#last night i ripped the tape and was like SURELY i can allow myself to get a proper one.

[b-blushes]

compromised 👍

[ask-sensei-lord-garmadon]

There and Back Again - Pt 3 [FINAL]

Word Count: 1584

Brief Summary: Exploring what the main team has been up to (Garmadon, Clouse, Skylor, Goonie, Lloyd, and the main 4) while we’ve been with Nya and the Facility Crew. As they finish packing for Garmadon and his team to move into Chen’s old and rotting Monastery, Clouse continously fails to get ahold of Master Chen, who stayed behind at the Noodle Shop. That is, until...

CW: General fighting, no blood DISCLAIMER: I did not edit this one I just wanted to get it out there so please ignore any writing mistakes, writing isn’t my forte!

! THIS IS GOING TO BE POSTED IN MULTIPLE PARTS, 1,000 WORDS AT A TIME FOR EASY READABILITY !

There was a bright flash of white in front of Garmadon as the figure stood, it’s form beginning to contort and twist into something much more… Familiar.

“I am so fed up with you!” Garmadon whisper-yelled as he dragged his hands down the front of his face, the Oni in front of him offering a wry grin as her form finally focused. She ran her hands through the mane on the back of her head before shaking off any dust that had settled on her fur.

“Whaaat, do you really think I would not have come to investigate? I have known you for hundreds of years, pup.” Mystake growled happily before putting her hands on her lower back to pop her spine, “Besides, the scent of your brother’s pathetic rock soldiers is rampant in the place. I would have expected you to come sooner! Have you not been practicing your scent exercises with the incense I gave you? Shame on you!” The older Oni whacked her palm on the backside of Garmadon’s head as she walked past him, leaving the other blinking in surprise before he frowned and began to follow.

“My brother’s--” Garmadon muttered as he rubbed the back of his head, then nearly jumping, “And Chen was here all by himself! And me and Clouse separated!” He said in a hushed, panicked tone, to which Mystake raised her brow and only motioned for the other to follow.

Taking in a breath through her nose, Mystake headed toward the door leading into the back rooms, Garmadon following closely behind her. Quietly opening the door, the two stepped inside the kitchen areas, darkness greeting them when the door shut behind them. Their eyes both stuck out like sore thumbs, glowing in the dark where there was otherwise no light; but, however, this allowed them to see anyway. The two began to make their way through the kitchen and into the supply room where Clouse usually kept his transcribed spellbook hidden. 

“I smell them.” Mystake said in a low voice, moving to crouch on the ground as she turned into a rat with another flash of light. Garmadon tiredly watched as she scurried away, then groaning. “Yes, I’ll just, deal with them myself.” He muttered, rolling his eyes before running a hand through his hair. Garmadon then drew in a deep breath, each of his four hands enveloping in a purple glow while he continued to walk deeper into the supply room. His pupils became slits as he looked around, brows furrowed. He didn’t hear anything. He didn’t see anything. He didn't smell any…

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a body slammed against Garmadon’s back, nearly sending him falling to the ground. Out of instinct he immediately spun on his heel and kicked the figure back, sending the tallest masked goon into a supply rack. The rack toppled over as Garmadon regained his balance, and two identical goons leaped out from behind an opposing rack. This time, he was ready, and Garmadon spun and caught the two below his upper set of arms, then spinning around quickly and throwing them both against the wall.

Taking in a breath, Garmadon looked down at his hands for a moment, which were brimming with a purple energy-- an unstable purple energy. He frowned and quickly shook the power from his hands before going to jog down one of the aisles. He had to find Chen and Clouse, then get out of there. Mystake could handle her own.

As Garmadon quietly walked between the racks of merchandise and cans- like Chen really had his food made fresh- he could hear the steps of the remaining two goons in the room. One had heavy, focused steps, while the other had light and uncaring ones. Garmadon grimaced as he stepped over one of the fallen supply racks, before he felt a hand grab his ankle. He almost instinctively moved to kick it away, but instead saw Chen-- really Chen this time-- hiding under one of the cheap plastic tables. He motioned for Garmadon to stay quiet, Garmadon nodding before crawling under the table as well.

Chen looked roughed up, but fine. Hair a mess, a small bruise on his cheek, and unusually focused. Had he not thought so already, Garmadon would’ve known this was serious just by Chen’s expression alone. Chen then gestured for Garmadon to follow him, pushing out a fake tile on the floorboard and beginning to crawl underneath. Garmadon glanced around one last time to ensure the coast was clear before following his teacher.

Soon the two found themselves underneath the establishment, where Clouse kept his serpent and where Chen kept his… Strange hobbies confined to. Garmadon was sure to replace the tile before he had finished climbing down, but remained antsy. “What happened?” Garmadon asked quickly, running his hands through his hair while his bottom pair fiddled with their thumbs. “Clouse left to go pick up Skylor, you know how I feel about overnight stays with your students-- Mainly Kai, sheesh,” Chen started as he began to walk, Garmadon subconsciously following, “I was just ensuring there wasn’t going to be another break in for the night! I was locking the doors, windows, and even my trapdoors down! But of course, somebodIES left the back door open!” He huffed, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “Jay and Kai.” Garmadon muttered as he shook his head, now both sets of hands fidgeting, “Master Chen, I am so sorry. I’m sure they just forgot, in the heat of the moment, lots of things haven’t gone right tonight, and,” “Oh, save yourself the trouble and forget about it! I don’t care! What I DO care about is that brother of yours uprooting my life for the third time now! First during the Serpentine Wars, second after that whole bad noodle scandal, now this!” Chen groaned, leaving Garmadon to decide he didn’t want to know what the bad noodle scandal was. There was silence for a moment before Chen sighed again. “No, not even then am I too upset. Tell me, where’s Clouse?” Chen asked as they reached the main chamber, finding the Anacondrai serpent gone. Garmadon blinked for a moment before he scowled.

“That-- He better not have up and left! You can’t drive a car, and I can’t fit in a driver’s seat! Oh, realms help us if one of the boys drives-- Can Skylor drive? She--” “You always jump to the worst conclusions.” Chen said calmly, moving to throw off his feather boa and fix his hair before walking over to the den where the serpent usually slept. He reached his hand out into the den, finding there to be a stiff invisible wall blocking him from doing so. Chen then grinned, knocking on the door politely before it disappeared.

There sat Clouse between the coils of the Serpent, quickly working to piece back together his spellbook with bits of tape. It’d appear the goons upstairs had tried to rip it apart. “Do go on, Garmadon,” Clouse said without looking up, “I am certainly the one you should trust least.” He spat sarcastically, then rolling his eyes. Clouse slid off of the serpent and gingerly shut his spellbook, looking at it a bit worriedly before tucking it under his arm and absentmindedly petting the snake’s nose. “Are we ready to go?” He asked before Garmadon could say anything. “Classic Clousey!” Chen let out a shrill laugh before suddenly turning serious, “But yes. We are.” “... Right, and the serpent?” Garmadon asked with a brow raised. “She knows where to go. We had to move her here from the old monastery anyway; she’ll find the way.” Clouse nodded with a flat voice before gesturing to the ladder that led into the back alley. Both Garmadon and Chen nodded before going to the ladder.

Back in the car, Lloyd and Kai both kept their gazes fixated out the window in case there was any trouble. Jay and Cole kept trying to coax the Overlord out of their cookie jar, but they kept whining about how the world was ‘oh, so cruel’. In the furthest back seats, Skylor, Zane, and Goonie sat in silence. “Aw, come on, it can’t be that bad!” Cole smiled awkwardly, looking to Jay. Jay only laughed awkwardly and shrugged.

“FIRST MY PHYSICAL FORM, NOW MY WARRIORS! IT'S ALL FALLING APART!” They wailed, Jay then deciding to slowly put the cookie jar lid back on their jar. It wasn’t until then Clouse and Garmadon returned, along with Chen. Clouse quickly returned to the drivers seat, and Garmadon climbed into the passenger. Chen dramatically danced his way all the way to the trunk, where he opened the back before sliding in next to Skylor. He shut the door behind himself before Skylor gave him a hug, which he returned.

Goonie and Zane exchanged glances of unknowingness.

“What happened in there?” Kai managed to ask quicker than Lloyd, leaning toward the front seats with piqued curiosity. Clouse simply adjusted the rearview mirror before starting the car and beginning to drive. “We’ll explain when we get to the old monastery--” Garmadon said as he rubbed at his eyes, “Right now I think everyone needs a good shut-eye. It’s a few hours away! How about some music?” He smiled, the four in the back already accepting they probably wouldn’t hear about what happened for another few days.

And so they set off, to start anew, for what felt like the millionth time.

[sourestlemon]

Let it be known that Iwaizumi Hajime loves Oikawa Tooru’s hands.

He loves everything about him, really, from the big doe eyes to his grating personality and high-pitched voice. But Tooru’s hands are Hajime’s favorite—long and thin and impossibly delicate like a birds wing. But they’re powerful, they can serve a ball so hard nobody can see it until it hits the floor and set with almost impossible accuracy.

Tooru also never takes care of them. Never. His nails are either bitten down to stubs or need to be filed and absolutely doesn’t care when they’re swollen and inflamed to the point where he can’t even pick things up without squeaking. It doesn’t matter though—Hajime is always there to make sure everything is in order no matter how much he threatens to stab him with the file.

Which is how he ended up here. At eleven o’clock at night, forcing Tooru to sit down even though he protests.

“But Iwa-Chan, they don’t even hurt that much.” Tooru huffs while Hajime dragged him by the wrist and made him sit, cross-legged on the floor. He considers ignoring the brunet, but eventually decided against it. Not all idiocy deserved a response, but Hajime has no choice—he either responds or Tooru gives him a pleading look until he does.

“You’re bleeding,” he says simply while digging around for a box of gauze. It’s true—Tooru tore the skin on the side of his swollen palms in open and Hajime doesn’t know how. He just knows he did it. “And you’re apparently incapable of doing this yourself.” The setter seemed almost offended by the last comment, huffing like a wet cat while Hajime made his way back over to Tooru with the gauze.

“Rude, Iwa-Chan! I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself!” He said, staring at Hajime with big, bright eyes that make Hajime want to kiss him senseless. Not that he’d ever tell Tooru—he would rather die.

“But you won’t.” Hajime said while sitting down in front of him and grabbing Tooru’s wrist and setting his hand palm up. Tooru winces—and Hajime can see why; there’s a long, split open gash on the right side of his hand going from his first pinky knuckle to a spot by his wrist almost horizontal with his ring finger. It’s bleeding a bit, but if there’s one thing Hajime’s used to doing is fixing Tooru up when he’s hurt and god, Tooru’s always had delicate skin and eleven hours of volleyball doesn’t do wonders for it.

“I would have!” Tooru let out a quiet hiss when Hajime began to gently wrap the gauze around the tear, making slow circles and layering it on because he is nothing if not through.

“No you wouldn’t have, because you’re an idiot.” Hajime huffed, pausing from wrapping his hand to knock on the top of Tooru’s head, much to the others distress. “See, nothing going on. It’s completely hollow save for a few shitty, shitty thoughts.” He said while going back to drawing the gauze up and around Tooru’s palms and the back of his hand.

“You are SO mean. Such a brute, all the time. Can’t you see I’m injured—you’re bullying an injured person!” Tooru squawked indignantly while Hajime taped the gauze so it would stay in place. The idiot needed his hand bandaged otherwise he’d just keep tearing the skin, he’d done it before when he first got serious about volleyball. Twelve hours of practice and Tooru ripped his hands apart.

Hajime hates nothing more then seeing Tooru hurt, so he’ll do everything in his power to stop it from happening again.

“Your injury is your own fault.” Hajime huffs, dropping Tooru’s hand and shoving him good-naturedly. The other boy flops onto his back with an outraged yelp while Hajime stands up to put the gauze away.

“Iwa-Chan help, I’ve got three working limbs.” Tooru draws out the p in a whine that he knows will force Hajime to help him off the floor. The shorter sighs and offers Tooru his hand. Tooru takes it with his uninjured one and allows himself to be wordlessly pulled up.

“Iwa-Chan it hurts,”Hajime has realized that Tooru has realized that he’s on a roll and that Hajime doesn’t have the heart to say no to him “kiss it, make it better.” It’s a playful demand but Hajime doesn’t deny him and instead, ops to take his injured hand in Hajime’s free hand and gently bring it to his lips. He can feel the warmth through the bandage, and he can feel his cheeks flush and his heart turn into jello on a running vent. Delicate pinks brush Tooru’s high cheekbones as well and Hajime quickly drops his hand and looks away and turn his head almost bashfully. It doesn’t last long however, because Tooru gently put his hands on each side of Hajime’s face, turned him and kissed him before Hajime could blink.

The kiss but soft—Tooru’s lips are dry and soft but Hajime is fairly sure his were worse. It only lasted a second but Hajime wanted it to last forever, until the sun burnt out and the world went with it.

“Was…was that okay?”

“That was perfect.”

[jonspurpleskirt]

An Unlikely Befriending

Summary: Jon gets kidnapped. Jon gets bored. And Jon makes very unlikely friends because of it. Aka: Pen and Paper saves the day (world) and Jon finally gets to have a band. A/N: This is pure fluff, no warnings apply I think. ___

The worst thing about being kidnapped by a crazy mannequin murder clown monstrousity and sitting in a cold, room with creepy wax works, tied to a chair was not the ever present terror. True the fear of Nikola finally deeming his skin good enough and skinning him alive was quite potent, but it wasn't as bad as boredom.

Jon had never taken well to waiting. His mind needed to be occupied 24/7, needed something to latch onto, to obsess about. It's why he became a researcher in the first place. Having most of his freedom taken from him made occupying himself very hard.

At least they still let him eat and drink here and there. Nikola always visited personally, her overly cheery voice bubbling forth as she chattered away while slathering him with lotion or shoving bits of take out food in his mouth. His diet those last two weeks had been very varied and healthy and he had never drank so much water before.

He still probably looked a mess, what with no access to a shower and barely being able to sleep at all. And the constant terror. Oh yeah and the boredom.

Oh the boredom.

Jon was currently sitting in his chair as he was wont to do. Thankfully not nailed down despite all the nagging from Sarah Baldwin. The coffin was singing or moaning with a slight melody behind it, depending on who you asked. And somehow Jon found himself humming along, trying to find a good melody to go with the haunting tune. It wasn't like he had anything better to do and if he didn't start doing something creative his mind would start eating itself soon.

So he hummed, experimenting with the notes, twisting them into something that was reminiscent of circus music and airships. And then he kept humming the melody over and over, forming words in his mind to go with the tune. Once the spark was lit a fire started to burn, the story branching out and out into a twirling mass of chaos and fire.

He had gotten lost in his imagination, hadn't noticed how loud he had become, hadn't heard Nikola approach. Jon screeched when she leant down over him and grinned at him upside down, nose nearly touching his.

Nikola had the gall to laugh at him, no breath fanning over his face as she did so.

"Awww Archivist! I didn't know you had such a nice voice!"

"Hrmph."

"Yes your singing was also quite good!" She straightened herself, back cracking in several places. Striding around his chair she towered over him, tattered, bloody ringmaster uniform filling his field of vision.

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to sing, of course! And the broken repeat is lovely."

"Hm."

"Anyway water time!"

With gleeful cackling she ripped the tape from his mouth, amused enough to not immediately shove the bottle between his teeth.

"There are words to it, too." Jon rushed to say, not exactly sure why. What was he offering her here? A solo performance?

"Oh?" she at least didn't tape his mouth shut again. For now.

After waiting several beats where both stared at each other and nothing else happened Jon dared to speak up again.

"I ah... well I wrote it myself? Not wrote, of course. My hands are tied at the moment-" He was rambling. Nikola had given him the freedom of speech and he was off like a shot, telling her everything about what he had been thinking about before she had interrupted his impromptu jamming session, terror completely terminating his brain to mouth filter.

Nikola, for her part, took it all in stride. She even settled on the floor in front of him, blinking every now and then to indicate that she was still present.

"It's such a shame." she finally spoke, holding the water bottle to his mouth, letting him drink of his own volution for once. "You would have made a perfect piece for the choir. Hm maybe what will be left of you will do."

"I could sing for you now." Jon offered as soon as his mouth was free again.

Nikola startled at the offer and Jon just shrugged as much as he was able to. He'd rather sing to a creepy murder doll than spend one minute longer alone and bored out of his mind. And if he could delay the Unknowing (and the violent removal of his skin) by keeping Nikola entertained than even better.

That sounded like he almost had a plan. Which was untrue. He only had a very strong desire for entertainment.

"No sneaky questions." Nikola warned.

"Promise. I can't guarantee good quality rhymes, though. I'm still workshopping."

Singing out loud what had been in his head was always an awkward affair. He had wanted to start a band with Georgie in uni. But it was exactly because of this that he had never bothered.

"That was fun!" Nikola screamed after he was finished nontheless. Clapping her hands in delight, which created a horrible cracking noise.

"I'm glad? I also DM."

She tilted her head at him. "What's that?"

Jon explained the concept of pen and paper games to her while she rubbed lotion into his skin and had her hooked immediately.

Later that day (or maybe the next day, really Jon had no concept of time anymore) Jon was for the first time allowed out of his chair, carefully rubbing circulation back into his hands. Nikola had only briefly left him alone after watering and lotioning him. They had hashed out what kind of world and system they wanted to use (a horror setting, of course) and then Nikola was off and dragging Breekon and Hope back into the room so they had enough people to play.

Either Breekon or Hope sat down behind Jon, large hands lightly clasping his arms, squeezing every once in a while to remind him that should he try and escape he would only end up in pain.

Jon shifted awkwardly in the grip, unused to gentleness even if it was supposed to be threatening.

"Alright. First, character creation. Who do you guys want to play?"

It became a daily thing. The three beings in his group quickly became addicted to his story telling and to the characters they were allowed to play. Nikola tore through characters, trying on different personalities like pieces of clothing. She had a beautiful eery singing voice, Jon was surprised to find out when she had decided to play a member of a steampunk band.

Breekon and Hope were less manic, too attached to their twins to play anyone else. They changed voices and accents every session, though. Jon deigned to ignore their shenanigans, scared to make them angry. He hadn't had this much fun in ages, he didn't want to loose that.

The two delivery men took turns holding him down while they played, Hope holding onto his arms and Breekon using him like a child would a Teddy bear.

Eventually the three lingered after their sessions had ended, the ropes that tied him to his chair less tight. Jon tried to keep the conversations casual, to not ask all the questions that burned at the tip of his tongue. He found that he didn't need to. Tongue loose from goofing around Nikola was often chatty, Breekon and Hope throwing in their two cents every once in a while.

Eventually the topic about Tims younger brother came up.

"Danny Stoker? Grimauldi skinned him? Hm..." Nikolas head nearly dislodged as she stared at the ceiling in thought. "Noooo." She giggled. "We didn't skin anyone that night, silly! We were scoping out locations for the dance! Danny's little group stumbled into us and got a little confused~"

"But Tim saw Grimauldi rip Dannys skin off of a puppet."

Nikola shrugged. "An illusion. We're good at making you people see things that aren't really there. Yet."

"So Danny is alive?"

"I believe so!~ If he didn't die in a ditch somewhere."

Jon was very careful to keep his voice as soft as possible with the next question. "Could you find him again and bring him to the Institute? To Tim and... I don't know... maybe that's a stupid idea given that he can't be sure it's really him..."

"If I track him down do I get inspiration for my character next session?"

"That's cheating." Breekon complained under his breath behind Jon.

"I... yes?"

Nikola grinned. "Wonderful! I see what I can do!"

Days went by like that, Nikola or Breekon or Hope updating him on Dannys search, which had turned out to be harder than they had thought. Well at least Jon was keeping them busy.

They were in the middle of racing a burning train into the central bank of London when a door creaked behind Jon, bathing the room in technicolour and spiral shapes.

"That is not what I thought I'd find here." A voice that wavered between confused and gleeful mused.

Jon twisted in the grip Breekon had on him. "Hello Michael."

"Hello Archivist. You've found yourself in an interesting situation." The grin Michael shot him was a knife glinting in the light before striking.

"Yes. Why are you here?"

Nikola had let him practice after Jon had explained his lack of training, much more lax with her hostage now that he fed her fascinating stories of blood and gore. So there was no trace of compulsion in his voice when he asked the question.

Michael answered truthfully anyway. "I came to kill you of course!"

"I have dips on that!" Nikola said, voice pleasant and grin feral.

"I'm sorry about that. Would you like to join the game instead?"

Michael stared at him as though he had grown mad. Impressed, curious and lightly terrified. Then it laughed that horrible, headache inducing laugh.

"There's a lot of lies and delusion." Jon coaxed, heart beating out of his chest with nerves.

"He's a good storyteller." Hope added, Nikola and Breekon nodding along.

"Hm alright. I guess I can play for a bit."

It didn't stay just for a bit. Michael stayed through the finale of the story and then demanded to start another, their little ragtag group of definitely not heroes causing more chaos than any other player group Jon had ever DMed before. And that was saying something. Hours upon hours passed, Michael disappearing and reappearing to get Jon coffee and tea to keep his voice from giving out.

In the middle of it all Michael began twitching and twisting, glitching in and out of sight before slumping to the ground with a groan, form for once near comprehensible. Another door opened and out walked Helen looking down at the Distortion in disappointment.

"Oh that didn't destroy you. Shame."

"Helen?"

"Hello Jon! I was coming to rescue you given that Michael got a little distracted. Do you want to come to the archives with me?"

Honestly Jon should have been shocked, probably angry. He was definitely sad. And yet the most he felt was just an overwhelming sense of whelp.

Jon vaguely gestured towards Nikola, as much as Breekons hold allowed him to. "Ask her."

"We're not done yet."

"Later then?"

Nikola considered Jon for a long moment, both staring unblinking at each other. "Give us an hour."

To Jons great surprise Helen just nodded and delicately sat on the chair Jon usually frequented in his "freetime" all prim and proper except for the long sharp fingers curling at the edges like corkscrews.

"Now where were we?"

Michael groaned from the floor for once not smiling. Jon felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

"Are you alright?"

"Been better. Been worse. Let's burn this village down!"

There was no end to the tale they had been playing, not with just one session of playtime. Jon felt a bit bad about that, especially because he had left it at a cliffhanger. No one seemed to be angry at him for it, though. Michael had recovered fast and was again his usual ominous cheery, albeit lightly aggressive self. He poked and prodded at Helen like a curious cat while Nikola massaged lotion into Jons skin for the last time and handed him several expensive looking bottles, rattling down a step by step skin care routine he was to follow to the t or else she would break into his house and do it herself.

Hope patted him on the head. "See you around, Archivist."

"You're really letting me go? Just like that?" Jon still couldn't believe it.

Nikola shrugged. "I found another option. And I'd like to keep doing this after the Unknowing."

"Will that be even possible?"

The grin he got from was not at all reassuring. "I don't know~"

Well that was probably the best he would get from her. Jon gave a hesitant tiny wave and, flanked by both Michael and Helen stepped through their door.

Back at the archive no one had even questioned his disappearance. A fact that made Michael and Helen laugh, even though they both refused to leave as Tim, Melanie and Basira questioned him about his whereabouts.

Martin was the only one who took Jons forced vacation in stride. Maybe he even was a little too happy about a group of mannequins harassing him to take better care of himself.

"You're not compromised now, are you?" Basira asked when Jon had settled back into his office after a long shower.

"No? Because I still don't want the world to end?"

"Good."

Somehow Jon knew that she would still keep an eye on him from now on.

~~~

When the day came to blow up the ritual site Jon hadn't slept a wink in three nights and was overcome by guilt. Despite how aweful his initial time at the circus had been and despite him knowing what horrible things Nikola and her kin did in their freetime, Jon still felt bad about probably killing her.

He tried to rationalize his feelings away, connecting his rising anxiety with the fact that Danny still hadn't been found. It was a flimsy denial.

Tim stayed by his side the whole time, resolute in his burning desire for vengeance. Jon was scared that he would loose him to this, too. Had confessed as much to Michael and Helen, who had taken to keeping at least one door manifested somewhere in the tunnels at all times. The two had started to get along well after some initial disagreement. The Spiral, split as it was between the two of them, was weaker in its influence now, leaving more of Michael Shelley and Helen Richardson to make decisions.

They weren't here now. Daisy, Basira and Tim were, setting up explosives and arguing about rescuing people that were already long dead.

And then Nikola appeared and the dance started and nothing made sense anymore.

Jon woke up six months later, Georgie calling him a monster and Basira giving him a statement to "eat" catching him up on everything he had missed. Tim had miraculously survived, having been dragged through a door by either Helen or Michael. Daisy and Basira had encountered Breekon and Hope, who had argued about what they should do with "Jons feral friends" and in the end had led them savely out of the building before it could go boom, muttering about possible inspiration points.

The only one who hadn't been saved was Jon. He tried not to feel too hurt about that.

Coming back to work was as anti climatic as it had been after the kidnapping. The only one who seemed happy to see him was Martin. He had apologized profusely for the hug and promptly stopped doing so when Jon dashed forward and back into Martins warm embrace, finally breaking down.

He had been too caught up in his crying to make a note of the little kiss Martin pressed into his hair.

They all were a little lost after averting the apocalypse, normal everyday life eluding them. Elias might have been out of the picture for the moment, but Peter Lukas had taken over and fighting against the isolation was taking its toll on everyone.

They were all huddled in the breakroom, faces grim and stewing in silence so as to not break into an arguement when they got their delivery.

Breekon and Hope stepped into the small space with their usual nonchalance dragging a scared young man between them, who had a lot of resemblance to Tim.

"Delivery for Jonathan Sims. Nikola says hi."

Tim was the first one up. "No... No no nononononono that can't be. He's dead. Jon. Jon tell me is that really him?!"

Jon looked at the scared man, who had his gaze locked on Tim, recognition slowly dawning on his face. He Looked and he Knew.

"Yes. No one was killed the night Danny disappeared. His group encountered Nikola and her troupe during a rehearsal, got confused and then lost. And was lost ever since. Nikola told me of this. She promised to find him for me, for you."

That was all Tim needed to rush forward, catching his brother in his arms and hugging him close. "Danny!"

Danny clung back just as tightly, awareness barely back. Still obviously shaken and confused.

Jon smiled at the two delivery men. "Thank you. Will he... will he be alright."

Hope shrugged. "Dunno. Nikola said to make him remember bit by bit. Been not Danny for a long time. Might need to get used to it again."

"We'll take it slow." Tim promised, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Good luck. Hey Archivist, do we get inspiration, too?"

Jon laughed, incredulous. The others in the room watched the exchange with varying degress of exasperation and outrage.

"You know what? Yes. Yes you have. And I'll give you all advantage on your rolls next session. Only that one session, though! Same for Nikola. How is she, by the way?"

Breekon made a so-so sign. "Restless. We've waited over six months to find out what happens after  that cliffhanger you gave us."

"Right." He still couldn't believe it. "Tonight 8 o'clock, my flat?"

Twin grins, the most excited he had ever seen them. "See you then, Archivist."

Tim was still gently hushing his brother, rocking back and forth on his feet to try and calm him down a little. And he still had tears streaming down his face, looking like an absolute wreck. But he still managed to join the unimpressed stares that were thrown his way by everyone but Martin, who at this point had just started to roll with the punches.

"You really befriended the clown club and made them rescue literally all of us?" Basira asked in a deadpan voice.

"I kind of feel cheap now." Daisy muttered. "As though those clowns let us win."

"Look, what can I say? Pen and Paper games are fun. I can't blame them. And Nikola did want to start a band."

"Oh my god." Melanie groaned, her head thunking onto the table. "I can't believe it."

"A band?" Basira asked, suddenly much more alert. They really had gotten quite desensitized to the whole monster thing, hadn't they? "What, you can sing?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. But really. Shouldn't we... I mean shouldn't we focus on Danny? There's a cot-"

"I know." Tim interrupted. "We all know there's a cot. I'll take him home, you keep talking about your weird band plans. Monster boss? We talk later, but... thank you."

Silence reigned long enough to follow Tim out of the Institute before Martin piped up, cheeks reddening before he had even opened his mouth. "Could we... Could we have a taste?"

"A taste? Of what? My voice?"

"Hold up, if Sims is going to sing I'll have to record it." Melanie tapped on her phone and held it into the room as one would do a microphone. "Alright go."

Jon sighed, what he didn't do to keep up the group morale.

"Aww shit." Was Basiras conclusion when he was done. "What kind of music were you thinking of playing?"

"Steampunk."

"Count me in."

~~~

Today had been weird, Jon thought, mind reeling from the whiplash of... kindness? That had happened after the delivery of one Danny Stoker. Granted the last month, no

year

had been weird. But this had topped it all. At least it had been a nice weird.

Jon had nearly forgotten about his appointment with a certain group of Strangers when he got back to his flat, overworked, hungry and still processing. So he should be forgiven for the scream he let out when he saw three large figures huddling on his too small couch.

"You haven't been taking care of your skin at all!"

There was no time to duck away from the cold, hard hands that fluttered all over his body. Nikola squished his cheeks like a proper grandmother, clearly unhappy about their elasticity.

"I was in a coma for six months."

"And awake for a few weeks now." A cheerful male voice said from behind him, bringing the smell of pizza with it.

"We were there he didn't take care of himself at all!" Helen added, putting down several cans of soda and what looked to be instant coffee.

"You're horrible!" Nikola wailed, manhandling him until he was squished between Breekon and Hope. "All my beautiful work! Ruined!"

"Uh... sorry?"

"You can make it up to us with weekly sessions." Michael suggested with a grin.

"Both on Saturday and Sunday!" Helen added.

"I actually planned for Sunday to be band day." Jon lied. "Basira wants to join, by the way."

They were all settled around the small coffee table now, food and drink on the floor so they had enough place to roll their dice.

"Wonderful! What did you think we'd name it?"

Jon tilted his head given the illusion of thinking it over even though he had known what to name his band since highschool.

"The Mechanisms."

[jaebaebie]

Why Us? Why Now? Why Ever? 

In a post apocalyptic world where walkers took over the living, Era realised that she was different from everyone else. Wanting to uncover the reasons to her differences, she embarked on a journey to the West where she met a few Strays,, including a man named Hwang Hyun Jin who, just like her, was cold, hot headed, and full of distrust. She thought they would never get along, but what happens when the two cold hearts start to melt?

STRAY KIDS ZOMBIE AU // WUWNWE MASTERLIST

Chapter 8 ~ “Instincts.. I guess.”

prev // next

The ride back home was quiet with only silent questions lingering in the air. I knew all of them were desperate to know about Levi. Yet, none of them spoke of it, allowing us to recover from the terrifying turn of events.

I wouldn’t have made it alive if it weren’t for the magical appearance of the three guys I was with. I couldn’t even imagine what terrible things could have happened to Levi. He was as good as dead, so I didn’t speak about what actually happened. It felt like the sympathetic thing to do for his friends. To leave them with a memory of how they knew Levi, not with a memory of him being the sad and selfish coward he truly was.

Noticing that my breaths had calmed down, Hyunjin let me go, allowing the cold breeze of wind replace the now-empty space where he used to be. I almost wanted to bury myself back into his chest, wanting to feel his comfort and warmth again.

“Minho, how steadily can you drive?” Hyunjin asked, a bag of surgical thread in his hands. My eyes widened as I shook my head vigorously,

“No freaking way, Hyunjin. Not with his driving.”

I was met with Minho’s frown through the front mirror, followed by his offended scoff. Just then, the car harshly swerved to the right, barely avoiding an abandoned car Minho failed to notice. I held onto the seat in front of me, preventing myself from getting thrown into Hyunjin by the force.

“Point proven.” Han remarked, forming an embarrassed smile on Minho’s face.

 By the time we got back to Camp Miroh, the moon had replaced the sun. The compound was calm. No kids running around. No parties around the campfire. Just the guards either walking around the compound, or stationed at their posts. I only realised how late it had gotten when it occurred to me that most of the Camp’s residents were already asleep in their bunks.

Chan and Woojin ran towards us, a worried yet relieved look on their faces.

“We thought you guys were dead.” Woo Jin exclaimed as we stepped out of the car.

“Almost.” Han replied.

Chan scanned was the four of us, immediately noticing the missing member, “Levi?”

I shifted uncomfortably, wrapping my arms around myself as I felt everyone’s eyes land on me. Only I knew what happened. But I couldn’t bring myself to blurt it out. It almost seemed wrong.

I looked up to Chan, giving him an apologetic look because I couldn’t give him an answer he expected. Chan flashed me a soft smile, implying that he understood,

“It’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow. Get Seungmin to patch you up and get some rest. You too, Hyunjin.” He ordered, before beckoning Han and Minho to follow him back to his office.

Hyunjin opened his mouth to argue, only to receive a daring look from Chan.

“Take care of your injuries before I give you more to suffer with. I mean it, Hyunjin.” Chan turned back to his office with the other three right at his tail, leaving Hyunjin with the slightest pout on his face.

The corner of my lips twitched into a smirk, finding it amusing how Chan had the power to order the cold guy around. My smirk fell when I caught Hyunjin’s glare, immediately softening my look to an innocent one, 

“...What?” 

The infirmary was dark and empty when we reached. Hyunjin managed to locate the light switch, brightly illuminating the room with white light. I half expected Seungmin to be asleep in one of the patient beds, given that he usually spent his nights in the infirmary rather than our shared bunk. So I was surprised when I saw nothing but neat and empty beds.

“I’m guessing he’s back at our bunk. I’ll go get him.” I told Hyunjin, who was busy looking through Seungmin’s organised drawer of medical supplies.

He shook his head, bringing out a suture kit and a pack of gauze. “It’s fine. I got it.”

Hyunjin nodded towards the metal table situated at the corner of the room. I followed and sat on its edge, letting my legs dangle off the taller table. Yet, despite being elevated by the furniture, Hyunjin was still a head taller than me.

I bit the insides of my cheeks as I watched him unpack the surgical thread. The last time Seungmin stitched me up, I was unaware. Now that I was fully alert, my body tensed upon seeing the sharp end of the needle. I held my breath, trying my best to remain calm in front of Hyunjin. He didn’t need to see me vulnerable again.

“A-Are you sure you’ve done this before?” I asked, failing to keep my voice stable.

Hyunjin instantly caught on, raising his brow, “You’re fine with the walking dead but not this? I guess you’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

I turned away with my arms crossed, not pleased with the smug look that spread on his face, “Just get it over with.”

After cleansing my wound, he turned to me with the needle driver prepped and ready in his hands. I shut my eyes tightly, holding my breath as I awaited the piercing pain.

“Stop frowning. I can’t see where I’m supposed to stitch with your goddamn wrinkles.”

My eyes shot open, letting out the most offended scoff I could possibly give. “What am I supposed to do, Hyunjin? I thought it was obvious that I really don’t like needles.” I exclaimed, exasperated.

Hyunjin chuckled, shocking me for a split second. His laugh was soft and short, but it definitely left a mark. It made my stomach flutter for a moment. Though, I wasn’t sure if it was due to his laugh or due to my immense fear of what was about to happen.

“Just look at me and enjoy the view.” He said, a small hint of smile still remnant from his laugh.

I rolled my eyes, finding myself smiling back. Sighing, I readjusted my position and did as he told, meeting his eyes. It was a weird feeling. It felt as if I was meeting his eyes for the first time, when I’ve done it millions of times before. (Mostly to glare at him). Though, his eyes were different when he wasn’t glaring. They were no longer dull and lifeless, but something new sparkled in them. Something that resembled a kid-like amusement. It caught me off guard, seeing Hyunjin under a different light.

As he stitched me up, I focussed on every feature of his face. As much as I disliked Hyunjin, I had no doubt that he was loved by many before the apocalypse hit. His looks were out of this world. I couldn’t even imagine how many girls had fallen for him before the world ended. I even wondered if I, being the romantic, cliché girl I was, would have fallen for him too if we had met before the walkers. 

The sound of metal banging against metal snapped me out of my thoughts, making me realise that Hyunjin had finished.

“We’re done here. Rest we—“

“Not yet.” I cut him off, holding onto the hem of his shirt before he could walk out of the room. He glanced back at me, confused, “Why? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

I shook my head, jumping off the table and grabbing the necessary supplies from the counter, “I’m not. You are.”

“I’m fine. It’ll heal by itself.”

“Will you just sit, Hyunjin?” I asked, frustrated. He did throw himself in front of a bullet for me, and the least I could do was to make sure that he was treated for the wound that was indirectly caused by me.

I challenged his gaze, making sure that it wasn’t a competition he could win. 

He finally complied and took the seat which I previously occupied. He lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a much deeper wound than I had expected. Hours ago, he claimed that the bullet had merely scratched him, yet, from what I was seeing, the bullet did a lot more than that. His flesh was ripped and indented, creating a bloody mess just above his hip. My heart sank, feeling the pang of guilt hit me even more. It must’ve hurt a lot, and it would’ve continued getting worse if Chan hadn’t forced him to get treated. If I hadn’t forced to treat him. 

As I began to clean his wound, his eyes laid on me. Was this how I was being when he was stitching me up?

“How were you so sure that he wasn’t someone we should help?” Hyunjin sparked a conversation, referring to the ‘right arm’ man we had encountered earlier.

“The same reason you didn’t want to help me in the first place.” I replied, “Instincts.”

Once the antiseptic landed on his skin, Hyunjin flinched, tightly grabbing my wrist in reflex. He hissed in pain with his face contorted. Though, unlike me, he didn’t look any less handsome. I paused, letting him squeeze my arm through the pain.

“Maybe a little warning next time?” His usual sarcasm evident in his voice.

“Maybe give me my wrist back?”

His nose scrunched in annoyance and he let my wrist go, allowing me to continue with patching him up. I did my best to clean his wound gently, blowing on it each time he hissed in pain.

“How about you?” I asked, beginning to tape the sides of the gauze down to his surrounding skin, “How were you so sure you could take my side?”

I met his gaze just as he tilted his head to the side, deep in thought. 

“I wasn’t sure. It just felt like it was the right thing to do.” He said, shrugging his shoulders as a playful smile grew on his face,

“Instincts, I guess.”

[gibelwho]

Top 5: Nostalgia Movies

This Top 5 is taking a trip down childhood memory lane to choose the best Nostalgia Movies - films that I loved as a kid and continue to love to this day. The film must have been watched multiple times during my youth and continue to be associated with a memory or tradition that was an important marker of growing up. Therefore, any film produced past 2004, when I graduated high school, has not been considered - and, to even make the cut, the film must be associated with more than just constant re-watches in our downstairs rec room (arranged with a HUGE - well, big for the ‘90s - screen with actual surround sound that my dad installed); rather, these films must be an essential part of my childhood progression into adult-hood and laid the groundwork for a future of loving cinema.

Gibelwho Productions Presents Nostalgia Movies:

5. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

4. X-Men

3. The Little Mermaid

2. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

1. Newsies

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986): As my high school career began to wrap up and I was looking ahead to college (where I had already committed to attending film school), my mother informed me of a proclamation - I was not allowed to leave her household without watching Ferris Bueller. Perhaps she knew that she needed to instill a little bit of rule-breaking encouragement into her straight A / type A child before I was to head out into the unruly world of college, but nonetheless, this film left a mark with it’s delightful adventures of Ferris, Cameron, and Sloane. Years later, I attended an LA rooftop screening where the audience all danced during the Twist and Shout parade, bringing me straight back to the joy of discovering this film with my mom. In the same tradition, I will be sure to make my kids watch this film before they leave our household for the wide world so they can learn to cause a little innocent rule-breaking. Save Ferris!

X-Men (2000): I had a secret obsession when I was a kid - I LOVED Marvel Comics. I had read all of my dad’s comic book collection from when he was a kid, I started my own collection, and had even started tracking the value of each issue. But I was a girl, and did not share this particular passion with my fellow elementary school friends (ahhh, the fear of being judged by your peers). So when I entered a movie theater as a freshman in high school (with my secret still intact) to see an X-Men film and the place was PACKED, I couldn’t contain my excitement that maybe, just maybe, more people would be into these characters and storylines. Then, when I went into my summer theatre program and my friends used X-Men characters as improv inspiration, I thought...this is going mainstream! I still didn’t confide my true colors until the MCU began and my college friends discovered that I knew a...lot more about Iron Man’s backstory than should be possible and I was officially outed. So, fully embracing my nerdom, I traveled to San Diego to the sacred ground that was Comic Con, truly cementing my love of Marvel. And now the rest of the world has caught up to why these characters are so special. That first inkling of a wider world loving what I loved started when I watched X-Men in theaters - seeing my heroes on the big screen, fighting their super villains, and the packed crowd around me was digging it!

The Little Mermaid (1989): One of my earliest memories of opening presents was from my 6th birthday, sitting in the living room and ripping open the wrapping paper to discover the VHS for The Little Mermaid - a film I had seen at school and LOVED - and now it was mine to watch at any time! Truly a special Disney moment, which is also matched with many other memories of Disney animated films (the momentous opening to Lion King and the cut to black that took my breath away in the theater, playing the Mulan soundtrack on cassette over and over singing Reflection, and identifying with Belle’s obsession with reading). I was very much the target audience for the Disney Renaissance, and I ate up all the music, the (slightly) stronger portrayal of women, and our VHS collection only grew to include all of these modern classics. The Little Mermaid kicked off a golden age for Disney Animation and little Katie grew up on the Alan Menken soundtrack.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989): Our family had three fancy VHS boxed sets for three different franchises and we watched these flicks on repeat - Star Trek movies (TOS with Kirk and Spock), the Star Wars trilogy, and the Indiana Jones films. Literally any one of the movies from these collections could make this slot, but since both of the Star franchises have already gotten love in these Top 5 lists, I’m going to pick representation from our resident archaeological professor / international adventurer. My favorite of the bunch is the third - from the thrilling opening of young Indy, to the dynamic between father and son, and the epic ending of selecting the correct Grail (“you have chosen...wisely”). Watching any one of these films is just comfort food for my soul, taking me back to the family settling in to watch in our downstairs rec room, setting the foundation for the nerdom that my parents instilled into me at a young age and that has continued to guide my interests and movie-watching to this day.

Newsies (1992): Growing up, my family had Friday movie nights, where we ordered from the Pizza Hut that was right next to a Blockbuster; my brother and I were allowed to each choose a movie to rent for the weekend. I went through a phase where I just rented Newsies on repeat. It was as though this film was made just for me - a musical, set in a historical time period, with cute boys singing and dancing, music by the magical Alan Menken - what is not to love?!? I was so obsessed with this movie that in the pre-Internet age, I wrote down the lyrics by meticulously listening, pausing, writing down, rewinding, and repeating - which was an onerous process when one was working with manual VHS tapes. I eventually got a copy of my own, the DVD when it came out, the CD of the soundtrack, and also the piano sheet music. I knew all the lines to the songs, and could probably to this day quote the majority of the movie. Years later, imagine my delight when Disney produced a Broadway musical of the movie - we took a special trip to New York on my birthday to see the show (which of course, doesn’t match up to my love for the film, the true effect of a nostalgic love for a piece of your childhood). Living in LA affords us the opportunity for magical movie-going experiences, and my husband and I scored tickets to a special showing of Newsies at the Disney El Capitan theater - and then the traveling Broadway company of Newsies the musical that was in town and performing just up the street at the Pantages theater made an appearance and performed for the audience after the movie wrapped. This film has held a special place in my heart and is the epitome of nostalgia love for a movie from childhood.

Honorable Mentions:

The Music Man (1962): The two music genres we listened to growing up were 90s country (Garth, Reba, Trisha, Wynonna!) and also musicals. Our family was very much into theater and starting at the age of twelve, I started acting in musicals at our local performing arts program for youths. Our family also watched many of the classic musicals that were filmed in the 1950s and 60s, such as Hello, Dolly, Oklahoma, and Music Man. This last film stands in as a proxy for all those classics, but was also selected in particular because I performed in a production during a summer in junior high, where I was in the background chorus (and featured in the Wells Fargo song!). The music and lyrics of this story, written by Meredith Wilson, are of such cleverness and variety - from the 4-part harmony barbershop quartet to the love song ballads, the pre-hip hop rhythmic talking song to the genius opening number of the salesmen on the train. The translation to film is serviceable and very much in the style of the musicals brought from stage to screen in the 1960s - nothing too clever and some blocking that sought to recreate a theater stage on the film set, but these series of musical films cemented my love for the genre in an accessible way just as I was starting myself to perform on stage.

Jurassic Park (1993): Oh, the raptor in the kitchen stalking the two kids stills brings me chills thinking about it. Watching that scene as a kid, I (more than once) fled the room because it was so scary! This film had it all - creepy dinosaurs, a smart teenage girl and an even smarter heroine that was a scientist, great music (whose theme I diligently learned how to play on the piano), and plenty of action! My family definitely had this on repeat in the VHS player, but I loved the movie so much that I ended up reading Michael Crichton’s novel to experience the source material - and became more aware of how a film is an adaption of a novel’s storytelling, translating from the page to the screen. I do fall in favor of reading the novel before seeing the movie, but if a film helps you discover an incredible book, it can be like diving into an extension of the world beyond what the screen can fit.

[mybiasisexo]

Target

Genre: Angst | Mafia!au

Pairing: None

Length: 3.5k

Warning: Language | Violence | Unfinished | OC | 1st Person

Summary: A year after her last mission, Dragen has a lot to prove to both her company and herself, but when she begins to grow closer to her next target, she realizes she might be a little too soft for her current career....

Author’s Note: Started this in like 2014 I believe and this is all I wrote, probably won’t ever finish it, but you know how it issss.

MASTERLIST

Work:

Chen and I are standing outside a deserted brick building in downtown next to an equally deserted train track.

“You think you’re so brave,” Chen chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“I am,” I say, smirking.

“Then prove it.”

Now I’m the one to roll my eyes, “you’re such a troll.” 

A knowing smile grows across my face as I pull out the sleek glock 22 from inside my jacket and cock the gun. When it is ready, I place the barrel in my mouth.

Chen starts laughing before growing serious as he grasps the grip, placing his index finger confidently onto the trigger.

“What are you going to do now, Dragen?” He asks me gravelly, but I spot a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

In reply, I pull my lips back, flashing him my pearly teeth, with a few gold teeth as well.

At that moment, a black van pulls up and a shorter dark haired man walks out of the driver’s side.

“Alright, guys. That’s enough,” he orders, and Chen laughs again as I pull away from the lethal weapon, wiping the saliva that had started to drip off my chin.

“I can’t leave you two alone without you fooling around. I’m surprised we ever get anything done,” the man, Kyungsoo, mutters.

“Oh please,” I say. “You know that this ‘business’ would crumble if not for us.”

“Not to mention your sense of humor,” Chen grins brightly. His lips stretch even further when Kyungsoo glares viciously at him.

After clearing his throat, Kyungsoo gets down to business, “the guy we are looking for is named Wu Yifan, but he goes by Kris. Rumor has it, he’s discovered some very…interesting information about our contractor that can ruin their business. We must capture him and figure out what he knows.”

“So are we going to get him today or…?” Chen asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “no. Today, you two are just going to find and observe. Get a good feel of him so that we can figure out how to approach him.”

Chen and I nod once in unison. Kyungsoo reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small picture, holding it out for the two of us to see. The picture is in black and white and shows the side of a man’s face, he seems to be about the same age as us.

“This is our guy. Find him, study him, and report your findings back to me. Understood?”

“Affirmative,” I reply, sliding my glock back into its hiding place.

“Alright. Good luck.” Kyungsoo heads back into his van and peels out, causing dirt to waft around us.

We cough and choke on the dirt. Once it clears we glance at each other.

“I was really hoping we would kill someone today,” Chen pouts and sighs.

I take a deep breath and let it go harshly, placing my hands on my hips, “not today. Looks like we’re spying.”

“I feel so degraded. Isn’t this Sehun’s job?”

I smack his arm, “behave.”

Chen pouts again, rubbing his arm, “let’s go.”

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Chen and I find ourselves sitting at a park, watching a basketball game.

Our boy, Yifan, is attempting to play. He’s pretty good, at least, he’s very confident.

“He has literally missed every single shot he’s thrown,” Chen says, voice filled with mild disbelief.

I sigh, “How the hell did this guy uncover vital information about our contractor that can destroy them?”

“He had to stumble upon it. There’s no way….”

Yifan tosses the ball at the basket again, Chen and I tilt our heads to the side as the ball bounces off the backboard and soars back to Yifan, who ducks just in time.

“Pathetic,” Chen says. “Should we teach him a thing or two?”

I shake my head, “we must stay in shadow mode. We need to figure him out so that we can find a way to approach him.”

“You’re right. I just feel so bad for the man.”

“At least he looks hot while doing it.”

Chen is silent and I glance over at him. He is staring at me incredulously.

“What?” I pout.

“Your taste in men is quite appalling,”

“Yeah, especially since this one cannot stay.” I pull the sunglasses that are resting on the top of my head down to my eyes and stand. “Should we go?”

“Do you think we’ve gathered enough information?”

I shrug, “No. But I’m tired and he’s boring. Maybe they got the wrong guy.”

“We never make mistakes, Dragen, you know that.”

“Ilhoon will be worried. I promised him I’d be home early tonight.”

“What’s going on between you two anyway?”

“He’s my best friend,” I breathe.

“If he were your best friend, he’d know what you have been doing for the past five years. You’re lying to him.”

“You know that this profession calls for us to lie to everyone that matters, or else they’ll get hurt.”

Chen just shakes his head, “let’s wait one more hour. Hopefully he’ll go home, and you can peep on him taking a hot shower.”

I think about Chen’s offer. It is true that we haven’t gotten much on this Kris guy—except for the fact that he’s a terrible basketball player—and after my last assignment, I cannot afford to call it a day. “One more hour.”

Chen salutes and we get settled once again on the bench.

Yifan misses again.

~*~

“We’ve gathered that he likes to play sports, basketball in particular, though he isn’t very good.”

“Also, he enjoys eating jelly filled donuts and is quite clumsy, being that he got the jelly all over his shirt.”

“In a nutshell. This man is pathetic, and could possibly be molded like putty in Dragen’s hands,” Chen finishes with a smirk.

Kyungsoo’s wide eyes bounce back and forth between Chen and I. Finally he sighs and leans back in his chair, “alright. You two are dismissed. I’ll report your minuscule findings to the boss and he’ll let us know where to continue with this mission.”

Chen and I both rise to go but then Kyungsoo asks me to stay behind. Chen and I lock eyes and I can sense the worry in his gaze, but he leaves nonetheless, he has no choice.

I settle back down into my chair and wait for Kyungsoo to speak. He leans forward, folding his hands in front of him. His tan suit is a size too big for him and he looks like a son pretending to be his father at his office. 

“Suho is still worried about your well-being, Dragen,” he starts and I try not to roll my eyes. “He wants to make sure you won’t turn on us again. You haven’t killed anyone since Minho, and giving you such a big assignment after your near failure causes him to worry.”

I bite my lip. Just hearing his name rips me up inside, causes tears to form in my eyes. I take a deep breath and suck it back in, tape myself quickly back together so that I’m not exposed.

“So what do you suggest?” I question.

Kyungsoo opens a drawer and pulls out a manila folder, sliding it over to me.

“It’s a small mission. Just a man who was trading secrets of the South to the North. He’s on the run, right on the border, but they pinned him and have been watching him. His expiration date is tomorrow at noon, and then it’s a free for all. The government wants him disposed of before then.”

I skim through his profile. Kim Minseok, thirty years old, he was an officer in our military and apparently pretty high up. I wonder what caused him to betray the country in such a way.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

I allow myself this eye roll, “I can handle it.”

Kyungsoo nods and I see a hint of a smile pull at the side of his face, “good.”

I rise and walk quickly out of his office. Sometimes that man gives me the chills. It isn’t like I think he’d hurt me or anything, but I know that he can be ruthless and is completely deadly. He’s a killing machine.

At around two in the morning, I find myself on top of an old abandoned building. It’s an extremely windy night, and my curly hair flies violently behind me. Quickly, I wrap my hair into a ponytail and resume my position: kneeling on one knee with my rifle resting on the edge of the building. I peek through the scope, scanning the area for Minseok. Finally, after an hour and a half, I catch movement. There he is, running through the deserted open road covered in filth. You’d have thought he’d know better. I mean, the man’s on the run, why is he running out in the open? Oh well, I can’t care less for the reasons behind his actions. All I care about is proving Suho and Kyungsoo wrong. I can be just as heartless as them, and I am going to prove it in three, two, one…

Bang! 

The jolt from my rifle pushes me back and I stumble for a second as Minseok falls, out cold. Quickly, I snatch my weapon and run as fast as I can carrying the heavy equipment on my shoulder. Once I’m out the building, I yank out my glock and cautiously approach the man sprawled against the asphalt. I glance around me, all is clear. Minseok takes a quick breath and I jump.

“Please,” he whispers. I swallow hard as his eyes roll up to my face. “Please, I had to do it. I’m sorry. No one ever has a choice.”

“No,” I snap back at him. “There is always a choice, always a way out.”

“I guess you’ll find out soon….” He takes another breath, but doesn’t ever let it back out.

What was that?! No time to think about it. I have to leave the scene. I run over to my unmarked van and throw my rifle in the back, carefully maneuvering the vehicle so to not leave any marks. Once I am about forty miles out, I high sped it out of there. When I am at my safe spot—a dingy 24-hour gas station—I jump to the back and dismantle my weapon. Once it is put away, I drive back to the agency, switching the van for my own Dodge Neon and finally go home.

Pretenses:

He smiles and his front teeth shine against the darkness that surrounds us.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re shy,” he breathes, taking me all in.

I smirk, pretending to be brave, “your flattery isn’t really working, Minho.”

“Oh yeah?” He growls and presses himself closer to me, causing both my heart to race and a moan to escape. His smile widens with satisfaction.

“I love you,” he murmurs against the skin of my collarbone.

Don’t say that, I think. All the same, I smile and answer back to him, “I love you too, Minho.”

“Good,” he snaps, his voice serious and deep with lust. “Because you’re mine, Baby. For forever.”

I awake with tears in my eyes. I’m still dreaming of him, a whole year later. I don’t think I’ll ever not dream of him, of the man who showed me what real love felt like.

I check the time and jump up and run to my closet until I freeze. Today is Sunday, I have today off.

I sigh and lean against my closet doorframe filled with relief. Something unhinged me about my last mission, something about the way Minseok had just given up, about what he said to me. A sense of fear crawls up my throat like a premonition and I swallow it back fiercely. I’m overreacting. Maybe Suho and Kyungsoo are right about me, maybe I am becoming soft.

I step out of my room and bump into Ilhoon. His arms encircle me and he takes a step back, catching us.

“Whoa, there,” he murmurs, chuckling as we pull away. “Good morning to you too, Dray.”

I rub my forehead and sigh, “sorry.”

“Busy night?” He asks. He starts walking away and I follow him to the kitchen, plopping on a chair as he pulls out two bowls from the cabinet. “You didn’t get in until late…”

I wince, “I’m sorry, Ilhoonie. I know you want me to come home earlier, but my job is kicking my butt.”

“All you do is fix computers,” he scoffs and hands me a bowl filled with chocolate cereal—our favorite.

“You’d be surprised how complicated fixing a computer can be. First you have to find the problem, and then you have to check the entire database and make sure all of the files and other information won’t get lost and then—”

“Alright, alright. I believe you,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re going to give me a headache with all that computer talk.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. I’m not feeling very well today, and Ilhoon can sense it.

“Well, you have today off, don’t you?” I nod. “Are you going up to your parents’ later?”

I nod again, “Zelo’s birthday is tomorrow so we’re celebrating it tonight. Are you going to come too?”

Ilhoon shrugs, “I am practically family. Plus, I haven’t seen Zelo in a while. How old is he turning?”

“Nineteen,” I gulp. My little brother is becoming a man today, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was terrified.

Ilhoon laughs, “remember us at nineteen? We went wild on our birthday!” Ilhoon and I share the same birthday, hence why we are so close.

I shudder, “that is exactly why I am nervous. I don’t want Yongguk anywhere near him after ten.”

Ilhoon’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t say anything. We finish our breakfast in silence and I help him wash the dishes.

“It’s almost twelve, get ready,” he orders as he heads to his room.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Ilhoon is very religious. If there is one thing he loves, it’s the lord. One of the requirements of living with him is that I have to accompany him to Sunday mass every week.

Once there, we sit in a pew near the middle and listen to the word. The father preaches about God’s love and undying devotion, but I don’t feel any reassurance.

I’m no angel. I’m the opposite, in fact. I’ve committed too many sins to be forgiven and I know there is nothing pleasant waiting for me on the other side.

God gave up on me a long time ago.

~*~

After mass, Ilhoon and I head over to my parents’ house. The place is packed with all of Zelo’s friends. Once my father sees me, he beams and wraps me in a hug. Since my life is so busy with work, I don’t see my family often. It has been a few weeks since Zelo and I have talked, and months since my parents’ and I have.

“Where’s Zelo?” I practically yell into my father’s ear. The music is so loud I can feel it more than hear it.

“In the living room, AKA the ‘dance floor’.” My father rolls his eyes and chuckles at my silly brother. I nod and snatch Ilhoon’s hand, dragging him with me to the living room.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by a semi-circle is the birthday boy. He’s busting all kinds of moves and I roll my eyes—I taught that kid practically everything he knows.

[idumpyourgrass]

Always Waiting- Chapter Eight

Always Waiting- Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

(I do not own gif!)

Always Waiting Masterlist

Summary: The whole group regroups and gets to the Byers’ house. Y/n figures why Steve has been so nice to her lately, lets just say, the demodogs are the least of her problems.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

A/N: Ngl I really switched it up in this chapter, even surprised myself. Anyways I was going to just finish up seasons 2 in one chapter but I figured the whole fight scene with Billy and when they go in the tunnels and everything is going to need a whole chapter to itself so this chapter is a little short but next chapter will probably be uber long. As always lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

Warnings: I think just language?

Word count: 1.7k

The group made their way to follow the monsters to wherever they were going. Steve was in front and you were walking behind, making sure no one wandered off. You started thinking, So when Steve wrapped his arms around you on the bus when you fell on top of him was he just being protective and not wanting anyone to die? Would he have done that for anyone? He didn’t even have to wrap his arms around you, was it just a precaution? How red were your cheeks when that happened? Why are you even thinking about this right now?

“You’re positive that was Dart?” Lucas’s comment pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, he had the same yellow stripe of his butt,” Dustin answers. “He’s going to molt again and when he does, he’s going to be full size or at least close to it, and so will his friends.”

“Yeah, and then he’ll eat a lot more than just cats,” Steve chimes in. Lucas holds his arm in front of Dustin’s chest, causing them to halt.

“Wait, he ate a cat?” Lucas asks.

“What? No? What?” Dustin plays dumb.

“What are you talking about? He ate Mews,” Steve says. You look up at him trying to get his attention.

“Who’s Mews?” Max asks.

“It’s their cat,” Steve says.

“Steve!” Dustin scolds. Lucas and Dustin begin bickering back and forth. You, Max, and Steve stand around, awkwardly waiting for them to be done. You hear a screech in the distance. At first you think you’re just imagining it, seeing as no one else seemed to notice it. Then you hear it again. You look over to Steve but he’s already looking at you.

“Did you hear that too?” He asks. You slowly nod.

“Hey guys,” you say, trying to get the attention of the arguing teens.

“Guys!” Steve yells, you look over to him, silently thanking him.

You all run through the woods, trying to find where the sound is coming from. You stop once you get to the edge of a small hill, overlooking Hawkins lab. The lights in the lab where flickering on and off.

“What the hell is going on?” You ask, hoping someone had an answer.

“They were headed back home,” Lucas says, a hint of panic in his voice.

You all take off running towards the lab. You get to the front gate of the lab. Nancy and Jonathan were already there, looking just as shocked to see you guys as you were to see them.

“Steve?”

“Nancy?”

“Jonathan?”

“Y/n!” You say. This causes everyone to give you a puzzled look. “Sorry, I thought we were doing a….you know what? Nevermind. What are you guys doing here?” You ask.

“Looking for Mike and Will,” Nancy answers.

“They aren’t in there are they?” Dustin asks, pointing to the lab. Nancy hesitates before answering.

“We’re not sure…why?” Another loud roar comes from the lab causing you all to jump. Jonathan quickly makes his way over to the gate operating station, trying to push the button to open the closed gate. Dustin pushes him out of the way and starts reportingly pushing the button.  The gate doesn’t budge. There is a small buzzing noise and then, finally, the gate opens. Nancy and Jonathan run to get in Jonathan’s car, telling you guys to wait there.

You all stand around waiting for them to come back. You couldn’t help but notice the tension between Nancy and Steve earlier, did you miss something? The sound of cars racing down the street shakes you out of your thoughts.

“Woah! Watch out!” Steve yells as you all run to the side of the road. Jonathan’s car zooms past you guys, followed by Hopper’s police car. He stops in front of you guys, yelling at you all to get in. Steve opens the door, allowing you all to pile in. He slams the door shut and you guys are off.

*      *       *

You and the kids sit around the table. Steve wanders around the house, checking out the huge map that is linked from room to room. Hopper is talking on the phone to the military. You slump in your chair, wishing you could do more to help Joyce. Although you never knew Bob, you had heard nothing but good things about him, other than that he was a bit of a nerd, and it pains you to know Joyce lost him and is close to losing Will too, for a second time.

“I am the police! Chief Jim hopper! I’ll be here!” Hopper yells into the phone, obviously frustrated.

“They didn’t believe you did they?” Dustin asks.

“We just have to stay and wait for help,” Hopper says, defeated. You sigh.

“We’ve got to be able to do something!” You say, getting aggravated.

“What do you want to do Y/n? We can’t stop the demodogs on our own,” Dustin says.

“Demo-what?” Steve asks, joining the conversation.

“It’s a compound, you know, Demogorgon, dogs, demodo-“ Dustin trails off. “ I mean when it was just Dart, maybe, but now there’s a whole army,” Dustin points out. You groan putting your head in your hands.

“His army,” Mike says, looking towards Will’s room , “Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army too.”

While you were rather confused on the whole situation, you think you had a basic grasp on what was happening. The “mind flayer” attached itself to Will, that day in the field, and now you just have to figure out how to get it out.

“The mind flayer, it wants to conquer us, it believes it’s the master race.” Dustin explains.

“Like the Germans,” Steve pipes in. You furrow your brows at him but you can’t help but to giggle at him trying to understand.

The conversation only got more and more heated and eventually turned into an argument.

“I want to kill it,” Joyce says, bringing the room to silence.  All eyes are on Joyce.

“Me too, but we don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Hopper says.

“We don’t but he does, if anyone knows how to kill this thing, it’s Will.” Mike declares. You can see the look of determination in his eyes.

Now you were taping black tarps and cardboard on the walls, ceilings, and floors in the shed in the Byers’ backyard with Nancy and Steve. You were doing one wall while Nancy and Steve worked together on another. You tried not to eavesdrop in on their conversation, but it was hard not to.

“What you did, helping the kids, that was really cool,” Nancy says to Steve. Hey, you helped too.

“Yeah, those little shits are real trouble,” Steve replies.

Why were they acting so weird? You were wracking your brain trying to think of why they were being so awkward, that’s when you realize, they must’ve broke up, they had to. It all makes sense now. The night of the party you remember him looking sad, you didn’t see them in the hallways together the next day, he was bringing her flowers when you and Dustin saw him at the Wheeler’s. That’s why he’s being so nice to you. This whole time, you were just his rebound. Last year when they broke up he was pretending to care about you and now that they broke up again he’s pretending to care again, just so he can butter you up, make you fall for him so you can give him the attention he wants until someone better comes along. Great, that’s real great. You should’ve known this is what was going to happen. He was the king of Hawkins after all, why would he change for you?

You set the tape down and leave the shed, ignoring Steve asking where you were going. You storm inside the house and head to the bathroom so you can collect yourself. You lean on the sink while you take deep breaths, trying to keep yourself from losing your cool. Is that really all you are to Steve? A rebound so he can feel better about himself?

Someone knocks on the door, you open it and see Dustin standing there.

“Are you ok?” He asks, examining your eyes.

“What? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You murmur while you push past him making your way to the kitchen. Dustin doesn’t buy it.

*     *     *

Hopper, Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike are all in the shed trying to get Will back. Lucas, Dustin, Max, and you all sat at the table. You were slouched over, picking at your nail polish, wishing you had something to do to get your mind off of Steve.

Hopper busts through the door, writing dots and dashes on a piece of paper. Morse Code.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“He’s talking, just not with words,” Hopper responds, translating the dashes and dots to spell out “here,” Hopper looks up at all of you. “Will’s still in there.”

After a while, the kids and you got the Morse code translated.

“Close gate,” you all read aloud. You all stare dumbfounded at the paper, trying to figure out what that means. The phone rings causing you all to jump. Dustin runs over, picks up the phone, and hangs it back up. The phone rings again. This time, you get up and rip the phone off the wall, throwing it on the ground.

“Do you think he heard that?” Nancy asks.

“It’s just a phone, it could be anywhere, right?” Steve reassures. You roll your eyes at him. Joyce, Mike, Jonathan, and Hopper barge in the house carrying a knocked out Will.

“It knows where we are,” Hopper says. You can hear the demodogs screeches, sounding like they are right outside. You grab Dustin, making him stand behind you. Steve steps in front of you both, holding your bat. Nancy and Hopper points their guns towards the sounds, every sound coming in a different direction. The demodog roars  right outside the window. You grip on to Dustin’s hand for dear life, waiting for one of those things to jump through the window at any given minute. The demodog yelps then it’s deathly silent. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. The window breaks and a demodog gets thrown into the room, but it’s already dead.

“What the fuck?” You mumble under your breath. Hopper goes to inspect it, declaring it’s dead. Everyone lets out a sigh of relief.

The sound of the doorknob turning startles you all. The door swings open. Standing there, like a badass bitch, is Eleven.

Taglist: @loulouloueh​ @nighttwingg​ @hauntedduckdefendor​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @labrujaprincess​ @welcomethefears​ @metuel18​ @polynesianmayo​ @readinthegarden12​ @alafolieee​ @yoheyyosup​ @loco-latte​ @daddystevee​

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Capturing the Sounds of Absence

Memories of the day Little Stevie vanished are still stuck in my mind. And so vivid. Like it was just yesterday. The feeling of pine needles on my skin, as my fingers brushed over the ground where I knelt. An empty little clearing, not far away from the camp’s recreation center. Where I had seen the flash of light the night before.

We were searching for clues that might help us find him. Cyn, you were frantic. Mike, you were calm. I was somewhere in between: I could barely hear anything outside of the sound of blood rushing in my ears. But I was not hurrying, I was trying to pay attention to every little detail.

Yet all I felt was dread. Right then, already, I felt like we’d never see Little Stevie again. I mean, I had a weird feeling the day before when he stayed behind after falling out of bed. Like we’d never see him again if he didn’t come along on the overnight hike. I just couldn’t place it at the time.

Unfortunately, my feelings would turn out to be right.

Even now, when I see a missing kid’s face on the side of a milk carton, I think of seeing Stevie’s picture there for the full year after his disappearance. Feeling a pang of guilt, wondering if I—or we—could have done anything more to find him before Granny Gurdy drove us home from Camp Silver Creek.

It was so strange.

That clearing, where the flash of light flared up in the middle of the night—that was it. I swear that is when and where he vanished. I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but I feel it in my bones. I know it. Just as sure as the guilt that followed, I felt an unnerving sense of certainty.

Even now, thinking about that place—the place of Stevie’s vanishing—it still gives me the chills.

No sounds whatsoever. None of the crickets, no buzz of flies or mosquitoes in the air, not a single bird chirping or any owl hooting. Not a single friggin’ sound except the ones we made in our hurried search. Mikey pointed it out, but I got goosebumps as soon as he mentioned it.

The clearing was devoid of all life. Like the hand of God had reached down from the sky and snatched it all up, leaving behind nothing but that chunk of forest grounds and trees behind. And those pine needles that my fingers brushed over. Digging into my bare knees.

It smelled like lightning had hit a penny. A metallic scent hung in the air, and it stuck to my tongue; like copper. Or blood.

And most of all, the smell of ozone. Even though there was no sign of rain that night or day.

The tree tops swayed gently in the breeze. Like giants, looking down at us. Silent witnesses to Little Stevie’s vanishing. Some part of me wanted to just ask them. Pose the questions out loud: where did he go? What had happened?

When counselor Raymond found us and strong-armed us to leave, anger bubbled inside of my gut. I had kind of hoped that you would have resisted him more; allowed us to continue looking for Stevie. But back then, you were not as radical as you are nowadays. And I had just had no words and no courage to defy Raymond. I felt so helpless, so useless.

I believe the anger remained. But it all turned inward. I’m not angry at anybody else about this anymore, just at myself. If I had been sharper, if I had somehow had the mental clarity to put things together, maybe I would have found something.

Maybe if we could have snooped around longer, we would have found him. Or more concrete clues.

But now, nothing. It has been years.

I never forgot about it. About any of this. I sometimes wake up, just startling awake, thinking I’m still thirteen and it’s still back then. But it’s not, and I feel both sad and angry.

Then I tell myself that there’s nothing we can do about it anymore. It has been five years.

Five friggin’ years.

Now, I know this is getting long-winded, but please hear me out. I experienced something weird last night. Something I can’t explain either, just like Stevie’s vanishing. And it made me want to return.

You know how I sneak around home at night sometimes? To quietly use Dad’s stereo and make the mix tapes of rock music? Yeah, I know. Friggin’ eighteen and they still don’t let me listen to “the devil’s music.”

Anyway, it was one of those nights.

Everybody sound asleep. Even though I had done this dozens of times before, my heart was pounding like crazy, as usual. I moved slowly when switching cables, with enough routine to do it almost blindly, but moving with a careful slowness not to knock anything over. As usual, I was all jumpy and nervous, doing my best to keep each click of the buttons on the tape recorder as quiet as I could. Watching those wheels spin, wishing it worked faster.

And because of that, I remember thinking about CDs at the time. Like, can you copy tape audio to CDs? Is that going to be the new thing? It was the thing I wanted to look into; I was daydreaming of getting that kind of new gear once I’d get a job and move out.

My heart fell into my feet when I heard footsteps upstairs. I froze. I was the proverbial deer in headlights. I was so afraid I was going to get caught this time, finally. After all these years, my mixtaping art career would come to an end. Within the blink of an eye, my mind played through a dozen scenarios; combinations of getting grounded, yelled at, or the stereo cables getting locked away or something. What I dreaded the most, by far, though, was losing access to making mixtapes.

I didn’t even dare stop the copying process, for fear of the telltale sound of the buttons clicking drawing any attention. Maybe, if I was lucky, someone had just woken up and was going to the bathroom.

I ducked down next to dad’s stereo tower. Just waited there, in the darkness, silently stuffing the paper of the track list into the back of my pajama pants.

And I listened.

The footsteps were heavy. It didn’t sound like bare feet, or socked feet, or even slippers. Like someone was wearing shoes upstairs, which was weird to me, but I was terrified to begin with, so my brain didn’t really register this detail until way later.

The footsteps thumped down the upstairs hallway. They neared the end of the stairs until they stopped abruptly.

I waited with bated breath. From where I was hiding, I couldn’t see up the stairs. The angle concealed whoever was standing there.

Then a bright light flashed.

I could feel all the blood drain from my face. My body tingled all over.

It was just like the flash of bright light back then. Five years ago. Like a flash of lightning, but without a sound. And this time, it was up close. Much closer. I couldn’t tell you what it really was. A camera’s flash? A flashlight being flashed on and off? An actual flash of lightning? I don’t know. I just don’t know. My eyes were so adjusted to the dark at that point that I was blind for several seconds.

I don’t know what I was thinking at that point and from here on out, my memory starts to become one big messy blur.

I forgot completely about the tape in the recorder deck and approached the stairs. Quietly. Step by step, lurking through the darkness, with my vision slowly recovering, and only thin beams of light entering through cracks in between the curtains. Closing in on the stairs until I could see up their entire height.

Nobody was standing up there. But I saw movement. In what little light was inside our darkened house, it looked like someone was shuffling through the upstairs hallway, and casting shadows that danced atop the stairs.

No footsteps to be heard.

Sane people walk away from danger, but I think my sanity had temporarily punched its card and checked out. I climbed those stairs to see.

I had to see. I had to know.

Then the smell hit my nose again. Ozone. Inside the house. But all windows were shut and it hadn’t rained in days, anyway.

Once I had crept to the top of the stairs and could look down the hallway, I saw nobody there. All doors closed. All but one: the door to the attic at the end of the hallway, it stood ajar. Just a crack, maybe an inch wide open. Some light shone in through the attic windows up there. It made the shadows dance some more, telling me, beyond any doubt, that someone was moving around up there.

That’s when I heard the whispers.

I mean, I’m not even sure whether they were whispers, or just a voice, muffled by distance. But I swear to God, I’m not making this up: it sounded like Little Stevie. And with that, I mean what he sounded like five years ago.

His voice was too soft for me to make out any specific words.

So I crept down the hallway, inching closer and closer to that attic door. I don’t think I cared anymore about getting caught, though. None of that was on my mind anymore, at this point.

Not even when one of the wooden steps beyond that door, leading up into the attic, creaked underneath my foot. I didn’t care about it waking anybody up.

Some part of me hoped I’d find Stevie up there, after all these years. Plucked from reality, brought back here out of nowhere. I know how crazy this sounds, but it made sense to me at the time, somehow. That must have made me move faster. I went from creeping around to walking right in there. Into it.

In the attic, I don’t understand what I saw. If I try to recall anything, it seems like I stood there for several seconds, dumbfounded, mouth agape. Or paralyzed? I don’t know. It’s like my mind was trying to grasp what I was seeing and still hasn’t caught up to it.

When I concentrated on it this morning and tried to remember, my nose started to bleed.

What I do, however, remember was the light. It flared up again. Just engulfed me. The smell of ozone was back, and now became more intense. And a ringing sound filled my ears. It was deafening. I kinda still hear it, like a phantom sound in my mind.

I still heard it when I woke up. I woke up in bed, with the ripped piece of paper with my track list still stuffed into the waistband of my pants. I was completely tangled in the sheets, like I had thrashed around in bed. And the mixtape? Right in my hand.

I felt like crap, like I had been run over by a truck. Like I hadn’t even slept. And I was so confused. I know it now, as I speak of it, I was missing time. Time between whatever—whenever that light was enveloping me, and waking up in bed.

Sure, I know what you’re thinking. I was asleep—dreaming. But hear me out—there’s more.

First rays of dawn were shining in through the window; I had woken up well before anybody else in the house.

I knew what I had to do. I had to seize this moment. So I rushed downstairs into the living room and headed to dad’s stereo. Checked it all out and realized, with the sense of dread budding inside of me again, that I had not switched around the cables after my mixing session. I was lucky I hadn’t gotten caught, that I had woken up like this. But my mind was not really focused on that.

I slapped the tape right into the recorder, turned the volume down as far as possible as to not wake anybody up, and started listening in to what I had recorded. Obviously, it should not have picked up anything. It was only set to record from the other tape deck. No mic. But I somehow hoped it would have picked up something. Little Stevie’s voice—maybe that ringing. No matter how little sense it made.

At first, everything was normal. Def Leppard. Fast-forwarded a bit. Stevie Nicks. Fast forward. Kiss. Fast forward. Pink Floyd, AC/DC, the Stones. Then the whispers started. I rewound a little bit and immediately stopped caring about where they started. I tried to see if I could tell if it was really Stevie’s voice on the recording, but Mick Jagger was just too loud by contrast and I would have had to turn it up louder to really make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

I fast-forwarded more. Hit play. The ringing sound that had filled my ears—it was there. In my mind’s eye, so was the bright white flash of light. And something else? I think I blacked out for a split second. Not sure. I rewinded, then hit play again.

Garbled sounds. The friggin’ deck started chewing up the tape. I panicked and tried to save it, but the mangled strip was stuck and just unspooled as I pulled it out of the machine. Not the first time I had experienced this, but definitely the most infuriating.

With trembling hands, I manually spooled it back up into the tape after doing my best to delicately remove it from whatever it had snagged onto inside the deck’s innards.

I swallowed deeply and tried to play it back. Seconds into Undercover of the Night, just garbled, mangled noise. It was too messed up, I just couldn’t hear Stevie on it anymore, let alone the ringing. The tape was trash.

So, sure, maybe I was dreaming. But all of this was all too real. And what about the tape? And let’s say, for just a second, that all of this was just a dream: then, at the very least, I feel like my mind is trying to tell me something. Like we missed something out in the woods out there, and that we might be able to find out what happened to Stevie.

Or maybe I’m just plain friggin’ crazy.

(A deep sigh fills the ensuing pause on the tape’s playback.)

The anger at myself from back then is long gone. I just know we need to do something. We need to go back to Camp Silver Creek. Maybe we will find Stevie. Or maybe, at the very least, we will find closure.

I don’t know what exactly we will find, but I am scared. And I don’t want to be scared anymore. That’s exactly why we need to do it.

So what do you think? Are we going back there?

Please say yes. I don’t want to go alone.

(The rest of the audio on the tape beyond this is dead silence.)

—Submitted by Wratts

[selfmademen]

Top Surgery Experience

Okay, so I said I would do a write up of my top surgery experience and I’ve finally gotten around to it. Uni started right after so I’ve been fairly frazzled.

Please feel free to ask any questions you may have! I’ll do my best to answer them.

To start with, I currently live in NSW, Australia. There are a few Australian top surgeons, but as a NSW resident my best bet was Dr Steven Merten, with Pure Aesthetics in Sydney. Because Australia has a public healthcare system I was able to get my top surgery under that scheme. As far as I’m aware Dr Merten is the only top surgeon who offers this surgery through the public system. He works in partnership with Concord Hospital in Sydney, and that’s where I had my surgery. If you go privately there are other options for the hospital you stay at. There are pros and cons to the public system, which I’ll detail below.

Pros:

I paid $500~ out of pocket instead of between $5k and $10k (if you have private health insurance it may cover some)

Since he’s in my state I didn’t have to travel far

He’s one of the most experienced top surgeons in the state

there’s two places for appointments, either at his clinic or at the Macquarie uni rooms

Cons:

because I went publicly he didn’t perform the surgery personally, rather a registrar did. However, he was in the room the entire time overseeing the operation.

because he’s so popular I had to wait a full year from the first consultation to the actual surgery date

 it was extremely hard to get onto the wait list due to how popular he is.

the public system is only available to NSW residents over 18

I was lucky in that my GP at the time knew him professionally and called in a favour so that I knew the moment his books were open, and I am forever grateful for that. It is MUCH easier to get an appointment with him through the private system, but that’s a lot more expensive. For me, the pros far outweighed the cons here, and I decided I could wait a year for my surgery. I had also intended to lose weight beforehand, but that didn’t happen. Woops.

Prior to my first consultation I needed a referral both from my GP, and a registered psychologist or psychiatrist detailing my transition and documented dysphoria surrounding my breasts. The first consultation was $300 iirc, and I paid a $100 deposit, so only paid $200 on the day. Medicare also gave me a $100-something rebate.

The first consultation was fairly quick. He asked some questions about my transition, what my expectations were regarding surgery, detailed my options, and explained the procedures. He measured my breasts, but never touched me (I kinda just picked them up and moved them where he asked). He also took a photo of my chest, with my consent.

I didn’t actually hear from them until about three months before my surgery because my details got lost, but USUALLY the hospital will get in contact with you regarding your surgery date, what you should expect, and when your pre-op consultation is. I also had to fill out a pre-op health questionnaire and personal details. Due to my high level of haemoglobin as a side effect of T, I was required to provide them with more recent blood test results, but you may not have to do this. Usually there is also a pre-op appointment with the nurses and anethetist at the hospital, but the nurse I spoke to said that I didn’t need to go if I didn’t have any pressing concerns.

My pre-op consult with Dr Merten was a couple of weeks before my surgery, however, it’s usually around the same time. This one was $100, and I also had to pay $130 for a medical compression vest which I have to wear for up to three weeks post-op. Again, Medicare partially reimbursed my consultation fee, but not the vest.

During this consultation we basically covered the same things, and I also saw a nurse who told me what medications to avoid, and briefed me on post op care. She also gave me my medical vest, wound tape, and some pamphlets.

Some things she covered:

smokers should stop smoking 12 weeks before surgery

 you should limit your alcohol intake the week before surgery, and don’t drink alcohol AT ALL during the two days immediately prior to surgery

no herbal medications, asparin, ibuprofen, or other blood thinners for two weeks prior to surgery. IF YOU ARE ON BLOOD THINNERS FOR MEDICAL REASONS THIS MAY BE DIFFERENT FOR YOU.

do not eat or drink anything from midnight the night before your surgery. Morning medication (antidepressants in my case) can be taken with a sip of water.

 the night before and morning of surgery I had to shower with a special soap that was provided in order to kill bacteria on my skin.

I did have to call the admissions centre the day before my surgery to confirm my appointment time. For me it was 8:30. Before going in I had a brief interview with a nurse, who took down my details and checked me for allergies and medical conditions. I was given my wrist bands (red, since I have a codeine allergy), and directed up to where I would meet the nurses. There I changed into the operating gown (you can keep your undies on) and compression socks due to my weight.

I was taken to a prep room before the operating theatre where Dr Merten marked my chest. Basically where things would be cut, lipo’d, etc. I was feeling nervous so the anethetist also came in, did my canula and gave me something to relax (don’t know what it was). He was extremely kind and friendly, and said he was honoured to be included in this part of my journey, which I honestly thought was an incredibly sweet thing to say, and I’m very grateful for how he looked after me.

The relaxation shit kinda made me dopey, and pretty much immediately I was wheeled into the theatre. They had me wriggle from the bed onto the table, I nearly fell off, but it was all good. I don’t really remember much from here, but there was some music playing, and the nurses and registrar were setting up.

At this point the anethetist put the mask on and told me to take some deep breaths. I remember it tasting and smelling really weird, and the next thing I know I was waking up in recovery.

I’m not sure how long I was in recovery for because I kept drifting in and out, but they gave me something for the pain and then wheeled me to the ward. I started waking up properly around this time, had a chat with the people transporting me, and by the time I was in the ward I was fully alert (and really needed to pee).

Because of my size and the way the surgery worked out, I did have a few staples at the ends of my incisions, and I also had to put the compression vest on. I also had drains, with bags that needed to be changed every twelve hours. Nurses would also come and take my blood pressure and check that everything was okay and that I wasn’t in too much pain. They were all extremely welcoming and accepting, never misgendered me once, and even double checked my name and pronouns to ensure that everyone knew. My mate was also allowed to stay with me pretty much the whole day until dinner, which really helped me cos I’m bad with hospitals.

After surgery I was stiff and ached a little, but there wasn’t too much pain. I was able to go to the toilet myself, although wiping was very difficult for the first week.

I stayed overnight, and was discharged the next day. They gave me anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, and some opiates to help the pain. I should note here that I do have an extremely high pain tolerance, so outside of days where I pushed myself a bit too far, I generally didn’t need to use them.

I’m unsure if my experience is unusual, as I was able to do pretty much everything immediately post-op. Of course, I’ve been taking it easy, but dressing, sleeping, cooking, moving, has all so far been generally okay. I have had some pain on days where I moved about too much, or sat up too much, but that’s also partially chronic pain flaring up due to my bad back.

I was discharged with my drains still in, as I’m a bleeder. Usually with Dr Merten they’re removed before discharge, but I was sent home with some bags and instructed to change them every 24 hours and keep a record of how much had drained. I think I wound up keeping my drains in for around a week before they were removed.

I went to the medical centre twice to have my dressings changed and drains checked (and eventually removed), and was sent home with a sterile staple remover for my GP to remove my staples with. They’ll be coming out at the end of the week. The drains didn’t hurt when removed, it just felt like an odd tugging sensation. The stitches Dr Merten used are dissolving ones, so no need to get them taken out.

I do have to change my nipple dressings every three days, and the tape on my incisions can stay on for up to a week. The stuff I use is extremely strong and has glue on it, so I’m a bit hesitant to change it on my own (nearly ripped a staple out last time I changed my dressings).

I’m roughly three weeks post-op now, and I have pretty much all my mobility back. Showering is difficult, as is bending over or reaching to one side (tugs on my incisions). There is pain when I do things, but unless something actively tugs at, touches, or puts pressure on my wounds I’m not in any pain. Mostly its just an annoyance at this stage.

I’m still sleeping on my back, although I can lie on my side for short periods of time. There’s some bruising around my armpits where I had liposuction, and there is a small numb patch on my left side. I can’t feel my nipples, but I also couldn’t feel them prior to this so it’s not a huge loss.

I’ve seen some people say that they felt depressed post-op because of a hormone fluctuation, but personally when I saw my chest it felt natural and right. I didn’t cry (not a big crier) and I wasn’t surprised or shocked or… overwhelmed. To me it was my outer body finally reflecting my inner self. I already looked like this in my own mind, so it was just natural that it looks the way it does post-op.

Unfortunately some dysmorphia and self-esteem issues surrounding my weight have resurfaced, but that’s not really related to the top surgery, and it’s something I’m able to work on as I recover.

If there’s something I haven’t covered that you’re curious about, please send an ask! I’ve tried to be as thorough as possible, but its been a few weeks and some details are fuzzy.

[fc5holidayexchange]

An Inconvenient Longing

T- Rating: mentions of violence.

Hey, hey, Happy Holidays! My beta and I had to co-write some of this, especially the end, because I was running a fever for most of the last two weeks. I hope this is okay.

Rook first thought Joseph Seed only referred to his brothers and counterfeit sister as his family. Father, after all, was a common enough title for a priest. None of the Seeds used social media but some members had profiles hiding in strange little corners of the web. Yet, as the investigation wore on, those rare profiles disappeared. The idea filled Rook with a strange longing to delete their own profiles. What had one of the audio files of Seed's sermons said again?

Our family does not live in the digital cloud, or some bullshit.

Yet, like most mildly inconvenient things, Rook shook the longing off. Marshal Cameron Burke made it even easier to shove the feeling into the back of their mind. A kind description of Burke would be 'dedicated to his job'. Rook mentally deemed him a self-important asshole the moment he waltzed into the station. Still, someone had to arrest the guy.

The strange longing didn't strike Rook again until a few days into the Resistance. As they scouted the Durbman Marina one night, they caught sight of a female cultist kicking a vending machine. Although his gentle whisper could barely be made out over Mrs. Durbman's irate words, a male cultist reacted with strange familiarity. "Sister, calm your wrath, please. What would the Father think?"

The two looked nothing alike, didn't even pass as the same race. Rook watched as the woman relaxed into the touch. They didn't catch her response over the sound of their own heartbeat. They fled the scene, and tried to squash the longing. True, Montana was not Rook's home. The other deputies and Whitehorse were not their family. The other fighters were barely even friends. Still, Rook had a job to do.

Learning new skills became the easiest way to distract themselves. Want to lure a Peggie away from a hostage? Blow up a car nearby. Bow hunting? Well, Rook didn't consider themselves to be much of an outdoors person but ammo and food didn't buy themselves. Want to learn rock climbing? Sure, grappling hooks can be useful. Those ridiculous stunt courses some local hero set up? Why not!

It didn't take long for Rook to start traveling alone. They cleared entire outposts without alerting a soul. The missions turned into a twisted but soothing routine. First, survey the area, choke someone out, drag their body to a dark corner, loose an arrow at someone else, turn off the alarms, and call in the Resistance. Rook suspected that they'd need therapy after this violence but that inconvenient line of thought got pushed down with the longing.

Of course, the Seeds didn't let Rook do this undisturbed. Jacob called it 'playing soldier' and threw them into a red-tinted world of horror. Pratt, poor, downtrodden, equally broken Pratt, told them they shouldn't have come. Boy, did they believe it. Fleeing the north made sense. Faith pulled them into The Bliss twice. Images swirled in Rook's head. The Marshal's leap. Jackalopes. Joseph's Vision. The world covered in ashes. No, not ashes. Nuclear. Fucking. Fall. Out.

Oh Lord, the Great Collapse. 

They moved to into Holland Valley. It only took a few interrupted baptisms, complete with drowned VIPs, and exploded silos for John to take notice. Rook's own baptism came with Bliss sparkles and too little oxygen. They stopped drowning VIPs after their escape.

The people of Fall's End did great things to squash the longing. Welcoming folks, with warm flannel and lukewarm beer. Boomer, a trusty old dog, became Rook's constant companion. The Spread Eagle turned into a place that felt like home. Rook saw themselves fitting right in here, when the dust and gunpowder settled. Not a Montanan by blood or upbringing, but by sheer grit.

It all changed when John took Rook again. It should have been straight forward. Get out, preferably quietly, and get back to Fall's End and Boomer. Rook prepared to jump a man kneeling for prayer. Unfortunately, the longing had other plans. The prayer, a simple 'help me accept these people', struck deep. Despite the fact that these people were doing evil, this one man had nearly pure intentions. 

Rook didn't mean to cry. They went from a crouch to sitting awkwardly on the floor like a child.

The man startled and grabbed his baseball bat. "Hello?" Then, just like that, he was squatting in front of them. "Aren't you the Junior Deputy?"

Rook nodded once.

"My name is Eric. Is Rook your name or just something the sheriff's department calls you?"

"It's my first name, yeah. I picked it myself," they croaked.

Eric took a deep breath, straightened up, and offered his hand. "Let's get you back where you belong before John becomes too wrathful. You'll have to confess to trying to escape."

Rook nodded and followed behind Eric. They ignored the staring eyes of the other Peggies until they got back to the torture room. John came bursting through the door they were about to enter. "Brother John, I found Rook."

Rook watched, fascinated, as the televangelist facade slipped onto John's face. Before he could say anything, they blurted out, "My sin is Envy."

John smile turned dark. "Confessions are private, Brother Eric."

"Good luck, Rook." Rook stepped back into the blood soaked room with John. The door slammed and Rook flinched.

"We'll have to do this on the floor, Deputy, since you destroyed your chair. Sit."

Rook found a spot that was mostly dry and sat ungratefully. With their shirt collar ripped, the room felt cold. "What happens now?"

John knelt beside them with a roll of duct tape. "Legs out straight. I need to make sure you won't escape. You must reach Atonement."

Consenting to it all felt strange. John quickly cocooned Rook's legs in tape, like some redneck mermaid. Unlike Eric, there was no compassion or affection in John's eyes. He seemed excited as he moved his equipment to floor level. The light shined painfully in Rook's eyes. "This isn't meant to be comfortable. Let's start at the beginning."

"Well, I said my sin was Envy."

Rook should have expected the smack but it still stung.

"I mean your beginning, dear Deputy."

***

It took hours of punches, smacks, and swallow cuts for John to accept Rook's rather undramatic life story as truth. He examined everything for truth. Yes, their birthday really was Christmas. No, there's no deep reason why they aren't close to their retired parents anymore. Yes, they'd legally changed their name to Rook when they were 22 and stupid just because they wanted to. Weren't you a lawyer John? Those things are public record. Fuck, there wasn't even a noble reason they moved to Montana and joined the Sheriff's Department. It was just a job.  They were pretty confident they had never spoken about themselves that much. Everything hurt, seven their throat. Satisfied, John stood. "Now, why Envy?"

Through their sore throat, they whispered, "I envy the Project's sense of community." The room fell into a tense silence. Rook closed their eyes, expecting a kick. 

"Why is that a sin, Deputy?" Since they closed their eyes, they only felt John push the ripped fabric of their shirt aside and the tattoo gun buzz to life. "Come on now, open your eyes."

Rook didn't. "Because there's a community in Fall's End that isn't a brutal, murdering, doomsday cult?" The attempt at snark came out weak, with a questioning tone that turned into a painful cough.

"No, Deputy, try again. Surely you can figure it out." The buzzing temporarily stopped. "Hold still. It's not supposed to be only an E."

Rook took a deep breath to stop the coughing fit and raced through every impression they had of the cult and John. What did he want them to say? It was the truth. In those moments of profound loneliness, they could have gone to the jail, or the Whitetail Milita or talked to Father Jerome instead of the dog. As far as they could tell, it was an honest confession. They opened their eyes.

John sighed, then stood again, walking back his tool bench. "Deputy, Deputy, Deputy. Should we add pride as well?"

"Joseph does disappointed better than you." A familiar flash of anger crossed his features, like the moment he almost drowned them. Inspiration hit and the lie tumbled out. "I should have said yes. I could have turned myself in at any time. What I wanted was right there and I was too prideful to say yes. Instead, I fought against what I wanted."

"Are you going to say yes now, Deputy? Will you work towards Atonement?"

"Yes."

***

Rook came out of that bunker with three tattoos: Envy, Pride, and Wrath. John explained the last one for them. "You don't kill that many people without being fueled by anger, Deputy." They hadn't expected to come out at all. Waiting for the Collapse in a cell in an abandoned missile silo seemed fitting somehow. Yet, Joseph wanted to ensure a genuine conversion. Rook moved into the Invidia dorm on his little island with only a single radio announcement of their conversion.

Before returning to the island, Rook assumed Joseph's compound housed some of the elites. Instead, it housed everyday Peggies. Devout, yes, but they weren't major players. The only thing they seemed to have in common was a need for Joseph's direct attention. Many beds were empty. On duty elsewhere or dead, Rook didn't dare ask.

A certain familiarity coursed through the compound. Everyone knew everyone's name. Rook expected the Peggies to use all sorts of cruel nicknames for their newest convert but instead 'sibling' slipped out.

Like he did with most people, Joseph called Rook his child, and, more surprisingly, little lamb. Rook's role appeared to be following him, just like Mary's lamb. Rook wasn't extra security, even though they were trained. They weren't allowed weapons. Part of their conditions of atoning for wrath, according to John. Rook didn't understand why Joseph wanted them near. Part of them longed to know but it terrified them

By day three of prayers, sermons, and the random things like gardening, canning, and laundry, Joseph realized Rook wasn't speaking. The group that didn't have guard shifts were eating lunch. Most sat around a picnic table. Those with prominent Sloth tattoos stood. "I watched the play back of your confession, my child. Did I miss the part where you took a vow of silence?"

It took a moment for Rook to catch that he was teasing. "I--I'm sorry?" A rather unfortunate voice crack and a cleared throat later, they tried again. "I'm sorry. I've never been super talkative. I work alone, usually."

"You aren't alone now," a Peggie said. "You have us."

The words, the lie, slipped out naturally. The longing for it not to be a lie bubbled up but they squashed it. "And I'm thankful for it. I just need time to process this."

"Of course you do." Joseph's sympathetic smile seemed almost genuine.

Things fell into a routine. For two weeks, things stayed peaceful. Rook even let themselves smile and relax around Joseph and the cultists. Simple touches stopped making them flinch. Joseph let them work alone with the others while he prayed. Rook helped wherever they were needed. Weapons were still, regretfully, off limits. Rook understood why, but the lull in action made all the inconvenient thoughts simmer on the surface.

Then, Faith's body washed onto the compound's boat dock. An attempt to take the jail must have gone horribly wrong. Rook had to shut down the part of their brain that enjoyed investigation. Instead, they watched Joseph mourn. Joseph filmed the eulogy alone, just the two of them and a camera on tripod.

Rook stood awkwardly near the door of the Church. "My children, a seal has been open."

Rook quietly stepped outside the church, leaving Joseph to his broadcast. Sitting on the floor, or in this case, the ground, had become an unexpected past time. Rook at for as long as was reasonable and then returned to work.

No new Faith took the mantle but Rook briefly wondered if Joseph meant for them to take the job. He never broached the topic. Joseph withdrew, spending more and more time praying and fasting in the church. Rook made themselves indispensable around compound.

Rook consciously recognized the moment they started believing in the coming Collapse. While waiting for some freshly and taking a break in some shade, it dawned on them. The government didn't react to a Federal Marshal going missing or an entire county going off the map. Hope had decommissioned missile silos. Was that information declassified? Was Hope a target?

Joseph appeared seemingly from nowhere. "My child."

"Father. Forgive my sloth." Rook got to their feet.

"You see now."

"I do." It felt like another confession but they couldn't force out an apology. Something bad coming didn't excuse the kidnapping and murder. Their eyes went to the fence around the property. Despite the longing, they were technically a prisoner.

He did that strange forehead touch. "Child, I have news. Sheriff Whitehorse and Marshal Burke are dead. They were beyond saving."

"Oh." Rook blinked. They expected some inconvenient feelings but nothing came up. It was as if they'd been made blank. "I was only a Deputy for a few months, Father. And, this is an unchristian to say, forgive me, I didn't particularly like Burke. We'd only just met."

"I assumed they were your friends."

"No, Father." Rook didn't feel the need to explain further. "I didn't belong there."

"Do you see where you belong now?" Joseph asked.

"Here?" That longing, inconvenient as it was, surged. Shame came along with it. Murderers, kidnappers, thieves, and Rook wanted to be one of them. Although they would never admit it out loud, they'd been interested in the cult from the beginning.

"Yes, my child. This is your home."

Rook sank into the feeling, the longing finally gone.

[happys-crazy-queen22]

The Past Coming To Bite You In The Ass

Gif credit @xxrouxx

Chapter 4. Hope you all enjoy.

Happy Reading Dollies.

Tag @ilovetaquitosmmmm

Warning-kidnapping, abduction.

Coco helped me in the door with EZ holding the door, first day of many of having extra security but i don't mind I know the guys are just looking out for us. i felt my way to the kitchen table chair,"baby I'll be fine, If it helps I'll stay here. Go take a shower or something. I'm a big girl, If I need I'll ask Gilly or EZ. There in the living room." Even though he wasn't saying I could tell he was still there, "Johnny go I'll be fine." He hates being called by his real name but he only lets me call him that.

"Fine." He pouted like a five year old and left.I swear these boys are like kids at times, me and shi are like the mother hens but we love them wouldn't have it any other way.

Then there was a knock it sounded like it was my front door,which i find weird because the guys know I have a open door and come in.

I got up feeling my way to the living room,"someone here guys?''

"No just me and Gilly why?" EZ asked

"I heard a knock that sounded like it from the front door." I replied feeling my way to them to sit on the sofa. But I tripped on something

"Woah,you ok?" Gilly said catching me before I fell.

"Ya. What was that?" I replied sitting on the couch.

"Shoes i thought I moved out of the way before you came home, me and Gilly were moving stuff out of the way so something like you tripping didn't happen." EZ said sounding like he was to my left.I swear these boys are like kids at times, me and shi are like the mother hens but we love them wouldn't have it any other way.

Then there was a knock it sounded like it was my front door,which i find weird because the guys know I have a open door and come in."It's ok. I'm glad I'm home. Missed my boys." I laughed they were family

"We missed you to. Coco was worried sick about you when you were in surgery, both for you and Riz."

"I know Riz will pull through hes a tough guy. Him and shi are perfect for each other both have big hearts and would do anything for you."

"You girls keep them in line for sure." Ez teased

"He made me come out of my shell that's for sure. Saved me from a abusive realstionship, well i broke up with him but he kept coming after me. Maybe that's one of the guys that did the shooting." Then I remember seeing something before the glass broke i remember seeing someone in the house before the gunfire started. And i heard a glass brake from the kitchen

"Hey babe look at me,it's ok. No one's here." I heard Johnny's (coco) voice

"He did it i saw him. I know he did." I replied feeling for his hand and hugging him burrying my face in his shirt I could feel myself shake,"it can't be him he's in jail. I'm scared baby."

Cocos P.O.V.

"Fuck, I haven't thought about him in years not since I kicked his ass". Coco ran his hand down his face with a sigh.

"Who are we talking about"? Ez asked.

"It was before your time boy". Gilly shook his head, he remember that wanna be biker. He couldn't make it with Dee and he couldn't make it as a Mayan.

"Dee's ex, Aaron, he started as a prospect like you but was kicked out after what he did to Dee".

"He beat her"?

"Worse, he fucked her up so bad mentally".

"Why does she think he would come after you after all these years"? Ez asked taking a sip of his coffee.

"It all started when Shiloh brought Dee to a party one night. Aaron didn't allow her to come to the ones before, we didn't even knew she exsited until we saw her with Shiloh and he was all over her. Well that didn't last long when she saw me. We started talking and dancing. Aaron went pshyco and started beating her, she was covered in bruises when I came in and helped. She broke up with him and he went mad. He came to my house one night and threatened us saying 'If I can't have her no one can' but that was years again and since then he's been in jail".

"You've been keeping tabs on him"? Gilly smiled.

"Hell yeah, I wasn't letting her get hurt again but if this really is him then those bullets were met for me and Shiloh".

"Shiloh"? Ez was confused.

"Shiloh threatened to cut off his balls if he came near Dee again and she also planted meth on him with Riz help and thats why he went to prison. It was his third strike".

"But if he's out we need to warn Shiloh".

"Yeah, I'll call Angel and Creeper. Make sure they're packing". Gilly walked out the door getting on the phone.

"Ez, Can I ask you something"?

"Yeah brother anything"?

"Will you watch over Dee while I go visit a friend. They'll know if he's out".

"Yeah, no problem. I'll protect her with my life".

"Thanks man". Coco hugged Ez and went to tell Dee he was leaving and posting Ez and Gilly at the house. That he wasn't going to let anything else bad happen to her.

Coco arrived at his friends house, did a secret knock and entered being patted down for a weapon.

"Do you remember Aaron, Dees ex"?

"Yeah, I heard he got out, made a lot of friends while he was in. Some of them not to Mayan friendly".

"You knew and you didn't tell me"? Coco yelled, standing up hovering over his friend.

"I figured he would move on, not come back and dig up old wounds".

"Well he dug up the whole fucking grave yard. He shot at us at a party, put one of my brothers in the hospital, he may not make it and he blinded Dee forever. You should have told me".

"Then I guess I should have told you that he bought two AK-47s two months ago".

"That would have been very fucking helpful and it would have stopped all of this from happening. This, I'm blaming you. I will settle this score later but now I have to go protect my girl". He stormed out of the house, jumping on his bike and jeting off.

Shiloh's P.O.V.

Meanwhile, Shiloh was having a wonderful little time with the nurse once again. She wanted Riz to wake up so bad that she called in a favor and got him the MIR that morning, he was currently in.

"Miss, you need to get your stuff out of the room".

"That's my husbands room and he'll be coming back after he gets done with this test so if you dont mind, fuck off".

The nurse huffed, rolling her eyes and storming off. "I fucking hate this place". You growled.

"Shiloh". You heard Angels voice running down the hall.

"What, is it Dee"? You panicked.

"Sort of, its her ex".

"Aaron what does that little shit have to do with anything"?

"Dee saw him at the house that night of the party right before the gun shots".

"After all these years he's coming after us, what a asshole".

"Coco told us to watch you, and that he's certain that he's coming after Dee".

"Okay, Riz is almost done but I want you to tell Creeper to wait here for him". You said starting to walk off.

"Where are you going"? Angel walked behind you.

"To the room, I need my phone to call Dee, she needs me".

"I'll come with you".

"It's a hospital what's the worst that can happen"? Angel shook his head knowing he should have followed you but didn't follow you, he went to get Creeper.

You walked into the room and grabbed your phone about to speed dial Dee but you felt a presence and thats when you got knocked out, you could feel your body being dragged down the hallway as it was fuzzy.

During Rizs test he started moving, and sat straight up. "Where's Shiloh"? He yelled. Creeper heard him from the hallway and rushed in calming his brother.

"Hey, calm down. Angel is with her". But he wasn't, Angel came in and shocked them.

"What's going on? I can hear you from the waiting room".

"What are you doing in the waiting room, you're supposed to be watching Shiloh. Where is she"? Creeper questioned.

"She went to get her phone. Dees ex is out and she wanted to make sure she was okay".

"And you let her go by herself"?

"Its a hospital, what could possibly go wrong"? Angel ate his words when Riz came back to the room and Shiloh wasnt there, no one had seen her since Riz went in.

"I'll check outside and in the cafeteria". Creeper jogged off.

"I'm sorry". Angels head fell in his hands.

"You had one job to watch her and you let her go off on her own knowing there's someone out trying to kill her".

"I'm going to find her, I promise".

"You better and when you do make sure you put a bullet in the guys head". Riz told Angel, because he already knew what happened to Shiloh.

While Creeper and Angel looked for Shiloh, her muffled screams couldn't be heard in the closet.

"No use of struggling, no ones going to find you until they start smelling you decomposing body coming from here". The guy laughed, making your skin crawl.

"MTHERCKNG ASHLE ". You tried to speak but you weren't understood.

"Oh is the Mayan whore trying to say something"? He ripped the tape off your mouth.

"Fuck you, motherfucker". You spat.

"Ah a feisty whore". "Let me tell you something, the sons will regret getting involved with the Mayans".

"If you have something against the Sons then go after them not us".

"But its you that I don't like". He pushed the tape over your mouth again. All you could think was you're going to die and you wont see Riz wake up and how Dee is worried sick about Aaron and you're not there to help her. Tears started falling.

[river--moore]

River’s Police Interview.

WHERE: Hollowick’s Police Station WHEN: Early evening, 11th July 2020.

It was a bit of an inconvenience for River being called down to the police station that evening. Of course, it was – how dare they pull her out of her depressive slump and away from the fifth of vodka that sat waiting for her in her living room. Alas, she had no choice. She didn’t want to become a suspect by not turning up to a basic police interview.

She wore casual attire as she stepped into the station – black skinny jeans, a comfortable grey jumper and leather ankle boots, her braids grazing the small of her back as she walked inside. She allowed her stick to support her weight as she stated her business at the reception desk, and followed the officer into the small questioning room soon after. The room was pretty drab – blank walls with a crack of sunlight creeping into the room through the tiny window on the back wall. Very unstimulating room to say the least, but gave her more incentive to get out of it quicker.

River took their seat at a desk situated in the middle of the room, opposite the officer who’d taken their place in their own chair; flicking through their notes and wasting no time before they clicked play on the audio recorder on the desk, and began their questioning…

THIS INTERVIEW IS BEING CONDUCTED AS PART OF THE PROCEDURE OF AN ONGOING INVESTIGATION AND IS BEING TAPE RECORDED. THERE IS NO NEED TO WORRY, I’M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND. COULD YOU STATE YOUR FULL NAME AND DATE OF BIRTH FOR THE RECORD?

With a discontented sigh, River crossed her arms over her chest and sank further into her seat as she listened to the officer in front of her. She figured this thing would go quicker if she cooperated rather than being difficult so she decided she would comply with whatever they wanted to ask of her. Besides, she was on a major comedown from whatever intoxicant she decided to take last night, and her head was thumping – she didn’t want to be here longer than needed. “River Moore. 15th August 1986.”

IS THERE ANY NAME YOU’RE MORE COMFORTABLE BEING REFERRED TO AS?

“Just River,” she replied dully, her words monotone as she looked at the officer opposite her. Just River, she relayed in her thoughts; an excuse her father would use to dismiss her needs as a child, when she would come downstairs, starving; begging for a scrap of food left by her father and the friends he’d had over that evening to get drunk and watch football. It’s just River, she’s fine, he would say. She would always go to bed hungry those evenings.

ALRIGHT, THAT’S NO PROBLEM. DURING THIS INTERVIEW WE WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU SOME QUESTIONS AND WE REQUIRE YOU TO ANSWER HONESTLY. LET’S START WITH YOUR BACKGROUND. HOW DID YOU COME TO LIVE IN HOLLOWICK?

She fidgeted in her chair, trying to get comfortable, but with constant ache in her lower back it was hard to get comfortable in even the softest of seats. “Born here. Lived here all my life. Unfortunately.”

WHAT ABOUT YOUR EDUCATION, COULD YOU ELABORATE ON THAT PLEASE?

A question she detested, knowing full well her education records were poor. “Public education. Didn’t graduate high school. Dropped out at 15. Being passed around between different foster families tends to mess that kind of thing up.”

I SEE, AND YOUR CAREER? WE’D LIKE TO KNOW A LITTLE BIT ABOUT WHAT YOU DO AND HOW YOU GOT THERE.

“I’m a freelance musician and composer. Sometimes I do the occasional DJ sets if they don’t want live music. Whatever pays the bills,” she explained, thinking back to the few times certain establishments just wanted dull chart songs to be pumped through their pub so people could listen mindlessly as they got slugged back shots of tequila, rather than enjoy a live, stimulating performance. It was a waste of her talent, but sometimes she wasn’t in the position to refuse a paycheck. “I’ve always been into music. A natural connection, natural talent, you could say. Figured it made sense to follow that career path.”

DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? DO ANY OF THEM LIVE WITH YOU HERE IN HOLLOWICK?

Letting out a dry laugh, she shook her head. “Nope. All dead.” Normally, she would leave it at that. It was a little insensitive sounding, as if she didn’t care that she was the only one left out of her family, but honestly; it hurt to talk about her family too much. Not her mother and father, but her real family; Judy and Mark. The only people to show her love, ripped away from her before she even had a chance to live her life with them. She could tell the officer wanted an elaboration by the way they looked at River expectantly, so she sighed. “My mother died during childbirth. My father overdosed when I was a pre-teen. My adoptive parents died in a car crash. Wish I died with them.”

I’D LIKE YOU TO THINK ABOUT YOUR PERSONALITY. COULD YOU PERHAPS DESCRIBE HOW YOU SEE YOURSELF TO ME?

“Depressive, self-loathing, stubborn piece of trash mainly sums me up.” She eyed the officer’s pen as they scribbled notes on paper, wondering what they were saying about her. Probably something along the lines of ‘mentally unstable and extremely pessimistic’, although those words were probably too kind compared to how she really thought of herself.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY YOUR GREATEST STRENGTHS ARE?

River had to take a second to think about that question. Strengths? She barely knew anything other than weakness, but a few things did come to mind. “I’m good with music. Creativity. I know how to piece together a song in minutes with little inspiration. I can also put on a show that stays with people for weeks,” she spoke, almost proudly, about her achievements in her career so far. “I’m also exceptionally independent. I don’t need any help from anyone. Disability or not.”

AND I’D ALSO LIKE TO ASK YOU TO EXPLAIN WHAT YOU PERCEIVE YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESSES TO BE, IF YOU WOULDN’T MIND.

Again, she could only let out a dry chuckle. “Well, my back and legs don’t work very well, to start with. You can thank the car that drove head first into ours for that. I don’t get far without my stick and can’t walk for long distances. I can’t stay on my feet for long periods of time, either,” River explained, motioning towards the walking stick that rested against the side of the table before her. “Also… pretty stubborn, like I said. I do things how I like, when I like, where I like. I’ve gotten through life without any help so far, and I don’t need any help now.”

THANK YOU. NOW I WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT THE NIGHT OF JUNE 14TH, 2020. WHERE WERE YOU THAT EVENING?

“I was at home,” she paused, wracking her brain for a better story than ‘sitting alone, high as a kite on the cheapest stuff she could get a hold of at such short notice’, since she assumed the officer wouldn’t appreciate that very much, “writing. I was having a pretty shitty night and writing music helps me relax. I didn’t leave the house at all that day, actually. My back was giving me some issues and my leg wasn’t supporting any weight, so I had no choice but to be house-bound.”

DID YOU KNOW THIS MAN? [THE OFFICER SHOWS YOU A PHOTO OF JAMES MASON.]

Taking a second to look at the picture she was shown of the man, she shook her head. “Not personally. Seen him a few times around town, but that’s about it. Never even spoke to the man.”

WHAT ABOUT ANY OF THESE PEOPLE? [THEY SHOW YOU SEVERAL OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. THE IMAGES ARE OF THE VICTIMS OF THE REAPING FROM WHEN THEY WERE ALIVE]

Shaking her head again, she shrugged. “Don’t recognise any of them, honestly. I usually keep to myself, so I don’t know many people if I’m being truly honest.” She’d always been a bit of hermit – didn’t really have an option when she was so antisocial anyway. No matter how nice people were to her, she always had that thought nipping at the back of her head: don’t bother, you’ll just lose them eventually. And she always listened.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION. DO GET IN TOUCH IF YOU FIND ANY INFORMATION. STAY SAFE.

[onewhoturns]

wip wednesday 4/1

Here, have a whole chunk of the reality tv au.

-

“Alex.” 

Groggy eyes open to find a barely lit room, and a silhouette that looks all kinds of weird. “Mm.” She rolls onto her side, hiding her face against the base of the couch. 

“Alex.”

With a long sleepy sigh, Alex rolls back over, arms flopping out at her sides. “No.”

-

Jonas resists the urge to snort at Blue Hair starfishing out on the floor. “Are you snooze buttoning me?” he mutters, voice still low. 

When she doesn’t respond immediately, he just rolls his eyes and returns to the corner to finish packing up his rig. He’s just gotten the arm off of his harness when he hears her stirring again and gradually heads back toward the couch. 

“Wut.” She’s squinting up at him from the floor. 

“Need your mic, Ace.” One clip, two clips, three clips, and he slides the vest off. 

“Mm.” It’s a noise of recognition, even if it’s still very sleepy. “Jonas. Hello.” 

He’s the last one on the first floor. They’ve got an on-call crew in one of the bedrooms upstairs, and a couple packing up the trucks up front for the night, but he’s the last straggler left who’s still got a drive home. Unfortunately, Becca is one of his confessional girls, so he had to stick around until after she returned from her date to tape, and some accident held up her ride back, bringing her in around midnight. Now it’s 2am and Jonas is well ready to be done for the night. But Ben ditched him before finishing up collecting the mics, so it fell on him to get hers. 

“Mic?” 

“Hmm.” It’s a sleepy hum, but it’s done with a smile. “Give me a… ummm…” Hands paw at the front of her shirt, unclipping the lav from her collar before sticking a hand under her back in a position that can’t be comfortable. 

“Get up, I’ll get it.” 

“Mm. Bossy. Like it.” He’s not sure if she’s joking until she laughs - well, a garbled kind of noise, but he gets the idea - pulling herself up via the couch and stripping off her flannel before T-posing with her back to him. 

“Nice.” His tone is a deadpan sarcasm as he sets down the vest so he can lift the hem of her tank top to turn off and unfasten the pack. 

He’s pulling it away when she hisses a sharp, “Shit-- tape,” her words a little clearer now that she’s standing (or maybe it’s the tug of tape on skin waking her up). 

“Sorry. Give me a second-” He rolls up the back of her shirt a little higher, finding the first anchored part of the wire and picking at an edge. “Slow or fast?”

“Yesterday the guy just ripped it off-- it was very rude, actually, no aftercare or anything.” Alex is definitely more awake now, her voice that familiar teasing tone. ‘I think they liked flirting with her, she was fun.’ Right. Logan had said that. 

Gradually peeling off the adhesive, Jonas mutters, conversationally; “You know, now that the mics are off, I think I’m allowed to mention I did some research on you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Logan says hi.”

He doesn’t get to see her expression change, but she whips around immediately, a sunny grin on her face. “Logan? You know Logan?”

There’s a thin-lipped, mildly amused smile on his lips as Jonas puts his hands on her shoulders to turn her back around and continue his job. “I dated Logan,” he murmurs, rubbing at the skin to get the last adhesive off before he follows the wire - hidden amongst lines of black ink that curves around her ribs - to the next bit of tape. It’s such an awkward height, too much hunching over for him, so he drops to a knee so it stays somewhere around eye level. 

“Huh. So you really knew Frankie, then. I mean, they’re in the same group, at least.”

Right. ...Yeah. His hands barely falter, but Jonas chooses his words wisely. He’d rather not fess up to his previous crimes, if he can help it. “Not anymore. Logan flipped on ‘em, left Portland for Seattle.” Sticking the second bit of removed tape to his jeans with the other, Jonas once more thumbs her skin to remove the adhesive.

“I like Logan. He’d always give me a snack from the snack bar at the auto shop.”

 “Turn.” Obediently, Alex turns so he can keep at his job. “Red Vines and pineapple Fanta, right?” And his eyes are entirely focused on the wire, hard to see in shadow and against the tattoo, until he looks up and she’s grinning down at him, an eyebrow raised and her tank top having been pushed up over her bra to facilitate the wire search. 

“Think I can do this one myself, actually,” she murmurs impishly. 

Jonas immediately looks away, rising to his feet. “Right, sorry.” 

She’s holding back a laugh, a sort of devilish mirth to it. “You literally stalked me in my bikini, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” As if to prove her point, she strips the rest of her shirt off as well, before getting to work peeling off the last bit of tape securing the wire to her cleavage.

Jonas frowns. Does she even realize how lucky she is that his camera isn’t running? “Alex, you can’t do shit like this.”

A raised eyebrow and bemused smirk are all he gets. 

“You’re always being watched. This sort of thing,” he gestures vaguely to her shirtless torso, “isn’t a good idea.”

The last bit of tape is off and the lav falls into her palm before she hands it over. “Well, I’m not being watched right now. So guess I’m just lucky.” She pulls the tank back over her head anyway. 

“You shouldn’t talk like that. Or- or act like that, or-”

“Like what?” There’s a slight edge to her voice - wary, defensive. 

He doesn’t mean to get so emphatic, but her ignorance of the subject is frustrating. “This is reality tv, Alex-”

“I don’t watch reality tv-”

Yes, obviously, that’s why- “You don’t belong here.” 

There’s an obvious silence after that. Alex looks at him with narrowed eyes, and he’s not sure if she’s hurt or angry. 

“I just mean… Aren’t you…” better than this? 

“I’m an honest person, Jonas. Everything I told you is true. I have my reasons for being here.”

He’s not going to argue with her. He’s already stepped well beyond his bounds. Speaking of which- “We can’t talk like this when your mic’s on.”

“Why not?”

Should he tell her? That every word she trusted him with is just waiting to be used against her? That those secrets she’d found so painful to share would be aired to the world in a few weeks’ time? “Can’t play favorites. Can’t be too familiar. Same reason I couldn’t hug you earlier.”

She looks more guarded than before, but her emotions are still so easy to read. Such an open book. There’s a kind of determined consideration in her look, before she finally says. “But you can now?”

Jonas is a little perplexed. “I mean, I guess… But you seemed pretty much over it, with all the tequila…”

Her arms are around him quick, the impact enough to make him stumble before he grabs on, tucking herself against him as she informs him, with an element of scorn, “Jonas, I’m a bartender, I’m not a lightweight.”

“You passed out on the floor of the living room,” he murmurs wryly. 

“Yes, because I was tired.” When she doesn’t make a move to let go, he just props his chin on the top of her head, letting her stay there. Not sure why, exactly. “This place is surprisingly exhausting.”

“Hm.”

“Mm, the judgment is strong in this one,” Alex mutters, pinching his waist lightly. 

“Ow.” He lets go of her, but she doesn’t let go of him.

“Liar.”

“Alex, you have to get off of me.” 

She sighs. “But you’re like a big teddy bear.”

He hasn’t been hugged in ages. And never for this long. It’s unsettling, and he needs to put his foot down. “Touching’s for the Kings.”

“Says the man who thinks I don’t belong here.”

Admittedly, if she gets this touchy-feely with the Kings, that could spell a load of trouble from her housemates. “That’s not… Nevermind. Just let go.” She does, finally, and bundles her discarded flannel around her hand as he adds, “Go to sleep.”

“Fine, fine.” She waves dismissively as she heads for the stairs, letting out one last murmured “Spoilsport,” before disappearing on eerily silent tiptoes to the second floor.

And Jonas is left more than ready to head out. 

The drive home has too many thoughts trapped inside his helmet. He doesn’t particularly want to think of the interaction he just had. He doesn’t like the idea of being friends with a contestant when he knows what’s inevitably in store. And if she slips up, if she mentions this, that could spell televised drama on both their parts, and a very public firing. 

Shit. Why had he even… what had he been thinking?

[alocalband]

What Happens in Vegas Bennguin, 3k, Mature Also on AO3

A few of the boys are still lounging around the pool even though the party’s died down. The rest of them drunkenly found their way into Jamie’s hotel room for video games and more drinking.

Jamie is loose and content on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. It’s the first time since the game seven double overtime loss that he hasn’t felt like throwing himself off a cliff, and he’s indulging the feeling. Drinking whatever shitty beer one of the guys hands him, watching Dicky absolutely mop the floor with Brett in Madden, letting Tyler be overly handsy and obnoxious beside him as he chirps the boys a little too loudly.

Eventually everyone breaks off to find their own fun. The sun’s still up, but they’ve been at it all day, so Jamie honestly wouldn’t mind just putting on a movie and then sleeping all the way up to their flight back tomorrow.

Tyler ends up the last one in the room with him, still sitting on the bed beside each other, as Janny determinedly heads out the door on his way to an ill-advised hookup that Tyler won’t stop falling all over himself laughing about.

Once Tyler’s able to catch his breath, he snorts and shrugs. “Well. ’What happens in Vegas,’ am I right?” he grins and takes another swig of his beer.

Jamie is just sober enough to know the next words out of his mouth are a bad idea, and just drunk enough to say them anyway. “Hey, does that mean-- Like, if I were to tell you something while we’re here, we could just leave it behind when we get back to Dallas? Just, you know, pretend I never said it?”

Tyler laughs again and nudges Jamie with his elbow, raising a crooked eyebrow. “This you asking for a free pass to rip me a new one? Go for it, man, I can take it.”

Jamie frowns. “What would I want to lay into you for?”

“I don’t know. Lack of scoring? Snagging the last beer?” He raises said beer up for emphasis, and then knocks back the rest of it.

“If I’m pissed at anyone for lack of scoring, Seggy, it’s myself.”

The change in Tyler’s expression at that is immediate, from drunken goofball to Serious Business Alternate Captain mode in .2 seconds flat. Jamie’s kind of in awe of the way the look highlights just how much Tyler’s grown up in the years since he got to Dallas.

“Hey man, we talked about this. We both had slumps. And we both did a lot of good shit too. If you start beating up on yourself again, I swear I’m gonna--”

“No, Segs, I’m not-- I’m good. You don’t have to worry.”

An easy smile tugs at Tyler’s lips as he slips right back into being pleasantly inebriated and carefree, slinging an arm around Jamie’s shoulders as if to emphasize that. “I always worry about you, Chubbs.”

He says it so casually that the words really shouldn’t make Jamie feel like he just got run into the boards.

But that breathless, helpless feeling that Tyler always manages to inspire in Jamie without even trying doesn’t excuse what Jamie does next.

“I’m gay,” he says.

Because he’s an idiot.

Tyler blinks dumbly at him for a couple seconds, and then starts to laugh.

And then abruptly stops when he sees Jamie is obviously not gonna be laughing with him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, pulling his arm off of Jamie’s shoulders.

Jamie swallows thickly at the loss of its comforting weight, wondering if that’s his answer to the unspoken question of, Is that okay? Are we still good? He suddenly feels a lot more sober than he did thirty seconds ago.

“Stays in Vegas,” he reiterates, trying not to pass out in fear of how the rest of this conversation is going to go. Why the fuck did he finally say it out loud. And to Tyler of all people, the one guy it would pretty much devastate Jamie to get a bad reaction to this from.

Tyler puts both hands up, wide-eyed. “Of course! I wouldn’t-- fuck, are you actually serious right now? Chubbs, it’s been years. And you never--”

“It’s the NHL, Segs,” he interrupts. “And with the C... Obviously none of the guys can know.”

“They wouldn’t--”

“You don’t know that.”

Tyler looks down at his now empty beer bottle, picking at the peeling label for a long moment.

The prolonged silence is doing nothing to help Jamie’s looming panic attack. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, it’s fine.” It’s really not, but Jamie is used to hiding heartache. “Like I said, we’re gonna pretend this whole conversation never happened, right? Nothing has to change.”

God, he hopes nothing changes. It would fucking break him if Seggy started treating him differently because of this. Damn it, why did he open his mouth at all?

Tyler’s eyes are still downcast. But then he sighs and leans over to set the beer bottle on the night stand. When he straightens, he locks his gaze with Jamie’s, his expression almost solemn. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question catches Jamie off guard. He frowns, his brow furrowed in confusion. “No?”

Tyler nods once, decisive. And then leans in and kisses him.

To say Jamie is shocked would be an understatement. His whole body locks up, frozen, and his thoughts stutter to a halt. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to catalogue the feeling of Tyler’s lips on his before Tyler is pulling back with a small frown. “Shit. Did I read that wrong?”

Jamie just stares at him, unable to process what’s just happened.

“Ah fuck, I’m sorry, man. I totally thought--”

“You kissed me,” Jamie manages.

Tyler looks at him like he thinks Jamie’s being intentionally obtuse. “Yeah? Duh? And I woulda done it a bajillion years ago if I thought I wouldn’t get punched for it.” He leans a little further away from Jamie. “Wait, am I gonna get punched for it?”

A hysterical little laugh bubbles up out of Jamie. He never thought this was a possibility, never allowed himself to even imagine...

He grabs a handful of Tyler’s T-shirt and reels him back in.

This kiss is long, slow and searching, the both of them active participants moving together like they already know exactly how the other will respond. Like the sixth sense they have on the ice somehow miraculously also applies to this.

When they come up for air, panting against each other’s swollen lips, Jamie has to squeeze his eyes shut tight and grip Tyler’s hips with bruising fingers to try to ground himself.

“What happens in Vegas?” Tyler asks breathlessly, but with a sort of timid caution that lets Jamie know what he’s really asking.

“It doesn’t have to. If you... It doesn’t have to stay here.”

“You sure?” He’s got one hand in Jamie’s hair and the other resting on Jamie’s thigh, slowly inching its way higher.

“Do you wanna know exactly how long I’ve been trying not to fall in love with you? Because it’s been a while.”

Tyler laughs, delighted. His face is so open and bright with his joy that Jamie can’t help but kiss him again. He wants to wrap Tyler up in his arms and never let go. He wants to be the cause of Tyler’s joy for the rest of their lives.

“If you need the receipts on how long I’ve been mooning over your stupid ass just ask Spez. He’s been throwing balls of tape at my head in the locker room every time I get too obvious about it since day fucking one.”

“Good to know.” Jamie grins. And then, a nervous stutter of his heart: “So Spez is cool with...”

Tyler purses his lips into something not quite a frown but close enough. It looks a little sad. “You know, a lot of them would be.” Jamie opens his mouth to argue, but Tyler beats him to it. “Just consider it, Cap. But not now. Right now the only thing I want you considering is my dick.”

Jamie doesn’t have the chance to roll his eyes and groan at that because Tyler heaves himself up to straddle him and start kissing again in earnest. And then Jamie’s groaning for an entirely different reason, bucking his hips up against the hard line of Tyler’s growing erection beneath his swim shorts.

Jamie tugs at Tyler’s shirt. “Off, off,” he pants against Tyler’s mouth. “Can’t believe you put a shirt on at all today.”

Tyler leans back and pulls she shirt over his head, while Jamie does the same with his own. “You keep your hotel room too cold,” he whines with an over the top pout.

Jamie gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re from Canada. You make a living being on ice.”

“Okay, okay, quit fucking chirping me and get naked already,” he says around laughter, like he’s never had this much fun. Jamie feels the same way. Being turned on while making fun of each other is a unique concept for him in the bedroom and he doesn’t know why it’s never been like this before. Maybe because he’s never had sex with someone who was a friend first.

Tyler rolls off of him so he can take off his shorts and then toss them clear across the room while Jamie eases out of his own. When Tyler turns back to face him, Jamie pounces and pins him to the bed with all of his weight.

“God that’s hot,” Tyler breathes, pupils blown.

Jamie grinds down into him, causing Tyler to close his eyes and throw his head back with a low groan. Then Jamie reaches down between them and takes them both in hand.

There is always something about watching Tyler without clothes on that feels like watching a performance. He is so fully aware when even a random phone’s camera is nearby, or where everyone’s eyes are immediately drawn whether they want to be or not. But it is very much a show, even at his most relaxed. Like he’s certain that no one in proximity would ever look at him as more than what he wants them to see: something to admire, to covet, to watch.

This is different. This feels like the show is just for Jamie’s eyes alone, and if anyone else were to try to intrude, everything about Tyler would shift. This is a Tyler just for the two of them. A Tyler that knows that Jamie’s lust is about more than just his body.

Neither of them last long, and thank god because Jamie’s embarrassingly hard just from getting to put his dick anywhere near those abs.

Tyler comes with a choked off shout. Jamie is so surprised by the fact that he goes first, and so turned on by the face Tyler makes, that he’s coming himself seconds later.

Tyler strokes him through the aftershocks. And when Jamie starts to softly whine at the overstimulation, he shimmies up the bed until they’re face to face, heads lying on the same pillow.

For a long moment the only sounds are their labored breaths and the muted noise of the strip outside the hotel room window. The further from the high of his orgasm Jamie gets, the more worried he is about what’s going through Tyler’s head. He admitted to an attraction to Jamie, but that doesn’t mean...

“...Hey,” Tyler says, oddly cautious, like he’s dipping his toes into water he’s already certain will be too cold.

“Uh, hey,” Jamie shoots back on reflex, a little too short for the situation, a little too closed off just on instinct. Shit. He can feel the air in the room shift to something wary, and this whole thing is about to get blamed on alcohol and fucking Vegas, isn’t it?

Tyler studies Jamie’s left shoulder for a long moment, pointedly not meeting his eyes. And then he rolls over so he’s on his back, several inches of space between them. He keeps his gaze on the ceiling as he says, evenly, “Okay. So. I’m gonna go.”

Jamie reaches out for him before he can second guess himself, wrapping a hand around Tyler’s tattooed forearm to keep him from getting out of bed. “Wait.”

“It’s fine, man. We don’t have to--”

“You said ‘since day one.’”

Tyler swallows thickly. “I did. And you said ‘falling in love.’”

Jamie nods. “I did.”

A small smile starts to tug at the edge of Tyler’s lips, and he does a poor job of tamping it down. “Well then I guess I’m not going anywhere, am I?”

His tone is amused and hopeful, but there’s enough of a question in his eyes that Jamie feels the need to confirm what he now suspects is true. He pulls Tyler into him, and Tyler falls against his chest without resistance. Jamie kisses him, quick and firm. “I’m keeping you for as long as I can get away with.”

“Might be awhile.” he smirks a little, playful and coy.

Jamie smirks right back. “Good.”

They manage to fit a couple more rounds in, along with room service and an HBO doc that Jamie is going to remember exactly zero of thanks to Tyler’s rudely talented mouth.

Jamie wakes up the next morning to Tyler having stolen all the blankets, burrowed down into them, his face hardly visible while his forehead is pressed into Jamie’s shoulder. It’s possibly the best way Jamie’s ever woken up, even with the mild hangover.

At the airport, waiting for their flight back to Dallas, Jamie finds himself in line at Starbucks next to Klinger. The guy is very obviously hungover, so are the rest of them, and looks like he’s going to fall over if he doesn’t get some coffee into his system in the next five minutes.

Jamie can relate, even if he’s more just tired than hungover, and so doesn’t chirp him when he yawns twice in a row and then nearly stumbles backwards into a shelf of travel mugs. He does laugh though, to which Klinger rolls his eyes and slugs him the arm, but he’s got a smile on his face.

“Hey, you have fun last night after we left? Or did you just stay in and watch TV like the old man you are?” His tone is teasing as they shuffle forward in line, though still a good six people away from the register.

Jamie considers his answer for a moment, and then considers John. His other A. Dependable and honest and just... a good guy. A guy Jamie trusts.

“Nah, I hung out with Seggy. He kept me pretty busy.” He doesn’t imbue any innuendo into it, his tone light. But he figures if Tyler really has been that obvious in the past, that maybe Klinger will read into it anyway.

And judging by the way John’s eyes widen slightly as he stares at Jamie and Jamie stares evenly right back, it looks like he was right. “Oh.”

Jamie purses his lips and waits, heart in his throat.

But then Klinger grins and punches Jamie in the arm again, only this time hard enough in his enthusiasm that Jamie winces. “Fuck yeah, man. It’s about god damn time.”

Jamie laughs and throws an arm around John to pull him into a side hug. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He glances over at where the rest of the guys are sitting at the terminal several yards away, immediately homing in on one body in particular. Sunk down low in his seat, limbs sprawled out wide, nodding his head along to whatever music he’s got coming through his air pods. Tyler looks as relaxed as ever, and so casually, effortlessly gorgeous that Jamie can’t believe he gets to have that.

No, not just have, but keep.

And maybe even get to tell a few people about it. Have people be happy for him out in the open, instead of solely in his most rare and hidden and buried fantasies.

It doesn’t feel real, especially beneath the hot desert sun streaming in through the big windows and the slot machines making noise at the other end of the causeway. But Klinger wrapping an arm around Jamie’s waist and hugging back, laughing delightedly against Jamie’s shoulder, solidifies it. Helps Jamie feel even more confident that this definitely doesn’t have to stay in Vegas.

He gets to take this feeling home with him.

[sheridanfalls]

1X02

1x01 | 

Tazia rolled over in the bed, Fletcher laying shirtless next to her above the sheets. The room was dark except for the glow of two phones. She gently pushed the blankets off her body as she took her phone of the charger.

20 missed calls.

She glanced back to make sure Fletcher was asleep before slipping into the bathroom. She locked the door and sat in the large jacuzzi tub as she took a deep breath before hitting call on the first number.

It didn’t ring long, “Ana.” The voice was relieved for a moment but layered with something else.

“Hey Key.” Her voice unsteady, “is it true, or did I make a total fool out of myself on National TV for no reason.”

“It’s true Ana, Willa is really gone.”

“How did Mom take it?” She wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her eyes on the door.

Her brother sighed, “Not good, not as dramatically as you, but um, not well.”

“And Dad?”

“He’s been sitting in his den since he got home today.”

“At least Belle is with you.”

“She’s out of town, she’s on a girl’s weekend with some college friends. She won’t have phone service until she comes back on Monday.”

Tazia scrunched her face up, “I’m sorry.” She looked away from the door, “I’m going to come home. I’ll be on the first flight in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I can sneak into the state pretty undetected. Besides, people will just think that I’m going to rehab. That’s the narrative surrounding me right now, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately.” He wanted to say more, “You can stay at my place, instead of the ranch.”

“I’ll figure it out, I don’t want to impose on you and Belle.”

“You’re my sister, my other half Ana.”

“Do you think Mom would let me stay at the ranch?”

“Dad will, and she would just have to accept it.”

“I’m going to go and book a flight right now.”

“Ana, please don’t bring Fletcher.”

“I had no intention of doing so. He can hang out in LA for all I care.” Tazia let her eyes drift to the door again, “I don’t want him to know about Willa, I don’t want that as part of my story.”

Keaton sighed, “Willa is a part of our story, if she wanted to be or not. I don’t think you need to share it. I don’t think any of us need to share it.”

“Kara showed up, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she brought a casserole.”

“Hey Key.”

“Yeah Ana?”

“Is it true we have a niece?”

“Yeah, but that is a whole other can of worms I’m not ready to open. We can talk about that when you get home.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you the details. I love you Key.”

“I love you too Ana.”

***

Belle rested her forehead against Mitch’s, their bodies glistening from the evening activities so far. Every touch felt deeper, filled with more passion then she could remember every feeling outside of this cabin.

Mitch kissed her neck, his fingers feathering down her body. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She moaned at his touch as he pulled her closer for more. Any thoughts, any care for her life outside of the cabin were forgotten as she allowed herself to get lost in the moment. Clinging to Mitch she cried out his name as she threw her head back on the couch.

His put his foot on the floor to regain balance, hitting the TV power button as he did so.

This afternoon pop star Tazia collapsed on live television before performing her latest single. Her manager Fletcher Curtis explained that she was exhausted from preparing for her tour and will take a short vacation before it starts this summer.

Neither heard the TV, just the sounds of their own desires being met as they continued enjoying their limited time together.

***

Georgina Woodward finished taping up the final box in her living room. She just had a few more things to pack up in the kitchen and bathroom. In the morning the movers would arrive, and everything would be loaded onto a truck and brought to Sheridan Falls.

She wasn’t thrilled about the move, but she understood why her husband Mitch wanted to move out of Denver. He was able to work anywhere, and why be in the city when you could just be in a nice small town.

Yet he had arranged for this move to happen when he was off at a conference in Dallas. She could strangle her husband, if she didn’t love him so damn much.

She picked up her phone, hitting the icon to call him, feeling her stomach sink when it went to voicemail, “Hey babe, everything is packed, I’m going to take a shower, get ready for bed. The movers will be here early, I just wish you were here for this. I love you Mitch.”

Running her hands through her dark chestnut hair she sighed, her whole life was packed up in boxes, tomorrow she would be starting a new chapter, it just felt weird her husband wasn’t with her for this.

***

“Hello, and welcome to another episode of Coffee, Donuts, and Crime. I’m your host Kara Greene and I’ve got an update for you on the case of Willa Hughes.” Kara spoke into the microphone, surrounded by the low lights of her salt lamp and a couple of candles as well as the dimmed overhead light.

She was alone as she spoke to the camera, as though she were just having a video chat with friends. “As you all know this case as stayed with me since I first started looking into it. Willa Hughes ran away from home in the spring of 2000. Her mother Rosemary never gave up hope that Willa would be found and return home.”

Kara took a sip from her coffee mug, “Unfortunately, this afternoon we found out that for all these years Willa was okay, she was happy, married, and had a daughter. She was also killed in a car accident in Utah this morning.”

Tucking her blonde hair behind her ear she continued as she focused on the camera, “Willa Hughes, for the past almost twenty years has been known as Willow Chase, the wife of Bennett Chase the leader of the Fire Yoga movement. It’s understood that their teenage daughter was not in the car with them. The Hughes family has not made a public comment at this time.”

“Also, this afternoon, Pop Princess Tazia passed out on live television. Social Media immediately began to come alive with theories of substance abuse. Her manager however said it was simply exhaustion.” She took another sip of her drink, “We all know Tazia loves the spotlight, who can forget her feud with Joel Riley after they broke up. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have a feeling we’ll be seeing far more headlines about Tazia before too long.”

“I’ll be back soon as we dive into a new case, and with more updates about past ones when possible. Until then have some Coffee and a Donut, and we’ll meet up soon for another chat. Bye all.” Kara reached forward clicking the camera off and watching as the file uploaded to her laptop.

She turned the lights up, before she pulled up her editing software. She just had a few things to put in. If she was lucky tomorrow Rosemary would call her up and arrange a new interview. Rosemary was always willing to talk about Willa, she would even brag about Keaton.

Kara felt the memory flash over her for a moment. Keaton close to her, his eyes clear with fire. She could feel the heat rising in her body. He came close to kissing her in the barn that day. She was still sure of it, yes, he’d been engaged at the time—he was married now to the lifestyle vlogger, but Keaton had wanted her.

As Kara went through the motions of her editing she glanced to her phone, seeing multiple text messages from her sister Sharon. She pulled them up, rolling her eyes.

Did you see him?

Do you just want to rip his shirt off and lick his chest?

He threw you off the ranch and told you to burn in hell, right?

Sex with him would probably be the hottest thing on the planet.

She quickly began to type a reply. Keaton was the only one their when I brought over a casserole. He pretty much told me to stay away. I’m sure Rosemary will reach out soon. I have no desire to have sex with Keaton Hughes even if he was the last man on earth.

Before she even put the phone down, she saw that Sharon had replied. She ignored her for now, she had a video to get out.

***

“She’s not going to call you.” Alec Riley looked over at his older brother.

“Who?” Joel took a sip from his pint glass as he glanced up at the tv above the bar.

Alec laughed, “You’re telling me that you don’t expect to hear from Tazia? She’s going to come; Rosemary would never let her live it down.”

“Tazia is a myth, a figment.” Joel looked at the golden drink filling half his glass, “Ana, she’s real, lost in a shadow, needing to be the good daughter.”

“It doesn’t matter what name she is using. She cheated on you with her manager. She’s been attached to him ever since.”

Joel rolled his eyes, “I expect to hear this stuff from Phoebe, not from you. What are you doing following only TMZ on twitter?”

Alec leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his face, “Come on Bro, I’ve been following this ever since you’re dance battle.”

“That didn’t happen.” Joel whined, “We didn’t get into a dance battle. You can’t believe everything you read on those trashy websites.”

“Come on Joel, I really love the mental picture of you and Tazia fighting it out via dance. Like, come on, the picture just paints itself.” Alec looked around, “I can almost hear the music playing, first it would be one of her songs, then your dance hit, the really bad 2000s outfits, I mean come on.”

Joel knew what night his brother was speaking about. It was the last time besides an award show they had been anywhere near each other. For a moment Joel believed that if he and Ana got to talk, that they would clear up everything. Then he saw the way Fletcher Curtis slunk his arms around her on the dance floor.

It might not have been the dance battle that TMZ had reported or lived in the legend of old gossip sites long abandoned. Joel had pulled his back up dancer Chloe out onto the floor. Kept her close, even closer when he felt that Ana was looking. Did he kiss Chloe at one point on the dance floor, yes? When he pulled away did he see Ana locked in a hot and heavy kiss with Fletcher? He sure as hell did.

“Joel, Joel, Joel!” Alec snapped, about ready to slap his brother in the face.

“Sorry, I spaced out.”

“You never got over her, did you?”

“You never get over your first love.” Joel let a smile cross his lips as he thought about the first time, he an Ana kissed, it was the night before Willa ran away.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Alec shook his head, “Remember, I’m the heartless one who has never been in love, while you’ve written some of the most annoying love songs ever. Seriously, if I have to go to one more wedding and hear Summer Dance again I might kill you in your sleep.”

Joel rolled his eyes, “At least I’m not the one who sings it.”

“Thank God for small favors.” He sighed, “Well, it’s late. We should get back to the ranch.”

Joel tossed some cash onto the bar, “I can’t wait until we have the ranch set up and going. It’ll mean less trips into town.”

“Yeah, coming into town is totally the worse thing ever.” Alec froze as the door opened, in she stepped with her pitch-black hair, precious moment eyes, and full lips.

“Alec, you coming?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He followed his brother outside, glancing towards the window once more.

“Who is she?”

Alec shrugged, “No idea.”

“Let’s go.” Joel pushed him towards the truck. “We have an early morning.”

“Remind me why I agreed to be your foreman?”

“Because I’m a spoiled popstar with money to burn, and willing to pay you, give you a place to live in my giant house, let you swim in my indoor pool, oh and because I’m your brother.”

“I liked it better when you called yourself a spoiled popstar.” Alec took one more look towards the bar, wondering who the raven-haired beauty was.

***

Fletcher reached across the bed, pulling a pillow against him, breathing in its scent before realizing he was alone in the bed. “Taz?”

The morning sun was starting to come through the curtains. He threw the sheets aside and went to check his phone, at that moment that her phone was gone. He looked at this screen.

Had to go to Colorado. I need to see Keaton, twin thing. Do. Not. Follow. Stay in NYC, manage the whole passing out on live TV thing. Thanks.

He groaned. Every damn time she went back to Colorado, which thankfully wasn’t often he had to calm her down. Anytime she had been around her mother she would come back spiraling. Though he wasn’t as worried about her dealing with her mother, it was just a hassle. It was that Joel fucking Riley had texted her after the incident on TV.

He pulled open a drawer, pulling out a pair of sweatpants a t-shirt before he found the number, “Why the fuck did you let her leave?”

***

She hadn’t packed anything, she just got on the first flight she could. While she’d been waiting for it to board at JFK, she reserved a car at DIA, and put together a curbside pickup order for Target.

Her hair was pulled in a simple braid, she had no false lashes on, no makeup at all. She wore a pair of jeans, and a CU hoodie. She just looked like any average woman flying out. She had her purse of course, which she had filled with the few things she could think she needed.

In all honesty, she couldn’t recall the last time she had packed for herself, and since she had no idea how long she would be in Colorado, she didn’t know what to pack. So, while on the target app she ordered the basics of what she might need for a couple of days, including a basic black dress, everything was done under her real, legal name.

After she’d picked up her order at Target, she drove through the mountains to Sheridan Falls. She pulled over to the side of the road, taking a moment for herself. She had to decide now, did she go to Keaton’s house or her parents?

The dread in her stomach told her what she knew. Going straight to Keaton would be cowardly, she would have to go to the ranch first. However, her parents reacted would determine if she stuck around or went to spend the night at Keaton’s.

She started the car, pausing for a moment as a familiar voice hit her ears. Of course, it would be this song as she entered Sheridan Falls. Joel, he’d left her. Just walked out one day, and then a scathing song about her, accusing her of cheating.

Tazia felt cold as she remembered how it felt when she realized her was gone. And then the day that song came out, the music video dropping. She wouldn’t have to see Joel if she didn’t want to.

She did have to see her mother no matter what.

Might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

***

Keaton locked the front door of his house. He hadn’t slept much, but he had finished painting Belle’s office. He moved down to his truck, realizing that a moving truck was blocking his driveway. Sighing he moved towards the street, “Excuse me, you’re blocking my driveway.”

“Sorry bud, we’ll be out of the way in a minute.” The mover insisted.

Keaton wasn’t so sure as he walked around the truck, but they were almost empty. The team of men moving quickly to bring stuff into the old Windsor house.

“I’m so sorry.” A female voice came from behind him, “I’m trying to get them out as soon as possible.”

“It’s okay, they’re almost done.” Keaton turned to her, she was probably his age, with red hair lit by the son, “I’m Keaton Hughes.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Georgina Woodward, my husband Mitch and I are moving in. Unfortunately, he’s out of town right now.”

“Oh, that is a shame. If you need anything my wife Belle and I are usually around. She’s out of town this weekend, but she’ll be back Monday.”

“That’s so very nice of you.” Georgina kept her eyes on the movers, “I hope your not in a hurry?”

“Actually, I’m not.” He confessed, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with his parents and sister. “So, no need to rush them if you don’t have to.”

“Okay, thank you, still it should only be about fifteen minutes more.”

Keaton nodded, “Thanks.” He was already moving back towards his house.

***

Mitch nuzzled Belles neck as she poured a cup of coffee. She turned the TV on, “Do you want sugar?”

“You know what I want” His hands slipped along her waist.

Belle giggled, “Mitch, I need to at least get some coffee first.”

“Fine.” He sighed as he pulled away and began to fix his own. “Oh, did you see this yesterday?”

Belle looked to see what he was referencing, “What?”

“That pop star just totally passed out on TV She was probably high as a kite.”

“Wait, no, that’s not why.” Belle put her coffee mug down, “I have to go Mitch I’m sorry.”

Mitch reached for her, “What, why?”

“That missing woman they found, that’s Keaton’s sister, and that pop star who fainted in front of that news report, is also his sister.”

Mitch dropped his hand, “Go. It was short, it was sweet, next time will be longer.”

Belle felt the knot in her stomach, “Yes, next year.”

Mitch watched as she left for the bedroom, next year would be far too long. Belle would just have to be surprised to find out he was her new neighbor.