bastien nodded at her, “Thank you Dr. Ardes. Could you give us some idea of what you expect to happen in the next few hours?”

  She nodded. “Well I can tell you my hope. I’m hoping we put him on dialysis and his kidneys wake up with minimal damage. If we start the dialysis in the next half hour we should know more about that in the next four hours. In the next six hours I’m hoping we get lab work back that tells us how to target this sepsis. I’m hoping that within that time he wakes up and complains a LOT about being here and what we’ve done to him.”

  Bastien gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of him.”

  Maxwell finally asked, “Is, is he going to make it? Can we see him?”

  She lifted a brow assessing. “Lord Beaumont your brother is gravely ill. But he also has what is in my, perhaps biased opinion, the best staff in the world treating him in what is one of the top hospitals in this country. And he’s young. In fair physical shape taking things into consideration. And he has a good support group. I think we can get him through what we are seeing at this time. His temperature has regulated in the last hour and that is a good sign. So I’m hopeful.”

  She looked over at Bastien a long moment before continuing. “But… Lord Beaumont, twenty nine year old young men who are in good shape and live in palaces with access to the very best medical care don’t wind up with these conditions unless there are other factors. His long term prognosis is going to have everything to do with us identifying and treating those factors.

  What I have to concentrate on right now is this minute, this hour. And I have to respond to the now. Because now is what we have. If, if we get to the other side of this, then and only then can we evaluate what’s left and make a plan going forward.”

  Maxwell was silently weeping beside him and Bastien patted him on the back.

  “Dr. could we see him?”

  She nodded. “Follow me.”

  “Lord Beaumont are you willing to sign treatment papers for him? Since you are here I really can’t proceed without your permission.”

   He nodded wiping his eyes. “Of course.”

   She led them into the ICU spoke quietly with the head nurse and signed treatment orders on his chart before she took them over to a small table so they could get gowned and masked. She explained it was for Drake’s protection that he wasn’t contagious but his immune system was struggling at the moment and he didn’t need to catch anything. When they were all properly dressed she led them to the far left corner of the U shaped ward.  

 In the center of the room Drake lay in the hospital bed with his head slightly elevated. IV’s dripped in both arms and Bastien noted that both his hands and feet were secured to the bed with buckling lambs wool cuffs. Blankets were draped over the raised bed railings. And the heart monitor silently showed the graph of his steady heartbeat, oxygen levels, and blood pressure.

  Bastien softly asked the doctor about the cuffs. She met his eyes, “In case of another seizure. We need him staying still and not injuring himself.”

  “Gentlemen, please excuse me. I’ll give you a few minutes while I arrange for the dialysis. Lord Beaumont before you leave I’ll need your signature.”

   Maxwell carefully moved up and took Drake’s hand. “Hey Buddy, You have us all decked out for you. Just like when we saw the baby pandas. I need you to get better for me. Keep me in line. Seriously. You’re like the glue that keeps us all grounded. Doesn’t put up with all the noble nonsense.” He sniffed and Bastien saw the tears streaking down to the mask over his nose. “And you know you must get better so you can show Bartie all your awesome soccer moves. That was the deal we made. I’ll teach him to dance and you teach him to play football. And we’re about to have a niece to spoil as well. You need to get better so you can help me terrify all her suitors. You know I’m not going to be scary enough without your help. Please Drake, hang in there. I know it’s tough. We just love you brother.” He squeezed his hand before laying it back down and walking out of the room where Bastien heard him sobbing.

Careful of all the cords Bastien stepped up toward the head of the bed and leaned over kissing his forehead though the mask covering his nose and mouth.

Softly Bastien whispered in his ear. “You are the son of my heart. And I love you. Drake, I love you. I need you to get better.” He took his hand taking comfort from feeling the warmth there. He closed his eyes and prayed, prayed for more time, and another chance.

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 35

read chapter one

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Alec reads the article three times through and feels anger licking up his spine.

Goddamnit.

His phone rings again and Alec swipes to accept the call just as Lydia’s number pops up.

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Alec. You have half an hour to get to my office so that we can start damage control or I’ll come get you and drag you here myself.”

“Understood,” Alec replies curtly and hangs up before tossing his phone onto his bed and scrubbing his hands over his face.

He gets ready in record time, making sure that he throws something on that looks sharply confident. Choosing a lightweight linen suit in a charming shade of burgundy, he leaves the throat open of his crisp white Oxford and leaves his bedroom.

He’s surprised to see that the coffee pot is already full and looks up when he hears the clearing of a throat.

“You’re up early,” he says to Izzy, raising an expectant brow.

Coming into the kitchen, Isabelle shrugs and heads directly to the fridge, pulling out a takeout container. “I have plans this morning and thought you might appreciate a little fortification.”

Alec looks at her sharply. “You know?”

Isabelle is quiet as she dumps out her leftovers onto a plate and takes it to the microwave. It’s only once she’s set the timer that she turns around and looks at Alec. He can’t help but feel a little exposed, nerves raw as his sister studies him.

“How could I not? It’s all over the internet. I even got a special Google Alert about it.”

“Shit,” Alec curses and runs a hand through his hair on impulse before desperately wishing that he hadn’t disheveled things too badly. He looks over at Isabelle but something in him stills as he sees her acting particularly nonchalant.

“You knew,” he accuses and can’t believe his eyes when Izzy shrugs again before rolling her own eyes.

“Of course I knew,” she says. “You think I wouldn’t check out the first guy my brother falls for? I’ve known since I saw the two of you on the floor.”

Alec considers her words carefully before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Laughing quietly, Isabelle opens the microwave as it starts to beep, taking out her pasta. She sends him a look. “Can you stand there and honestly tell me that you wanted to know? You might have fallen for Magnus but that didn’t turn you into a dumbass. You were perfectly capable of having your private investigator do a little research.”

She takes a fork from a drawer and grabs a quick bite before continuing, “You deliberately decided not to do a little digging and I commend you for that. I don’t know if I’d have made the same choice if I was in your position.”

She points her fork at him. “When I saw that you weren’t going to protect yourself, I decided to step up. I checked Magnus out and I had to admit I was surprised. But does it change anything? No. Magnus isn’t his father and you should know more than most not to cast those particular sins. I see the way Magnus looks at you and for God’s sake, the man’s a tenured professor. I find it hard to believe that he’d con you, considering his reputation.”

The kitchen is quiet for a minute before Alec unfreezes and pulls out a mug, pouring a cup of coffee and dumping a few spoonfuls of sugar into it. He can feel the tension in his shoulders and his thoughts are a maelstrom-- though one in particular stands out.

“It’s my fault.”

He hears Isabelle still for a second before she walks over to him and lays a hand on his shoulder. “It was bound to get out eventually, hermano. Magnus is a grown man. He knew that dating you would necessarily place him in the spotlight. Don’t give yourself too much credit or take away his.”

Alec takes a bracing sip of the scalding coffee before he turns to look at her. “Obviously, he wasn’t ready. He hasn’t told me anything about his past and made it plain that he didn’t want to yet. Fuck,” he sighs and runs another distracted hand through his hair.

Isabelle lands a considering look on him and he meets her eyes steadily. “You’re not angry,” she asks carefully. “I’d think most people in your place would be feeling a mix of betrayed and furious. I don’t even think I could particularly blame you for it considering the amount of shit you’ve dealt with from other people.”

Alec’s reply is thoughtful as he replies, “I can’t deny that my first reaction was hurt-- you know that’s one of my biggest insecurities. But there’s just something about him, Iz,” Alec continues with a half-desperate, half-hopeful look in her direction.

“I’ve known him for months. I read that goddamn article from start to finish three times and I find that I can’t blame him for not telling me. He said that there were things in his past that were better off left alone and I respected his decision-- still do. I just hate that the goddamn media sniffed it out like fucking bloodhounds.”

“Talk to him, Alec,” Isabelle says urgently. “This must be one hell of a shock and he might need you.”

Alec considers Izzy’s words before shaking his head. “He probably doesn’t want to even look at me right now. I told him this would happen but we were both fucking fools. I thought we had more time before everything blew up in my face,” he says with bitter self-deprecation. “Plus, Lydia’s court-martialed me to her office and I’m--” he looks at his watch, “Shit, I’m running late. I’ll talk to him later.”

Izzy opens her mouth before biting her tongue. “Just don’t let this fester. I’d hate for this to come between you.”

Alec doesn’t say anything, just nods once before downing the rest of his coffee and starting toward the door.

He pushes down the thought that it already has, that the fucking paps have ruined things just when they were getting started.

Pushing himself off the elevator wall, Alec slips his sunglasses on and mutters a curse as he sees the crowd of photographers standing out on the sidewalk. Through the row of windows, he sees Charles acting unaffected even as he stubbornly keeps them at bay as best he can.

“Showtime,” he murmurs and smooths his suit jacket down as Charles reaches for the door and the paps leap forward, cameras flashing and calling out questions.

“Hey, Alec! Tell us a little bit about Magnus? Is it true that he’s just using you?”

“How does it feel to be officially off the market-- or have things fallen apart between you and Bane already?”

“Alec, our sources say you were planning on proposing soon. Did you know Magnus was playing you from the start and do you plan to return the ring?”

Jesus Christ, Alec thinks but he smiles easily while sending up a silent prayer when he sees Dave already waiting at the curb, door open.

“Sorry guys but I have a meeting I can’t reschedule.” He makes his way through the journalists at an insistent pace, glad that he’d snagged his sunglasses on his way out.

He just hopes no one catches his clenched jaw.

“Everyone at Glitz Magazine is sorry to hear that you got played, Alec,” A pap says with faux sympathy dripping from his tone. “Want to give us the inside scoop?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Alec says coolly.

“Really,” someone else asks, shoving their microphone in his face. “Then it’s not true that you’re in a relationship with the heir to Asmodeus Bane’s ill-gained fortune?”

“No comment.”

At Alec’s reply, camera shutters sound with alarming force and he rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses.

He sees Dave watching him with a raised brow and shakes his head minutely. He doesn’t need help getting through the pack of vipers.

It’s a few seconds later that feel like hours before he’s climbing into the back of the town car. He doesn’t relax until Dave shuts the car door and then he sliding his glasses off and blowing out a breath.

Dave slides behind the wheel and starts pulling away from the curb. Alec stares stubbornly ahead and ignores the flashes that shine through the darkened car windows.

“Wanna talk about it, boss?”

“I don’t think so, Dave.” He meets his driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “I take it Lydia called you?”

Dave nods as he makes a turn on red. “She did. You had eight more minutes before she was going to come over herself.”

Laughing softly, Alec murmurs, “Well, then, what luck that I made it.”

The rest of the car ride is silent and Dave pulls smoothly up to the renovated townhouse that houses Lydia’s agency. Alec has just placed his hand on the handle when he hears Dave speak up.

“For what it’s worth, boss, I like Magnus. I don’t think that a trashy article should condemn him. When I picked him up for your date, he was polite as all get out and seemed excited to see you. What do I know, though,” Dave trails off and turns to give Alec a pointed look.

“Note taken,” Alec says dryly and quickly exits the car, not wanting to linger and attract any paparazzi.

Alec opens the door and gives a tight lipped smile to the receptionist. He doesn’t have a chance to say anything, however, before she’s pointing upstairs where Lydia’s office is located.

He raises a brow. “How many times has she come down here?”

“Seven.”

Wincing, Alec nods in acknowledgement before turning towards the stairs. He’s on the landing when he hears the clack of heels coming toward him. Looking up, he sees Lydia standing at the top of the stairs with a serious look on her face.

Swallowing a sigh, Alec trudges up the rest of the flight until he’s standing next to one of his best friends and the best agent he’s ever had.

He’s expecting verbal whiplash and his eyebrows shoot up when instead of starting in on him, Lydia steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

“How are you doing, Alec?”

Alec returns her hug but steps back after a minute, shooting Lydia an incredulous glance.

“How am I doing,” he repeats. “I thought you were about to flay me alive not ask after my well-being.”

Sniffing, Lydia replies, “I might be your manager but I’m also your friend and it can’t have been easy to find out that your boyfriend was a fucking snake. I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

“Lydia,” Alec starts slowly. “I’m doing just fine. I’m not mad at Magnus. I was just stunned when I saw the magazine article.”

At that, Lydia’s expression changes from caring friend to ruthless agent. “We need to talk,” she says crisply and turns on her heel, walking straight to her office.

Alec follows and sits down in front of Lydia’s desk. He watches as Lydia closes the door and takes a bracing breath before going around her desk to sit in her late model, customized Aeron chair that’d been a gift from him last Christmas.

“Alec, we needed to start damage control hours ago. Have you seen the news,” she demands. “Everyone is calling you a fucking idiot for letting yourself be played by Magnus. When are you planning on ending things-- if you haven’t already,” she asks brusquely, turning toward her computer and skimming through whatever’s on the screen.

“I’m not breaking up with him.”

At Alec’s response, steady and brooking no argument, Lydia looks up from her computer and narrows her eyes. “What do you mean, you aren’t breaking up with him? It’s obvious that Bane had an ulterior motive for dating you. While I know it’s hard, you need to nip this shit in the bud before everyone loses their sympathy and you really do become a goddamn idiot.”

Alec’s eyes flash. “I’m not ending things with Magnus, Lydia. Let’s be clear on that. I don’t blame Magnus and if he turns out to be a mistake-- if I’m wrong-- then I’ll eat crow until the goddamn apocalypse. Until that day, I’m standing by him.”

Lydia leans closer, voice taking on a kind of urgency that Alec hasn’t heard since he was caught with that European prince a few years back.

“Alec, I don’t think you understand. Everyone is rueing the day that you’re finally on the other end of the stick. You’ve earned a reputation as a devil-may-care playboy and people are saying that you’re finally getting what you deserve. I’ve had calls from dozens of print and news companies wanting to know what’s going on. People are even going so far as to say that you’ve known since the beginning and the two of you have planned your own con. It’s ridiculous bullshit but since when have the press ever concerned themselves with being practical or even right?”

Alec echoes her movement, leaning close and making sure that he’s looking her dead in the eye when he replies, “I don’t give a flying fuck what they’re saying Lydia. While I didn’t know exactly what Magnus was hiding, I knew enough. I’m not abandoning him to those damned vultures and I’m not holding this against him.”

“Are you really willing to risk your reputation over a goddamn man, Alec? Do you know what people are going to say, if they haven’t started already? They’re going to say that you’ve lost your touch, that you’re another stupid celebrity thinking with his fucking dick instead of his head. Is that what you want? To become the laughingstock of the entire world? Because that’s where you’re heading if you don’t end things.”

“Listen to me carefully, Lydia,” Alec says, voice even. “I like Magnus a lot and even that feels too tame. I’m not giving up on him-- on us-- because a sleazy trash rag wrote an unpleasant article about him. That’s just not going to happen so I suggest that you get the idea out of your head right now. What I need is for my agent to work with me to minimize the damage.”

Lydia doesn’t say anything for a minute, just sits back in her chair and studies him with a sharp gaze before finally sighing.

“You know that I can’t force you to break up with him, Alec. I can strongly advise but I can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to.”

Shaking her head, Lydia turns back to her computer for a few seconds before swiveling her chair around to the printer. She turns back to Alec when her document finishes printing and slides the pages over to him.

“Damage control, step one--”

“Make a public appearance,” they say together and Lydia grins at him. It’s not soft or even pleasant. It’s sharp and in control and eases something in Alec as he sees his friend rising to the occasion to do what she does best.

“Make a public appearance,” Lydia repeats. “Now, there’s a festival in Paris tomorrow and we could squeeze you into their lineup if you fly out this afternoon. I can have you on a plane in two hours,” Lydia mutters.

“No,” Alec says, firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until I talk to Magnus.”

Seeing that Lydia’s about to protest, Alec sends her a pointed look that she recognizes as meaning that he’s officially dug in his heels. “I need to talk to Magnus and I can’t wait days to do it.” He sighs. “Even if I don’t know if he even wants to talk to me.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to talk to you,” Lydia asks, confused.

Alec sends her an incredulous look. “What do you mean, why wouldn’t he want to talk to me? His entire past has been revealed to the world and it’s because he’s with me.”

“You have to know this isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have protected him, Alec. It was bound to get out sooner or later and there’s nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

“Then, I’m going to do the only thing I can now that it’s happened,” Alec replies resolutely. “I’m going to be there for him as long as he wants.”

“You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you,” Lydia asks, voice traitorously soft.

“Yeah,” Alec admits. “I don’t know if it’ll turn out to be the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever done, but I refuse to regret whatever happens. I’m in this, Lydia. Now tell me what we need to do.”

Lydia nods and points to the pages she’d just printed. The two of them spend hours in her office, pouring over press release drafts and hammering over a schedule. They throw ideas out and debate their merits, their end goal always stopping the gossip in its tracks and protecting Magnus’s-- and Alec’s-- image.

Lydia is on the phone as often as she’s talking to him and it’s late afternoon by the time Alec looks at his cell. He tamps down on the disappointment he feels when he sees that Magnus hasn’t tried to get in touch and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

If Magnus wants space then Alec figures the least he could do is respect that.

Lydia’s just booked his travel to London in a few days and landed him a spot on a few NYC morning radio shows when she abruptly stops her running monologue.

“You should text him.”

Alec sends her an incredulous look. “I don’t think that’s for the best.”

“Why not,” she scoffs. “You’re obviously worried. Plus, this is a shit storm that even we’re caught in. I’m sure Magnus is feeling far worse. You should talk to him.”

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Alec asks with raised brows.

Sighing in her seat, Lydia just gives him a look. “I liked him before this morning and you’re faith in him does him a credit. You’re my friend, Alec-- one of my best friends. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Alec smiles, reaching over to lay a hand over hers. “I appreciate the concern but I’m a big boy,” he says bemusedly. “I can take care of myself.”

Rolling her eyes, Lydia pulls her hand out from under his and goes back to typing the few revisions they’d agreed on.

“Are you sure you don’t want to accept any appearances right now? You know that time is of the essence.”

“I’m sure. I’m not even sure about the damned press releases. I want to talk to Magnus before we send anything to news outlets, okay?”

“Then why don’t you text him,” Lydia asks between clenched teeth.

Rolling his eyes, Alec takes his phone out. He debates what to type but there’s not point in dawdling any further and things have come to a head-- he needs to talk to Magnus and see where they stand but he also needs to look out for his career and tamp down on the looming scandal.

Magnus, when are you free? We need to talk.

He hits send and stares at his phone as if he can will a timely answer. He feels his pulse pickup as he gets a text notification less than a minute after he’d first hit send and takes a deep breath, ignoring Lydia’s steady stare as she watches him from behind her desk.

Opening his thread with Magnus he swallows hard at the reply, feels just the tiniest bit of tension seep from his shoulders.

I’ll be home for the rest of the day. You’re more than welcome whenever, Alexander.

Alec’s standing before he even knows what he’s doing. Shrugging into his jacket, he spares a look at Lydia. “I’m heading over to Magnus’s now. I’ll let you know how everything goes.”

“See that you do,” Lydia replies dryly. “I want a reply within the hour-- don’t make me hunt you down.”

Laughing a little breathlessly, Alec nods before he turns toward the door.

“Alec.”

Looking back, he raises a brow as he sees Lydia studying him with a small smile. “Relax,” she orders. “You’re not going into battle and if Magnus is the one to end things then he wasn’t the right one for you anyway. You need someone who can handle the spotlight. Not someone who cowers away from it.”

Alec wants to protest but finds that he can’t. As much as it pains him to say it, he knows that Lydia is right. Alec signed up for this life and he needs someone who can stand by him, who can brave the press and photographers and relentless scrutiny without shrinking away.

Magnus might not be that person.

But Alec sure as hell hopes he is.

Alec knocks on the door to Magnus’s apartment and takes a breath. He leans against the door jamb and stares at the floor absently, waiting for Magnus to answer.

The door opens less than a minute later and Alec looks up to see that Magnus’s face is a blank slate.

He can see the cracks, though.

The two of them consider each other for a minute, without saying anything. Alec studies Magnus, sees the nearly imperceptible slump of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw. He takes in the way Magnus’s eyes don’t quite meet his and something in him slides into place.

If he’d had any doubt about Magnus’s intentions, they’re easily erased now. Without thinking, Alec pushes off from the side of the door and takes the few steps over to Magnus, wrapping him in his arms for a hug that’s just a hair too tight.

Magnus is rigid in his arms for a few long seconds before he relaxes, bringing his arms up to wrap around his waist. They don’t say anything and Alec finds that the silence speaks louder than most words he could offer.

They hold on to each other and Alec breathes in the scent of sandalwood that’s already so damned familiar.

Magnus is the one to pull away but he doesn’t go far. He pulls back enough to see Alec’s face as he asks, “What was that for?”

“You looked like you could use a hug. And to be honest, so could I.”

Magnus smiles. It’s barely there and easily gone but Alec counts it as a victory nonetheless. Magnus takes a step back before asking over his shoulder, “Would you like a drink?”

Alec raises a brow. “Do I need one?”

“I guess that depends on how long you’re planning on staying.” Magnus laughs but it’s an ugly thing-- brittle and just a little broken.

“Hey,” Alec says softly. “Look at me, babe.”

At the name, Magnus’s sends a sharp look to Alec, looking like he doesn’t know how to react.

“I’m here because I want to be, Magnus. Now let’s talk.”

Magnus eases out a breath before picking up his half-empty glass. “If you insist.”

Alec sits down first, choosing one end of the couch. He’s a little confused-- apprehensive-- when Magnus chooses the chair across from him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

They look at each other, mouths parted in surprise as they both apologize at the same time. Magnus looks at him bewildered. “Why on earth are you apologizing, Alexander?”

Shrugging uncomfortably, Alec says, “If you weren’t with me then the press never would have revealed your past. I’m sorry that happened and that they officially know about us. I’m sorry that you had that taken from you and that I’m partly to blame.”

Frowning, Magnus is shaking his head before Alec even finishes. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, darling. I knew what being with you meant and I chose to take that chance. I’m sorry for not telling you before you had to hear it from someone else. I can’t imagine that was pleasant and honestly, I’m just glad you’re here at all.”

Alec listens to Magnus’s words and something eases in him as he realizes that Magnus isn’t angry at him. He can’t ignore the rest of what he’d said, though.

“Magnus, you told me that you had a past and that you weren’t ready to tell me. I respect that-- still do. You don’t need to tell me anything that you don’t want to.”

Magnus throws him a dry look. “You probably know quite a bit at this point.”

“Still,” Alec insists. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to tell me any more details.”

“I think we passed that point when Idris News published that article. That’d be a bit like closing the gate after the horse has escaped, wouldn’t it?”

It’s quiet for a minute and Alec doesn’t know what to say, how to let Magnus know that he doesn’t think less of him now that he’s found out a little of his past.

“If you want to leave, you’re more than welcome to. No questions asked, darling.”

Alec’s gaze snaps up as he meets Magnus’s. “What,” he asks dumbly.

Waving a negligent hand, Magnus gestures toward the front door. “Even if you aren’t angry at me-- which I don’t even begin to comprehend-- there’s little doubt that you don’t want to be with me anymore. So please, feel free to leave. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings-- Magnus,” Alec asks in a strangled voice. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Magnus takes his time answering and Alec hopes to God that he’s not imagining the emotion swimming in his eyes. “I’m a liability for you now, Alec. It’s well known-- I know-- that your career always, always comes first. I refuse to be something that holds you back. You can’t very well be with someone with such a sordid past.”

“You never--could never-- hold me back. I like you, Magnus, and a story in a trashy magazine won’t change that.”

“My father is one of the worst criminals in the United States, Alexander.” Magnus’s voice is quiet as he continues, “That’s too much.”

“It’s not too much for me,” Alec argues. “For fuck’s sake, you know what a nightmare my dad is and you still listened, you were still there for me. Give me the same chance. Or have you already figured everything out?”

“I haven’t figured anything out, Alexander,” Magnus snaps. “I woke up this morning on top of the goddamn world and here I am less than twelve hours later telling you things that I’d really rather wouldn’t. I’m flying by the seat of my fucking pants right now.”

“Then let’s talk this through.”

“Let’s,” Magnus says bitterly. “What do you want to know? Yes, I loved my father and as much as it pains me, I still do frighteningly often. No, I had no idea that he was a swindler to rival Madoff-- that he was a right bastard that neither wants nor needs anyone’s forgiveness. Yes, I had to deal with the goddamn media circus his trial turned into when I was in high school and yeah, I bounced around the foster care system until I went to college.”

He laughs but it’s derisive. “Yeah, I have a bit of a record-- the cops busted me a time or twelve for spray painting the school or for drinking up on the ridge. Yeah, maybe I’ve worked my fucking ass off to be better than that-- to leave that version of me with its daddy issues and blistering anger away. Is that enough talking? Or do you want to hear about how life was a fucking nightmare before I left the city and my records were sealed? About how I heard the whispers behind my back every goddamn day about how the apple didn't fall far from the tree, that I was ruined.”

Alec takes in Magnus’s scathing words, his anger and hears the strain of bitterness etched into his impassioned speech. Before he quite knows what he’s doing, he finds himself kneeling in front of Magnus, resting hesitant hands on his thighs.

Magnus watches him with barely concealed dread and regret already simmering at his outburst.

“Listen to me,” Alec says quietly, stubbornly keeping eye contact. “I don’t care who your father is. I care who you are. Yeah, I want to know the boy you were but really? I just want to know the man in front of me.”

He smiles a little, lips barely turning up. “I happen to like him quite a lot,” he confesses. “I love his intelligence and kindness and wit and sense of humor. I like that he’s built a life for himself that seems damned satisfying. I’m proud of him and I’m thankful that he likes me. So, your dad’s in jail. Unfortunate but not the end of the world. Want to know a secret?”

Magnus nods mutely.

Leaning closer, Alec murmurs, “I’m head over heels for you, babe. I don’t think there’s much you could do-- much you could tell me at this point-- that would change that.”

“Darling,” Magnus says, voice cracking. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Our relationship was always going to be fodder for the press. But add my history? It’s just turned into a media frenzy.”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Alec says firmly. His eyes search Magnus before he quietly adds, “Together.”

“And what if it ends up being too much? What if I’m too much for you?”

Humming, Alec thinks for a second. “And what if I’m too much for you? I’d be the first one to admit that this life-- the life I’ve chosen for myself-- isn’t the easiest. Are you sure you want to put yourself through that, even considering your past?”

“Of course, Alexander. I decided months ago that you were worth it.”

“Then trust me when I say that you’re worth any possible media shit storm that comes our way.”

Seeing Magnus’s uncertainty, Alec reaches a hand up, placing careful fingers under his chin. “There’s nothing ugly about you, Magnus. You’ve got me,” he says quietly. “As long as you want me.”

Magnus studies Alec. He feels like his boyfriend is peering into his goddamn soul and takes a shaky breath.

This is it.

He’s laid himself bare. He’s done everything he can to make Magnus see that Alec is in this, all the way.

He wonders if it’s enough.

If he’s enough.

Magnus lifts a hand, sweeping a gentle thumb over Alec’s cheek.

“I want you, Alexander. You’ve got me as long as you want me.”

Alec smiles, using the hand still under Magnus’s chin to tilt his head. He leans forward and kisses him. It starts slow with an undercurrent of wonder and a shuddering sense of familiarity that Alec finds himself craving.

They kiss for long minutes, losing themselves in it. Magnus widens his knees, letting Alec fall closer. It turns hungry and heated and Alec gasps into Magnus’s mouth and a particularly sharp nip of teeth.

“I want you, Alexander,” Magnus breathes, kissing down his throat, and Alec pulls back, breathing harsh in the stillness of the room.

“You can have me.”

Magnus’s eyes, hazy with lust, sharpen at his words. “Darling?”

Alec’s mouth tilts up in a grin. “I’m all yours,” he says and feels giddy as the words leave his lips.

He’s confused as Magnus stands up, takes a step away from him. Looking up, he sees Magnus watching him with glowing eyes that makes Alec’s breath catch in his throat.

They’re full of everything he’s ever wanted.

“Magnus?”

Holding out a hand, Magnus smiles, tilting his head toward the hallway.

“I think it’s time we moved things to my bedroom, darling. Don’t you?”

Alec feels lightheaded as he stands, taking Magnus’s outstretched hand.

Magnus pulls him closer until Alec bumps against his chest, their hand still intertwined.

He doesn’t think-- can’t-- not when Magnus makes him so goddamn dizzy with lust and want and--

And.

He lets his boyfriend guide him to the bedroom and surrenders to Magnus.

Always Magnus.

[oaesiir-beloved-of-heaven]

How Mowing Your Lawn will Save American Civilization

A little neglect may breed mischief ...

for want of a nail, the shoe was lost;

for want of a shoe the horse was lost;

and for want of a horse the rider was lost.

—Benjamin Franklin

Poor Richard's Almanac, preface (1758)

American habits our forefathers practiced are often the subject of ridicule today. The image of the American father has changed in modern perception; he is now fat, bumbling, politically backward, balding, an alcoholic who's chief indulgence is piss beer. The image of such a man in shorts drinking a Monster Zero riding his lawnmower at the crack of dawn is now a literal meme across the internet.

Make no mistake; such critical viewpoints are another symptom of the self-flagellating masochism which has gripped the American people for nearly a century. Optimism and zeal gave way in the modern discourse to malcontent and apathy after the first nuclear bombs were dropped on Japan. From our newfound place of unquestionable superiority Americans began to ask new questions from the safety of supremacy so far removed from the struggle that put them there: have we gone too far? Have we traveled across the last frontier and made it from sea to shining sea in the name of an Empire of Liberty only to have lost ourselves along the way? Can a nation such as ours even exist - does it deserve to exist?

Self-criticism is indeed a virtue and it has been practiced in the American people since household names like Paul Revere and Patrick Henry questioned the merit of the Constitution we now know as our founding document. Later it manifested when people like Henry David Thoreau refused to pay taxes which he knew would go to support the Mexican-American War which he - wrongly - felt was an unjustified act of imperialist aggression.

It’s important to be able to have something to measure yourself against whether it be a moral standard or a friend who is the whetstone that keeps your mind sharp. But what we see now is quite different. We are not seeing critics of American policy and culture coming from a place of love and admiration but rather malice. These critics do not want to see America do better because we can be better but rather they want the Republic to fail and be replaced with something more to their liking, damn the rest of the American people.

Let’s ask ourselves not just what today’s criticisms of American habits are but where they come from. Isn’t there a difference between a friend at the bar telling you that you’ve had a bit too much to drink and an adversary among your peers who considers the mere presence of a bottle of whiskey in your home as a sign of crippling dependency?

Who really is benefiting from the collapse of American self-confidence? It’s not you or me, it’s not our allies, it’s not the free world, nor our communities, municipalities, states, and greater democracy. What Americans need now is to reclaim themselves and their virtues and not abandon them wholesale.

The unique and truly powerful aspect of America’s democracy is that its maintenance falls to all citizens and not a political class. The already quoted Benjamin Franklin was an advocate of the necessity of an educated class of voters who were politically and civically active. The goals of such virtue can be found all over the many institutions of America he helped establish like fire departments and public libraries. It does not fall to the government alone or the elite to maintain society but the active efforts of us all. Civic virtue is the heart and soul of a voluntary society.

Now that I’ve impressed all this upon you the inevitable question must be arising: what does this have to do with lawn care?

Have you ever remarked on the true difference between a cultured and uncultured lawn? Many people consider the mere act of attempting to tame the wilderness on their property a Sisyphean one to be delegated to others if it is to be done at all. But allow me to describe to you the consequences of not tending one’s lawn particularly if you are like me and live in the wilderness where nature is not far away.

In tall grass parasites and other harmful insects come to reside. Ants inevitably make their homes in the soil with the other smaller creatures nearby being a natural source of food with the tall grass providing excellent protection for their mounds. Mice, opossums, armadillos, squirrels, badgers and other small mammals will also find solitude and resources within the fields. Then come snakes looking for meals and like the ants shelter in the soil beneath the tall grass. Soon coyotes and wolves will come looking for food as well with the overgrown ground being perfect hunting ground. Trees and other thick foliage can grow making traversing the ground and assessing it difficult. Nevermind the hazard and untended tree can pose to people or their property. Not all the plants will be benign either; thorns, poison ivy, thistles and other harmful nuisances will emerge. The more wild the acre the more wildlife will come to call it home. Soon enough you’re living in the middle of a small forest that is anything but suited to your comfortable living or the pleasure of your guests and neighbors. A hole or two could appear in the ground as well and you’d never be the wiser or perhaps a bog.

It is clear now to the astute reader what merit my quote has at the beginning of this essay. A simple weekly ritual taking only a few hours of your day might prevent all of these calamities. Though many of us would rather others do it or simply not do it at all I believe it is an edifying exercise of body and mind. A well-groomed property has many possibilities. New spaces for recreation and projects, habitation for animals that might prove beneficial for food, work, or as companions. Trees, plants and crops which while not enough to take to market might prove a healthy snack while out and about or simply a conversation piece and another reason your friends and neighbors love to visit because it means succulent pears or juicy persimmons.

This is not a simple statement of my love for landscaping or a suggestion you take up the hobby; it is an allegory for how our own virtue in daily life can and will improve our democracy. Too often we shove off our duties as citizens on government functionaries and when we do this we exchange a piece of our freedom for security and hope it doesn’t backfire or such powers do not come into the hands of villains and despots.

It is easy to mock older people and past generations for their seemingly provincial passions and lifestyles. But when we do so we lose something valuable as when we discard a culture or people because we view them as savage and uncouth. I’m not suggesting we should wholesale revive the past with all its ill trappings but consider that perhaps there is something to the more grounded practices of our parents and grandparents and beyond. Think about all the things they know/knew how to do but you’re clueless on. How does that negatively impact you? How does it negatively impact your community? Let’s not get bogged down in archaic reaction and get locked into the idea of turning back the lock; that’s not what this is about. It’s about sifting through the living examples of our ancestors and harvesting gold from mud. It goes beyond simple lawncare. America is not a nation of blood and soil but almost a religion maintained by our beliefs and the practice of those beliefs. That the best person to govern a community is its constituents. How can we maintain such a free society without a morally astute, self-reliant people? We cannot. Our goal should be to mold ourselves into such people. A man who can take care of himself is a free man. Together with the product of our own labor in hand we can contribute to the common weal overall. This is the frontier mindset. The free man’s mindset. We do not sit idly by and let our world pass us by; we ride the tiger, we tame the bucking bronco.

Now the full breadth and scope of this practical analogy is revealed to you. We must reclaim the American spirit of independence and self-reliance to maintain a voluntary and democratic society. Put down the comic book and grab a newspaper. Seek out real edifying literature that informs you about the doctrines and theories of our government and practical books that can make you more handy. Go less to the auto shop and pick up a Hayne’s manual and some tools. Learn some simple homespun recipes and stop eating out whenever hunger calls. Pay more attention to your local government and find ways you can make your voice heard and exert your will in the ballot box. This is the truest way to a free society: one where we are less dependent and more independent. One where we have the power and tools to more readily help and advise our neighbors and we have the skills and resources to collaborate. It makes our modern society with all its hard-won excess and bounty a boon and not a dependence to survive.

It’s warming up outside; the sun is out more and a cold breeze is always at your back. So why not roll up your sleeves and do your part to make your community that much greener and yourself that much more free?

[queengeekrose]

Setbacks and Mental Health

As some of you know, I started streaming on Twitch last summer, in July, as a way to help me manage my mental health and deal with some of my issues that I have because I'm almost completely housebound. Being housebound like I am means I have very little interaction with other people, except online, and what I do have tends to be limited to doctors and other people who are also ill, or to people who are seeing me in a very limited set of circumstances, most of which are not positive, and people tend to judge me rather harshly for, for a variety of reasons. It makes my introverted nature and extreme shyness and social anxiety a lot harder to deal with, especially since I hear a lot of very rude comments whenever I go out, because I have very good hearing, and sadly, I am far too used to hearing this type of thing. I've been hearing abusive comments thrown at me since I was old enough to understand words, from one person or another. Most of them I can just let roll off my back, but some bother me, a lot. I get triggered, in the true meaning of the word, by some of the comments and I start to backslide into mental health issues that are scary and it can take days, week, or even longer to pull myself back out of those pits. I haven't really talked about it with anyone online, honestly, but maybe I should. Maybe I should bare my soul and be honest about what happened to me over time, instead of just hinting at things and letting people draw their own conclusions. It might help me deal with things too. I'm not really sure.

Some of the things I've taked about in my writing, extensively, happened to me. Others I drew from experiences I helped others get through. All of them however do have more than a large helping of truth to them, when I was describing the hardships of abuse, mental torture, rape, violence, kidnapping (someone I knew in college was grabbed by an ex and held against her will for about six days, she was extremely traumatized and had to leave school because of it by the end of the semester and ended up moving in with me for a few weeks before that, because she felt safer around me than anyone else), eating disorders, anxiety and panic attacks, and painful shyness. I have even talked a bit about PTSD in my stories, and ADHD. All of these things I'm pulling from my own experience, to make my writing as real and human as possible, even though I'm trying to write a character other people can relate to as well. What I'm trying to do is flesh out enough realism to give 'you' a backstory without taking over whatever headcannon you are creating for yourself in the story, when I do that, so I borrow very heavily from my own experiences to keep the experience geniune and grounded. I want thing to be so real you can picture them vividly in your head and immerse yourself, not get lost because something seems inauthentic or wrong, so I tend to pour myself into the writing, more and more, as time goes on. And it's somewhat cathartic too, to a degree, to write about some of the issues I've been through. Don't misunderstand me in anyway please. It's still extremely hard to think about to talk about with anyone and still feels like an open and bleeding stab wound most days, but maybe now it feels like the knife has been removed and the bleeding has slowed a bit, to the point it's not so dangerous anymore. I can cope with things a lot better, most of the time. My writing gave me a lot of my mental piece of mind back.

And then I found streaming and the online communities on Discord and Twitch. This really turned around a lot more then. I had suffered a major mental setback when my father died, even though we were estranged, for a variety of reasons, and mental health had reached an all time low. I went to a doctor and started some new medicines, which helped, slowly, and after about four months on them, I was able to function somewhat normally again a bit. That's when I found Twitch and really threw myself into streaming, modding, and Discord, communicating with people that way. It helped me pull myself back out a lot faster and basically reset my mental health meter to normal much more quickly and stay balanced, with fewer slips. I still had a few day to day struggles with things, like remembering to eat, something I had gotten out of the habit of doing much of, or really at all, when my mood swung started to slip. It had been nearly a year, really, since I had eaten normally, if I'm being honest. That means, as of writing this, in February of 2019, it's been over two years of me having little to no appetite, often skipping meals or forcing myself to eat just one meal a day. I had a lot of medical treatments in there too that made me nauseated and I threw up anything I did eat. Sadly, I never lost a large amount of weight and I am still rather overweight. I did lose some, not that I was really trying to at any point, I just haven't had the appetite or desire to eat anything and facing for often seems like too much for me.

Twitch helped me find people with similar interests and helped me find new areas I was able to absolutely shine in. It didn't matter that my legs didn't work normally, I had a natural talent for keeping communities in line as a moderator on streams for other people. So what if I was a bit overweight? I could make badges and emotes that people liked. Who cared if I struggled with shyness in person? The internet was a great buffer and it meant I never actually saw who I was talking to directly in my streams. I was just talking to names. And yes, sadly I did get trolls. But not that many really, compared to a lot of women I've talked to. I figured it was just soemthing I'd have to live with. Mostly I got them early in my streaming career and they came in and heckled me about my weight, I kicked them out and it was over, I moved on, no harm no foul. I mostly even forgot about them pretty immediately. They didn't leave any lasting impact on me because as I said, I've been hearing that kind of comment, or ones like it all my life.

The trolling I got last week on Wednesday night was different though. For the first time ever it was very sexual in nature. It made me extremely uncomfortable. There were three trolls involved as well. The first was fairly harmless, just egging the second on, who I warned several times, then timed out and eventually banned. The third crossed several lines and has caused me so much emotional and mental distress I have been struggling with severe relapses of my major depressive disorder, PTSD, and even dissociating, which my family doesn't know about. I don't know how to tell them about it. They think it's just me spacing out or my mind wandering, not that I'm literally unable to answer and I lose chunks of time, even if I've answered. I didn't even realize I had been dissociating again until a friend told me he had said things to me and I couldn't recall any of those conversations, nor most of the evening really. I realized I had large gaps in my memory of what had been going on with small breaks in the fog that were clear, what usually happend when I'm having my episodes, and I knew I had to do something. I had to take a step back. I don't dissociate unless something is seriously wrong, obviously.

Now, I'm sure all of you are wondering just what happpened that triggered me so badly that night. I'll explain. First, those two trolls shook me up pretty badly. Like I said, I'm extremely introverted and streaming is already a struggle for me a lot of the time, even if I put on a good front and can act like it's no big deal. Inside, I'm terrified. It wears be down and wears me out. Dealing with trolls in my own stream is hard on me. (On other people's channels, I have no problems, when I'm the mod. I know it's my job and they trust me to handle things.) Secondly, there was a later troll who came into the stream who sent me a direct message, without ever addressing the stream, asking me personal questions like what I was wearing, then trying to buy my panties for insanely large amounts of money. That triggered my PTSD very badly. In college, I had had a guy attempt to sexually assulat me and call me a whore, offering me increasing large amounts of money, much the same way. I only got away because I kicked him off me and screamed for campus security, who heard me and hauled him off. I never told my family about it, mainy because I hate talking about it and don't want to bring it up. I will say though, I don't think he was getting up quickly from my kick at the time. It was before I was in a wheelchair and I had a very powerful set of legs and actively practiced kickboxing. But regardless of that, it triggered me very, very badly the other night, and I'm still suffering occassion episodes. I have a doctor's appointment scheduled very soon, and I intend on talking to her about what to do then, if things haven't gotten back to normal by then, but in the mean time, I'm immersing myself in my usually stress relieving activities and taking a short break from Twitch and twitter to get my mental health back in order.

Sadly one of the side effects of all the mental health issues I struggle with is terrible insomnia. It means many nights I'm unable to sleep, or sleep only a few hours. I know it makes my friends and family worry, but I can't help it. It's all my brain is letting me get. I nap when I can. If I try to sleep more, I have horrible, terrifying nightmares and sleep paralysis. I also just can't sleep. I'm really trying to do my best here everyone. Please know that. I appreciate the worry. Just know I'm still here, struggling on, one day at a time. That's the real meaning behind #PMA (Positive Mental Attitude) after all. Just doing my best, moving forward a day at time and not giving up. It's also why I try to pay it forward as much as I can and make sure everyone else is happy and taken care of too. Stay safe and happy everyone. I love you all!

QueenGeekRose

[storytimejustice]

October 6th: Tree

The new and first president of Elkmire Cain Roth had just landed on the small island that used to be named the Kingdom of Stars. It's the last place where native Primwallians have homes and he hopes to tear that apart. But little does he know there's a lily pad stuck to the bottom of his ship with two girls inside that refused to allow that to happen.

"President Cain Roth gaining more land for Elkmire to prosper" "President Roth rehoming natives and merging them with civilization" "The new president is doing something the heroes refused to do in procuring this land and helping the natives" different medias read flooding the screens and pages across Elkmire.

"You're absolutely crazy." Florina said towards Totsi as she threw her bow over her shoulder and grabbed a singular arrow, tossing her hair braided with a pegasus feather over her right shoulder. Florina grabbed her sunflower bracelet and the rose that she intertwined in her hair and finally grabbed a small beige pouch that seemed to be filled with sand. 

"Then why are you coming with?" The older girl asked as she walked through the portal on the roof of Starlight mansion and winding up in the Celestial castle.

"Because you'll need backup and I care about your family's history not being lost to time. I know I'm just a descendant of an Earthling but I don't follow Roth's mindset. You know no one in Chimera Blade does." Florina explained as the two walked up to a map on the wall.

Totsi pressed the arrow against the wall and watched it disappear but left her hand there and Florina took a pinch from the beige pouch and blew it toward the map while Totsi spoke out "Cain Roth". The two girls saw swirling colors around them and then when they reappeared they were on top of the main mast, Florina lashing out vines to grab Totsi and keep them locked onto the mast. "Sometimes I hate that map." Florina whined as the two looked around seeing that Roth had already begun traveling towards the Kingdom of Stars. Overnight while the ship carried itself over the waves towards its destination Totsi and Florina had moved into the lily pad under the ship. 

As the sun rose to begin a new day Roth and his crew walked off the boat and onto the beach and they began placing small figures on the soil ahead. "Grandir" Roth spoke and the figures grew to become large machines with blades to chop down trees and some bulldozers. Florina had controlled the lily pad making it grow larger and cover the duo and move over to the beach. Putting her fingers to her lips the lily pad shrunk and flew into a small hidden pouch on her dress and as they were about to go around the other side of the beach Florina ran over to the ship and shoved a small seed into hole in the wood before following Totsi.

Totsi faced the rubble before her that used to be the kingdom of stars before Nova had totaled the island by finding and taking the Phoenix pendant. Although if the Earthlings hadn't built over the ruins they wouldn't have had to worry about the world falling apart around them. Pulling her bow off her shoulder Totsi pulled the string back and Florina put a seed pinched into the string. As an arrow of light appeared the seed coiled around it and as it was fired into the rubble vines lashed out lifting different portions and creating a tunnel through it and a secret shortcut to Totsi's family.

Sadly they were too late though. As they arrived Roth was already in front of the small village and trees were being chopped away and rows of white sage that grew on a nearby hill was being harvested while Totsi's family stood still and scared between Roth and their village. Their last piece of history. 

"You get your family to safety." Florina mumbled to Totsi and blades of grass flew up around Florina and she was gone but Totsi heard a loud rumble and looked over as the harvester that was stealing the white sage was being crumbled by vines and Totsi nocked an arrow.

"I recommend staying away Mrs. Osyka." Roth stated and the earth moved below her but she moved nimbly evading a large stone that protruded through the earth. "You know I can split this land in half and send them straight into Bile's domain. I recommend just allowing me to work. And I'm guessing from the harvester that Florina is with you but I brought someone to deal with her." Roth informed but barely dodged an arrow of light.

"If you split open this land you don't have the power to keep the water from the ocean pouring in and you don't have the power to put it back together to build upon it." Totsi hummed catching his bluff and dodging another unearthed chunk of rock. "You're weak to take from my family. The Earthlings that did before are weak too. They think that power lies in strength but really power lies within hidden weaknesses and strength lies in the ability to know when you're outmatched." Totsi hummed and spun her bow and fired another arrow, her eyes darting everywhere across Roth's body. He dodged the arrow but didn't see the air bullets coming and got hit with each one sending him flying backwards and causing bruises to quickly form. "They don't break the skin but they can break bones. You have many weaknesses from your sense of you being royalty because of your position to your posture as you use your spells. You leave yourself very very open." Totsi hummed and when she looked over, flower bulbs surrounded each of the remaining natives and they burrowed into the ground. 

"Well now that I kept you busy with my monologuing" Totsi hummed and a gust of air planted Roth against the ground giving Totsi time to look around and see that all the machines were crumbled and coiled up with vines. Cain was getting angry and Totsi could tell as his attacks seemed to be getting faster and more random but all of the members of Chimera Blade had trained for fights against him knowing it'll come down to him or the heroes in the end. With one more gust of air Roth flew backwards and Florina appeared behind him with her sunflower shield catching him and forcing him towards the ground before vines entangled him and began creating a slingshot. As the slingshot released Totsi gave it an extra blast of air and they watched as Cain was shot into the distance and made a large splash about 500 feet into the ocean.

"Hey I have something I need to take care of real quick. Make sure your family is okay. Also look out for a flamehead he's the only one I wasn't able to take down from Roth's crew." Florina hummed and Totsi watched as the bulbs that had submerged underground reappeared above ground and unfurled showing Totsi's family. As soon as they all seemed to get their surroundings and take in what had happened Totsi had them all in a group hug having not seen them in years.

Florina had made her way back to the ship dropping pinches from the pouch she had with her along with dropping small nuts and seeds as she walked until she made her way back to the ship. Sensing the small seed she planted within the ship and the seeds and nuts she dropped on the way and the trees that had been chopped down Florina got into a meditative state and focused pouring all of her magic out. A tree grew through the full length of the ship and embedded its roots into the salt water and sand below and small plants and regular sized bushes and huge trees began erupting across the land including surging through all of the crumbled machines and surrounding the small village of natives.

Everything seemed fine until she heard a chuckle and heat. Florina's eyes snapped open as the last of her magical energy coursed out of her and turned around to see one of the Flame Runners from the beginning of Roth's campaign. Florina stood up wavering a bit from how much energy she just poured out but she still had her sunflower shield grown and she was ready to fight. As fire surged towards her though it was cut short by a gust of air and Florina watched as the ocean around her began picking up until a wave came in and right hooked the Flame Runner into a tree and for just a second Florina thought that she saw a face in the tree she had grown through the ship. 

It was a week after Florina and Totsi had stopped Roth's attack on the remaining native land and it was still the talk of the media speaking ill words of the natives and of the heroes leading to members of Chimera Blade taking turns watching over the natives and the island to make sure no one would attack.

Totsi and Florina had gone back together once to regrow the white sage and Totsi used a bundle of it to cleanse the toxic land.

Just because something is easy to take doesn't mean you should. White sage is now an endangered plant and is being stolen from Native American land. If you are not Native American do not use white sage to cleanse. If you do wish to use Salvia apiana I recommend finding a way to grow it yourself. Although there are other sages you can grow or get that aren't endangered nor stolen from Native American land. (Yes I know some spots of the internet say it is not even close to endangered but from what I understand they're talking about two different white sages and Salvia apiana is endangered)