#like I sketch something out and almost immediately hate it and can’t make myself finish it

[mango-draws]

Recently started watching Salaryman’s Club for my gym show! Added to the list of sports anime that make me want to do said sports 🏸

[lordfreg]

Love You, Brother

note: I HATE MYSELF AHHHHH but i thought of it and eVERYONE HAS TO SUFFER WITH MEEE :D!!!

@hypocriticaltypwriter

TW// major character death, blood, family issues, burnout, and bulling !!

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It wasn’t fair.

Nothing is fair.

Niccolo couldn’t speak for the first few years of his life. Being nonverbal was hard for a little guy like him, he couldn’t say anything at all. He chirped to hid brothers and sister, but only they knew what he was saying, and even then it was hard.

Niccolo was sitting at a small table of the play space in the Resistance’s secret base. Some other Resistance kids walked up and started to grab at the crayons that Niccolo had specifically placed out in rainbow order.

Niccolo looked around confused at the actions of the other children, he stared to whine at them, struggling to explain why this was making him upset.

The other kids stopped and looked at Niccolo who could only grunt at them. Their expressions become more upset and they just started to laugh. Niccolo didn’t understand, what was so funny? Did he do something?

“Haha! This kid can’t even speak!” One of them said, “Speak kid! What? Are you mute or something?”

Niccolo didn’t understand.

Why where they doing this? What did he do to them?

Then, a voice from behind called, “Hey! You leave my brother alone!”

It was Zuccone!

“You guys put those crayons back, he had them in order for a reason!” Zuccone said demandingly.

“What was the reason? Maybe if Mute over here would speak…” One of them said, while the other started to chuckle.

Niccolo felt like crying, and he pretty sure he was. He saw the tear drops hit the floor. 

“You shut up!” Zuccone shouted, “You don’t speak to him that way! He’s way smarter then all of you combined!”

“What’s going on over here?” Karai asked, peering in at the fight.

“They’re making fun of Niccolo!” Zuccone said swiftly, making sure they didn’t get a word in first.

“Really?” Karai said unamused, “You three can go in time out.” She said, grabbing them by the arms and dragging them to the corner, making them drop the crayons, Niccolo and Zuccone making sure to pick them up immediately.

Niccolo chirped a ‘thank you’ to Zuccone as they both orginized the crayons, back into rainbow order.

“You’re welcome, Niccolo!” Zuccone smiled back, “Now, where were we?”

Niccolo chirped fearfully.

“Ah, I’m sure they learned their lesson Niccy.” Zuccone said, handing him the color red, “And, I’ll always be here to protect you, okay?”

“Chrip!” Niccolo smiled widely, letting Zuccone watch him as he drew. 

That was almost 5 and a half years ago, and now Niccolo could speak. He spoke, not often, but enough.

“What would you like to eat, dear?” Tamsin asked, grabbing a small plate.

“Not hungry! Too busy!” Niccolo said, quickly scurrying past the counter with his arms full of art supplies. 

“You’re just like your uncle,” Tam sighed, “No way mister, you have to eat breakfast before you spend all day drawing again.”

Nic stopped dead in his tracked and looked up at his mother, trying to find the correct words, “But... I want to finish it before Dad leaves again...”

Tam smiled a bit, “After breakfast, kiddo.”

Niccolo pouted a bit, setting down his things and walked to the family table with the rest of his brothers, before sitting down and being served pancakes.

They tasted like dirt, but hey! They were food. At least the syrup made them taste like sugar.

“What are you working on, Niccy?” David asked, mouthful of pancake.

“Surprise,” Niccolo said simply, finishing his first pancake in a few bites.

“Whatever it is, i’m sure it looks great!” Zuccone smiled, giving Niccolo a thumbs-up.

“Uh-huh!” Nic nodded eagerly, “Looks great!” He repeated.

After breakfast, Niccolo ran to the play room, wagging his small tail and grabbing his supplies. He ran to the room where a big canvas sat on an easel that was way too tall for Niccolo to reach, already having a rough sketch of something.

Zuccone stuck his head in, peering at his twin, using an empty box to reach is project. Niccolo was vigorously erasing the sketch marks and tracing over them with his thick marker.

Zuccone watched him carefully, having a soft smile at the way that Niccolo’s hand glided over the canvas. Never shaking, even once. Niccolo was so focused and serious about what he was doing. He was seriously just like Uncle Mikey.

Zuccone hadn’t even noticed himself drawing closer to the canvas. Gazing closer at it, Zuccone could see the splotches of red, orange, purple and blue. He could see the green bodies of his uncles, father and siblings.

He was doing a family portrait. 

“Wow, that’s really good!” Zuccone said, making Niccolo jump a bit.

“Ah! You scared me!” Niccolo smiled, “Thank you, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, you’re welcome!” Zuccone joked, “I think Dad’s really gonna love it.”

“You do?” Niccolo asked, his eyebrow hitched slightly, “What if he hates it?”

“Why would he hate it, Nic?” Zuccone asked, leaning to face his poor brother who was getting swamped with self-doubt.

“Because,” Nic frowned, “The portions are off and Uncle Raph’s head looks off.”

“It’s hardly noticeable, if it wasn’t, I would’ve told you.” 

“You’re right,” Nic smiled again, “Looks good!”

Zuccone laughed, “Looks good! Looks good!”

Niccolo kept drawing, letting Zuccone watch him.

The painting as finished months ago, and hung in Niccolo’s room. Once Nic showed everyone, they were all so thankful.

Uncle Leo even started to cry a little bit.

Everyone was so thankful. It made Niccolo feel a type of pride. So, Niccolo made more drawings, he explored different mediums, he even roped David into it! And David was quite good at it too.

Niccolo woke up to the sounds of the blaring alarms and flashing lights.

SECURITY BREACH! CODE RED!

This was bad, really bad! The Krang had found their base!

Niccolo grabbed his sais and jacket, preparing for trouble. He ran out with the rest of his siblings, as they watched CJ and Raphael push back a Kraang bush out of the base.

“We could really use your help..!” CJ said inpatiently.

“Right!” Karai said, waking the Krang out of the doorway, making it scrabble up the stairs.

Niccolo looked around nervously. Where was David? Or Jeremiah? Or Zuccone?

“Karai!” Niccolo called, “Where’s Zuccone?”

CJ pointed up the stairs, where Karai was running up and Niccolo followed her, finding himself in the middle of a battle field.

Everything was happening at once; Leo was slicing, Donnie was protecting Tam until they both fight off the Krang so they could attack, Raph had rushed out behind Niccolo with a rush of wind, smashing down a tendril of a Krang before it could hit CJ.

Zuccone and David were struggling with a Krang, who was trying to bite them. Niccolo took his naginata and sliced the thing in half, making a small signal with his hand.

“Yeah, we’re good.” David said disgruntled, “Aren’t we, Zee?”

“Yeah… Mom! Dad!” Zuccone quickly changed his priorities.

“Don’t worry, son!” Donnie called back, with Tam clinging to him, “We got this!” Donatello legitimately threw Tam and a Krang, Tam cutting it down the middle.

Zuccone and David laughed, Niccolo cringing at the affectionate kissing that pressured after the attack.

Just then, a Krang jumped out, it’s spikes facing toward Niccolo.

SHINK.

….

Niccolo’s breath was the only thing he heard. He stared in horror as he found himself on the ground and covered in blood that wasn’t his. Tears welled in his eyes, and his heart beat was deafening.

Zuccone was standing over him. His side fully impaled with the spike.

It didn’t feel real. Niccolo’s tears blurred his vision slightly, making it hard for him to focus on what was happening.

Zuccone fell on top of Niccolo, making reality snap back to focus as Niccolo rolled his brother over, applying pressure to the wound.

Donnie and Tam rushed over, Leo and Raph joint them in protecting the kids. Another attack had been lunched, but Niccolo could care less. The only thing he cared about was his brother, bleeding out in front of him.

“Zee..? Zee! Zuccone!!” Niccolo panted, “Answer me!! Are you okay?? Please!!”

Zuccone looked slightly, giving his twin a heavy-lidded side eye, letting out a few breaths. Luckily, Zuccone’s half plastron protected him. Mostly.

Zuccone attempted to sit up, wincing in pain, his breath hitching. The slightly lifted shirt reveled a chipped plastron and a rapidly bleeding side.

“Niccy….” Zuccone said, bringing his hand to reach his twins. “It-It doesn’t look like i’ll bounce back this time… If I die…”

“You won’t die, please.” Niccolo begged.

“If I die…” Zuccone said more sternly, “Promise you’l, take care of yourself, okay? You’re worth every…ugh…every word of praise and admiration.”

Zuccone pulled Niccolo close to him, placing their foreheads together. The ultimate sign of affection.

“Love you, brother.”

He went limp, his head falling back in Niccolo’s arms. The world deafen again. Karai and Tam rushing over, with the rest of them following after them. Niccolo couldn’t hear was they were saying. He didn’t care what they were saying.

Raph pulled Niccolo away from Zuccone’s body, Niccolo hissing, biting and yelling at Raph, probably something he would regret but he couldn’t even hear himself right now.

Donnie tried desperately to resuscitate Zuccone, saying something, tears starting to stream down his face. Tam held Karai as they both cried into each other. Leo grew angry and ripped a Krang in half with his bare hands, kicking away its corpse and yelling.

David stood visibly shocked, unable to speak or move.

Raph restrained Niccolo as he tried to get back to Zuccone’s body.

Suddenly, like an EMP, everything came back into focus.

“It’s no use…” Donnie said, helplessly, “He’s-….” Donnie couldn’t even finish his sentence before a hiccup of sobs erupted.

Niccolo couldn’t comprehend it. He couldn’t even imagine it in his worst nightmares. How did this even happen? It was too fast, too traumatic, to remember.

They carried Zuccone’s body off of the battle field, Donatello carrying him with Tam and Karai accompanying them. Leo and Raph helped the rest of the kids calm down from the attack.

Lots of tears, blankets and water bottles were handed out. News was spread and everyone was trying to calm down.

Niccolo felt out of focus. Like he, himself, was blurry. Everything felt numb on his skin and in his head. He couldn’t remember what happened. He didn’t understand what he was doing. He was simply going through the motions.

Then, the reality set it. It felt like a broken rib, on every rib. It crushed his heart and spiked tears in his eyes. His face scrunched up and the furious look in his eyes returned.

Niccolo started to cry, Karai trying to calm him down to no avail. He became more and more angry. He ripped himself away from Karai’s grasp and ran into his room; slamming the door behind him.

Niccolo sobbed, and needed to break something. He looked around his room, his eyes gazed across everything.

He ran over to his easel, throwing it on the ground. He swept his glass jars onto the floor. He cat-swiped everything on to the floor. Books, toys, action figures, small gifts and paintbrushes.

He tore through the bookshelves, he threw things over, he ripped apart his room. He cried, and for the first time in his life, he screamed out of pure pain.

He continued tearing things apart until he finally landed on the painting.

The family portrait.

He could still here the echos of Zuccone’s voice.

“Looks good,”

Niccolo crumpled onto the floor, sobbing into his hands, in a nest of a destroyed room. He sat in the puddle of despair, eventually falling asleep and having no dreams.

———

They had a proper funeral for him. Mikey, being the one to speak first, and say “May the spirits of our Ancestors lead him to the safety of the Spirit World.”

Niccolo was next to speak. He coked on his words, he held back tears, he even had to drink water a few times. But, one he was finished, he didn’t wait around to watch the casket be put into the ground.

———

The days that followed where…hard on everyone. Mikey spending more time with Niccolo, if that meant anything at all.

Niccolo had shut himself off, he consumed himself with his work and ate rarely.

“He stopped talking too,” Karai said to thin air, letting the smoke around her absorb her problems. Meditation had helped in the past, but for some reason, this felt different. There was something more then just smoke in the air.

“He hasn’t said a word since… Since we lost him. I think they both died that day. It was hard on everyone, but it’s so much worse on Niccolo. It’s like… he doesn’t care anymore. About himself, anyway.” Karai spoke, trailing off.

“Karai…”. A ghostly voice whispered to her.

“Who-Who’s there?!” She exclaimed, getting off of the meditation spot and striking a fighting pose.

“It’s me, Karai.” The ghost whispered again, sounding familiar, yet it was too ghastly to understand.

“Show yourself!” She demanded.

The smoke from the candles started to form a ball, morphing into a shape. A human shape.

“It’s me, Karai,” the smoke said once more, “It’s Zuccone.”

[mackeydoodledoo]

The Blacksmith Chpt. 1

Pairing: Dimitrescus x (Fem!)Reader/Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You are a human, a human who is in charge of the armory; polishing, blacksmithing you name it. You are strongly valued by the Dimitrescu family, specifically one that has strawberry-blonde hair. She’d always come visit you whenever you’d be working on a new piece of armor or weapon. 

Warnings: Fight; ends slightly bloody, Fluff at the end

A/N: So, I’m obsessed with armor n such and hearing that there’s an armory when you fight Cassandra.... So, we are making a story about a Blacksmith falling for one of the Dimitrescu daughters!

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You wipe the sweat from your forehead as you dip the blade you’ve been working on that Heisenberg had requested into a barrel of water. 

“Is it just hot in here or is that just you?” A familiar voice flirts at you

You place the now cooled blade down onto a table as you turn to see Daniela standing in the doorway, checking you out. You wipe more sweat off your forehead. You notice Daniela giggling.

“What?” You ask

“You got a little something there-” Daniela says, “Here, I’ll get it.”

Daniela takes out a white handkerchief from one of her pockets and wipes your forehead, noticing the black smudge now left on it. Your eyes widen in embarrassment. However you just watch Daniela smell your sweaty scent on her handkerchief.

“You know my sweat is on there right?” You could only ask

“I know,” Daniela moans from your scent left on her handkerchief, “Your scent smells so good.”

You blush at the compliment.

“Oh the little baby is blushing,” Daniela says, “I make everyone blush.”

“Oh- it’s just because-it’s just because it’s hot in here,” You say, trying to play it off

“Sure little baby,” Daniela whispers, “Will I see you for dinner tonight love?” 

You nod, not being able to have any words come out of your mouth. She lets out another giggle and makes her exit however, Heisenberg rolls in before Daniela could make her leave.

“Uncle Heisenberg!” Daniela smiles, hugging him

“How’s my niece doing?” He asks

You watch Daniela take her leave from the armory. However, coming back to reality, you grab the blade you have been working on and present it to him.

“My liege,” You greet Heisenberg, “The end result as of right now. If this is the shape you’re going for, then I’ll hop right onto the final stages of its production.”

Heisenberg requested for a longsword. However, as it had required for you to smelt more metal for the sword itself, you had to use a full armor set to melt it down to the mold of the blade, as much as you had been against the idea. However, Alcina had given the entire armory at your disposal. However, it did not help that you had to use one of your own metals rather than Heisenberg giving you some to make the longsword with. You have made the hilt of the sword when he first commissioned the sword to be made.  

“Your work is as great as ever y/n,” He smiles, “Do what you must, but make sure to have it ready by the same time the day after tomorrow.”

He takes his leave from the armory.

Tomorrow night?! But that’ll mean- I told Lady Daniela that I-... It can’t be helped I guess...

Almost immediately you took the dull blade and went over to the sander to sharpen it and polish it from its outer crust, slowly forgetting your agreement with Daniela about joining her and her family for supper.

At the dinner table, Daniela continuously looked into the seat next to her; empty. She had told her sisters and mother she’d invite the blacksmith to supper however, you were still cooped up in your armory room.

“Dani, you haven’t touched your food at all,” Cassandra states, but quietly, “It’s gonna get cold if you don’t eat it.”

“I’ve asked y/n to join us for dinner,” Daniela sulks, “She’s always so coped up in the armory. I’m kind of getting tired of bringing her food..”

“Heisenberg is really working that poor girl,” Alcina sighs, “That fool... He’s ‘tech-savvy’ they call it? Why couldn’t he just do it himself?”

“Y/n is the best blacksmith, It kind of makes sense why he’d ask for y/n,” Bela states, “That is why we hired her personally as well mother did we not?”

“Oh you are most correct,” Alcina agrees with her eldest daughter, “It’s just she’s been cooped up in there for so long. I’d hate for someone as young as her be burning the midnight oil for one single sword...”

“I’ll go check on her after supper I guess,” Daniea says, shamefully, “I apologize for this mother...”

“There is no need for an apology my daughter,” Alcina reassures her youngest daughter

Daniela just weakly smiles and then goes to dig into the meal that had been prepped in front of her

You didn’t realize how much time has gone by until you hear knocking at the doorframe. 

“Oh, lady Daniela,” You clear your throat, removing your gloves to air out the sweat and then tearing your eyes away from your work to make eye contact with Daniela, “My apologies, I missed supper... Heisenberg needs this new blade done by-”

She puts the plate of food on a nearby table as she begins to walk toward you. You’ve truly felt bad however, you’ve been working on this item for weeks, you couldn’t just simply ‘take a break’ for it.

“There’s one reason why I wanted you to come to supper y/n,” Daniela interrupts you, “You need to get out of here and more importantly- let me see you out of this work outfit of yours..”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your throat go dry and your legs becoming jelly. You’ve mostly worn simple ripped skinny jeans, a short-sleeve shirt; the sleeves rolled up to your shoulders and one of those aprons blacksmiths wear while they work with molten metal. You also worn gloves whilst working in the armory, showing off your toned arms from the blacksmithing you do non-stop. 

“I’m no one special my lady,” You sigh, wiping sweat from your forehead again, “I’m just the blacksmith.”

“Whose created all of this amazing armor,” Daniela states, gesturing to the entire room full of armor and weapons

“Coming from a long line of blacksmiths is one perk,” You say, “But, I’m just a human, like every other human in the world.”

You could hear footsteps coming even closer into your direction. A pair of hands are forcefully placed on your shoulder and you’re physically turns into Daniela’s close proximity.

“You listen to me now y/n,” Daniela almost snarls, “You are an amazing Blacksmith. Otherwise my sisters and mother would have had you for supper already. I believe you are one of the greatest people to be working in this castle, consider it to be a privilege to be working so closely to us.”

She leans close to your ear, making you shiver, “To be working so closely to me.”

A shiver is sent down your spine. You needed to burn the midnight oil for this weapon for Heisenberg, should Daniela continue to tease you like this. 

“My my, your heart is beating pretty fast love,” She whispers once more, “You’re welcome...”

You feel a finger trace your jawline, however, you feel a slight pain in your jaw as you look down and felt something wet along down your neck.

“Oh-oopsies,” Daniela says, flirting heavily

“Not funny,” You groan from the pain

“Oh-oh it’s dripping,” She continues to flirt, “I’ll get it.”

You let out a small gasp as you felt the tip of Daniela’s tongue gently run along the blood trail. She traces the blood from the thin skin of your neck to the bone of your jawline. She guides her hands to wrap around her neck. You coil one hand into her hair to keep her steady as you let out yet another gasp.

“Yes, my lovely,” Daniela whispers, “Continue making that music for me...” 

Before you let out another gasp, you push her away form your neck slightly to look at her. You look down at her lips and then back up to her eyes, asking for permission. However, you stop yourself when the both of you heard the Lady Dimitrescu calling for Daniela.

“Curses,” She mumbles under her breath just as her lips were about to crash onto yours, “My my you taste divine. Until next time.”

With hast she makes her exit, turning into a swarm of flies in the process. You sit there, trying to process what just happened. However, you couldn’t linger on the thought any longer as you were just about to start the leatherwork on the hilt before Daniela began distracting you. 

I wouldn’t call it a bad thing if she distracted me though... It was only for a couple of minutes and... It was... Enjoyable...

You couldn’t believe a Dimitrescu daughter had taken a liking to you. You were a simple human from a long line of the finest blacksmiths. Why you? Of all people, you weren’t special. However, someway somehow the youngest Dimitrescu was enticing to you. 

I have no such time for a relationship... Besides... Lady Daniela has many other maidens to choose from... Am I even a choice to be one of their... What was it that they call them? ‘Plaything’? Yeah... Am I? Oh well, but it looks like I have to burn midnight oil again. Nothing that I don’t already experience though...

Your eyes are heavily concentrated on the leather work you’re doing on the handle. However, you could easily feel your eyes grow heavy. But, you knew you couldn’t waste time like you did earlier. 

“Sir Heisenberg won’t be pleased if he catches me passed out at the table,” You sigh

You take a deep breath and shake off your tiredness and continue working on the leather handle.

By the time you finally finished the handle you take a step back to admire the work you had done

“Not a bad job if I do say so myself,” You smile

 you were sketching out the design for the sheath. The sheath itself will be crafted with the thickest leather. Leather you’d normally use for sheaths; it’s so that the sheath’s won’t tear apart then the sword is sharpened. You’d also press in an intricate design you had crafted earlier when you were taking a break from the leather work.

“I guess I can close my eyes for a couple of minutes while I wait for this to ...” You tell yourself 

Oh how wrong you were.... Unfortunately you didn’t catch it fast enough. By the time you had realized you took more than a couple of minutes, you were fast asleep.

The next morning you could feel a pair of lips on the bone of your cheek. When you opened your eyes you could easily tell it was Daniela.

“Morning sleepy head,” She whispers

She puts the plate of human food right next to you. The aroma of the food gets you to feel more awake. 

“Can I ask you something?” Daniela asks, looking at you with pleading eyes

“Mhm,” You reply with food in your mouth

“I was wondering if you could make me one of those daggers you place on your thigh,” She requests, “But-but if that’s too much right now you could always do it after you finish-”

“I’ll do it,” You answer clearly, “The blade for Heisenberg isn’t due until tomorrow so I’ll be able to do it.”

She squeals of excitement and wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a tight hug. You hug her back.

The first form of physical affection after awhile... This is nice

She lets go of you, but continues smiling.

“Design is solely up to you,” she says calmly, “I really want you to make it how you want to.”

You nod as Daniela takes the now empty plate from your hands. You watch her walk out from your armory you immediately jump into your closet and pull out a thick gauged metal sheet.

“Since when did you become so jittery in the morning?” A voice asks you

You let out a yelp and drop the sheet metal. You quickly turn your heel to see who it was.

“Lady Bela,” You sigh, re-composing yourself, “You really scared me there. Good lord...”

“I can do more than just scare you,” Bela chuckles, “But Daniela would be at my throat for that so consider yourself lucky.”

You see her forming into her swarm of flies. You couldn’t process what she was doing until she was up in your face.

“You hurt my baby sister, there will be hell to pay, got it?” She says, almost growling

Your throat catches something; thus, you couldn’t form any words. However, you only nod.

“Good,” She says

She dissipates into her swarm and leaves the armory. You just stand in your place for a second before picking the metal sheet back up.

You finally found yourself outside of the armory for once. If it weren’t for Daniela dragging your ass out of there you wouldn’t really be there. However, it was a silent supper for you. You really couldn’t find a way to strike up conversation with the Dimitrescu’s.

“I know you’ve been here a long time y/n, but how are you liking it?” Alcina asks, nervously

“You know, to be honest, It’s a lot nicer than where I used to live,” You smile slightly, “Yeah, I might be having a workload right now but- It’s nothing new to me.”

Alcina sighs in relief. Not knowing how to continue the conversation, you drop your head back down into your plate and continue eating. Alcina had made some arrangements so that the maids and yourself can have nutrients from human food.

After supper, you beeline it back for the armory to start on Daniela’s requested garter dagger. You didn’t have much experience in textiles, so you requested one of the maids who was more experienced in such do it for you. 

“Thanks Amelia,” You say, gently taking the newly sewn garter, “I got everything else. That’s all.”

“Lady Daniela really requested for this?” She asks

“Yeah,” you say, “Interesting though right?”

“That’s one way to put it,” She says, “Be careful.”

“You too.” You say

You wipe sweat off of your forehead as you finally break your concentration on the sharpening blade. Once it had reached a certain sharpness, you begin the polishing stage.

“Finished, and now..” You talk to yourself

Although you’ve never encrusted a weapon with many gems; you only had experience with one gem going on a weapon. However, it was Lady Daniela, so you wanted to make it look like the prettiest dagger in the whole castle, prettier than all the weapons and armor you have created. You take out a special cannister and begin organizing the blue-green gem from all of the other colored gems.

You found yourself outside of Daniela’s chambers however, you weren’t sure if she was even there or out somewhere in the castle. But, you place the weapon down right in front of the bottom of the door and knock as loudly but as gently as possible and you beeline it for the shadows. From a distance, you watch the door open and see Daniela; in a nightgown. It was the first time you’ve seen Daniela without her regular dark robe and hood up in her face. 

“Oh my god...” Daniela says in awe as she picks up the weapon, “Y/n...”

She tries to look around for you however doesn’t spot you on sight.

“Thank you...” She blushes as she closes the door

You blush a deep red as you turn your back to her door to head back into the armory to try and finish up Heisenberg’s weapon.

[latenightdecaf]

Entry 7 - Summer of Vulnerability

part of let the pile of good things grow series - series masterlist

previous entry here

Yoongi x reader

Ft. nonidol!bts (glimpse of ex-boyfriend!namjoon)

Producer!yoongi, roommate!yoongi, soft!yoongi

slow burn romance, friendship, slice of life

series of drabbles/one shots

warnings: alcohol consumption

a/n: okay so here goes y/n remembering his ex!joon also will never get over of in the soop yoongi! can’t wait for the new season. Thank you guys for reading! 🙈

word count: 2,546

Went home from the grocery and some of their wines are on sale so you got carried away and bought 8 bottles and to your surprise, Yoongi’s cooking steak. “oh my God!” You exclaimed as soon as you saw him cooking in the kitchen with paperbag of wines in your arms. Yoongi looked at you with a confused face.

“Did you just read my mind or what??! There’s a sale on the corner deli and…” raising both of your hands as if surrendering, “okay don’t judge me yet but i got a little carried away.”

“A little carried away? You looked like the world’s going to run out of wine tomorrow.”

He smiled on your disclaimer and shaking his head as he paid his attention back to his steak.

“No.” You sighed. “Nothing went my way today, not at all—but i dont want to think about it. I’m psyching myself out of it you see, or better yet i’m drowning myself on these babies.” As you drank your first glass empty. “My eternal companion, the love of my life…”

He turned to your direction, only to see you hugging the bottles of wine that you bought.

He turned to your direction, only to see you hugging the bottles of wine that you bought.

“Come on clear the tables, your babies are not going anywhere.” He declared as he puts down 3 steaks and some aglio olio with honestly way too much garlic because it’s Yoongi.

“I didn’t saw you made pasta also. I am so happy now.” You happily exclaimed as you took a bite of your new favorite steak. “But why the 3 steaks? You hungry?”

He sat in front of you, filling your glass with wine and his too.

“You need food before you chug them all up. I’m not gonna clean up your mess. So you better get it together today. I tell you.” He scolded you.

“Sure sure.” As you immediately devour the pasta he made.

One bottle of wine down. He let you listened to a ‘sketch’ he’s been working on lately. Carefully studying your already flushed face for any reaction. He does this sometimes, ask for your opinion even though you have zero idea about music and producing or anything related to that for that matter.

All he considers is whether you winced at the melody of it, or you nod and eventually smile as it goes. But this time you’re just staring blankly in your wine glass, circling it repeatedly as the sketch ended at exactly 2 mins and 19 secs. And when it ended you looked straight at him.

“This looks like it’s almost done right?” You commented. “Yeah.” As he gulps on his wine, emptying another glass.

“And you wrote the lyrics also?” He nodded.

You looked away and sighed. “It’s too beautiful—Sad and in pain, feels tormented also but beautiful.”

He blinked several times at your words. You’ve heard several of his sketches before and you’d just always say, ‘it sounds good, but Yoongi—i have no idea about music. Zero.’ But he’d let you hear it anyway for couple more times and he’d smile at your ignorant reactions.

This time however, doesn’t seem like a laughing matter. Something about your words got his heart beating faster and he has no idea if its just the amount of alcohol he has consumed by now or just you.

You clinked on his empty glass. And asked, “You want more?” He nodded. And you poured him another. “Remember the girl, I introduced to you before?” You stopped and think for a second and it dawned to you. “Hell yeah, I remember.”

“She’s actually my ex-girlfriend.” He declared.

“Well that I did not expected. The ex part. I can tell though she looks really special.”

“Well, we’re together for a while. But now we’re just co-workers for this debut song of a girl I told you about before. That’s why she was here also the last time, we were looking through old sketches that I have after the meeting. We actually finished that quite early. ”

He never really talked that much about himself. He’s good at talking about work, which for you is already more than enough. You know that despite your living situation, he’s not really obligated to get personal if he doesnt want to. And besides, you also don’t want to. Your end of the rope for sure is scared of any form of vulnerability anyway—so you’re not expecting or demanding that from anybody else.

“So you’re just co-workers now?”

“Yeah, I think so. I really don’t know what I feel.”

“Well, relationships are messy my friend.” Raising your glass of wine as if to cheers and chugging it in one go.

Not sure of what to say next but he looks like he’s in mood to talk but the topic looks too sensitive to even crack a joke so you continued drinking despite the eerie atmosphere.

“If you dont mind me asking, what happened?” Yes, despite your immense effort to hold yourself back. Like any other novel you read, you have this eager feeling to know how it ends. Your mind is literally shouting, ‘But I gots to know!!’

And so you asked. Half fearing for your life for being too nosy and half expecting that you might be up for a good story. Elbows resting on the table, with your chin at the palm of your hand looking eager to hear the story.

“We’ve been together for a while”

“Yeah, you said that already.. and that she’s a song writer. I figured.” Unconsciously saying your thoughts out loud.

“You wanna tell the story instead?” He teasingly reacted in a straight face.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud… I literally said that in my mind and my mouth just burst it open. They both can’t coordinate that well. I’m sorry. You may continue…sir. Please don’t cut my head off.” You love teasing him.

“You’re drunk.” He was pointing out the obvious by that time, after two bottles of wine.

“Yes she’s a songwriter. They said before thay she’s the words to my melody. Well… before.”

Something about those words just made your heart ache. Frowning in his words you continue to listen.

“We’re together for about 2 years? And then on and off after…. She cheated on me, slept with another producer from another company. I really thought that was the end but after that i still accepted her. I don’t know why.”

“Aigoo you dumbass solider of love. And then??” Continuously frowning in frustration led you to keep on drinking.

He has no plans of actually telling this story tonight, it just poured out. You’re just one of those people that actually listens. He has seen you before, how intensely you focus on a movie or in a book that it bothers you for day. You love hearing stories and your willingness felt like a safe space for his unspoken scars.

“She keeps coming back to me and I keep accepting her. That’s it.”

With a confused look on your face, “I don’t get it.”

“Like you said, relationships are messy.” He’s obviously trying to close the topic already but that’s not going to stop you—you never stop midway of the story. This is not how it ends.

“Messy is one thing, toxic is another. And since when are you a coward? You don’t strike me as one. Really.” ‘Yeah i was.’ Yoongi thought in his head. Words are just literally pouring out of your mouth by now, drowning yet another glass. Yoongi opening your forth bottle.

“Boy, I bought the wrong alcohol tonight, tequila would’ve been perfect.” You declared as he pours you a refill. He laughed at this comment, he kept wondering sometimes how easy it is for you to make him laugh.

“No but all kidding aside… Hard question coming in, Min Yoongi. Do you still love her?” Looking right at his eyes and him staring back at you as he answered. “No, we broke up a month before I moved in here.”

‘That’s quite a while, at least 9 or 10 months now…’ you thought to yourself

“Yeah but having been broken up doesn’t mean that love is gone. It’s not a switch you know.”

“I know. And I wish it was, she’s was a big part of my life I’m not denying that and maybe she always will be. But I’ve changed, she has changed—we’re no longer the same people that we were in the same relationship where I keep questioning my self worth. That’s done now, over. Love took a turn, and it doesn’t look the same anymore. We’re just co-workers now that’s all.”

You like the way he said it. Being no longer the same people that they were. You nodded in his statement not sure what to say next and also feeling a little dizzy.

“I gotta pee.” You suddenly declared and stood up, ran in small steps to the bathroom with Yoongi smiling at you and shaking his head.

And when you got back, he got you a warm water on your favorite mug.

Your thoughts are all over the place when you’re drunk, like you said—your mouth just spills it all out.

“You know what, this is all very brave of you. Being friends with your ex, I can’t imagine.”

“Why? Can’t you?” Staring blankly and holding onto your mug, eyes blinking fast in this question.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never really done it before, I’ll let you know if I can.”

You’ve been staring hard on your mug contemplating on his question. He gently touched your hand that’s been holding your mug and said, “Just drink your water.” And pulled it away as soon as you looked like your soul has comeback to earth.

“Can’t I…?” You repeated the question again, and this time out loud.

Hands underneath your chin and resting your elbows on the table. Yoongi is just staring at you, hands in his cheeks—thumb underneath his chin, not even sure if you can even see him. “I hate your question.” You looked at his eyes this time and said that and he just smiled and when he did, you narrowed your eyes. “I hate your smile too.” And this time, he gave you an even bigger one, those gummy smile. And whenever he smiles at you like that you just can’t help but grin in return.

You chugged the water and showed him your empty mug.

He got up and put the rest of the unopened bottle of wine back to the fridge just to prevent you from opening yet another. With his back facing you, arranging the couple of bottles left unto your fridge.

“Yoongi-ah, I know and I love how we respect each other’s privacy and all but just in case things get too heavy. I’m always here, you know. I mean, I’m really glad about today.”

He looked back at you, hands underneath your chin again and eyelids looking all heavy.

“Same goes for you, I’m always here…” And he turned his back again, “fixing you some food and light bulbs.”

And that statement made you smile. “Indeed, my friend. Indeed.”

He went back to the table and grabbed your wine glass and emptying it for you.

“So you wanna talk about how nothing went right today?” You sighed with your eyes closed.

“Maybe next time, my friend.” You stood up from the dinning table, offered to clean the rest of the dishes but Yoongi insisted that he’d do it instead. So you just nodded and slowly creep back into your room.

“Thanks for today, Yoongi.” You thanked him before you go, peeking behind the wall near the counter and he just smiled at you, cleaning gloves on and started washing the dishes.

Minutes later, you shouted from inside of your room.

“Hey i’ll be in the bathroom for a while. Hope you’re already done using it.”

Yoongi didnt answer. He’s already in his room.

You sat in the tub filled with water that is too hot for anyone else but not for you. Head all dizzy and pounding. It’s 2 am and nothing is more comforting than the silence of it all. Alcohol keeps you awake, more than coffee ever does. The dizziness, the feeling that is drilling in your head, makes it hard for you to sleep. Despite the fact that you always drink. You always drink on an empty stomach though, just so you’re sure you would pass out and not have a hard time sleeping.

But tonight you can’t say no—Yoongi made dinner and as much as you hate how you’re having a hard time now you don’t regret it. The question he said, still lingers. And you know your answer to this, you can’t.

Along with the headache, comes the memories you rarely remember—there are just some special days where somehow the guilt and regret still comes to you in waves, together with conversations you long to let go.

“You can’t be serious?” Joon said, voice cracking with hand on his hair in frustration. “But I am.” With a straight face you answered, “I can’t marry you, Joon. I don’t want to have kids and I know how much you want to have children.” Feeling the desperation in his face and actions, he held your hands close and hugged you. “I love you, I want to marry you. We don’t need to have kids immediately, that’s years away. We don’t have to even worry about that now.” It hurts you to seem him this way, yes both of you may be young—maybe you will change your mind but there’s no guarantee to it. You held onto his shoulder to see his face, tears kept rolling down his face and you keep wiping it off one by one. You’ve thought about this even just a year into the relationship, with all the dad jokes and tiny little shoes he kept in his room. He’s going to be a wonderful dad you thought—maybe not just to your kids because you don’t want one.

The most wonderful man in the world just asked you to marry him a few minutes ago, and now he’s crying on your shoulder in defeat. While you can’t even bring yourself to cry, everything about this just made you numb. You just know you’re doing the right thing. Keeping him by your side with a promise of a future you can’t guarantee is not what love is. You loved him—even much so that you could ever admit.

With the knock on the door, you went back to reality.

“Hey you in there?” His voice echoing at 2 in the morning.

“Yeah, I’ll be here still for a while. You need it?”

“No, it’s okay.” He quietly said, as you heard his footsteps getting farther away.

moodboard sr: x

[gunpowdville]

The Great Flesh-Eating Cake Incident of Year [REDACTED] (Not to be Confused With the Bifrost Incident)

Chapters: 1/2

Words: 3502

Relationships: Drumbot Brian - Raphaella la Cognizi (queerplatonic), Gunpowder Tim/Lyfrassir Edda/Marius von Raum, The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina (although most don’t show up until the second chapter)

Other Things: genderfluid tim, she/her tim, he/fae marius :)

Summary: Brian and Raph bake a cake. Or, they try to. It doesn't exactly go well. (aka, Why Raphaella la Cognizi Should Never Be Allowed in the Kitchen)

read on ao3 here or read below the cut for people who don't like ao3 (i will post the second chapter. at some point. hopefully soon)

Chapter 1

“Try it now.”

“Is it safe?”

“Does that matter?”

Brian gives her what she calls his teacher look, a combination of calm exasperation and gentle chiding. “I would prefer to not fry myself from the inside out, if I can help it.”

“Boring,” Raphaella accuses, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “And you know I’d fix you if you did.” Well actually, she would get Nastya to fix him, as Raph herself has absolutely no self control when it comes to the prospect of tinkering with a complex mechanism and Brian hates being tinkered on without his permission.

“Yes, of course, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell,” Brian points out. “Not to mention how horrendously it would fuck up my systems.”

Raphaella pouts. “So I installed the flamethrower for nothing?”

Brian hesitates. “...I didn’t say that.”

Raphaella perks up immediately, turning her full attention from the clattered worktable to her partner. Brian straightens up and faces away from her, focusing at the blank wall at one end of the lab. He pokes his tongue around the inside of his mouth a little, probing at the new addition in the back. He tests out flipping its settings, making sure everything flows smoothly, then steels himself and opens his mouth, turning it on. Nothing happens.

Raphaella throws up her hands in exasperation. “I don’t understand! That should have worked! It-”

Brian yelps suddenly, clapping his hands to his throat as the back of it heats up rapidly, too rapidly, the heat growing from gently uncomfortable to unbearable in a matter of seconds. Luckily, his systems react before he can, shutting off the new attachment the second it could cause potential harm. The heat fades almost as quickly as it had swelled.

“Ow,” Brian says mildly.

“That was about to work,” Raphaella huffs, hands on her hips, eyes fixed somewhat accusingly on Brian. “If you had just waited a moment longer.”

“It was about to melt my vocal cords,” Brian points out in retort. Raphaella throws up her hands again.

“My husband is a coward,” she declares to no one in particular, with no actual insult behind it. Brian can’t help but smile softly at the endearment. They’re not married, technically, but for all intents and purposes they might as well be.

“I’ve started to become convinced that you’re simply trying to kill me,” Brian remarks to her as she turns back to the notes on her lab table. She shoots him a brightly malicious look, one backed heavily with fondness. “Maybe I am.”

He sits down on the stool beside the lab table and reaches for her, catching her waist from behind and pulling her onto his lap. She leans back into him as he wraps his arms around her, and he rests his chin on her shoulder so he can peer down at the pages of notes in her hands.

“Here, tell me what I’m doing wrong,” Raphaella holds up the notes so Brian can get a better look at them. He hums thoughtfully as he scans her delicate sketch of his body, each part individually labelled with possible enhancements to be added in Raph’s lacy handwriting. Brian’s own handwriting, cramped and blocky, annotates the science officer’s notes with his own observations of measurements and possible difficulties.

In his mind, Brian overlays the sketch on top of the official schematics the doc left in there, focusing on his throat and the new addition, checking for anywhere where it isn’t wired properly or messing with any of his other systems. Nothing. He bites his lip, a very natural bad habit that he’s never been able to shake, despite it splitting the rubber badly. Raphaella hits him lightly in the side of the head when she notices him doing it.

“I don’t think it’s anything you’ve done,” Brian says finally, leaning back slightly on the stool. “I think it’s simply a matter of too much heat.”

Raphaella ‘hmphs’, taking her notes back from him and setting them back on the table. She turns her head to study Brian’s face, placing her hands atop his where they rest over her stomach. He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she regards him silently. He can tell that she’s thinking through what next to work on, now that their flamethrower experiment is a bust.

He gives her stomach a light pat. “If you don’t mind, I was going to go bake something. Tim’s been complaining that there aren’t enough ‘munchies’ onboard. And yes, that is the word xe used.”

Raphaella slaps a hand to her heart melodramatically, the gesture accompanied by a theatrical gasp. “Leaving me for Tim, are we? Scandal.”

Brian chuckles gently as he rises to his feet, dislodging Raph in the process. “Yes, I’ve decided you’re much too cruel and brutal for me, and I’d be much happier feeding Tim for the rest of eternity.”

Raphaella tosses her hair and turns away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her chin up imperiously. “Good riddance.”

“Good riddance indeed,” Brian agrees drily, with no heat behind it. Raph glaces over her shoulder at him and grins, and he smiles back as he slips out the lab door, tipping his hat as he goes.

Ivy’s reading at the kitchen counter when he enters. She doesn’t look up as he makes his way into the kitchen proper, wrangling his hair into a wiry ponytail and tossing his hat on the counter. He peeks at the cover of her book and makes an intrigued little noise when he notices it’s about prophets and oracles throughout space and time.

“I was going to give it you when I was finished,” Ivy says without looking up. “I thought it might interest you.”

“It does,” Brian tells her, and she smirks, proud of herself. She still doesn’t take her eyes off the pages. Brian leans over, resting his elbows on the counter, and knocks his forehead briefly against hers, a somewhat awkward sign of affection that’s he’s developed with some members of the crew. She responds by patting his head absentmindedly, still not looking up from her book. He smiles, and turns back to the kitchen.

After a couple minutes of rummaging around in cabinets, Brian becomes aware of Raphaella’s presence leaning against the counter to his left.

“Missed me?” he asks teasingly. She rolls her eyes and pokes him in the arm. “You promised you’d teach me to bake.”

Brian pauses, replaying the last ten minutes in his mind to confirm that he has not, in fact, promised her this. And then he realizes that she’s referring to a time quite a few decades ago, when the two of them had been left back on the ship while the others had been out pillaging a nigh-extinct planet. They’d been sharing some pastries that Brian had been experimenting with, and Raphaella had asked him how he’d made them. He had launched straight into a detailed explanation of exactly which ingredients he had used and what amounts of each, and how he had played with the measurements and tweaked the recipe to see how he could improve it. Raph had listened with utter fascination, and after he had finished she had mentioned that it seemed a bit like her experiments, only with slightly different materials. He had offered to teach her a little, if she’d like, and she had said she would love to learn. And now here they are.

“I did do that, didn’t I,” Brian muses. He studies Raph, leaning against the counter, a sparkle in her eyes that both makes him excited to see what she has in store and fear for his life.

“So?” Raphaella raises an eyebrow. Brian considers.

“We are making a cake,” he tells her, keeping his voice slow, steady, and serious. “A basic cake. We are not going to put anything in it that is not on the ingredients list. We are going to follow the recipe. To the letter. And we are not, I repeat, we are not going to burn down my kitchen.”

My kitchen, Aurora corrects him gently.

“Our kitchen,” he concedes.

Raphaella steps forward and takes Brian’s hands, looking him solemnly in the eyes. “I won’t let you down,” she promises. “Trust me.”

“Phee, I love you to death, and I always will” Brian tells her, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it. “But I draw the line at trusting you.”

“Rude,” Raph sniffs, while Ivy tries to cover up a snort.

“Practical,” Brian shoots back, letting go of her hands and reaching past her to pluck the recipe from the counter. With a flourish, he deposits it in her hands. “Find me these ingredients.”

Raphaella mutters something about ‘bossybitch Brian’ as she turns away from him and marches purposefully toward the cupboards. He watches her fondly for a moment, before busying himself gathering pans and setting up his beloved electric mixer, something he’d found being sold for scraps on a junkyard planet and had lovingly repaired and repainted with his own two hands. Its name is Small Brian, and it remains one of his most prized possessions.

“Bri, which eggs are we using?” Raphaella calls to him, her head buried deep in the disorganized fridge. Brian abandons Small Brian for just a moment and pokes his head in beside hers.

“Ah, not those,” he says, indicating a half dozen of jet-black eggs glowing faintly from within. “Those are Ashes’. They will supposedly hatch into a rare breed of fire-breathing corvid.”

“And those?” Raphaella points to the other carton of eggs.

“We’re using those,” Brian confirms, pulling the carton out. “Ah. Wait. Not this one.” Carefully, he removes a small, round, green orb from the carton and places it gently on the counter. “An octokitten laid this. We think.”

Raphaella leans over and picks it up, holding it in the palm of her hand and bringing it up close to her eyes. She looks suspiciously like she’s about to slip it into her pocket, so Brian plucks it from her hands before she gets a chance to. She sticks her tongue out at him. He waves her off to go collect the rest of the ingredients, reminding her that the lovely ceramic pot labeled ‘sugar’ is in fact actually filled with gunpowder, and the sugar is in the cabinet to its right. Meanwhile he goes back to fussing over Small Brian.

The mixer isn’t starting up properly, it keeps stuttering and stopping whenever he tries to turn it on. Brian frowns, tapping the top of it with a metal finger. “Come on, love,” he says softly to Small Brian. “Don’t give up on me now. Not after all we’ve been through.”

“Raph,” Ivy speaks up from her place at the counter, her tone amused. “Brian’s talking to the appliances again.”

“If either of you make a joke comparing me to an appliance, I will kill you,” Brian warns both of them placidly, fiddling with Small Brian’s mechanisms until the machine whines and starts up properly. “Good lad,” Brian says, patting the appliance lovingly.

“I saw that,” he adds when he catches the look Ivy and Raphaella share over the counter. Raphaella rolls her eyes and gestures to him to come approve the ingredients she’s gathered. She hooks her arm through his and tips her head onto his shoulder while he checks each one off against the recipe.

“Excellent, that’s everything. Thank you.” he says, kissing her on the top of the head. “ Now we can begin.”

Raphaella, as always, is a very attentive student, listening well and asking questions when necessary. He suspects that she asks some of the questions just to listen to him talk about something he loves, and he adores her for it. They work very well together, the two of them, bantering back and forth as they do. Ivy chimes in on occasion, never taking her eyes off of her book.

Jonny strolls into the kitchen at one point, zeroing in on the chocolate chips scattered across the counter with a predator’s precision. As soon as he spots the first mate, Brian sweeps a knife into his hand and points it at him. “Out.”

Jonny backs away, throwing his hands up in surrender. He’s been killed enough times over messing around in the kitchen that he knows by now that the best thing to do is back off.

All in all, it’s a shockingly peaceful time. Brian hums to himself as he stirs ingredients together, and Raphaella goes through the cupboards, looking for something to play with. She reaches to open one in the back, and Brian notices too late which one it is. Raphaella stops, tilting her head in curiosity as she stares at the contents of the cupboard.

“Oh, Briiiiiiiiaaan?” she calls in a singsong voice, which is usually a sign that Brian is about to either be taken apart or assist in taking apart someone else. “What is this?”

Brian sighs and sets down the bowl, making his way slowly over to her. She raises an eyebrow at him as he gazes silently for a moment at the dismantled skeleton shoved into the back of the cupboard. “Those… are my bones.”

“Your… bones.”

“My bones.”

“Why…?”

Brian shrugs. “It’s not like I’m using them.”

“Right.” Raphaella studies the skeleton for a moment longer, before declaring, “I’m going to make soup out of them.”

Brian starts. “I’m sorry?”

“Your bones. I’m going to make soup out of them.”

“You are not.”

“Bone broth is a thing, isn’t it? Ivy?”

“It is,” Ivy confirms, casually turning a page.

Raphaella grins, gathering the bones into her arms. “Brian soup.”

“Brian s- no!”

“Brian soup Brian soup Brian soup Brian soup-”

“NO.”

“I thought the doc took your bones,” Ivy mentions, as Brian attempts to gently cajole his partner into giving him back said bones.

“I asked her to let me keep some of them,” Brian explains, tugging a rib out of Raph’s arms and dislodging about three more, which clatter to the floor unceremoniously. “They are mine, after all.”

“It’s unusually sentimental of me, I know,” he adds as Raphaella ducks under his arm, executing a perfect twirl to get the bones out of his reach, “I’m not quite sure why I wanted them.”

“For soup,” Raphaella quips, and Ivy snorts as Brian throws himself at the science officer. Raph yelps and scrambles away from him, and so begins an epic chase around the kitchen, Raph struggling to run away while clutching an armful of bones, the owner of said bones following a step behind her, playfully angry.

Brian doesn’t realize he’s started humming to himself until Raphaella turns to face him, jogging backwards, and asks what song it is.

“It’s a new one I’m working on,” he says, using her moment of distraction as an opportunity to trap her in the kitchen, the wraparound counter devoid of exits besides the one that he is currently standing in front of. “It’s called ‘Raphaella Please Don’t Make Soup Out of My Bones.’”

“I hate it,” Raphaella decides, still backing away. She’s almost hit the counter, and Brian smirks at his inevitable victory.

“You’ve barely heard it,” he argues, and begins humming louder. Raphaella’s back hits the counter, and Brian stops. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, he begins tapping his foot along to the tune.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Raphaella starts, but the other foot has already begun to move as well. Just tapping at first, tap tap tapping to a beat in Brian’s head, but the footwork quickly becomes more and more complicated as he eases into the song. Ivy picks it up quickly and starts tapping her fingers on the counter, taking charge of the beat while Brian continues humming the melody.

Raphaella shakes her head, refusing to let his shenanigans charm her, but Brian refuses to give up. He dances his way smoothly across the floor to her, finishing with an elegant twirl and an extended hand. Raphaella regards him with reluctant defeat, then rolls her eyes and takes Brian’s hand.

He waltzes her out into the middle of the floor, two steps forward, one step back. He spins her out, then spins her back in so they’re swaying with her back pressed to his chest. “You’re a master manipulator, you know,” she says to him. He smiles. She twirls him out, then twirls him back in and dips him, effortlessly holding up his mass of metal.

“I don’t remember this step of the cake recipe,” Ivy comments drily. She’s finally looking up from her book and is watching the two of them with an expression that is equal parts exasperated and amused.

“Which step, the bone soup or the dancing?” Brian returns, just as dry. Ivy is saved from having to respond by the arrival of Marius, who comes striding through the door like an invading general, arms spread wide in greeting.

“Well, if it isn’t my three favorite delinquents,” fae says, grinning like a maniac. “Dancing in the kitchen like- wait. Why is Raph in the kitchen?”

“I’m helping,” Raph says proudly, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a decidedly smug fashion as Brian collects his bones and returns them to their cupboard. “How can we help you?”

Marius pulls up a stool and takes a seat next to Ivy, scanning the pages of her book idly. “Tim stole my partner.”

“To be fair, Tim is also dating your partner,” Brian points out, handing the bowl of cake batter to Raph to finish stirring and put in the oven.

“Sure, but she’s being smug about it. So I’m pouting,” Marius replies, metal fingers tapping on the counter. “Oh, also: Tim wanted me to tell you. She/her for the time being.”

Brian nods, taking note of the pronouns. “Well, when you feel like speaking to Tim again, you can tell her that a cake is on its way.”

Marius raises an eyebrow. “You mean that cake that Raph just slipped something into behind your back?”

Honestly, Brian is surprised that this didn’t happen earlier. Slowly, he turns to Raphaella, who meets his eyes with a mischievous smirk as she slips an empty vial back into her pocket.

“What was in that?” he asks gently, not mad, just curious.

“Just a little something I whipped up,” Raphaella says, giving the batter an experimental stir. An odd squelching noise escapes from the bowl, and she quickly lets go of the wooden spoon as a dark tendril of… something curls up around it, possessive and hungry. “Oh. That’s interesting.”

“What the fuck was that?” Marius leans forward over the counter, curiosity evident on faer features.

Raphaella sets the bowl carefully on the floor and steps away from it, circling around it to Brian’s side. He gives her a questioning look, and she shrugs cheerfully, indicating that she has no idea whatsoever the effect of whatever she put in may be. With somewhat tired resignation, Brian steps forward to investigate what has become of his simple chocolate cake.

It’s… alive. The dark, viscous substance in the bowl has begun to writhe and bubble in a distinctively sentient manner, tendrils forming reaching out, looking to grab hold of something. The tendrils feel their way around tentatively, like a newborn animal learning to walk for the first time. The substance itself has an oddly familiar shimmer to it, the nearly oil-black surface revealing colors of every hue and nature when the light hits it.

“That looks like…” Marius frowns, clambering over the counter and dropping next to Brian as what was meant to be a cake slowly drags itself out of the bowl and onto the floor. “Oh, Raph, you didn’t!”

“Don’t touch it,” Brian advises as Marius crouches near the thing to get a better look.

Marius gives the Drumbot a scathing look. “I’m not a moron, Brian, I’m not going to-”

“Mare, get back,” Brian snaps, but it’s too late. The crawling blob has already reached the violinists foot and has clamped on tightly, wrapping its tentacles up and around his leg. He stares down at it in mild concern for a moment, then says: “Fuck.”

What happens next is hard to describe. The viscous thing sort of… stretches itself, until it covers Marius’ entire body, undulating and pulsing, then collapses in on itself, returning to its smaller form, leaving nothing but a slightly steaming metal arm left where the ship’s doctor once stood.

“What the hell did you do?” Brian demands, staring at the (now slightly larger) creation as it drags its way across the floor.

Raphaella doesn’t respond. “I think it ate faer,” she says instead. Then, “where is it going?”

Brian glances at the floor just in time to see the thing disappear into the vents. He lets out a cry, but it is much to late. It’s gone.

“Well,” Ivy says, staring with vague concern at the open vent. “Fuck.”

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia!! I love your work and have consistently been reading it for over a couple of years, currently every TIP update u post makes my days a bit brighter 🥰

It is also thanks to you that I started posting fics last year after more than three years not doing so. While some of my fics have been wildly popular in a fandom some others don't seem to have landed as well within the same one, so I wanted to ask, what do you do about those stories that excite you but that don't seem to have found an audience yet, or that they never will?? How do you work through the fear of them not being worth your writing time?

Have a lovely day 💚🍀

Hi anon,

This is a hugely complicated question.

For a start, for writing that is for income, if I think it won't do well, I don't write it (although only to a point, I wrote The Gentle Wolf because asexual representation mattered more to me than sales, but it still hit hard when that turned out to be true). I don't like to mess with things that pay the bills. I hate that I have to look at metrics in that sense, but I do. But thankfully we're not talking about original fiction:

For fanfiction, things are different, and there might be a lot of different things going on.

For a start, almost always, when people ask me this question they are still getting some interaction on their fics, just not as much as they wanted or imagined. It can really help to like, remember to be grateful for every person who interacts, and not just the 'quantity' of interactions.

I think like... I am a big fan of 'write for yourself' but it's also true that I write for interaction on AO3. Just... only you can decide how much of the former will compensate for not much of the latter. There are people out there who are like 'if I was only writing for myself I'd keep it in my computer.' I'm not like that, and I don't vibe that way. I write for myself but enjoy sharing it, in case something that worked well for me, works well for a stranger. Everyone is different and that's eventually going to be what the crux of this post is, lol.

Popularity is influenced by the fact that some fandoms are more dead than others and lack interaction across the board in general (Persona 5, for example, is notorious for this). Some fandoms like certain tropes more than others. Some fandoms are massively popular for three weeks and then die almost immediately. And so on and so on.

Ultimately fandom is fickle, it's loyal to the stories they like more than the authors they like, and you can't predict what will be a flash in the pan and what won't be, and it doesn't always have anything to do with the quality of the fic itself or the tags you used. (This is sort of like how sketches will sometimes get tens of thousands of notes and a 300 hour single piece of quality art will get 400 notes, while a professional artist tears their hair out in pieces).

Sometimes, a fic will be more interesting to me than the reality of fandom interaction and I'll write it. Touching and Melting for Houseki no Kuni is a good example of that. A tiny fic for honestly an extremely quiet and tiny western fandom in terms of fic, which looks like it had a lot of interaction 3 years on, but had almost nothing in the first few months. And sometimes the fic idea won't be more interesting to me than the reality of the fandom interaction, and I won't write it. I go story idea by story idea.

But I've also taught myself to really think about a) the way I talk about interaction and b) to really value every individual that leaves a kudos, or comments, or public bookmarks. When I sort of started out with Shadows and Light, I remember being so bummed when a story didn't do as well, and thinking that meant it was doing 'badly.' Let's be real, Game Theory when it started out had less than a tenth of the interaction of SALverse, and I thought I had failed. If I'd given up at that point, well... all of this wouldn't exist.

And then just looking at fanfiction, it's like.. well, sometimes fics do a lot worse than other fics, there's usually at least one person who will read it and leave a kudos. I remind myself that to that person, the story mattered or meant something, which meant I didn't just write it for myself anymore, there is interaction.

This is much harder on stories that have zero comments, and zero kudos, obviously, no one likes to feel as though they are shouting into the void. But it's also my experience that writers who've had popular fics, don't often have 'zero kudos fics' when they say a fic is doing really badly. They just..maybe need to value the individual interactions alongside how good a 'mass' of interaction can feel, or alongside how good 'quantity' can feel. I do really think that's a skill that a lot of like...enthusiastic fanfiction writers have mastered or at least are learning.

Sometimes it really helps to have somewhere in private to vent to when you feel emotionally overloaded or insecure, and honestly sometimes it can help to re-evaluate.

For some people, writing fic when a certain threshold of interaction isn't reached, just isn't worth it. I can't convince people like that to keep writing. If there's a deep seated 'this isn't worth it' then stop doing it.

If there's 'this is insecurity and I'm not good at valuing everyone and I feel down right now but it'll pass' then...work quietly and patiently and compassionately on strengthening your resilience and your trust in your own writing, and your ability to value individuals who interact and engage on your fics. If you don't do this, you may end up bitter and resentful, and that can influence your entire relationship with fandom, and worse, the people who interact with your fics.

Also, finally:

How do you work through the fear of them not being worth your writing time?

In fanfiction, I do not base whether something is worth my writing time on the quantity of people who will interact with it. It is worth my writing time because I'm really excited to write it, and I want to share it, even if people don't respond immediately, or even if only one person ever comments.

I don't...have this fear that you have based on the things you're basing it on - my fears are different to yours. It's fanfiction. It's worth my writing time because I'm eager to write or fix or alter something in canon or I want to make the two boys fuck because no one else was going to, and because I can generally trust that one person out there will probably read it, even if I go back over 10 years ago and my Livejournal fics were only getting like one comment per chapter. If that.

If your metric for 'worthiness' is 'quantity of interaction' then - I'm the wrong person to talk to, I'm literally motivated to write fanfiction by completely different factors to you. I didn't start SAL knowing it would get popular, I thought people would hate me because I killed Jamie in the first chapter, and up until that point none of my fics had been popular.

I can't convince you on the things that convince me, when our foundational motivations are different. If you want quantity and that's what 'worth' means to you, I don't know what to tell you, I would never have written SAL in the first place if I hadn't been the kind of person to just write fanfic for almost no / or no interactions, and still enjoy that single person who said 'I really enjoyed this thank you for writing.' I didn't spring into being as someone who was writing fics that got a lot of interaction, that came...years later, y'know?

So what is worthy to me sounds like it's also just different to what is worthy to you. Ultimately, there are people only writing fanfiction on the basis of how many people interact with them, and...I don't know how those people keep choosing to write honestly, and I think a lot eventually abandon it, because there's no algorithm to crack in order to be successful every time. Maybe...remind yourself that you've had popular fics in the past and therefore you will again? And that you can't get to that point without less popular fics on the step ladder in the meantime? Therefore, even a fic that doesn't feel 'worth your time' will be a stepping stone to the one that is?

Imho, I think my fics are worth my time because I enjoy reading them once they're finished. And then I think they're worth my time because other people enjoy them. Having a popular fic is fun and nice, but honestly, often a fluke, and doesn't always say anything about the quality of the writing (some of the most popular Yuri! on Ice stories with 10,000+ kudos were like...not always...the most well-written stories, but people were desperate for Content, and it was certainly that).

But yeah, how I think about fanfiction is very different to how I think about 'fiction that has to earn an income.' Ultimately I don't want to apply the latter philosophies to the former, other people do. If you're applying 'this needs to hit a certain threshold of interaction to be worthy' as your basis for writing fanfiction, then...we have very very different motivations for creating content in fandom! And I'm the wrong person to ask.

As I said, it's complicated, lol.

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Eleven

Link to Masterpost

Holy crap, we’ve cleared 50,000 words of this. Things are really starting to pick up now, so if I had to guess this will probably wind up being... maybe around 75k-80k in total? It still has to be WRITTEN, though, so... lol.

Also, we’re going to start earning that warning in the masterpost for canon-typical violence from here on out. Just so you’re aware.

Enjoy!

~*~*~

“So, let me make certain I have this absolutely clear,” Aedion drawled in a way that immediately set Rowan on edge.

Rather than reply and risk growling rather than speaking, he nodded, the movement tighter and less smooth than he would’ve liked.

“Aelin came here to Rifthold fully intending not only to continue her relationship with the prince, but to apprehend a criminal—not just any criminal, but an assassin—who was originally from Terrasen and moved to Rifthold.”

Rowan gritted his teeth and gave another silent nod.

“She elected to do this for reasons you are aware of, but that she has not told me and that you refuse to tell me.”

Another nod and another clenching of his jaw.

“And so the two of you have been sneaking out at night, which Captain Westfall”—the name came from Aedion’s lips as though it were a curse in and of itself—“condoned, if not outright allowed.”

The captain spoke up then. “Given the information presented to me, I had little other choice.”

“I’m not finished,” Aedion snarled, and the captain fell silent. “While you were sneaking around the slums of Rifthold, you got into more than one brawl, and you destroyed at least one business, which as of now still has yet to recover, if it ever will.”

This time it was harder to stifle the growl, but as Aedion’s expression didn’t change he must have managed it with at least some success.

“And then last night, it all finally comes to a head when Aelin allows herself to be abducted by said assassin. And you allowed all of this to happen.”

Rowan’s grip on his temper, already tenuous due to the nature of the situation, finally slipped enough for him to snarl at the other warrior. “Do not presume to think I made my decisions lightly,” he growled, “or that I have not spent a single moment wishing it could have been myself in her place.”

The shifter—Lysandra—delicately cleared her throat, and Aedion immediately turned his attention toward her. “If we’re done yelling at each other about whose fault it is,” she said pointedly, “then perhaps we can come up with a plan for how to handle the fact that our princess is missing?”

Rowan nodded shortly, and unfurled a roughly-sketched map of the city over his desk. He watched as the captain’s brow furrowed, likely at the idea that a foreign soldier had been able to acquire this much information about his city, but Rowan chose instead to focus on the plan he had been given. “Aelin’s request was that she be given twenty-four hours as a head start,” he began, “and I see the merit in that. If she’s not able to get the information she requires now, this assassin will go to ground and it could be years before we hear of him again.”

“It likely won’t be years,” the captain interrupted, ignoring Rowan’s scowl. “I did some research on my own into the man she’s hunting. He’s too proud to go completely unnoticed for that long.”

“Be that as it may, this is our best opportunity.” Rowan tapped on a building on his map. “She was taken here. Her captors didn’t notice me following them. It appears to be a stronghold of some sort, almost a guild hall for cutthroats and killers. I think it’s unlikely that they would move her from this place.”

“Unlikely but not impossible,” Aedion retorted. “We should keep an eye on the place.”

“Once you’re satisfied with my explanations, I intend to go there myself. If you can promise to adhere to the plan, you may join me.” He had long since given up on keeping the frosty bite from his tone, but he fisted his hand at his side to keep it away from his blades.

“And how can I trust that this is actually her plan?”

It was the mark of a good soldier and guard, to be skeptical of his statements. If this were any other situation, Rowan would even be grateful that Aelin had someone such as this as family and protector. But this was not any other situation, and Rowan carefully called up a hint of the ice that swirled within him in the hope that it would cool his temper before he killed Aedion. “Whatever Aelin did or did not tell you is between you and her, and I refuse to be pulled into that fight. The only thing that matters right now is making certain that she exits that building safely. Are you going to help with that or not?”

Aedion growled, eyes glinting in a way that strongly reminded him that this male was indeed related to Aelin of the Wildfire, but nodded. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as we’re finished here. Captain? Lysandra? Anything to add?”

Captain Westfall cleared his throat. “If I may, I can’t keep Dorian from noticing she’s missing all day long. Do we have a plan for that?”

Rowan frowned thoughtfully, and Aedion and Lysandra glanced at each other. “That’s a terrible idea,” the shifter said as if in response to some unspoken question.

“It’s the best one we have,” Aedion replied. “This entire plan, such as it is, hinges on secrecy. And you had best believe I’ll be having words with Aelin about coming up with better plans later, but right now we’re stuck with the mess she left us in.”

“Have we considered just telling Dorian?”

“No, he’s right,” the captain interjected. “The less Dorian knows about this for now, the better. He’s terrible at keeping secrets like that from his expression; if we tell him everyone will suspect something is amiss.”

Rowan quickly turned his attention to the guardsman, frown deepening. He very much suspected that this was not actually true, and that the prince was far better at keeping secrets than he wanted anyone else to believe. Perhaps the raw magic that lived in his core was less well-controlled than he had believed?

Ah, of course. The magic. It wasn’t public knowledge that the crown prince of Adarlan was burdened with such a strong gift of magic. It was likely the captain was aware of the secret, and didn’t want any upset to risk a flare-up of the young man’s power at an inconvenient time.

Rowan carefully set aside the thought that Aelin’s disappearance would possibly cause an emotional disturbance in the young prince that was severe enough to unleash his magic. Better to think his control was simply a work in progress like Aelin’s rather than wonder how close they could’ve possibly gotten in a few short weeks.

Lysandra sighed, interrupting his thoughts, and when he looked up at her he froze for a moment as Aelin’s face looked back at him.

It wasn’t truly Aelin’s face, though. Lysandra was trying to adopt her usual confident smirk, but the gesture looked stiff and unpracticed. If he looked more closely the color of her eyes was ever so slightly darker as well, and the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose was in the wrong pattern. It was deeply unsettling to be looking at this face that both was and was not his carranam, and Rowan quickly looked away. “It should be close enough to fool the prince, for a short time,” he managed.

“So we’re decided, then,” Aedion declared.

“I still hate this plan,” the shifter cautioned.

Captain Westfall scowled as he stood. “It’s the only plan we have. I’ll do what I can to limit your interaction with the prince. I’m assuming you don’t want a guard sent to the building?”

Rowan nodded. “Best not to call attention to our movements. But be ready, in the event that we do not return.” He suspected all would be well, but it never hurt to have a backup plan.

The captain nodded, the motion tight and precise as he would expect from a soldier of the man’s status, and quickly left. “You can get there on your own?” Rowan asked Aedion.

The younger male stared at the map carefully, then nodded. “I can get there.”

“Good,” Rowan said. And then he flew from the room in a flurry of wings and frosty air.

~*~*~

“You take me to such nice places,” Aelin purred as Arobynn led her into another chamber, slightly larger than the previous one. Her arms and legs remained chained, but with slightly more freedom of movement she could carefully roll her shoulders and her ankles in preparation for moving quickly should an opportunity arise.

“Such a valuable player in the game should be treated with exactly the respect she commands,” Arobynn replied smoothly, though Aelin carefully suppressed a shudder at the bite beneath his words. She needed him to keep talking, to give her time to find the truth beneath the layer of lies she knew he would present.

“Well, I do believe the next move is yours. I await it eagerly,” she smirked.

She glanced at his face, focusing on the way his eyes didn’t move at all when he smiled. “I have a proposition for you, my dear.”

Oh, how she wished she could free a single arm. It was all she would need to make him regret the way he was speaking to her, as well as the bargain she believed he was about to suggest. Instead, though, she relaxed into one of the chairs as he sat in the other. “I’m listening.”

“See, we each have something the other wants,” he continued. “I have information I know you seek, and I would very much like you to stop being a pain in my ass.” Again, that undercurrent of rage slipped through his ironclad control, and Aelin hid another smirk. Riling people who claimed to have excellent self-control was a talent she had developed from the moment Aedion had come to their home from across the sea. It seemed this man was no exception.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

“Ah, so you weren’t aware when you and your… companion… trashed the Vaults that I had a significant investment in the business?”

“One of your hulking brutes didn’t like that I beat him fair and square. I could hardly control what happened next.”

“And the safe being cracked open before you left?”

“Complete coincidence, I assure you.” She was well aware that he would have no proof it had been her who had broken open the safe, and she knew that refusing to admit to what he suspected would only make him more angry. That was good. She needed him angry enough to let information slip.

“I see. Then I presume you don’t want to know how your parents died?” Another biting remark overlaid with false sincerity, velvety smoothness underlaid with sharp fangs and claws.

Aelin went cold, sensation fading from her limbs as she stared at him. “I was there. My parents died of an illness.”

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, kicking his legs up and over the arm of his chair. “An illness no healer could cure, or so I heard. I had left Terrasen by then, of course, but word spreads quickly when rulers fall.”

Aelin bit her tongue to hold in a sharp reply before glancing back over at him, expression carefully uninterested. “And assuming I can believe you’re telling the truth,” she said, “what would you ask in exchange for this information?”

“Why, what could any man want from a lovely princess such as yourself?” he asked, and Aelin once more carefully mastered her own expression to hide any disgust. “You have power, and yet you cannot access it without aid. I have that information and more, and yet I lack the power that would ensure my own safety. I’m certain we can come to some kind of… arrangement.”

“That’s a high price you ask,” she replied. “And you haven’t done nearly enough to prove you’re worth such an arrangement. After all, it is I who would need to convince the lords of Terrasen to accept you. If you can’t convince me…” Aelin deliberately yawned, and cheered internally as Arobynn gritted his teeth, silver eyes alight with anger.

“If knowledge regarding your own parents isn’t enough to convince you,” he snapped, “then what about information regarding your former lover?”

“It’s quite bold of you to assume I did no investigating when I discovered his body,” she retorted.

“Ah, but I would wager you have yet to learn who bid me send him to Orynth in the first place, and who gave the command to cut his life so tragically short.”

The callous admission that he had passed that command along lit a fire in her veins, and she reached for it before recalling that she was bound in iron. The wildfire fizzled, mere sparks that slipped from her fingers. “And what assurance could you give me, that you would tell me and that you have proof?”

Arobynn stood, and Aelin did finally cringe as he slid two fingers under her jaw to tilt her head up. “My dear, do I look like a man who leaves anything to chance? You’ll have your proof once I have our agreement.”

Aelin jerked her head back, freeing herself from his grip. “That’s a shame, for there will be no agreement until you’ve presented your proof.”

Almost immediately, Arobynn’s casual expression melted into steely anger. “What a shame indeed,” he murmured. “Perhaps you would care to enjoy some more of my… hospitality… first.”

As the man stepped away and opened the door, someone else entered the room. Aelin carefully stood as well, but even with a single glance she knew this wasn’t a fight she would win. Not with her limbs and power both bound by the iron chains clamped around her ankles and wrists.

At Arobynn’s nod, the newest arrival to the room gave her a predatory grin and dragged her toward the wall. Her face made contact with the wall as he shoved her against it with a hand between her shoulders, and while she was stunned by the impact he attached her chains to hooks affixed to the wall. “Do let me know if you decide to change your mind,” Arobynn called, and then the door closed behind him as he left.

Aelin heard the sound of a whip cracking, and as if from a distance she heard herself screaming as fire spread along her back.

~*~*~

Lysandra finally relaxed into her role as she sat beside the prince for the evening meal. True to his word, the captain of the guard had kept him busy for most of the day, giving her time to overcome her nerves at having to pretend to be someone like Aelin. Oh, she had acted before. She had played roles for clients and courtiers alike, and she had certainly changed her face many times.

None of them had felt nearly as important as this. Everything was on the line, completely dependent on Dorian believing her performance as his potential future wife.

It’s only for one day, she reminded herself as her fingers twisted around each other. She had complete faith in Aelin’s ability to execute a plan, as well as Aedion and Rowan’s ability to keep her safe. It was up to her, now, to give them the time they needed.

Dorian’s parents seemed to be completely unaware of the swap, and Lysandra had spent enough time listening to Aelin’s tutors to be able to follow the light political conversation that was taking place. Even Dorian was engaging with her just as he would with Aelin, and when he grinned at an offhand remark she awarded herself another point for her acting.

As the meal came to an end, Dorian looked over at her again. “So tell me, did you want me to do something terribly predictable and show you the gardens? Or can we skip that part?”

Lysandra laughed in reply as Dorian grinned. “Perhaps another time. I still have to read several of the books you’ve loaned to me, if I hope to finish them during this visit.”

Dorian stood, then, and turned to face her with an ostentatious bow. “Then I hope you will grant me the honor of allowing me to escort you back to your rooms, Your Highness.”

Lysandra chuckled and shook her head in what she hoped came across as a fond gesture. “You’re impossible,” she accused.

The prince laughed in reply. “I assure you that I am not,” he said. “I am here, after all. Unless you’d care to discuss the philosophy of such a statement, of course.”

“I rather suspect we would be here all night,” Lysandra grinned back as she stood, allowing him to take her arm and lead her away.

It was easy enough to allow Dorian to escort her back to Aelin’s room after the evening meal, though she couldn’t help a moment of surprise when he followed her into the main seating area. He glanced at the book Aelin had left open on her desk, humming thoughtfully as he read a few sentences. “Ah. I thought so,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, mimicking Aelin’s easy grin as she relaxed into a chair halfway across the room.

He turned to her then, and a chill in the air matched the frost in his eyes. “If I invited you to share my bed tonight, shifter, would you demur like the princess you claim to be? Or would you say yes, believing she’s already given into my charms?”

~*~*~

In another situation, or if he were simply an observer and not a participant in this conversation, Dorian might have been amused at the nearly-comical widening of not-Aelin’s eyes. Instead, though, he only felt a cold rage at the deception.

To the shifter’s credit, she immediately dropped the guise of Aelin and returned to her usual appearance. “I told them this was a terrible idea and we should just tell you,” she grumbled. “What tipped you off?”

“A few things,” he replied, “though the most suspicious to me was that this book is open to where Aelin left off last night when I left. She hasn’t read it today.”

The shifter—Lysandra, if he was remembering correctly—nodded. “I didn’t think you would come back here,” she confessed.

Dorian sighed. “Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what it is you’ve all been keeping from me today, and why the captain of my guard appears to be working with you.”

That was the part that was the most shocking to him, if he were being truly honest with himself. He had never once had cause to question Chaol’s loyalty, and he didn’t want to begin now. He only hoped there was a reasonable explanation for why he had been so eager to ensure he spent as much time as possible embroiled in his training and studies.

As he thought about the possibility that his captain and friend was conspiring with these people, as good as he believed Aelin’s intentions to be, he had to take several deep breaths to stop a layer of frost from forming on his hands. His control over his magic was much better than it had been when it had first manifested, but strong emotional responses still riled the power that slept within him. Unless he wanted to entrust his deepest secret to agents of Terrasen, he needed to keep his feelings in check.

The frost finally ebbed, and the shifter began to speak. “Your captain is only involved insofar as to keep you removed from all of this,” she said quietly. “We provided him with enough information to ensure your safety, nothing more.”

“That still leaves a foreign princess, her most loyal soldier, and a blood-sworn of Doranelle in my capital city, with a purpose of which I am not aware, causing an unknown amount of chaos.” Dorian fought back a sigh at the thought of the headache this would no doubt cause for him, and that was if he was fortunate enough to avoid worse fates.

“They’re… dealing with a threat that could bode ill for you and Aelin both.” The woman was clearly trying to decide how much to reveal and how much to hide, and if he wasn’t the person she was trying to deceive in this manner he would have respected it far more.

“What is the nature of the threat?” he asked.

She sighed. “A former crime lord of Terrasen, who left a few short years before her parents died. He’s created a new home for himself in Rifthold, styling himself the King of the Assassins. She’s been attempting to find him for years, to bring an end to a career that’s gone on for far too long already.”

Dorian sighed. “And I presume if I ask you’ll have absolutely no idea why a crown princess of Terrasen is involved in hunting an assassin, and didn’t simply leave it to her warrior cousin.”

“It isn’t my story to tell,” she replied, looking away.

“Of course it’s not,” he grumbled. “Apologies. I believe you when you imply that this wasn’t your idea and that you’re only involved out of necessity. But this puts me in a… delicate situation.” That was an understatement; if word of Aelin’s actions got out it could be disastrous.

“I understand,” she sighed. “Which is why I wanted to tell you what I could.”

Finally, he nodded. “And when do we expect her to return?”

“By morning,” she answered.

“Very well. I will do what I can to keep this quiet and out of the public eye. But I will be asking Aelin about this later.” It was the best he could offer, and by the look on her face she understood completely.

Without another word, Dorian turned on his heel and returned to his office, asking a guard on the way to send Chaol to him. It appeared they had much to discuss.

~*~*~

“I detest this plan,” Aedion hissed in the direction of the hawk on the nearby roof as the sun began to set. “We should be going after her.”

The hawk took flight, circling the square before landing behind a box and turning into Whitethorn in a soft flash of concealed light. “We have to trust that Aelin can get herself free,” the warrior said. “We’re foreign actors in Adarlan’s capital city. If we break into that building without cause, it puts Aelin and her prince both in a difficult situation.��

It was interesting, how a subtle difference in Whitethorn’s tone was able to so clearly indicate that he wouldn’t mind causing a little trouble for the Adarlanian prince. “You don’t like Dorian,” he realized.

The statement earned him a scowl from his Fae companion. “I have no feelings one way or the other about the prince.”

“You realize my senses are better than a human’s, right? I could hear that you don’t like him.”

Whitethorn’s response was the carefully crafted words of someone used to diplomacy. “I have no reason to dislike him. And we’re not talking about this. It’s almost time.”

Finally. He’d hated sitting in this alley waiting for something to happen. “Time for what?”

“If Aelin is going to keep to her schedule, she’s about to make her next move.”

“You think she can get out of there without us?” It wasn’t that Aedion didn’t trust his cousin’s abilities. No, he knew she was a capable fighter and a powerful magic user. But he knew that she would be unlikely to use her magic unless absolutely needed, given the possibility of a tense political situation if she were recognized.

When he turned to face Whitethorn, the other male wore a small but ferocious grin, eyes positively glowing. “It’s not her I’m worried about,” he responded. “Anyone who crosses her on her way out will deserve exactly what she gives them.” And judging from the look on his face, Whitethorn would revel in their suffering.

The house they watched over was quiet, its occupants likely asleep given that their profession meant being out at all hours of the night. Aedion sighed. “I still don’t like this,” he admitted several minutes later.

“Given that I don’t like it either, I could hardly expect you to.” For all his posturing, and for all the strange glee that had come over him when he had spoke of what Aelin would do to those who crossed her, now the warrior was tense, eyes dark with what Aedion suspected was worry.

Even though the Fae beside him was sworn to a queen that was not his own, Aedion realized he wouldn’t rather have anyone else at his side for this particular mission. He had watched Whitethorn and Aelin grow close over the previous weeks, closer than anyone would’ve suspected. He didn’t know much about magic, but he suspected that sharing it as they could was a rare gift. If he could trust anyone to feel the same urgency he did to ensure she got out of this alive and as unharmed as possible, it would be this warrior.

Suddenly Whitethorn’s head tilted and his eyes narrowed, much like Aedion would have expected in the male’s other form. “What is it?” Aedion asked, only for the other male to gesture for his silence.

Soon enough, Aedion could hear it as well. There was shouting coming from inside the house, at least two masculine voices. He couldn’t make out the words, and based on Whitethorn’s expression he couldn’t either, but something had changed. As he watched, the warrior pulled two knives from his boots and twirled them gracefully around his fingers. It was a good choice, and Aedion went for his own knife as well, knowing his sword would be nearly useless in these cramped alleys. “We stay here,” Whitethorn was saying. “Those are male voices. I haven’t heard Aelin yet, which means they haven’t discovered her. We only go in if it’s absolutely necessary. When she leaves, she’ll come this way. If anyone else makes it this far…” The grim smile on his face indicated their fate clearly enough.

Three men burst through the door of the building, exchanging panicked instructions before departing in different directions, and Aedion and Whitethorn crouched behind a cart to conceal their presence. One man ran for the alley they had chosen for their hiding place, and before Aedion could do anything the Fae warrior was already in motion, clutching the man to him in a twisted parody of a lover’s embrace before drawing a blade across his throat. “They’ll notice when this one doesn’t come back,” he whispered as he dragged the man behind their cart. “We don’t have much longer.”

A slim figure stumbled out of the door next, and Aedion grinned. “We don’t need much longer. That’s Aelin.”

She was almost unrecognizable, golden hair turned red with blood and darkened with ash, but there was no mistaking the eyes that met his, pained but determined. Then those eyes shifted away and he knew she had seen Whitethorn standing beside him. From the sharp intake of breath at his left he knew the warrior had seen her as well, and soon he had abandoned all talk of secrecy to cross the small crossing in several quick strides.

Aelin moved, trying to meet him halfway, but her motions were fumbling and clumsy. She said something to the warrior that Aedion couldn’t quite hear, smiling up at him…

And then as he watched, she collapsed into the male’s arms.

Whitethorn quickly lifted her, carrying her into the alley and out of sight. By the time they reached Aedion she was already unconscious, either from pain or from exhaustion. Judging by her face, Aedion suspected it was a combination of both. “Get her out of here and back to the palace,” he said quietly, adjusting his grip on his knife. “I’ll stay here and make sure you’re not followed.”

Green eyes met his, clearly searching for something. Aedion didn’t know what the warrior was looking for, but finally he nodded and adjusted his grip on Aelin.

Before he could get far, though, Aedion called to him again. “Oh, and Whitethorn?”

“Yes?” he replied, expression tight with concern.

“Take care of her.” And then Aedion turned his attention back to the house with a grim smile. He didn’t know what its inhabitants may have done to his cousin, but he had absolutely no problems with delivering justice to any of them foolish enough to come his way.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

[scottfuckingreed]

So wrong, It’s right - Montgomery De La Cruz

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NOT REQUESTED

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Warnings!: smutty and cute (exactly how I imagine Monty actually)

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Can you admire something you’re a little afraid of? Is that possible or does that just contradict the entire point? Being the twin sister of Scott Reed means you’re in the jock group a lot. I’m around people like Bryce Walker and Montgomery De La Cruz all the time. I’m afraid of the power boys - men - like that have. And yet, I’m totally struck by them. Doodling around my notepad, I fade back into the classroom scene. Mrs Bradley goes on about how we need to be there for each other, and how to tell if our ‘friends’ are actually not okay even if they say they are. It’s pointless really, because it’s clear no one cares. It’s unfortunate. “Are you taking notes?” A whisper falls into my ear. I turn around to see an ‘innocent’ smile form on Monty’s face. “Why would I be taking notes?” I whisper back with a slight laugh. I’m not sure if some of these boys think playing dumb is cute, or they’re actually just stupid; probably both. “You just look like you’re taking notes,” he shrugs defensively and turns back to his area. I continue squiggling on my page until I feel a breath on my neck. My hairs stand instantly in an unknown way, sending shivers down my spine and a strange feeling in my stomach. “So what are you doing?” He whispers again. Rolling my eyes, I turn to him once again. “I’m decorating my page.” “You’re decorating your- what? Thats fucking stupid.” Sometimes I don’t get Monty’s responses. I know Monty is like that all the time. Rude? But why? The other’s are like it too. I just don’t know who’s genuinely a prick most of the time.

I wander over to Zach, who’s sat with Alex and he’s sat with Clay and those people. I don’t actually have a massive problem with Clay. I think he’s sweet. “Hey!” I smile when I get there. The response from Clay is a slight frown. Jess’ is a VERY small smile. Barely noticeable. “What do you want?” Clay mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “Clay-“ Jess laughs awkwardly. All I can do is smile. I get it. “Okay, I deserve that I guess.” I may have been involved in some ‘teasing’ back in the day when it comes to Clay. But that’s in the past. “I was just seeing if you were coming, Zach?” I shuffle my books that lay in my arms. “Nah I don’t think so, but you can join us if you want,” I love Zach. He’s a bit of an idiot a lot of the time, but his heart’s in the right place. Clay snaps his head very quickly at those words. “I don’t think I’m wanted here, but thanks anyway. I’ll see you guys around.” Walking away, I see Monty waiting for me. “Zachy staying with the pussies?” I roll my eyes and hit him on the arm. “Shut up, that’s not cute.” He chuckles and we walk to lunch.

We meet up with Scott, Charlie, Bryce and Marcus. “Where’s Zach?” Is the first thing Bryce, or anyone, says as we approach. “He’s with Clay and the other dipshits,” Monty laughs and sounds all cool and stuff. All I can do is roll my eyes. What do guys like Monty get from being nasty a lot of the time? “I think Y/N’s been flirting with me,” he adds, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in close. I imagine he thinks I like being this close to him. I grab his finger and drop his arm away. “Your ego is fucking massive,” I grunt with a smile. I take my water bottle out of my bag. “Almost as big as my dick,” I almost spit my water back out. Bad timing to take a drink. I get a poke on my shoulder, and that’s what does it for Scott. “Please don’t flirt with my sister in front of me!” He pushes Monty playfully on the shoulders. When I see Monty’s eyebrows raise, I know there’s something going on in his head. And his brain like never works. “Oh okay, I’ll just flirt with her when you’re not around then!” And a play fight erupts between all of them. “Alright kids!” Bryce pushes his foot against Monty, which makes both boys tumble to the ground. I swear the boys at the school are children.

Most of the guy’s had last period free - so they’d already gone home - leaving me to get home on my own. I finally leave the hell hole and bump into Monty. “Montgomery!” I smile, nudging my elbow into him. “Y/N, what do you want?” He chuckles. It sounds awkward or nervous, but that’s not Monty. Like, at all. “I was thinking... you could give me a lift home?” I smile innocently. He begins to walk, which his steps are bigger than mine, so I slightly jog to catch up. “Why would I do that?” His eyes scan me up and down. “Because you love me?” I stick my bottom lip out. The smile on his face only grows. He pretty much shakes his head until we reach his beautiful Jeep. I’m actually in love with his car. He doesnt reply. Instead he just stared at me with that grin. “Because I’m really fun to be around?” I ask again. Same response; he shakes his head. “Because I’m annoying and it’ll shut me up?” He raises his eyebrows. “Okay,” he says simply. All I can do is smile when I get into his car. “You’re so chirpy,” he laughs and starts the engine. “I know you love me,” once again, he shakes his head. “You wish.”

“Do you like what you see?” He smirks at me. I roll my eyes in a rush. “I’m not even looking at you,” I smile and turn my head out the window. I’ve actually watched every tap his fingers did against the steering wheel. I’d seen him nod along to whatever shit was on the radio. Not staring, but in the corner of my eye. Which I think is possibly worse. “I know you are, but it’s okay,” my eyes look back towards him. “I’m gonna have to tell Scotty that his little sister’s checking his best friend out,” I shake my head with a laugh. “We’re literally twins,” is all I can argue.

Monty turns in to the driveway to my house. “Thanks for that, Cruz-y,” he smiles very slightly at my words. Like, VERY slightly. “I guess it’s okay, but you definitely owe me,” I smile back at him and nod. “Of course, you can’t do anything to just ‘be nice’ can you?” I joke, chuckling as I open the door and hop out of his car. “Wait, Y/N,” he shouts out the open window. I watch as the boy gets out his car with something in his hand. “You almost left your phone,” he drops it in my hand. I tap it on his shoulder, and I automatically feel guilty for some reason. I haven’t done anything wrong, or anything I wouldn’t usually do. But I feel guilty. “Did you just, do something nice? For me?!” I drop my jaw with a gleaming smile. “I’m just a nice person,” he shrugs. “Well, I appreciate it,” I feel like I stand waiting for something that’s never gonna happen. I gazed towards the boy for what seems like ages. There was nothing to wait for. It was just awkward blank air. To break the silence, I turn and walk into my house. I’m not sure what else I was meant to do. I run up the stairs, excited to be home, and get out of my ‘nice’ clothes. Sweats and a bralette. It’s time to relax.

I set myself up. Pencils, my sketch pad, and myself laid on my stomach on my bed. Music on. Sometimes I draw from a picture, sometimes from my head, but most of the time it’s just doodles. Today it’s from my head. Just head with eyes and a face and everything. And time flies when you’re invested in something. “Wow,” is all I hear. I jump too much, shooting my head upwards and seeing Montgomery looking over at my book. “Holy shit!” My hand immediately goes over my pounding chest. That was not okay! “You could’ve knocked!” I shout, sitting myself up. “I did, you were just concentrating,” he shrugs and starts looking around my room. He picks up an ornament. I stand up, walking over to him and taking it off of him. It’s only when I get up that I remember what I’m wearing. I feel exposed. His eyes look my body up and down. And suddenly he’s in a rush. “Anyway, I just came to scare you,” and he leaves. Strange.

- A few days later -

A tight black dress. It fits like a glove around my hips, hugging my thighs nicely. This is an outfit that makes me feel like a bad bitch. “I know you’ve worn that dress just to piss me off,” Scott shakes his head as we drive to Bryce’s. Another stupid house party. Although I hate them, I find myself going to every one; enjoying myself too. “I don’t do it to piss you off Scott,” I laugh. He raises his eyebrows immediately. “I know exactly who you dress like that for,” which makes me heat up. Luckily my foundation hides the redness in my cheeks. I don’t even glance his way. I can’t. “Why is everything always about Monty?” It stresses me out that everything is about that boy. “Can’t I just dress up for myself?” I add, rather snappily. Here we are. Bryce pretty much has a car park in front of his fucking house. He might as well have ‘I’m a rich prick’ tattooed on his forehead. “You can, Y/N,” and he gets out the car. You can hear everything from inside the car, let alone walking towards the party itself. Pretty sure I felt the vibrations from the street over. “But did I mention Monty?” Our eyes lock. I swear he said his name? Shit.

Shit music, a load of half naked girls, and too many Varsity jackets? We must be at a Bryce Walker party. I don’t know half of these people here. But I do know Zach! I can’t rush over to him at the drinks table fast enough. “Hey!” I smile. “Y/N, dragged along again?” He asked, handing me a cup. The burning stench of whatever-the-fuck shoots through my nose with just one small sniff. “Jesus Christ, what’s in this?” An adorable smile spreads across his face. He’s so pure I swear. “It’s actually a shorter list if you ask what’s not in it,” he shrugs. I raise my eyebrows, wondering if the boy is smart enough to flirt with me. I leave it at silence, bringing the cup up to my lips. “Everything,” I look back his way. He leans himself down and gets close to my ear. The warmth of his breath does nothing to my body. “I put everything in it. Enjoy!” Is what he finishes with before walking away dancing.

I find myself dancing with everybody and nobody. The fun thing about a party is you don’t need to know anybody. Especially if there’s a lot of people, and you’re drunk. And since there’s everything in my cup, it’s safe to say that I’m a little gone after half of it. “Ah!” I shout and point, seeing a familiar boy across the room. “Where have you been?!” I shout ask. I think I ran over to him. Whatever I did, it happened very quickly. “Around,” he shrugs. And I giggle. What was funny, you ask? Absolutely nothing. But I’m tipsy and a little horny. “Are you drunk?” He laughs, taking my cup and sniffing it. His eyebrows raise, before he even takes a sip, let alone after. “It’s a Zachy special-” “Where’s your brother?” I hardly finish my sentence before he starts shouting his words over the loud music. “I don’t know,” my slightly drunken state is offended by his question. Maybe I’m just annoyed at myself, maybe it’s the fact that everything is about my brother, but it’s more than likely the fact that I wanna be flirted with. And he’s definitely not flirting with me. Rolling my eyes, I just turn and walk as far away as I can before stumbling and embarrassing myself completely. Completely into the arms of Montgomery De La Cruz. “Careful,” the slight giggle shocks me. It was..? Cute..? “Maybe you should sit down for a while,” I realise that I’m still in his arms, which is definitely the last place I should be, so I stand up ‘straight’. As straight and as still as I can be anyway. “It’s okay, I wanna dance!” Smiling massively towards him, I’m shocked when he actually reciprocates the happy look. He never smiles back at me. It must be pity. “You can dance sat down, I’ll come with you.”

I didn’t think I’d be spending a part of my night looking at the stars with Monty, but here we are. Well I’m sat on a sun bed, and he’s stood. The fresh air does a mix of sending the alcohol to my head, and sobering me up a little. Which makes no sense; I know. I’m just drunk. “Fuck, did I drop my drink?” Confusion hits me like a brick. So much so that I start patting my hips at the pockets I don’t have. Which also makes no fucking sense. “I took it off you- why would the cup be in your pocket?” He laughs, taking a seat on the concrete next to my lounger. “That’s cute,” as soon as the words fall out, my hand covers my mouth. “Shit, I won’t hear the end of that. Will I?” His lips press together, shaking his head slowly. “At least you’be admitted you find me cute,” I don’t even have the effort to argue. So I lay myself down.

Before I open my eyes, my head starts pounding. Unfortunately I remember quite a bit, if not all of last night. It’s effort to wake up. So I lay on my back. In a 3, 2, 1, I open my eyes to a ceiling. I might still be drunk, or my eyes aren’t working properly, but that ceiling doesn’t look like mine. “You’re awake!” A voice startles me. There stand Montgomery De La Cruz with water and a pill of some kind. “Fuck, this doesn’t look-” “I slept on the sofa,” and my heart, unfortunately, skips a beat. I lay a glance over to the chair. It’s small. “It’s comfier than it looks,” he shrugs, edging the items towards me. I don’t even know what to say. It’s... sweet? “This could literally be anything,” I squint my eyes at the drug with as much enthusiasm as I can in this state. “Don’t you trust me?” I press my lips together and screw my face up. “I do, unfortunately,” I shrug, and take the painkiller. “Good, lets get some food,” he nods his head towards the door. In my state? No. But I couldn’t turn down his offer.

“I’m curious Monty,” we walk where we can see the beach. Not on the sand, but the path very close. I’m not sure if he’s following me, or I’m following him. “Go on,” he smile, putting a chip in his mouth. Seaside chips are the best. To be honest, everything tastes better at the beach. “How did I end up in your bed?” I smile at my question. My cheeks blush slightly at the question. I must be broken. “Well you just passed out really, so I thought it was the right thing to do,” he shrugs in a very cute way? “Where’d Scott go?” As flattered as I am, Scott should’ve been there. I’m his twin sister. “He got with some slut-” I raise my eyebrows. “Sorry, he got with a blonde girl in a red skirt.” He shivers. A chuckle exits my mouth. “What’s that about?” A smile goes across his face, looking down. I’ve noticed every move he’s made since this ‘morning’. “Red’s such a slutty colour,” he says slowly. Is he weary of my reaction? “Tell me about it!” Only a moment of silence goes by. “Well, thank you,” His eyes lock with mine. “I respect that you didn’t try it on with me, because I definitely would’ve just let it happen,” without debate. Without thinking, he speaks. “I wouldn’t want it to happen like that,” my heart skips a beat. I see the instant regret in his face, but I can’t help but feel warmed by those words. Even so, he doesn’t correct himself.

I spend the rest of my day pacing my bedroom floor. Seeing as I woke up like midday, it’s not actually too long. It felt like it. An hour felt like 3. A knock goes on my door. Although I’m not doing anything, I felt suspicious. So I rush onto my bed and start reading a page of the book closest to me. ‘Twilight’. A classic. “Come in!” I shout. I expected it to be my mum, but it’s Scott. Guilt. Why? I don’t know. I didn’t do anything wrong. Even so, there’s still a feeling of guilt in my body. And it’s heavy. “You never knock,” I laugh nervously. “I wanted to apologise for leaving you at the party. That was a shitty brother move,” he shrugs. As much as I appreciate it, it feels weird. Does he know? I let a moment of silence go by before answering. “It’s fine, at least nothing happened,” looking back at my home screen, I hope that Scott leaves. Of course he doesn’t. He hasn’t asked the vital question. “So... where’d you crash?” Now... I could lie. I feel like I could lie easily too. Only if it’s not a trick question. What if Monty’s already told Scott? Then it’ll look like I’m covering something up. Am I? Nah. “Monty took me to his, but I swear nothing happened,” I almost rush out. Scott’s facial expression doesn’t really change, other than look slightly relieved. “Don’t worry, I trust you,” there’s a pause. “So did you, like, share a bed?” Which makes me smile massively. Only my brother would ask such an awkward question. “He actually gave me his bed, and I think he slept on a chair.” Scott looks surprised. “That chair in his bedroom?” He asks. I nod slowly. “Hmm,” and he leaves.

I spend the rest of my day rewatching Teen Wolf. Let’s not lie, it’s one of the best shows out there! So here I am, crying at how beautiful Stiles is, and my phone starts to ring. Heart: drops. It’s only Monty. For some reason I’m nervous to talk to him. So I hesitate answering the phone. Just do it Y/N! “Hey,” I clear my throat lightly. For context, Monty never calls me. Why would he? We’ve texted on and off about stupid shit. Like ‘is Scott with you’ and ‘can I copy your work’. That’s it. “Y/N, how are you?” His voice echos softly through my ear. “I’m alright, what’s up?” My hair twiddles around my forefinger. ���What are you doing right now?” Other than crying at a stupid Netflix show? Other than getting nervous about you calling me? “Nothing, I think Scott’s-” “I didn’t call you to ask where Scott is,” he chuckles *cutely*. His tone made it sound like that was a strange thing to say. Like I said, he’s never really called me before. Not to actually speak to me. “So, what’s up?” I ask again. My body doesn’t seem to know what to do. I go from sitting down, to laying on my back, to my front, to pacing the floor. All over the place. “I was- uh- wondering if you could sneak out?” He whispers mischievously. Eyebrows: raised. I gasp through the phone with a smile. Tutting at him, I lose the capability to speak for a second. I clear my throat again. “Monty-” “Just for a walk.”

Walking to meet Monty was insane. I don’t even know my intentions, let alone his. But somehow it makes sense. The sky is dark, the air blows cold. My joggers keep my legs cosy. My arms, however, were unprepared. I’m not cold though. I’m nervous. The uncertainty of this whole thing is driving me insane. The craziness is eating at me. And yet I don’t know if I wanna face Monty. But I am. He’s ahead of me. My stomach just can’t keep still. Even with him standing right in front of me. Whatever happens, will happen. “I thought you were gonna stand me up, Y/N,” his smile screams nerves, which made me more nervous. A guy like Monty should never be nervous. “I was hesitant to come,” he nods slowly. “But I’m here.”

The chat was just about stupid shit, funny times, and thick with ‘beating around the bush’. I should be paying attention to where we were going. The absolutely insane thing is I trust Monty. I probably always have done. Through the teasing, and the being Scott’s twin sister, I’ve always felt somewhat comfortable. He’d even given me just hoodie to wear. I’m not sure if it’s something to read into, or it’s simply a kind gesture. “Monty... why did we just walk around for like 30 minutes just to get back to my house?” I can’t hold it back anymore. I need to know why I’m here. “Why am I walking the streets with you half 10 at night?” He avoids my eye contact. I realise that he doesn’t plan on answering me right now. I stop in my place, grabbing his hand. His skin soft and warm. I wish he wasn’t so damn hard to read. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out with you?” Shaking my head, I smile at the ground before locking eyes with him again. This time his eyes stay on mine. Neither of us move. “I’m confused,” a smile spreads across his face. “I’ve been confused for a while,” my eyebrows lift in curiosity. A while? Is he confused about the same shit I am? “Explain it to me.” And he just starts walking away from me.

“Monty!” I slightly jog up to him. It’s wrong of me, but I just wanted everything out on the line. I wanted it written in black and white. “It’s hard to explain the fact that I’m pretty much in love with my best friend’s sister,” my heart drops, yet it’s full at the same time. Jaw; dropped. “I- what?” My hands cover my gradually growing smile. His face stays neutral. This whole thing is just insane. “I’m sorry, but I am obsessed with everything you stand for,” and that does it. I know there is an unwritten rule about your brother’s best friend. This makes me entirely shitty. It’s nothing I ever imagined. The silence on my end makes Monty start to walk away. “You know what!” Once again I grab Monty. “Fuck it,” this time reaching for the back of his neck and pulling him close. Our lips magnetise together. Ive never felt such passion and respect from a person. The unbelievable feeling of his fingers crawling to my waist was something I realise I’ve been missing. It’s just one long kiss, and yet it’s so much more than that. Unknowing, I have been waiting for this moment for a little too long. He pulls my body as close to his as possible. I should be considering the fact that Scott could just look out his window. A thought should’ve crossed my mind that this is one of the shittiest things either of us could do. My conscience shouldn’t be clean. Right now, this is all I can think about.

I feel like I should feel guiltier than I do. I was more nervous of Scott catching me than my parents. Scott and I have always been close. We’re twins. We will always be that. But Monty and Scott? What just happened between me and Monty was risky for that. Yet I lay on my bed staring at my ceiling; I’m smiling like a fool. The clock reads 23:39. Just sleep Y/N. I just kissed Montgomery De La Cruz. A simple, but so perfect, kiss. I can’t wrap my head around it, let alone the fact that he said he’s ‘pretty much’ in love with me. Like shit. Is he gonna regret telling me that in the morning? I hope not.

- The Next Morning -

Nerves and a centimetre of guilt pumps through my veins, waking me up at exactly 06:12. I usually wake up at 07:00, so I might as well shower. I know I shouldn’t dress up just because Monty pronounced his love for me. You know I’m going to though. A touch of mascara and tinted lip balm will be subtle enough.

“You’ve gotta stop looking like that,” Scott shakes his head at me as I jog down the stairs and into the dining room. “Scott! You look beautiful sweetheart,” my mum kisses me on the cheek and hands me a plate of pancakes. I can’t even think about eating right now. “She does it just to flirt with Monty,” a metal spoon hits my back. He scoffs. “I do not!” Usually that would be true, but today it’s not. My high waisted shorts sit perfectly on my hips, and my fitted crop top hugs my breasts. I look down at my outfit. I honestly don’t even thinks it’s that bad. “It’s not my fault Monty flirts with me,” I tease Scott. Is that even a joke though? “Fuck, you wish!” “Right!” My mum shouts. Definitely at the swearing. “Just get to school!”

There’s silence in the car. Not even the radio plays a sound. This is where the guilt starts to sink in. “We’re picking Monty up, could you move to the back when we get to his?” Scott asks, cracking the first ‘smile’ towards me today. “Oh I see how it is,” I grunt jokingly, and he actually smiles. I can’t imagine what it would be like if me and Monty carried on. If anything it shows that yesterday was a mistake and can’t happen. Too much would be risked. We don’t live far from Monty, so in seconds we were outside. It hadn’t even sunk in that I have to see him today. Fuck. Slipping out the car, we lock eyes. “Good morning, Reed,” he huskily whispers. His smile captivates me, but I just have to ignore it. Just like I’m ignoring the fact that when I slid past him to get to the back seats, our bodies scraped together: I thought, stupidly enough, sitting behind Scott would mean there would be no eye contact between Monty and I. Boy was I wrong. In the corner of his eye. In the rear view mirror. It would stop if I stopped looking at him... right now that seems impossible.

“Hey Y/N,” Jess smiles at me as I walk past her locker. Strange? But I stop and turn. “Hey, how are you?” I ask, watching her grab her books. “I’m all good. I just wanted to apologise for Clay the other day. He’s just a bit-” “I deserved it, don’t even worry about it.” She presses her top and bottom lips together tightly. “Thank you though,” I open my arms to hug her, which she surprisingly accepts, until I get a tap on the shoulder. Jess releases me. When I turn and see Monty, my heart goes from zero to a hundred real fast. Imagine a boy having such a grip on you. “Monty,” my voice comes out shaky. “Jessica,” Monty nods at her, and he grunts. “I’ll see you later,” she screws her face up at him and walks away. “She’s such a bitch,” he rolls his eyes. THIS is what I don’t like about Monty. I just wish that list was longer than the stuff I do like about him. “Anyway, can we go talk somewhere?”

Panic thoughts rush through my head as I walk out the school with Monty. What if someone starts gossiping about the fact that we’ve left the school to talk? That’s so fucking stupid. Why would people do that? I’m a little nervous. I’m actually a LOT nervous. Breathe Y/N. I take a seat on the wall behind me. “I wanted to know how you’re feeling?” He simply says. I smile down to myself. “You make this so hard, why can’t you just be an asshole to me?” I let out in a whispered chuckle. “Is that what you want?” He brushes the back of his hand against my arm. “What do you want from this?” My question just makes him raise his eyebrows, as if the answer’s obvious. Does he want a fuck-buddy? Does he want a relationship? Is he just trying to fuck with my emotions? I mean, that last one’s completed with flying colours. “You’re gonna hate me for saying this Y/N, but I honestly just want you.” If anyone else said such a thing, I’d tell them to get a grip. This is Monty. Bad boy image with devilishly good looks. The boy you love to hate, and hate to love. He’s not meant to actually swoon for a girl. Is that what’s happening? Holy shit. “I don’t know if that can happen, what about Scott?” He smiles to himself. His body places itself next to me. “This has nothing to do with Scott,” he shrugs. I wish that was true. “All Scott does is warn me to stay away from you. You’re his best friend,” hand goes to my knee. My naked knee. Please move your hand a little higher; no. “I know, but he’d get over it,” I make a ‘would he really’ face at him. It’s hard to believe that. My eyes gaze away from him for a second. I look at the sky and the trees and that school building. Monty’s eyes are the last place I should look. Except my eyes drift back to his in a second. Stomach; drops. He slowly begins to move his head towards mine. I want to stop him. I want to consider the fact that anyone could see us right now. Including Scott. In all honesty, his lips aren’t moving towards mine fast enough. “Montgomery,” my whispered words stop his in his place. My forehead fall onto his. “I’d risk it, for you.”

School is always a drag, but when you’re waiting for it to end it goes 10x slower. Once again, the rest of our people had last period free. This leaves Monty and I the only ones left. I should be avoiding the boy at all costs. But my hearts flutters when I see him waiting at the school doors for me. I can’t even find words. “Hey,” Monty gives me a contained smile, as if he was holding back. I’m already blushing. “Montgomery,” I say simply. He starts moving, so my body automatically follows his lead. I honestly can’t help it. Can you blame me? Have you met the guy?! “Do you wanna walk with me?” Walk with him? Fuck yeah. But we all know what happened on that last walk of ours. For some reason that only makes me want to walk with him even more. I can’t control myself... he must have a voodoo doll or something.

As usual, our chats flow too naturally. I guess we’ve always spoken, but I never realised how well we got on until recently. Have I been hiding these feelings? It wasn’t intentional. But I should be containing my feelings now. I should cut Monty off before we hurt Scott. I wish I could. “How do you feel?” He asks again. Fuck, I wish he’d leave it alone. “That’s a loaded question Monty.” He stops in his place. A thought bubble appears above his head. It’s only for a few seconds. Then he softly takes hold of my forearm, and leads me into an alleyway. This is it. This is where he kills me. Both of his hands go to my wrists, lifting them and pushing me against the wall. This is single handedly the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. His eyes just stare back into mine. We’re so used to just staring at each other at this point. “How do you feel?” He asks again. I feel like I want his body on top of mine if we’re honest. A smug look captivates his face. Can he hear my thoughts? I gulp loudly. I think I’m about to have a heart attack. “Y/N,” he whispers deeply. “Can you just kiss me already?!”

He’s seems almost struck by my words. As if, although he wanted to hear them, he wasn’t expecting me to actually say them. His eyes scan my body intricately, up and down. I could watch him look at me all day. “Monty... did you hear what I said?” I ask. The corners of his mouth turn up before he makes a move. Finally. His lips on mine once again. I’ve been aching for this moment for at least 16 hours since the last, and first, time. Only this time it’s not just a long, still kiss. Within seconds his tongue asks for access into my mouth. The angel on my shoulder makes me hesitate. This is wrong. But it’s so fucking right. The devil, and my entire body, screams yes. His mouth; warm. The massaging sensation of his tongue sends flutters in every place possible. His hands squeeze my wrists tighter before realising them. They move to balance on the wall. Mine go to the bottom of his tee and... I realise we’re outside. In public. Where everyone and anyone can see us. I break away from his spell for a second. It’s somewhat comforting to see him breathing just as heavy as me. My right hand goes to his chest. “Fuck...” I whisper. I lean my head on the front of his shoulder. In the most adorable way, he places a soft kiss on the top of my head. He can definitely do that more often. “Do you wanna come back to mine?” He asks. What a stupid fucking question.

Luckily we were only seconds away from Monty’s place. I felt giggly the whole 3-5 minutes. It’s like I was in a trance. I heard Monty say that he dad was at work, and honestly it’s all I needed to hear. I could think about guilt, l right now, or anything other than the fact that I’ve never needed or wanted something so much in my life. So he unlocks the door. Before we can even get in the building, I turn Monty towards me and jump. My legs wrap around his waist tightly as I latch my lips onto his. This time there was nothing stopping us. Slam goes the door behind us. The wetness between my legs only grows as Monty’s hands cup my ass cheeks. Squeezing slightly, I let a small, breathy moan enter his mouth. He grunts. “Fuck, Y/N,” he mutters between our lips. It’s almost like he stepped foot on the gas. I’m not sure how, but Monty walks us up the stairs whilst we make out, all the way up to his bedroom. Maybe I should be wondering how he’s so good at this. I couldn’t care less.

My back bounces onto the bed. Our lips stay apart for only a second before his body is above mine. Hands smooth up and down from my hips to my waist. His fingers crawl to the buttons of my shorts. He stops. “Is this okay?” He asks. This is the moment. I know, just by that statement alone, that Monty is worth it. It confirms it all for me. My hands cover my mouth in awe. “I fucking love that,” I pretty much squeal. “Monty,” I speak, holding his head between my hands. “This is more than okay, I need you.” His lips attach back onto mine, and he starts undoing my shorts. I wiggle and lift my body to make it go faster, but they just don’t come off fast enough. All I keep imagining is that this is a dream. This is too crazy to be actually happening.

Just as Monty’s lips go to my neck, I hear a buzz. Is that my alarm? No. So this must be real. It is, however, Monty’s phone ringing. Monty pulls himself off of me. I reach over, pick up his phone, and see ‘Scotty’ written across the top. 1. Cute. 2. Fuck. “Imma just ignore it,” he smirks, rubbing his body back against mine. I don’t know what comes over me, but I find the strength and confidence to flip us over. I smile massively at what I’ve just accomplished. Here I am, straddling Montgomery De La Cruz. Does it get any better? His eyes look shocked. “That’s so fucking hot,” he lifts his head to lock our lips. “Shut up,” I whisper against his lips. I slide my tongue between his lips and... a phone rings. “Fuck,” I grunt frustratedly. ‘Scott’ comes across my phone this time. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to answer it,” I speak in a panic. “It’s fine just ignore him,” he reaches to grab my phone. My hand moves slowly away, making his eyes roll. “He could put 2 and 2 together and make 4,” I say simply. Shit. Act natural. “Hey Scott,” the key is to not overthink this. I won’t think about the fact that I’m in a thong straddling him best friend. Or that Monty’s fingers are tracing pattens on my ass cheeks. “Hey, have you seen Monty?” Of course. What other question would he ask? ‘I have actually. He’s currently between my legs. I could pass you on?’ But no. “No I haven’t, what’s up?” I hear a sigh through the phone. Okay Scott, just hang up now. “Bryce is looking for him. Where are you?” I put a bit of pressure on Monty’s chest with my hand, as I sign to stop, but he does not. Instead he squeezes my buttcheeks ever so slightly. This sends a rush of pleasure through my body, and a HEAVY breath out my mouth. “It sounds dodgy your end Y/N,” he laughs. I can hear the nerves in his voice. I know he’s thinking the worst, and it’s actually a reality right now. “I’m just working out.” In my head I can see Scott shake his head at my response. You’d think, as a jock, he’d understand the grind of working out and keeping fit. But no, Scott is naturally built like an athlete. “Well, enjoy that shit I guess?” His voice is uncertain. “If you do see Monty, tell him to come to the house! Bye,” before I can respond, he hangs up. I think I did it.

I let out a deep breath of relief. “Scott said that if I see you I should tell you to go to our house,” Monty pretends to throw me off him, but instead he flips us back over. “You can go if you’d like,” I mutter, slowly sticking out my bottom lip. I’m lying. My legs tighten around his body. His eyes widen. “I think I’m gonna stay with you,” he smiles, planting his lips back onto mine. He continues to kiss down my neck, just like he was before we were interrupted. “Montgomery,” I’m not sure if I regret stopping him. Theres just one thing I need more than this foreplay right now. Eyes: locked together. Fuck. He makes me nervous. I feel like it’s my first time all over again. “Can you just, like, fuck me now?” I giggle. I hardly finished my sentence before he pulls himself off me to go into a drawer. A condom. To get comfy, I move myself to his pillows. To think, a couple of days ago I woke up in this room panicking because I thought I slept with Monty. Now I’m about to.

He rummages the condom on in seconds. I’ll worry about the fact that he’s clearly very experienced later. “Is this good?” He asks. I could make a silly joke about how ‘he hasn’t started yet’. But I know exactly what he means. And it’s so fucking cute. My hands reach for the back of his head, pulling his lips onto mine for just a peck. “This is perfect.” Eyes are locked together, he leans down and rubs his nose on mine. The palpating going through my body is concerning. And somehow, just when he starts entering, it feels real. This only probably ever crossed my mind once. I steady my breathing as he pushes himself further inside me. Not a virgin, but definitely not a slut. In my opinion anyway. He notices me trying to get comfortable and plants his lips on mine for one long kiss. Humming vibrates from his lips onto mine. I want this moment to last forever.

Breath. Monty stays still for just a second, and pulls his lips away from mine. His right hand sweeps a strand of my hair out of my face. I reach my right hand up to his face, caressing his cheek and smoothing my thumb against his bottom lip. “You are,” pause, “so beautiful,” he says boldly. It wasn’t whispered. It wasn’t a question. I could hear he meant it. Montgomery De La Cruz thinks I’m beautiful. Without warning, he starts to pull out. My mouth gapes more and more. You know that point where you’re on a rollercoaster and you’re waiting for the drop... that was the anticipation for Monty to start thrusting. I’m a mess underneath him. When he does start, I feel myself coming apart at the seams already. His lips go back to mine, my arms stretch around his neck to pull him closer. Our tongues dance around. This was a ‘finally’ moment. The steadiness of the thrusts was perfection. It wasn’t rough, but it was nowhere near slow. And gentle. Everything about this boy was gentle. I don’t know if anyone has ever seen this soft Monty. I want this Monty all to myself. And right now, he’s mine. I wanted, and I needed, him as close as I could. My legs probably couldn’t wrap around his waist any tighter.

My entire being wanted to hold on for as long as I could, but this boy has some serious tricks. I feel like I’m quite stubborn so I could hold off. Monty’s right hand smooths down my hip, down my thigh, and hooks under my knee. As he lifted my leg slight higher, I knew I couldn’t hold on. “Fuck,” I pretty much squeal into his mouth as he reaches my g-spot. My abdomen bursts with excitement. My eyes glance at him biting his bottom lip very discreetly. His lips move from my lips to the side of my neck. I close my eyes for a second to just soak this moment in. I never thought I needed to feel this close to Monty. The pace increases by 2x at least, and a long lost knot begins to form in my stomach. It’s as if my body can sense the boy’s need to release. I think we’ve both been waiting for this moment for a little longer than we think we have. “Please tell me your close,” his husky voice tingles my neck. “Oh my god!” I moan loudly as my climax... finally. Connected. We continue to ride out each other’s highs. Wow.

My head lays against Monty’s chest. I know this can’t last forever. At some point I have to go home. When my heart stops racing, I sit up. “Do you regret it?” Is the first thing Monty asks. I smile to myself slightly. I shake my head slowly. “I kinda wish I did,” I shrug and turn my body towards him and cross my legs. “What do we do now?” I ask with a nervous giggle. He just stares at me. I’ve never been looked at like that before. “Scott’s gonna have to get over it. You’re too beautiful to keep it a secret,” cheesy, but fucking cuuuute. “Shut up. You’ll start making me believe it in a minute,” I push his chest lightly. Monty takes my hand and pulls me close to him. “You’re beautiful Y/N.” It’s hard to make jokes when the most handsome person is staring you dead in the eyes. My cheeks heat too quickly. “So, I heard you kinda like your best friends sister... how’s that working out for you?” I whisper. He opens his mouth, smiling massively for a second. “I actually say that I’m in love with my best friend’s sister. You should get your facts right.” A grin bigger than my head itself forms. “Wow, sassy Monty’s got,” I tease. “I mean it, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” I open my mouth to respond, but no words seems to form. I gobsmacked. Most of the times when I say I’m speechless, I’ve still got shit to say. I don’t know what to say to that. “Fuck, Monty,” I whisper. I nudge my nose against his chin. “If it turns out it’s because I look a little like Scotty, I’m gonna be pissed,” I laugh. Once again, Monty flips us over and puts his body between my legs. He put his tongue between his lips, licking them very sexily I might add. “That’s just a bonus,” my mouth drops open before pulling Monty’s lips down onto mine once again.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter fourteen

genre: angst

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x female oc

warnings: description of physical assault, prison, just all of the bad prison arc stuff

word count: 4.7k

summary: spencer and amelia feel the effects of being forcibly separated and it impacts them in similar ways.

honestly, spencer’s pov in this chapter is one of my favorite things i’ve ever written so i hope everyone enjoys it <3

AMELIA

"Come on! You don't even have to do anything! Just go and clean up. We'll go with you and help!" Yaz pokes my shoulder incessantly, trying to get a reaction out of me. But I just keep my eyes on the tv in front of me, bundled up under a blanket.

"Lia," Michael sighs and slings his arm over my shoulder. I want nothing more than to shove it off. “It's been like, three months since-"

I'm quick to speak up to correct him. "Two and a half."

Michael and Quinn exchange a tense look. "Okay," Quinn nods, "two and a half months. It's been two and a half months since you've drawn, or painted, or sketched, or done anything even related to art. We know you're upset about Spencer but you can't let yourself be so upset. You need to find something that's gonna bring you happiness, and art has always done that."

"I don't wanna," I answer like a stubborn child, an answer that any of my siblings would have given me about things like going to bed early or eating vegetables. I pull the blanket up to my chin and stroke my thumb across my newest tattoo, tucked away and out of the sights of my nosy, annoying friends.

Frankie turns and shushes Quinn. "Like I said, Lia, why don't we go and just clean up your studio? We can drive over and just clean up? That's it. You don't have to do a photoshoot or create anything new. Just clean. Sound good? An hour tops."

I look around the faces of my expecting friends and tighten my jaw. I try to steal Spencer's skills and profile what their ulterior motives could be. They all hated Spencer before meeting him, and even after they met him, they weren't completely fond of him. So why are they trying so hard to get me to feel better? Why does it feel like they’re trying to get me to forget about my boyfriend in prison? I should be worrying about him every second of my day instead of prancing around town, cleaning up my studio, and going about my life as if Spencer isn’t suffering. But I’m sure they mean well. And I’m absolutely positive that my legs are sore from sleeping on the couch and from being in that same position all day.

"Fine," I concede, and they all silently cheer. "But I'm driving myself."

The drive to my studio is nearly insufferable. It’s silent and overwhelmed with a tension that I created but can’t seem to let go. The sights around me are familiar but blurry, like I can’t even tell which stores are which without someone in my passenger seat spitting out fact after fact after fact as I drive. I can’t drive down the street and try to recall all the good times and all the dates and all the drunken stumbles back home with the love of my life on my arm. It’s far too painful to constantly remember that I can’t go home and see Spencer and I can’t spend hours on the phone with him like I do when he is away on a case. I can’t see him. 

When I arrive at my studio, I realize why they were so insistent that I come out to clean up. I can't remember the last time I was actually in here to work but it's an absolute mess. There are canvases everywhere, bottles and tubes of paint on the floor, splashes and splatters of paint on the walls, brushes everywhere, crumbled up sketches in the trash, and way more. The studio needs much love and I guess now is the time to give it.

Michael immediately turns on music and everyone gets to work, but I don't. I pick up an empty tube of yellow paint and squeeze it in my palm. My head is starting to pound and I can't even stop it as tears start to fall down my cheeks. Who knew that one person could produce so many tears? 

Spencer loved when I wore yellow. I have this one short, backless dress that he loved. He especially loved that he had easy access to my skin, always tracing shapes on my back and murmuring about how soft my skin is. He always said that he loved the way the yellow complimented my blonde hair and how it contrasted against my colorful tattoos. He even went as far as to buy me another yellow dress for my birthday last year. 

And he loved when I used yellow in my paintings too. One time, I sent him a picture of a piece I was working on and he emailed back a book about how the use of yellow paint expressed the happiness of the piece or something like that. He raved about a painting I did of the sun and how my use of yellow wasn’t scientifically accurate, but it was beautiful nonetheless. 

"Amelia?" Quinn speaks but I don't look at her. My cheeks are wet with tears that I barely noticed and my hands are clutching the tube of paint so tightly that it would burst if it were full. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you. If we-"

"I'm gonna go," I say hastily, clutching the empty tube in my hand as I breeze out of the studio, leaving my bewildered friends to either clean or leave. They know the way out and they know where the keys are. They don’t need me.

I'm wandering into the bullpen like it's second nature because, at this point, it basically is. Nobody on the team bothers to say anything to me. They never do. They're too worried I'll blow up at them or start crying. I don't blame them.

I rap my knuckles against Dave's door and wait for him to shout for me to come in, and when he does, I enter slowly. He gives me a small, pitiful smile as I move in front of his desk. I set the empty yellow paint tube in front of him and then sit down, bringing my knees to my chest.

Dave looks down at the tube, his eyebrows furrowing. "Paint? What's this?"

I blink and it forces tears out of my eyes. "I don't know how to live without Spencer."

Dave leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over my chest. He studies me, profiles me. I hate when Spencer did that. He always got this look on his face when he profiled me, but Dave has a better poker face. "And paint has something to do with that?"

"I just went to my studio with my friends and I finished off all this paint and there were brushes all over the floor and-" tears start pouring down my cheeks again, wetting my neck and the neckline of my sweater. "I came home the other day and I'd left the balcony door open. How stupid. I'm forgetting to lock my doors just because my boyfriend is in p-" I gulp, having to force out the disgusting word, "prison. How fucking stupid. How stupid am I that I can't function without him?"

"You're not stupid," Dave shakes his head. Nothing about his tone or his body language is helpful in the slightest. Nothing and nobody will help. "You two are reliant on each other and that's not a bad thing. I'm sure Boy Genius is always on you about locking your doors and I'm sure he's always giving you statistics on break ins and-"

"He doesn't," I cut him off sharply. "If Spencer's telling me statistics then it's about stars in the sky and how to properly care for my plants so they stay alive longer or just- it's never about things you guys talk about here. It always about things that I'd like. He does it to protect me. He doesn't tell me about serial killers unless I ask, and I only ask when I can see that he had a really hard day at work. It's just me, Dave," I put my forehead to my knees, shoulder shaking as sobs take over my whole body. "I just don't know how to live without him. I don't know how to function without him holding my hand and him calling me to promise he's okay and-- I just can't. I can't do it."

"You did it before you met him," Dave stands from his desk and moves in front of me. He puts his cold hand on my shoulder and it sends a chill down my spine. "You lived a long life before you met him, and you're living now while he's temporarily gone. It's hard, I know, but it's only for a short time."

"I just want him to be okay. That's all I really care about."

///

SPENCER

///

My whole job is about helping people and I've spent my whole life caring for others, mostly my mother. In my professional life, I'm always keeping an eye on my teammates to make sure they aren't in danger. I consider it to be part of my responsibility to look after every single one of my teammates. They're my family and I rely on them to help me too.

I never thought my helpful nature would come back to hurt me. I never thought that trying to help out a friend would come back to hurt me so badly. All I wanted to do was help Delgado. That's it. Calvin is protecting me and the other men in here wouldn't dare to cross him. They know how miserable he could make their experience here and they'd rather beat up someone else than get on Calvin's bad side.

All I did was speak to a correctional officer at chow. That's literally all I did. Yes, I did rat out the gang to the officer for beating up Delgado, but they don't know that. They aren't going to be disciplined for it. I ask the guard for water first as a cover, but clearly, it wasn't enough.

And I've been through a lot in the field. I've been tackled, and punched, and shot, but getting beaten up in a prison is completely different. The guards couldn't care less about the inmates. No matter how much I screamed and pleaded for help, no one came. And even still, there was another inmate outside my cell keeping watch so my attackers could run and not get caught.

I’ve gotten beaten up a lot in my line of work and I can confidently say that this one, in a dirty prison cell, is the worst I’ve received. They held me down against my bed and used a rag to muffle me, but it covered my mouth and nose and it almost suffocated me. They beat me to a pulp, drawing blood on my forehead and almost cracking a rib or two.

It was an unrelenting beating and I eventually succumbed to the pain because I convinced myself that they were going to kill me. I snitched and death would be the consequence. I stopped fighting and just let them take their turns at swiping my face and my chest and my stomach because what could I do? Nothing. As Calvin loves to remind me, the rules are different in here. I don't have a badge and a gun to make the torture stop. I have to endure it or find my own ways to make it stop, and this is a moment to endure it. I'm rendered useless.

The beating only ended when the inmate outside whistled, probably a preplanned signal, because the two others immediately jumped off of me and ran out of my cell. As soon as the towel was pulled away from my face, I gasped in a breath and clutched my aching chest, wincing in pain.

Wilkins came strolling over, peering into my cell. I knew he knew exactly what had just happened by the smirk on his face, but he chose to do nothing. He chose to stroll over instead of running and he didn't yell at the other inmates. He just stared at me and smirked, shaking his head.

"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut, Snitch."

And those are the words that echoed in my nightmare that night.

I'd rolled over and coughed up a generous amount of blood, grimacing at the taste in my mouth. My body trembled and shook when Wilkins left, even more than when he was silently mocking and watching me. Wilkins doesn’t care to do his job but at least with him standing at my cell door, I had the tiniest bit of protection. But with him gone, the other inmates could come back and finish the job. I shook and stayed rolled over on my side for twenty minutes, staring at the floor and waiting for my cell to close.

When it finally did close, I didn't even let myself sigh of relief. I just fell onto my back again with a groan. I could barely move. It hurt too bad. Everything always hurts nowadays. Things didn't hurt on the outside. Living didn't hurt before I got arrested.

Getting visitors the next morning is not what the ideal situation is. Rising from bed is more of a challenge than it normally is. My body is sore and aching and all I want to do is curl up in my obnoxiously uncomfortable bed, if this slab of metal and a blanket could be considered a bed, and go back to sleep. But I know I'll get in trouble if I don't get up for role call, so I ignore the pain.

I don't dare to look around at anyone on my block as the officer shouts our names, checking to see that we're all here. I just keep my head held high and my hands at my sides and try to show that I couldn't care less about the beating that is causing me so much unrelenting pain.

But then they call our names for a visitor’s session and, of course, my name gets called. I'm usually grateful to get to see anyone from my team, but now? Today? After last night? I'd prefer if they didn't come back until after these bruises were gone. But there's nothing I can do so I allow the guards to put cuffs on me and lead me to the visitor’s room.

As soon as Penelope sees me, she gasps and drops her jaw. She starts to rise to her feet, but I sharpen my glare at her and when she sees my expression, she stays in her seat. When I sit down at the little table and put my cuffed hands in view, like I'm required to, I watch her eyes fill with tears.

"You-" she whispers, "you're hurt. What happened?"

"It's not a big deal," I answer nonchalantly. "It could've been worse." She's not convinced, her jaw dropped as a few tears drip down her cheeks. I keep my jaw tight and as much as I want to comfort her and hug her and promise that as badly as this hurts and as horrible as I'm sure I look, I'll be fine. But there are a million eyes on me right now, including my assailants, and if I show any kind of weakness, a beating like last nights will surely be in store for me again.

Penelope not-so-subtly glances around at the other prisoners around us. "Reid," she leans towards me and tries to lower her voice, "I am going to march right down to the warden’s office and I'm going to-"

"No, you're not," I snap, and my sharp tone of voice makes her jump back, her eyes widening. But for some reason, the look on her face doesn't even make me regret the way I've spoken to her. The look on her face just bothers me more. Why doesn't she get it? Clearly, I have to spell it out for her. "It'll just make worse things. I've got it handled, Garcia."

"Are you sure?" She practically whimpers. "I could-"

"How's everyone else? How's the team? How's my mom?" I deflect from the obvious issue at hand and instead turn the focus to my loved ones. All but the one I wanna hear about.

Penelope starts to nod slowly and she moves her glasses to wipe her cheeks free of tears. "We really miss you. And in our free time, we're working really hard on your-"

"Shh," I try to hold my hands out but the handcuffs rattle, and my eyes dart over to a guard who is alerted by my movement. He gives me a pointed look as if telling me not to do anything stupid. I put my hands back down and look over at a stunned Penelope, leaning in closer. "Don't talk about my case, Garcia. People don’t do that in here. It’s not right and it’s not safe. Just don't talk about it."

She gulps harshly, another single tear dripping down her cheek. "Okay," she nods again, and it's obvious that she's confused. But I don't have the time or the energy to explain why I'm acting like this and I don't even have it in me to care. I didn't even want to be at this visitor’s meeting. I'm only here because I have to be. "Um," she taps her fingers against the table, "we just really miss you, Spencer. Your mom is doing really well with Cassie."

"Good, I'm glad everyone is okay," I nod and I sit back, glancing around for a clock. When is this thing over? I'd rather be in my cell than here. I never thought I'd think that.

Penelope raises her eyebrows and her eyes soften. "A-Amelia? Do you wanna hear about her?"

As soon as I hear her name, my heart starts beating faster. My mind flashes with all the most beautiful images of Amelia that I can recall. I can practically see her in front of me. I can almost feel her under my fingertips. I swear I can taste her chapstick on my lips as she kisses me. I rub my fingers together as if I can feel the fabric of her denim skirt. As if I could unbuckle her belt and take her right on my bed right now. I shake the thought from my head. Don't go there, Spencer. Nothing good ever comes of when your mind goes there.

But I can't get her out of my head. I can stop seeing her lying on my lap, peering up at me as she mulls over which record to put on. Etta James or Taylor Swift? That's always the question of the day, isn't it? It always seems to take her hours to decide on an answer, and she usually doesn't. She'll usually work up an appetite with her thoughts, and when she's gone to get a snack or a glass of wine, I decide for her. Always the same. Always Taylor Swift.

But her smile is always so beautiful when she comes back into the room. When the music finally flows through her ears, the smile that comes to her face is one that could end wars, cure cancer, solve world hunger. I didn't think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make a person so happy. I didn’t think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make Amelia want to drag me off the couch or out of bed and force me to dance with her, whether it be in the middle of the night or just as the sun is peeking through the always-open blinds of her apartment.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to bring myself back to reality. I try to forget about the girl that's waiting for me in the free world. I try to ignore that she's probably shed tear after tear and I haven't been there to wipe them away. My brain produces images of her gasping for air with her head between her knees and I ball my hands into fists.

I'm angry. I'm fucking furious. I want to be there to hold her and whisper in her ear and tell her that her panic attacks are short-lived, that I'm right there. I need to be there to hold her and kiss her and love her. I need her because I can't do this without her. I don't know what to do if I'm not spending my time protecting her. Everything I do is to protect her. I don't know how to function if I'm not holding her hand, or if I'm not pushing myself through every day just so I can call her at midnight to promise that I'm okay. I've become so reliant on Amelia, and maybe that's wrong, but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. I just want my life back. I want my life, I want my job, and I want my girlfriend.

I want my girlfriend. I want to move in with her like we planned to and I want to propose to her and I want to marry her. I want to have a whole house full of kids who are loud and messy and loving and adorable and a crusty dog who slobbers all over the couch and chews my shoes. It's not fair. None of this is fair. Amelia doesn't deserve this. She deserves someone better than me.

But I can still see her. I can still see her fucking smile, and I can still hear her goddamn laugh, and I can still feel the fabric of her dumb hair scarves. She's engulfing me in her. She's not even here and yet I feel like I could reach out and she would be in my arms, kissing my neck and telling me that I'm safe and that we can just sit on the balcony and talk. We don't have to go to bed if you don't want to, we can just talk.

What I would give to hear her voice again. I'd give everything I have, and right now, it's not much. I'd give everything plus the clothes on my back to just hear her tell me I'm safe, or to tell me about a new painting she's thinking about starting, or to ask me to tell her a random fact about a food item she is about to buy at the store.

The last thing I want right now is to hear about Amelia. I want it all, or I want nothing. I don't want to hear that Amelia misses me, or that she's crying and having panic attacks in the middle of the BAU, or that she's sleeping in my clothes (or worse, not sleeping at all), or that she's lashing out at everyone. No, if I'm not having her in front of me, kissing me, hugging me, I don't want to hear about her.

"No."

For what seems like the millionth time, Penelope's eyes widen. "No? You don't wanna hear about-"

"No, I don't," there's a pit in my stomach that I try to hold down. I try to not let it take control of me. "I don't wanna hear about how horrible she's doing, okay? So just tell her that I lo-"

I can feel a million eyes burning into every bone in my body and so I stop myself. My lips freeze mid-sentence and I release the steel grip my hands hold around my cuffs. Penelope's are just another pair of eyes that bore into my frame, and I usually love her concerned and mothering nature, but now, it irks me to no end.

"Whatever," it pains me to cut off the sentence I crave so intensely to say, but I can't let my guard down. I can't be vulnerable and I can't show weakness.

"Whatever," Penelope repeats, almost mockingly, her voice cracking. "So you-"

"Could you not say anything to, um," I gulp, "her about this?" I gesture to my face where I can feel the pulsing and throbbing bruises tormenting me. I drop my shoulders and start to fiddle with the way-too-tight handcuffs around my wrists, but then I decide that that's a horrible idea, and probably a good way to get harassed by the correctional officers. "I just don't want her to worry about this. I'm sure she's worried enough. I don't want to give her another reason to, you know, panic."

"Times up! Inmates, get back to your cells."

Without so much as another glance at Penelope, I stand and turn my back to her. I lift my chin as I'm pushed and shoved into the lineup and then pushed and shoved back to my lonely, isolated cell. I'd rather have it this way, behind bars where the other inmates can't get me.

I drop down to the floor, pressing my forehead against the rusty bars, staring out at the drab, bland, boring beige walls. The paint is peeling and the bars, honestly, look like they could be broken with a hard enough kick. And, of course, the colors of the walls do nothing to brighten up the dead environment. The colors aren't anything like those that adorn Amelia's body on the regular.

A frustrated groan escapes my lips as I bang my hand against the bars. Why did I have to think about her again? Why did I have to let her infiltrate my thoughts?

But the colors of her. The colors swirl around in my head but as hard as I try, I can't get her colors to fill this horrible cell I'm confined to. I try to imagine her denim skirts, knit sweaters, and pea coats strewn out on the bed as she chooses what to wear in the morning. I try to remember the feeling of accidentally stepping on one of Amelia's millions of piercings when they fall on the floor after she takes them out before bed. I try to see her laying down on my bed, her sketchbook in her lap, and her colored pencils beside her as she rambles on and on and on, talking more than me, about what she's drawing and how she's planning on achieving her vision.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't get her into the cell with me. She doesn't belong here. Her art doesn't belong on these chipped walls, and her clothes don't belong on this poor excuse for a bed, and her absurdly positive attitude doesn't deserve to be squashed in here.

I rub my eyes and try to forget. I try to forget all about her and I try to erase her from my mind completely. I push myself away from the bars and stand, but standing does the opposite of what I want to do. Standing gives me a perfect view of the tiny window across from my cell, but more specifically, the sky.

I stare up at the clouds, my hands gripping the bars as tight as I possibly can. My eyes well up with tears and my knees start to buckle under my weight, and as my tears start to drip, they sting the cuts that I didn't even realize I had on my face. It’s not like I have a mirror to examine my injuries. 

They are just blobs. There are no dragons, or hands, or tables, or staircases, or cars, or Christmas trees. They're just clouds. There's nothing fancy about them. I'll never be able to see it. I couldn't see shapes when I was with Amelia. What makes me think I would be able to see shapes without her?

I push myself away from the bars and throw myself onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. This is useless. I'm useless. There are echoes of chatter from men on my cell block and it makes my head hurt. If Amelia were here, she would cradle my head in her lap and brush her fingers through my hair, and she would trail her fingertips over my forehead and over the bridge of my nose, all while whispering sweet nothings to me. I groan with frustration, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face under my flat pillow.

"Hey, Reid," Calvin's voice joins the echoes from the cells around mine. "How's it going over there?"

 TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting​ @blameitonthenight21​ @feralreid​ @anepiphany​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrrywildflower​ @penemily​ @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

[noladyme]

The Crown Princess of Charming - part 10

Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.

Rated M

Tags (let me know if you want on the list) @wonderlandfandomkingdom @edonaspanca​

10

We spent the next few days trying to figure out how to be a family. I was well aware – probably even more so than Jax – that this wasn’t just going to be as easy, as me moving my stuff into the house. Jackson was constantly trying to make me take up more space on the shelves. He even cleared out more space in the closet; throwing out old shirts – and the stained boilersuit. “You’re right. You don’t want to know”, he’d chuckled.

Monday afternoon, he found me on the living room floor; sorting papers and old art projects. “You know; I could get you a desk”, he said. “I don’t know if I’ll need one again”, I muttered. He sat down next to me; and took a drawing pad from my hands; going through the sketches on the pages of it. “You will. If it’s not for the school, it’ll be something else”. I shook my head. “I don’t want anything else…”, I said quietly.

He squeezed my healing knee gently. “What about dance?”, he tried. I sputtered a laugh. “You want me back on stage, in front of other men – and women; for that matter?”. He narrowed his eyes at me. “You never told me about any women…”, he muttered. I shrugged. “Like I said… I have a past”, I smirked. He looked down. “Is… that a problem?”, I said. He seemed to have to think about it. “I mean… no?”, he said. I frowned. “It’s a problem”, I whispered. He put an arm around my shoulder. “Just another thing I’m learning about you”, he smiled softly. ”Besides, I’ve produced enough porn to know that two women together is not a bad thing”. His smile became a smirk. I raised a brow at him. “No threesomes”, I said pointedly. He laughed. “Wouldn’t want to share you either way”, he grinned. I leant against his shoulder. “I don’t care who you’ve been with. You’re here now”.

I chewed my lip. “Am I, though?”, I said. “Who am I in this? Am I just your old lady?... I need more”. “I know”, he said. “But seriously, though. Why not take up dancing again?”. I sighed. “Old lady, step mom, and gogo-dancer?”. “Burlesque”, he grinned. I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’d be in my underwear in front of whoever paid an entry-fee”, I said. “You’d be good with that?”. Jax shrugged. “Opie deals with it”, he said. “Yeah. I’ve seen the way he winces every time Lyla talks about work”, I said. Jax frowned. “You wouldn’t be taking dildos up your ass”. I grimaced. “Sorry…”, he chuckled. “Look, I just want you to be happy”.

I kissed his cheek. “I know… I’m sorry. I’m not exactly being the bubbly girlfriend you’d expect me to be – having just moved in, and all…”. Jackson sighed. “Come here…”, he said; and pulled me into his arms. “These last few weeks have been crazy. You’ve been beat; drugged; arrested; and almost…”. Anger ghosted his face, and he couldn’t finish the sentence. “I don’t… I can’t let that ruin everything”, I said quietly. “You’re not ruining anything, Cat”, he said. “You’re dealing with it. Just let me help you”. “You are”, I said. “You’re paying Lowen for me… which I hate”. He frowned. “Why?”. “Because I don’t like not making my own money, and paying my own dues!”, I said. “I’ve always been able to handle myself”. He smiled. “We’re a team, darlin’”, he said. “There ain’t no I in team”. I put two fingers into my mouth, and made a gagging noise.

Jackson laughed, and took my hand. “Look, we’re a family. Ok?”, he said earnestly. “I take care of you; you take care of me”. “And how do I take care of you?”, I said – immediately regretting the question; when I saw his playful grin. “You took care of me twice, this morning…”, he leered. I looked at him incredulously. “You realize that makes me sound like your own personal call-girl, right?”. “I don’t mind a bit of role-play”, he smiled.

I tried to smile; but Jax saw through it. “I’m sorry”, he muttered. I shook my head. “I want me back”, I said. “My work, my sense of security in who I am… Joshua took it all away”. He nodded. “What can I do?”, he said. I thought about it for a moment. “I do want to dance again… are you sure you’d be ok with that?” It was his turn to ponder my question. “I love you; and I want you happy”, he said. “Dancing makes you happy”. “It does”, I nodded. “No nipple tassels?”, he said warily. “I’ll save those for you”, I smirked. “I know how you like to wear them…”. He looked at me warningly. “Hey! That stays between us”, he said. I giggled. “I promise”, I said.

He kissed me gently. “I’ll look up safe clubs for you”. “What do you mean; safe?”, I asked. He frowned. “It’s got to be somewhere unconnected to club enemies”, he said. “And somewhere out of range of Juice”.

His phone rang. “Speak of the devil”, he muttered; and picked up the call. “Juice! What’s up?”. I got up from the floor; and went to feed Abel – who’d been chewing on a teddy bear in his playpen. Jax followed me into the kitchen; his phone to his ear. “Shit!... Yeah. We’re on our way”. He hung up. “Pack up. We gotta get to the clubhouse”. I held Abel to my chest. “What’s wrong?”, I said. “Lockdown”, he grumbled; and walked to the nursery; beginning to pack up a bag for Abel.

I followed him with bated breath. “Jax… what’s happening?”. He looked at me – jaw clenched. “Someone burnt down one of our warehouses”, he said. “Phil got shot”. I felt cold all over. “Is he…”. Jax shook his head. “He’s in the hospital. Gut wound”, he muttered. “Babe; pack your things. We leave in five”. I nodded; and put Abel in the crib, to go collect my things. Jax followed me into the bedroom. “How much… what do I need?”, I said. “Pack for a couple of days”.

I nodded; and grabbed some clothes and toiletries. I was shaking. “Cat…”. Jax pulled me in to a tight hug. “It’ll be ok. You’ll be safe… It’s just a precaution”. “For what?”, I whimpered. He stepped away from me; and opened the bottom drawer – pulling out a .38; checking the chambers to see it was full. “We’re at peace with brown and black. So we don’t know who did it”. “Nords?”, I said. He shook his head. “They don’t mess with our business”, he said. “Too much heat for their numbers”.

I let out a nervous breath. Jax handed me the gun. “This one’s easier. No safety – just pull the hammer; aim, and shoot”. I nodded; and put the gun in my purse.

We drove to TM – I had Abel in the car with me; and Jax followed close on his bike. Once inside the lot; the large gate closed behind us.

The clubhouse was filled with women and children. Abel was fussing from not having been feed when we were at the house; and Gemma took him from my shaking arms. “I’ll be ok, sweetheart”, she said warmly. “This happens”. I nodded; and went to sit down with Lyla. She and Opie had pulled the kids out of school; and the three of them were doing homework at a table.

Clay stepped into the middle of the room. “Listen up! Lockdown is in order. No one leaves without an escort – and all communications with outsiders is on hold”. I felt sick. Jax met my eyes, and stepped over to stand by me – back straight and VP-face on. He squeezed my shoulder for second; letting me know he knew I was afraid. “You’ll all be home as soon as we figure out what happened”, Clay said. “For now; you stay her. And stay safe”. He turned to Jax. “We gotta go”. Jax nodded; and turned to me; bending down for a quick kiss. “I love you. Stay here. We’ve got the dorm for Abel”. “Ok”, I said quietly. “Come back to me…”. “I will”, he whispered.

The guys left the clubhouse; and I heard their bikes starting up, and leaving the lot.

---

I spent the next few hours scared out of my mind. No calls came in to let us know what was happening; and I was constantly looking at the door – wishing for Jax to step through it. Gemma was on her phone; and after she hung up, she joined me at a table; where I was trying to feed Abel his nighttime bottle. “That was Rat”, she said. “Phil is out of the woods; but he’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few days”. “And how long will we have to be here?”, I asked. “I don’t know, baby”, she said. “They’re just trying to keep us safe”. I frowned. “Then why am I still terrified?”, I said quietly. She smiled. “Because you’ve never done this before”. She squeezed my hand. “But you’re doing it just perfectly”. She looked at Abel. “Do you want me to put him down for the night?”. I shook my head. “No, I’ll do it. I’m gonna try to get some sleep as well”. I stood up; holding the baby against my shoulder to burp him. “Why do we get the dorm? There are other kids here…”. She shrugged. “It’s just the way it is”, she said. “No one has a problem with it”. “I do”, I muttered. She stroked my cheek. “There goes that heart of yours… Look, if it makes you uncomfortable; bring Lyla and her kids with you”. I nodded.

I got Lyla and the kids to follow me into the dorm – not really wanting to be alone. A little while later, Lyla was next to me on the bed; stroking Kenny’s hair. The boy had wet cheeks; and was whimpering in his sleep.

“Thanks for letting us stay in here with you”, she whispered. “Anything else would have been ridiculous”, I smiled. We we’re bundled up on the bed with Abel and Kenny – Ellie and Piper having been tucked in on the couch. Kenny had cried himself to sleep; worried about his dad. There’d been a travel cot for the baby set up in the room; but I’d insisted one of the women sleeping in the bar area, used it for her little girl. Besides; I preferred having Abel in my arms as it was.

“You think they’re ok?”, Lyla asked. “Yeah…”, I whispered – trying to convince myself as well as her. “They have each other’s backs”. Lyla nodded.

I pulled the covers off Abel; as the room was warm; and I didn’t want him to overheat. “You’re good with him… a natural”, Lyla said. I smiled softly. “He’s an easy kid… And Jax takes the main load when he’s home”. “Really?”, Lyla said incredulously. “Yeah”, I said. “He’s a regular mother hen around him”. “Wow…”, Lyla said; surprised.

I chewed my lip. “Did… do you know Abels mom? Wendy?”. Lyla shook her head. “No; that was before my time”, she said. “But Opie told me a bit about her… She has issues”. “I know”, I nodded. “But I still want him to know about her”. “Is Jax pushing for you to get guardianship?”, Lyla asked. “I think he’ll bring up at some point… Or Gemma will”. She frowned at me. “You don’t want that?”. I stroked Abel’s little arm. “I have no problem with the guardianship. I love him. So much”, I muttered. “But I’m not his mother. I don’t need him to call me mom”. “Then what?”, she said; letting the sleeping baby hold on to her pinky. “I want to be there for him… whatever happens. He is mine; you know?”. I sighed. “And I want what’s best for him”. “You think she’s part of that equation?”, she said. I thought about it. “She should be – on one way or another”. I kissed the baby’s head. “I want him to have a clear understanding of where he comes from”.

Lyla smiled softly at me. “You are too good for words, Cat”. I looked at the sleeping child in her arms. “You’re not half bad yourself… taking on two of Opie’s, on top of your own”. She stroked Kenny’s cheek. “I guess I feel like you do. They are mine – but they weren’t mine first”, she said. “Though Donna’s a hard act to follow”.

I took her hand; and squeezed it. “Stepmom’s for the win, huh?”. She grinned. “Go team Stepmom”.

Soon after; Lyla dozed off. I spent the night in and out of sleep. Every sound made me jolt. I was worried, and wanting nothing more than to see Jackson safe and sound, as soon as possible. Abel woke up at 6 am; needing a change and a bottle. I slipped out of the dorm quietly; trying not to stir my sleeping friend and her kids.

Rat was in the main room; putting out breakfast items for the sleeping people in the clubhouse. He looked even scrawnier than usual – tired and sad. “Are you ok?”, I whispered. He looked worried for a second. “Yeah; I’m just fine, ma’am… Cat”. He tried to smile. “There’s an empty mattress in the storage room”, I said. “Go get some sleep. You look exhausted”. He shook his head. “I need to finish this”, he muttered. I put Abel in his car seat on a table; and took a loaf of bread from Rat’s hands. “That’s an order”, I smiled. Rat smiled; and scuttered off.

I’d had Jax buy a baby carrier; so we’d be able to carry Abel with us, hands free. I strapped the baby to my body, and got to work, preparing breakfast. While I worked; Ellie came out to join me. “Couldn’t sleep?”, I said. “No”, the girl muttered. I stroked her cheek. “Your dad will come back as soon as he can”, I smiled. She nodded. “I miss you at school… Miss Bloom is back. She made us read The Hobbit”. “That’s a good book”, I said. Ellie shrugged. “Yeah, but I already read it”.

I narrowed my eyes; and told Ellie to wait; while I slipped into the dorm – going through my bag; and returning with The Graveyard Book. “Here. It’s the same author that wrote Coraline”, I said; handing her the book. “You’ll like it”. Her eyes lit up. “Can I go read it now?”. I nodded smilingly; and Ellie ran off to find a quiet corner.

Gemma had appeared from somewhere; and watched our exchange. “Do you always bring a library with you wherever you go?”, she grinned. I shrugged. “Only when I’m locked up in a bikerclub; and don’t know when I’ll be able to get out again”, I said. “Nice to have some diversion”. Gemma chuckled. “Where’s Rat?”, she asked. “I told him to get some rest. He was sleeping standing up”.

She walked over to me; and kissed my cheek. “Where the hell did you come from, Cat? And why didn’t you get here sooner?”, she smiled. I blushed, and went back to my task of carving up rolls.

People began stirring – attacking the buffet I’d set up for breakfast. I stuck to coffee myself – feeling too anxious to eat. Abel began fussing from all the sounds of women and children around him; and I decided to go outside to get some air.

I walked back and forth on the lot; bouncing my body to settle the whimpering baby against my chest. An armed leather clad Son with a batch from Tacoma kept his eyes on me. Suddenly the gates opened; and fleet of bikes entered the lot. The sound of the engines instantly made Abel calm down; and I chuckled at the irony.

Chibs got off his bike – looking tired and worn. I walked over to him. “Guests?”, I muttered; looking at the unknown bikers parking near the shop. “Nomads”, the scot answered. “We need backup”. I shuddered. “What happened?”. Chibs put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, my love”, he smiled. “We’re all whole”. I nodded. “There’s still food inside”, I muttered. Chibs put his hand on my back; and led me towards the door of the clubhouse. “You two should be inside”. “What’s happening?”, I asked.

Chibs opened the door for me, and led me to a quiet corner; gesturing for Gemma to follow. “Retaliation”, he said quietly. “Nords called in some white power friends”. My breath hitched. “O-ollie?”, I whispered. Chibs shook his head. “No. This has nothing to do with you… this is something else”. Gemma met the scots eyes. “The other thing”, she muttered. “What?”, I asked. Chibs smiled. “Don’t worry about it, luv’”.

His phone rang; and he picked it up. “Yes?... I just got in with the Nomads. I’m going to have Quinn head security until you or Clay comes back… Yes. She’s here”. Chibs handed me the phone. I took it, and headed down the hall to find some quiet.

“Hello?”. “Cat…”. Jax sounded tired. “Baby…”, I almost whimpered. “Are you ok?”. “I’m fine… I’m at one of the warehouses; keeping it safe”, he said. “Are you safe?”. “I’m freaking out…”, I admitted. “I know, babe”, he breathed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can”. “When?”. He paused. “We’re expecting some company…”. “Jax…?”, I croaked. “What’s happening? Are you in danger?”. “It might get bloody”, he said honestly. “Listen; you and Abel are safe as long as you stay inside the compound”. “I can’t do this alone…”, I croaked. “I can’t lose you…”. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to get back to you safe and sound. I promise”. He let out a deep breath. “I love you, Cat”. “I love you”, I said. He paused. “There’s something else…”. “What?”. “We don’t have enough people to cover the studio. The Cara Cara girls will have to hold up with you all, at the clubhouse, until this blows over”. Ima. “Great”, I grumbled. “Just… make sure you hold on to that .38 for the real enemies, ok?”, he said. I didn’t answer. “Cat?”. “I promise not to burst anymore implants…”. “I love you. Thank you for… everything. How’s my boy?”. I looked down at the baby strapped to my chest. “Loved…”, I said. I could almost hear Jackson’s smile through the phone. “Come back whole”, I squeaked.

---

A few hours later; a van full of scantily clad women arrived at TM. Lyla greeted her friends; and said a curtly hello to Ima – who did her best to avoid me; and Gemma. She was wearing a gauze around her chest.

The kids were getting rowdy – reacting to the close quarters and the lack of entertainment. With a sleeping Abel to my chest; I thought fast, and grabbed every sheet and blanket I could find – helping them build a fort under the table in the meeting room. This gave the adults some well needed peace to mingle, and talk about what was going on.

Chibs was out cold in the dorm; and I let him have one of the blankets – lovingly tucking in the snoring scot. Happy and Juice arrived at noon – having traded shifts with two of the Nomads. They passed out on a couch each; some Cara Cara girls fussing over them. Happy had his head in one girls lap; while another let Juice use her voluptuous chest as a pillow. I grinned at the scene; and went back to my fort project.

Gemma came and took Abel from me; and I crawled under the reaper-table with a flashlight from the shop – making shadow animals with the kids. “That’s not a dragon!”, Piper called out; after I’d tried my best at making one with my hands. “Sure it is!”, I said. “I met one once, you know?”. “Really?”, a little girl said. “Yeah!”, I enthused. “She was ugly; and had bad breath… her name was June”. The kids let out an audible gasp in unison.

The time flew more quickly for me; as I was occupied with the kids. After a while; I went outside for some fresh air, and a cigarette in peace. A few of the nomads were on the roofs; overlooking the compound and the area surrounding it. Their large guns should have made me feel uncomfortable – but I was beginning to feel more at ease with being surrounded by armed men. This is for our protection, I thought. I just wished Jax was there.

Juice and Chibs headed out to trade places with Clay, Bobby and Tig. Rat followed them in a dark van. As the gates closed; I suddenly saw two of the Cara Cara girls stumbling outside – head to head in a catfight. They didn’t seem to be able to agree on which one of them would be taking care of Tig when he got back. One of the girls punched the other in the face; breaking her nose. Lyla and Gemma had followed them outside; and was yelling at them to stop. Ellie and Piper where at their heels; looking at the exchange. The kid’s faces were terrified.

I ran over to the squabbling girls; and pulled away the one who had thrown the punch. She scratched for me; but missed – and I slapped her hard across the face. “Hey! You leave that shit for when this is over”, I snarled. “We have kids here!”. The angry porn-star walked away with a putrid glare at me; and I helped the bleeding woman to her feet. “Lyla; get the first aid kit!”, I called to my friend; who ran back inside; ushering the kids with her. We managed to get the bleeding to stop on the poor girls nose; and I promised to tell Tig, how she’d defended his honor.

Some of the women prepared dinner with Gemma. People were getting restless; so the food came at just the right time, to distract us all. Ima nabbed a plate of potato salad; sticking up her nose at Gemma’s recipe. She searched for a place to sit down; and noticed my folding chair leaning against the wall. I took it before she could touch it. “Rules still apply”, I said coldly. She smirked at me. “Did Jax ever tell you how he likes his dick sucked?”, she said. “I had plenty of practice with him. Could give you some pointers…”. “Or I could point you in the direction of the street”, I said. “See how long that new tit survives without club protection. “What’s your problem?”, she hissed. “Who do you think you are?” Happy came from out of nowhere; lifting his t-shirt to expose the gun resting in the waistband of his jeans. “That’s who she is, bitch. Sit down, and shut up”. Ima jumped a little; and slipped away quietly. I sent Happy a slight smile. “Thanks”. “No worries, princess”, he said hoarsely.

I noticed Gemma smiling at the exchange; and stepped over to join her at her table. Abel was making sputtering sounds at the apple sauce she was feeding him. “You’re doing good, sweetheart”, Gemma said. “Yeah well… you don’t come in to someone’s house, and behave like that”, I said. Gemma’s smile widened; and she went back to feeding the baby.

After dinner; the kids dragged me back into the fort. We started a game of who’s dad has the stinkiest farts. Kenny insisted Opie’s were so bad they’d once made Ellie cry. “Did not!”, Ellie raged. Opie ducked his head under one of the sheets. “They’re not that bad”, he grinned.

Kenny, Ellie and Piper jumped at their father; attacking him with hugs. Opie pulled his kids out of the fort; and I stuck my head out to send him a smile. In the doorway of the meeting room stood Jax; trademark smirk spread across his face. I jumped at him; throwing myself into his embrace.

“I’m ok”, he whispered into my ear. He pulled back; and kissed my forehead. “What the hell did you do to our table?”. I shrugged, and grinned at him. “Well the clubhouse is no longer Samcro property”, I said. “Welcome to The Fortress of Awesomeness and Cheese-dip. Home of the Dragons… or Unicorns. We couldn’t agree on a name”. “Shit”, Jax chuckled. “Who’s the president?”. “We’re a Marxist community”, I said. “But I’m the spokesperson/treasurer”. “You got ‘em to hand over their allowances?”, he laughed. I shook my head with mock menace. “Still working on it”.

Jax hugged me tightly; and kissed my lips. “You’re amazing”, he said. “Can I come in?”. “You’ll have to ask the board”, I said. He frowned. “Who’s the board?”. “Rina…?”, I called out. The little girl who’d asked about the dragon, crawled out from under the table; taking with her a beaten-up skateboard. “Ask the board”, I said; looking seriously at Jax. He narrowed his eyes at the girl; who held up the skateboard at him. “Can I come in to the fort?”. Rina bit her lip; and nodded in glee.

Jax ducked under the sheets; and crawled in to join the party. “Oh, shit. You got Wi-Fi in here?".

---

A few hours later – after having fed my old man enough potato salad for an army – I was about to get Abel ready for bed. “I’ll take him”; Jax smiled; and took the baby into his arms. “Dorm?”. “I’ve been sharing it with Lyla and the kids”, I said. Jackson grinned. “There goes the privacy”. I shrugged. “Not used to sleeping alone anymore”, I muttered. He kissed me gently; and walked down the hall; followed by Gemma.

I realized he’d forgotten the diaper bag; and grabbed it – walking down the hall to the dorm. Voices made me stop outside the cracked door.

“She did good, baby”, Gemma said quietly. “I know”, Jax replied. “You better get her stamped, or someone will try to snatch her up”. “She don’t want the ink, ma’”. “Why?”, Gemma asked. “She’s more than just my old lady”, Jax said. There was a pause before Gemma replied. “I get it”.

I opened the door, and walked into the room. “Hey, you forgot the diaper bag”, I smiled; and handed it to Jax. He smiled; and began changing Abel. Gemma squeezed my shoulder; and left us to it. Jax leaned over his son, and grimaced. “Shit, son. What did momma Cat feed you?”. Momma Cat.

I sat down in the chair we’d used for our riding session some days before. Jax looked up at me, and smirked in remembrance. “I’m… not sure you should call me that”, I said quietly. Jax frowned. “What do you mean?”, he said; and finished closing the clean diaper on his son. He picked up the baby; and sat down on the bed across from me. “I’m not his mom”, I said. “You’re the closest thing he has…”, Jax retorted. “What about Wendy?”, I whispered.

Jax visibly tensed up. “I told you…”, he said. “Yeah, but…”. I sighed. “I love him like my own, Jackson. I do… but at some point, he’s going to have to know where he came from”. Jax shook his head. “I don’t want her screwing up his life”, he said pointedly.

I went over and sat next to him – stroking Abel’s cheek softly. “We won’t let that happen… but if she turns up; and wants back in to his life – clean and sober – I don’t think you should turn her away”. Jax clenched his jaw; but seemed to ponder my words in earnest. “Whatever she is… if it hadn’t been for her; you wouldn’t have him”.

Jax blew out a long breath. “I’ll think about it…”, he said. I went to stand up; but he grabbed my arm; pulling me back down. “There’s more to being a mom, than giving birth. What you just said… that’s sacrifice”. I smiled. “I love him…”. “I know”, Jax said. “Like a mother”. I nodded.

“Momma Cat?”, I whispered. Jax smirked. “Yeah…”, he said quietly. “Better start working on that California Dreaming”. I grimaced. “That’s Mama Cass”. He grinned. “Right”.

Abel had fallen asleep against his father’s chest; and my heart was warm and full of love. Lyla stuck her head in. “Hey, Laura said there’s enough room for the both Abel and her little girl in the crib”. Jax nodded. “You, Ope and the kids take the dorm. We’ll sleep in to The Fortress of Awesomeness and Cheese-dip”. I laughed; and followed Jackson out the door.

We tucked Abel in next to the little girl; and crawled under the reaper-table; collapsing on top of some pillows and blankets. Jax managed to shrug off his cut; before closing his eyes – and falling asleep, almost instantly. I pulled his head against my chest; and put my legs over his – embracing him protectively.

---

“What the hell happened to the table?”, Clays voice boomed; waking me and Jax from our slumber.

Jackson kissed my forehead; and crawled out of my embrace; leaving our haven to face his president. “We took a vote”, he said. “It’s a fort, now”. “I can see that”, Clay muttered.

I crawled out to join them. Clay looked at me, and shook his head; before laughing. “You did good, teach’”, he leered. I blushed. “We do need our table back, though”, Clay said. “Church in 30”. Jax frowned. “We only got half a table, man”, he said. “Piney and Juice are on their way in. I sent Rat out to join Chibs. I have his proxy”, Clay said. “I set up the meeting for this afternoon... We can end this today. But we need a vote”. Jackson shook his head. “We talked about this…”, he began. “You talked. I listened. Now we put it to the table”, Clay said pointedly. Jax sighed. “Ok…”.

I began stripping the table of sheets and blankets – my heart breaking slightly for the kids. Jax seemed deep in thought. After a moment, he took my hand. “Let someone else do that. I need to talk to you…”.

I followed him out of the clubhouse; and into Gemma’s office. Jax closed the door behind us. “I need to tell you something”, he said; gesturing for me to sit down. I suddenly felt anxious. “What’s wrong?”, I said. He sat down next to me. His brow was furrowed. “I told you about the guns we mule”, he said. “But that’s not all we haul”. I waited with bated breath. “We transport dope”.

I instantly felt sick. “Oh… God”, I heaved. Jax put a hand on my back; trying to calm me. I shrugged him off; and stood up. “Heroin, Jax?”. He clenched his jaw. “I know…”, he said. “It’s not good”. “Not good?”, I hissed. “Your son was born with his guts hanging out because of drugs! And I was drugged; and almost…”. “I know!”, he barked. “You think I want to do this?”. I shook my head, and laughed sarcastically. “Of course. Club vote”, I sneered. “Yay, democracy, right?”.

Jax got up; and tried to take my hand. “Don’t”, I snarled. “That is a big goddamn line to cross, Jax!”. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…”, he tried. “Has it been in the house?”, I asked. “Has it been around Abel?”. “No!”. His voice was hard. “Never”. “And you never…”. “Tested the wares?”, he sneered. “How stupid do you think I am, Cat?”. I scoffed. “You are transporting hard drugs across state lines”, I said. “Ask that question again…”. He sat back down, and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah… you’ve got a point”.

I sighed. “So what happens now?”. Jackson looked down. His voice was distant. “You get out…”. I went cold. “What?”, I croaked. “You run, and you don’t look back”. Tears welled up in my eyes. “You want me gone, because I don’t…”. Jax shook his head. “No… I don’t want you gone. But you should want to go…”, he said quietly. “Please… don’t let my shit rub off on you. Have a life that’s not… this”.

A tear ran down my cheek. “This is my life”, I whispered. “This… is it. There’s nothing else”. Jax leant back – not touching me. “I’ll get you some cash”, he said. “You can start up somewhere else. Just go. No one will stop you”.

I felt every inch of my body fill up with rage. Walking over to Jackson; I smacked him hard across the face. “Don’t!”, I growled. “You don’t get to push me away, when things get hard!”.

Jax’s face dropped. I’d left a scratch on his cheek; and a small trickle of blood ran from his cheekbone.

Jax got up. His body was tense; and his face was unreadable. “You want this? Me?”, he hissed. “I’m not a good man. Why do you want this to be your life?”. I pushed him hard in the chest. “Because you’re mine, Jackson!”, I yelled. “Guns; drugs; psycho porn-star exes… with all that, you’re still mine. A part of what makes me, me!”.

“All of it?”, he said. “This isn’t going to end. I’m never going to be your every day Joe; who come’s home at the end of the night with a bouquet of flowers and a steady paycheck”. I looked at him pointedly. “Do you love me?”, I said. “What?”, he breathed. “Do you love me!”, I almost screamed. He parted his lips, and relaxed his stance. “Of course. Yes”, he breathed. “You and that kid in there, are the only two things I’ve done right in my life”.

I sighed. “I’m not a virginal princess in a high tower, that needs to be protected and kept clean of your shit”, I said. “I’m in this with you”. Jax swallowed hard. “You are so good”, he said. “I don’t want to break you”. I let out a short breath. “I’m not broken, Jax”, I said. “Kohn didn’t break me; and you aren’t going to break me. I’m not going anywhere… Not because I can’t take care of myself; or need you to pay for my lawyer, or my future… Because this is it, for me!”.

He nodded. “I love you, Cat”, he said quietly. I stepped closer to him; and put my hands on his chest – meeting his eyes. “If you ever say something like that again – ever tell me to leave…”. “I won’t. I’m so sorry”. He pulled me against him; putting his arms around me.

“I don’t want you hauling drugs”, I said. “I can’t get out of it”, he muttered. “Not yet… I’m trying, baby; I really am… I hate myself every time I pack up and go on one of those runs”. “Then end it… safely”, I said. He hesitantly took my hand. “I will… but this shit with The Nords”. He sighed. “It’s about to get worse before it gets better”. “What do you mean?”.

Jackson furrowed his brows. “The Nords brought in friends from the alt-right… they were the ones who burnt down our warehouse”. “What does that have to do with the drugs?” “We had a meeting with their lieutenant… they’re well connected, Cat”. He looked worried. “They threatened to kill our drug-transports, by attacking every haul we sent – and going after our other businesses… Clay made an agreement with them – we transport double the dope; handing half of it to their guys up north”. “They’re strong-arming you?”, I asked. He shook his head. “They’ll pay; and this war can end before it starts”. I had to lean against the desk for support. “Double?”, I croaked. “It’s the same jail-time of we get caught”, Jax said.

The mention of jail; made my ears ring, and bile rise in my throat. “How do you get out?”, I muttered. He shook his head. “I don’t know… not yet”, he said. “But I swear; I will end this shit, Cat – I will!... But for now; to keep everyone safe, we need to do this”.

I let out a deep breath. “I don’t know which I hate more - the drugs, or the fact that you’re dealing with white power...”, I whispered; before meeting his eyes. “Go… do what you need to do to get us out of this mess. I trust you”. Jax pulled me into his arms. “I will never let any of this touch you”, he said. “Are you going to hit me again?”. I frowned. “Maybe…”, I muttered. “No more lies… we’ve been through this before. I’m all in”. He nodded; and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Ok… whatever happens, we get through it together”.

[felixa2728]

Francois 2 - My current version (not finished)

"Will you give me the sun cream Helen?", Nina had sat down with me on the cot to rub my back. Helen came over to us with Mark in her arms. I watched Paul explain his little model car to little Natasha. Every time he put it in her hand, she made a humming humming noise and Paul took it again and explained it to her again. "Hey!" with a familiar accent, bright blue eyes emerged from the pool right in front of me. I was incredibly happy to see him and called out, "Hi, are you coming here?" The moment he nodded and got out of the pool, Natasha started crying and Nina and Helen immediately jumped up and rushed to the children. "Is this free?" Francois asked and sat down next to me on the lounger. "I haven't said yes yet, but okay," I laughed. "So now five months later. Will you say my name again, please?", he looked at me with a puppy dog look. I shrugged, "Francois?" He began to grin broadly. "Okay what?", I asked confused and added. "What's wrong Francois?" He chuckled and I crossed my arms. "I'll put some cream on your back and tell you what I mean. Deal?" he looked at me with a sly grin and I reluctantly agreed. I turned around and he began, "Mind you get cold for a minute." I felt his hands stroking my back. "You pronounce the c like an s. It sounds incredibly cute, and my sister is the only one who pronounces it like that. But only because she had a speech defect as a child," he paused briefly. "It gives me a feeling of familiarity... That's why I don't feel wrong when I..." He stopped talking and suddenly started tickling me. I tried to turn towards him while I had the laughing fit of my life. In the middle of the fight, he lifted me up and fell into the pool with me. I surfaced gasping for air and saw him standing in front of me laughing. "What was that about?" I said seriously and he looked a little apologetic. Really concerned, he replied after a short silence in which I had the greatest difficulty not to laugh silently: "Was that really bad for you? I took advantage of his uncertainty and pounced on him. I tried with all my might to push him under but failed. "Um?" he gave me a questioning look and I crossed my arms in a huff. "Okay, sorry," he theatrically let himself fall backwards into the water. We both started laughing again.

"Chloe, can we talk about Chapman again?" Jochen shouted across the table at me. Jackie had agreed to put Paul to bed and Francois and Jochen had enjoyed a few drinks. I sat down on Jackie's empty chair, which was right next to Jochen's. "He looked at your sketch and is planning something like that for next year, but he wants you to talk to him again," Jochen read off a note, slurring slightly. "And what did he say about the improved belt safety system?" I asked. He turned the note over. The back was blank, and he shrugged his shoulders: "I don't know." Nina lovingly hit him on the back of the head with a newspaper. "You said to me yesterday you forgot to write it down. Let's go to bed," she laughed. "Good night," Jochen chortled, and Helen rose as well. "Are you going too?", Francois asked her. She nodded, yawning: "I'm going to check on Jackie and then lie down." She hugged me briefly from behind and gave me a good night's kiss. As her silluhette disappeared into the darkness, Francois began, "So it's just the two of us now." "Your accent has improved a lot," I noticed. "I'm sorry, it's just the two of us now. Do you want to put me back in the pool? “He waved it off and laughed: "But thanks for the compliment!" "No problem?" I eyed him and remembered: "Hey, can you come to my room for a minute?" "What's the hurry, madame?" "Ha Ha." I gave him a nerved look and couldn't suppress a yawn. "I still have your shirt," I told him on the way. He thought about it for a moment: "You can keep it... I wouldn't wear it anyway because of the colour." I shook my head. "Hey, I gave away all the blue shirts, okay?" "Just because I said something against it?", I laughed while unlocking my room door. He replied a little uncertainly, "You sounded very convincing." Now standing in the room, I searched for the shirt in the dark. "Shall I turn on the light?" he smiled at my frantic search. With the shirt in my hand, I came back up to him: "No need." Francois took the shirt from my hand and smelled it. He put it in the roomy pocket of his swimming trunks and started to say goodbye. He came towards me slowly. The stale smell of alcohol penetrated my nose but was masked even more by his smell. At that moment, the moon broke through the cloud cover and filled the room with a ghostly light. Francois put his hands on my hips and gently pulled me towards him.

"I can't get you out of my head," he whispered with a hint of lust. Willingly, I pressed my hands against his chest: "I don't know what you want from me, but this seems too fast." I looked into his big eyes. He let go of me. I run fast into the bathroom.

After a few minutes, I came back and saw him stood by the window. "I am sorry, that I am still here.", he apologized. I shooked my head: "It's okay." After he looked at me, He opened the window and I terrified: "No, what will you do?" He only sat down on the ledge and took a cigarette out of his breast pocket. "Can you sit next to me?" I recognised a brief light from his lighter and slowly approached the window. "You know," he took a drag while I also climbed out of the window and sat down next to him. "I met you for the first time five months ago. You said my name so incredibly sweetly and I wanted to hear it again. And again, and again. We saw each other sometimes, but never got allowed to change words. I chased a kind of dream or something and sudden everything changed. I broke up with my girlfriend of many years." I interrupted him in horror, "Because of me?" He rolled his eyes and looked at me, "You were a part, yes?" I shook my head and he offered me a draught. I accepted the cigarette gratefully and waited eagerly for his story. "Well, then I came here, and you are here too. I knew you would take this shirt back with you, I knew it would smell so wonderful." He paused and said determined: "I don't want you; I want the feeling you give me. I'm addicted." His voice failed and I added: "And it absolutely doesn't help that this is only the sixth time or something we've talk to each other." "Exactly," he laughed. "I'm afraid of Jackie hating me if I do anything with you, but this somewhere danger only makes it better." "He would never hate you!", sadly I took another drag. "What do you mean?" "No matter what you do, if I'm involved, he'll be mad at me." We were silent.

"If I were to ask why?" he lit another cigarette, and I shook my head as I put out the first cigarette. He murmured, "Okay."

After a while he looked at me and asked, "You pushed me away like that earlier, because of Jackie or because you..." He paused, clearly uncomfortable, "Haven't you had any experience?" I started to laugh, "Yes I do, but just because all the other women jump straight into it with you when they just see you, doesn't mean I want to just sleep with you too!" At his confusion, I added, "Okay you're really not used to someone not wanting you right away." I looked into his blue eyes and raised an eyebrow. Without hesitation, he kissed me quickly. I almost fell off the windowsill in shock, so I stood back in the room. "Sorry... I just wanted to know what it felt like," he shrugged, playfully shy, and I knew he was only doing it to convince me that I did want him. "You're such a...", I shook my head. Francois came up to me from the windowsill and whispered in my ear, "What am I?" My eyes met his seductive gaze one last time. And then... I gave in and kissed him.

"I thought you didn't want me?" he threw me onto the bed. I pulled him towards me by the collar of his shirt. "Did I say that?" "You meant...", he couldn't say more because I pulled him into another passionate kiss. As he covered my neck with soft kisses, I thought of Jackie for the first time and remembered, "Do you want to lock the door?" "I already did," came back muffled. I didn't think any more about it and enjoyed his gentle touch.

"Do you really want to?" he asked as his hands slid under my T-shirt. He seemed absent-minded with lust, and I took his head in my hands: "François? "Mhm?" "Yes, I'd like nothing more!" He grinned and put his head under my shirt and tried to take it off.

He used his hands again and managed it. While I was actually trying to unbutton his shirt, he preferred to cover my cleavage with kisses. So, I told him to lie on his back and I sat on him. While I gradually took off his shirt, he stroked my arms and neck. My fingers wandered over his really well-trained torso, and I nodded, impressed. He took my wrists and pulled them towards him so that I inevitably fell on top of him.

Francois kissed me and sat up so that I was sitting on his lap. I felt him getting hard. He moaned slightly when I moved on his lap. Shortly after his hands moved to my ass, I let myself fall backwards.

He stormily took off my shorts together with my pants and I lay naked in front of him. "Not bad," he remarked, and I just shook my head and put my arms around his neck to pull him towards me.

His hands held my hips, and I slowly removed his trunks.

[dibidibifiction]

A Hundred-dollar Bill: PART 4

Warning: foul language, fluff Word count: 1.9k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

masterlist PART 3

I gently pull away from Taemin’s cuddle to get up. He immediately rolls his whole body the other way, finding Kibum who is spooning Minho on the other side. Once again, I stare at all my best friends. This time they’re sleeping so soundly and this, for me, is enough to provide me comfort. However, I somehow feel sorry for getting them into this mess. 

I adjust this one blanket for them to squeeze in.

I grab Minho’s cigarette pack and head to the roof of the building to wait for the sun to rise.

Once I’m sat on the dirty, dusty cement, I light a cigarette to my satisfaction.

I think of my parents. I don’t really believe in life after death but I genuinely hope they’re happy and together wherever they may be. I wish there was a way to let them know how much I miss them. Also, I really hope they don’t see how I’m doing right now because my dad would for sure beat me up.

“Hey, can I get a hit of that?” I hear someone say after a couple of minutes of my alone time.

I turn my head to look behind me. It’s Taemin. “Oh, hey.”

“That ‘hey’ doesn’t sound like you’re happy to see me,” he giggles. He takes the cigarette from my lips and then to his.

“A singer isn’t supposed to smoke, right?”

“Who says I’m a singer?”

I stare at him in confusion after I light myself another stick. “Spill it.”

“Nobody knows this. Well, except for Kibum Hyung since he’s all for social media and happened to find the article. Thanks for looking it up by the way,” he jokes. “About a month ago,” he starts. “Euisoo Hyung handed me the news that he handled my situation and proved to the media and to everybody that the rumors about me are wrong. I don’t know how he did it, I didn’t ask, but I’m just grateful. Not to mention relieved. He said that I can get back to work as soon as I’m ready. And I asked him to give me some time to think about it.”

“What? Taemin, what’s there to think about? This is your dream.”

“It was. I already lived it for six years and I couldn’t feel more honored and fortunate, but…” He hesitates. 

“But what?”

He sighs. “I have a new dream. I realized that living a lowkey life made me happier, less pressured, especially with the person I love. I decided to go back to the original plan, which is to become a dancer. Not exactly a singer,” he says, tipping the cigarette butt out of his hands.

I watch his eyes twinkle under the upcoming sunrise sky. There is not a drop of doubt that he’s really sure about this. I always wondered how hard it was for him to recover from all the hate, and his fans cancelling on him. He didn’t really open up this deeply. Now, here he is, rising from the ashes. 

“Last night, when I went out while Kibum Hyung rested, I talked to Euisoo Hyung again.”

“Really? And?”

“He told me that I’m going to have a meeting with the board of the directors about my choreography and songwriting career. Turns out there still is a reputation to ruin I just realized. So…”

“So what happened last night can’t happen again,” I finish his thought.

“Well, not everything that happened. There are some moments I want to make happen again.” He gives off a grin, trying not to giggle at his own flirty information. 

“Wait, let’s get back to that part where you mentioned somebody you love. What’s that about exactly?” I join his kidding around.

Now he can’t hold his laugh.

We stare at each other for a while as the laughter fades. Slowly, he begins to lean into me to gently put his lips onto mine. Then carefully slides his tongue against mine as they start to dance together.

It feels different this time. It’s more tender and more passionate. It’s less wild but more gentle. Less lustful but more pleasant. Less exciting but more caring. 

He pulls away. “Look, I know we’ve never talked about this. Us. I never brought it up because I want everything to stay the same and I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Yeah, I know, me too. I like the way we are.” I smile brightly at him, involuntarily. I take a deep breath as I’ve decided to say what I’m about to say. “I love you though.”

Tears form in his eyes like they wanted to say the same thing to me. I watch them close as he starts kissing me again.

The sun has come up which marks the end of everything reckless and rebellious and the beginning of something prudent and responsible.

. . .

We wouldn’t see one another for months after that day. We lived separately for a bit to focus on our own lives, to be better. 

But we did hang out from time to time, just not as often as we did before. Lucky for us, we had each other—we still do—to realize that it’s never too late to start over. It’s from each other where we learned that each of us is like a hundred-dollar bill. No matter how much we’re folded, crumpled, and stepped on, we never lost our value. 

We never experienced what it was like to be living free as youngsters because our lives fucked us up so early. That’s also why we lived it in our late twenties. Although one certain thing we know is that we have no regrets, especially after we found each other.

It is now six years later and so much has changed. Our individual lives have never been better, and we’ve never been happier. 

Taemin is now a well-known, well-esteemed singer turned choreographer and songwriter, working with famous pop groups and soloists. He would make a comeback once in a while as a singer but it doesn’t become his priority. 

Four years ago, just a year after his career peak, Taemin showed Kibum’s secret sketched designs to a famous designer he worked with for some time for his comeback.

Long story short, Kibum finished fashion school where he was sponsored by that same designer, who also became his mentor. Later on, his social media following started growing and he would be interviewed and be featured by different magazine and publishing companies. He would work on his own clothing line little by little in collaboration with various famous fashion icons. 

Minho served the military for two years after he ran away from his father, who patched things up with him recently. After his military service, he reunited with his former soccer coach in college and they trained day and night without taking any breaks at all. I would cook and prepare us a picnic, then the rest of us would visit him in the field. He would soon make the national team. And after being reserved in the bleachers for so long, just months ago, he was responsible for their team’s rare championship and is awarded as the Most Valuable Player this season. Now, Minho becomes one of the famous successful football players who peaked in their thirties. 

. . .

As I’m tidying up for closing, I hear the bell ring as somebody enters my bakeshop. I turn around to see Taemin, who instantly puts a smile on my face.

“Hey, you,” he greets with a warm hug.

“Hi,” I say before placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “I’m almost ready. Hold on a second.”

After I check all the lights in the back rooms and am about to walk out the front door, all ready to go, I catch Taemin lost in thought. He admires the place, then looks at me. Staring at me with twinkle in his eyes. 

“What wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head and loses eye contact. “I’m just so proud of you,” he says, trying not to smile so widely.

This was the same café where Kibum and I first had lunch. This was the place where our friendship grew. This was where the rest of our lives began. When I found out that they were selling it a year ago, I had no second thoughts and did everything to get it. And now, here we are.

“Yeah, well,” I grab both of his hands and sigh in serenity and bliss. “I am proud of us.”

He looks at the ground, cringing all of a sudden.

I wrap my hands around his neck to draw him closer, and kiss him tenderly, catching his tongue on mine.

He hums in pleasure. “Do we still have time?”

I pull away, laughing at him. “No, we don’t.”

He sulks and shows a childish sad face.

“Come on. We’re late to meet the guys.”

After a half an hour drive, we arrive at Kibum’s newly renovated, newly furnished house. Now’s only the first time we’re all visiting because he wanted it to be a surprise. When I finally recognized the place, it made me almost cry. Even though he changed almost all its features, it still brought back the memories we shared out here. It’s the place where we broke in six years ago, almost getting caught by the police.

While Taemin goes in through the front door to deliver the cake I baked and the champagne we brought, my impulse orders me to head to the backyard where the swimming pool was located.

I catch Minho out on the patio, grilling meat and sausages. I spy the rest of the area, and my sight lands on the swimming pool. Turns out it’s the only feature that hasn’t changed. Although, it’s way cleaner and way more gorgeous.

I can’t help but let the tears fall.

Minho finally sees me when he takes a sip of his beer. “Y/n, hey, you’re here!” He was about to welcome me with open arms but then he notices that I’m crying. “What’s wrong?” 

My voice breaks. “I know it’s silly, but it’s just we had such memories here, and now we’re—” I can’t go on. I’m already weeping.

“Come here,” he hugs me anyway and places a peck on my forehead.

“Minho, what’s going on out there?” Kibum finally appears, Taemin following behind him holding four glasses in between his fingers and the bottle of champagne in his other hand.. 

“Nothing!” I say, holding back tears even though there’s no point.

“Oh, honey.” Kibum reaches out and wraps his arms around me. Taemin and Minho are behind me embracing each others’ hellos too.

So we have dinner at Kibum’s patio. Later on in the night, we all jump into the very swimming pool that I never thought I would see again. Back then, I thought I’d have to cherish every moment because I might not be able to live it again. But that moment happens again right now. And it will keep on happening.

We bond all night like we always have. Minho’s competitive rock-paper-scissors, Taemin’s harsh tickling, and Kibum’s savage comments. Although this time, we’re not fucked up adults anymore. 

Once again, I propose a toast. “To fucking friendship.”

“To fucking friendship!”

[vonnyphant]

1st Chemo

Oh boy, today did not go as planned. I will be honest with you in a minute, but for now, let’s enjoy the fantasy I had concocted in my head about this moment : 

I wake up in a good mood to fight the Big Bad.

I eat a healthy, responsible meal, I dress sensibly, with access to my port but still warm and stylish and I pick a hat that says ‘maybe I have cancer, but it might just also be that I like whimsical hats, who are you to say?’. It has elephants on it- cute in a kawaii sort of way, and absolutely no flowery grandma pattern in sight. My granny would never.

I put on a smattering of make-up to accent my eyes- not too much because I am not Like That(tm) but just to make myself seem accessible and friendly underneath the hat and the mask covering most of my face. Oh, and earrings, to show the buzzcut did not deminish my feminity.

I am driving to the clinic, I arrive, we all have a hearty laugh as they install me in a luxurious chair in a well-aired but warm enough office room and there’s a drip in (as the blogs say) a lovely shade of pink that matches my hat. I get out my laptop and read some overdue stories people sent me to critique; I might write a chapter or two of my own work, just for bragging rights (’oh, you got writer’s block? I wrote my fic during chemo.’)

I possibly nibble on a healthy snack that I brought in wise foresight. When I get tired of writing, I read a self-help book, use my new sketch book to artistically document this step, write a letter to my kids about how much I love them, or I take out my phone and post a few selfies of me on the drip which show the reality of everything but still manage to look cute. Time flies by. 

Everyone would tell me I am handling this like a hero and call me their inspiration. I go home, pick up the kids, and resume life as normal. I possibly get awarded the nobel peace prize.

Well. Here’s how it really went, with a not so glamourous selfie.

My driver was 5 minutes early and kept the motor running outside. I was still shoveling a not-so-responsible breakfast into my mouth while I combed kids’ hairs and help look for a second sock (I am telling you it was on the couch last night I don’t care if it’s your lucky sock mommy is gonna be late ffs!) I wonder if I am allowed to have a double espresso before chemo. No time, so I leave the house grouchy without coffee.

In the bustle, I forget my phone at home.

I arrive early, and the clinic is still closed. They open on time, but it’ll be a while before they can get to me. I read a few pages of my book, but it’s almost finished and I grumble how I would have time for a quadruple espresso at home if I had known they’d stick me in a waiting room for half an hour.

At the preliminary, they tell me the pain in my arm over the port is normal and expected to be endured for at least another 6 weeks. (Noice). They scold me a bit for looking up blogs on the internet that write about the port being ripped out by a seatbelt or the skin bursting open for no reason. I am at least a little reassured this won’t happen irl.

They show me the lovely office with the chairs- three of them. It’s empty and sunny and well-aired. This is it, I think, my leisure time without the kids. I install myself comfortably and wait for the drip.

Instead, a nurse brings bags of frozen coolpacks, and explains my feet and my hands will be wrapped in them the entire time; 30 minutes before the drip, and during the 1,5 hour infusions. 

It feels like hell. It instantly feels like the way your appendages feel after you spend an hour on the playground listlessly pushing a swing going ‘can we go home yet mommy is so cold and she needs a pee!’. It starts hurting insistently, and after a few minutes I imagine my feet and fingers are turning a purplish shade of black and I look like a soldier in Napoleon’s army stuck in the snow in Russia. (I can’t see my actual feet and hands but the mind is creative like that)

Worst of all- I can’t do anything. No laptop, no book. No art. Just me and my brain. My terrible brain that can’t stop thinking about frostbite and trenches and Tolkien. And the drip isn’t even pink! Why did I wear this hat. This is the longest I have been without my phone in years. I am a literal cold turkey.

Two other patients arrive. I notice with envy they are getting comfortable with their phones and a laptop- they are on a different kind of drip and it looks cozy af.

Meanwhile I think that if I move, one of my toes will break off and I wonder how many I can lose before I lose my grip on the world. A nurse comes and, despite wanting to be the perfect patient, I ask instead if I am really to endure this icicle torture and what they’d say about this in Geneva. (actually, I ask if this isn’t maybe worse than the nerve damage it’s supposed to protect me against)

The nurse is taken aback (which my brain immediately interprets as ‘SHE HATES YOU’) and she tells me patiently (brain: snippishly) that nerve damage is not to be joked with and feeling ‘a little cold’ is uncomfortable but the alternative is losing my fine moter skills and not being able to walk anymore.

I manage to nod until she goes away, then I cry. My perfect smattering of makeup runs and tears drip into my FFPE2 mask. I accept that maybe losing a toe or a finger is worth enduring this because with no sensation in my fingers how would I type, paint, sew, sculpt- without my feet how would I dance? I take off my earrings, because they are starting to hurt and that is, at least, something I can do to make myself feel better.

The ice burn turns numb and I dose off for a little- only half, because the other guests (with their fucking laptops, netflixichilling! All I get is chills) constantly have beeping monitors going on, signifing their drips are ready. Not only do they get to entertain themselves, they are there less long than I am. Oh, and both have a lovely head of hair or very convincible wigs. I tell myself I could spot a wig from a mile and can only conclude they are getting the VIP chemo, that does not make your hair fall out and does not require freezing. Must be privately insured. Another patient arrives, gets a drip, reads his newspaper in comfort, and leaves before I am done. (what an asshole). The only small mercy is that no one tries to chat with me - though I admit me wearing a hat, noise cancelling earmuffs, a mask and runny make up is not very inviting, and my scowl at them probably least of all.

Time passes slowly (and never ‘all at once’ like falling in love in YA fiction).

I am finally done. The needle removal from the port hurts so much I instinctively jerk away and jostle my bad shoulder; which is like pulling away from a spritz of butter from the frying pan with the pan still in your hand, only to launch the entire contents of the pan on yourself in reflex instead. (have you ever done that? because I have). Good times. I get to go home and spend the whole drive home complaining to my father in law. He valiantly tries to cheer me up, failing. I am not inspiring anyone. I am not picking up the kids. I also didn’t write any letters.

I take a sad selfie for documenting sake, take a long hot shower and put myself in bed. I take a nap under 3 blankets, wondering if I’ll ever feel warm again. I am no one’s hero- I am tired and feeling very very sorry for myself.

[marikaaajoy]

my relationship with digital art and how BNHA salvaged it

I just wanted to let out my thoughts but I can only do it here :>

This might be a downer for some people but I’d like to share it with people here. BNHA means the world to me and this is why.

I first started drawing when I was 7 years old in 2006

I think it’s ugly now, but 7 year old me remembered being so proud of this because this is a drawing of my stepfather. This is the only drawing I have that was from my childhood. I think the aim here is to draw in anime style BUT I didn’t even watch anime back then. I had a classmate who loves anime and she taught me to draw in school. Drawing became a favorite hobby immediately after that.

Then it was 2013 and I was 14 years old. Drawing is still my favorite thing to do besides being on the computer. I love anime at this point too. My parents bought an iPad for the whole family, but I was almost always the one using it. I discovered an app called ArtStudio and thought “Wow, I can draw without making a mess and with only my fingers” because I was always too lazy to take out my drawing materials and clean up afterwards.

These were my first digital drawings. The pirate one was the very first. I got obsessed real fast. I can color so easily, undo any mistake, layers are a blessing too. There was just so much more freedom. I always sucked at coloring in traditional art and I didn’t like the mess (idk my hands get so messy traditionally)

The next year, it was 2014, I was 15. My birthday is in a couple of months and I knew my parents were planning to buy me something pricey (I think it was a laptop) so I approached them and asked if they could just buy the Wacom Bamboo as a present which was cheaper anyway and I even explained how it works to them and how it would allow me to draw on the computer instead of the iPad. I tried really hard to be convincing. I would have prepared a powerpoint presentation if I had to.

They did give me the wacom as a present. They even gave it to me months before my birthday so I could use it already. I thought I was the luckiest teen in the world with my parents.

These are a collection of my favorite works from 2014 to 2016. The middle one was my second drawing using wacom and Paint Tool SAI. I was a part of a lot of fandoms in those years lol

It gets downhill from there :/

April 2016, my mom and I moved to Japan, while my stepfather and siblings stay in my country. It was tough. For someone who is obsessed with anime, you’d think I’d be thrilled to live in Japan.

I was. Though only at the first few months. It’s not the same as it’s portrayed in anime (I should’ve known but I used to be blinded by anime). It was just lonely. The language barrier sucked and then lots of financial and family issues until my parents split. I got my first boyfriend too and I thought I was blessed by the nicest boy, but the relationship became extremely toxic but I didn’t have it in me to walk away.

All the shit that happened affected me mentally and emotionally. My biggest outlet which was digital drawing, was also out of the question because I did not have a computer/laptop when we moved to Japan. We left it in our home for my stepfather and siblings, even the iPad. I have my wacom with me, but no computer/laptop to use it with. I couldn’t draw.

I tried though. I used my phone to draw, but it wasn’t the same. Then the life problems got piled up, things got worse, and I just lost motivation in anything. Literally anything. From 2016 to 2019, I stopped watching anime, I dropped out of all the fandoms I’m in, I stopped watching my favorite TV series or movies, and I stopped drawing. I even got a bit disconnected with my friends who lived in my country (we talk regularly online). My family was broken so I gave all my attention to my toxic relationship as well which made everything worse too lol

I didn’t draw besides from a few scribbles and the drawings above. I did try digital art on my phone a couple of times again and even posted them on my IG, but they weren’t any good. Eventually, I got mentally and emotionally drained and dropped out of senior high school. I just stayed home for almost a year, leeching off of my mom. I felt even more worthless and my life had no direction at this point. Nothing mattered anymore.

April 2019 or so I think, my (ex)bf bought me a laptop. He says it’s a gift, but I think the real reason was to make up for something horrible that he did (which is stupid because money /gifts won’t resolve anything). I have a laptop. I can draw again, but I didn’t. I didn’t care, I wasn’t interested in drawing anymore anyway.

Welp. June 2019, I went back to my country. My (ex) bf stayed in Japan. The distance helped me end the relationship and my friends were there (they always were) to help put me back together along with two trips to therapy. I went back to finish my senior high school in my own country this time. That said, I have to stay in my country for school (but I was happy because I didn’t wanna go back to Japan yet when the breakup was still fresh and with going back to school, my life has a direction again.)

It was weird. I remember just being sorta lost and confused because I used to put my time, effort and everything into my previous toxic relationship, which was now gone. I was free and I had so much free time that I didn’t know what to do with it. I got so used to doing nothing and being nothing.

This is where BNHA enters.

Dunno when it started, but I started seeing Bakugou frequently online. It’s usually just Bakugou. I knew who he was because my friend suggested BNHA to me back in late 2018 I think but I didn’t watch it since I’ve lost interest in everything at that point in my life.

But ye I thought he hot af but I still didn’t watch BNHA.

But then for some reason he REALLY kept appearing in my social medias and it was really frequent. The last straw was when I saw a pic of him in UA’s gym uniform and thought “damn boi aight imma watch bnha for u” (y’all gotta admit he looks good in those colors with his combat boots XD )

I watched BNHA. Fell in love with Iida along the way. Then I switched to Tokoyami (but Shoji was hot too so aaaaa), but then angry emotionally-constipated sea urchin head caught my heart again. But oof. BakuDeku moments really made me feel some type of way I haven’t felt since I moved to Japan. It felt new but nostalgic. I fell hard in that ship.

I started obsessing. From memes to posts to fanfictions to buying merch to filling my room with BNHA posters. I realized I was reverting to my old self from the time I was still happy and it was thanks to BNHA (and the good people who helped me through the worst too)

Shit I wanted to draw BNHA, I thought.

I mean, I have a laptop, I still have my wacom and drawing softwares. I could totally draw digitally again if I wanted to.

But guess what

I can’t :c

My hand physically cannot draw. My drawings don’t look the way I want them too. 3 years of not drawing really destroyed any skill I had. I was back to square one.

September (yeah they’re ugly, I laughed at it). If you’re wondering why I drew on paper, it’s because, for some reason, I really CANNOT draw digitally. I mean it. I can barely sketch digitally at this point. The lines and shapes just doesn’t come to life. They’re just scribbles. But somehow, I can kinda draw on paper with a ballpoint pen. But yeah, that was the best I could do at this point in my life

After that, I still tried to draw, to regain my old art style, but it didn’t happen... It just doesn’t look or feel the same. Drawing used to be fun. But during this phase, it felt like my ugly drawings were just mocking me (probably was just too emo that time lol)

Weirdly, around a week or two I think, after my half-assed attempts at drawing, I managed to draw digitally somehow o.o

I did a Midoriya and Todoroki drawing like this too. It was my first post here on Tumblr I think. The annoying part here is that I cannot draw digitally unless I draw on paper first, take a pic, and then trace the lineart. I couldn’t draw directly on the computer. Granted, drawing on paper and drawing on digital is very different for me in the first place anyway. But it was still a pain. And it still looked like shit. I can only draw stiff poses :/ it seems like my brain decided to delete all data about anatomy and posture and backgrounds. My lineart here is even messy af. It still really not the same as my old style.

By 2020, I think I got my old art style back. On March, I made this. This took me 27 total of hrs to make.

Right now, I think it’s not bad, but back in March, I was disappointed with the result. This is when I finally broke down crying because it didn’t look good enough and I hated that it took me 27 hrs to draw “bullshit.” I was angry at myself for losing interest in drawing for 3 years when I could’ve used that time to improve. I had to start all over again and it still didn’t look good. (Current me thinks that the drawing above is alright. I was just a lot harsher to myself back then. Used to have a lot of issues but I’m doing great now)

I cried myself to sleep that night. Woke up wanting to cry again. I wallowed in sadness for a couple of days. Eventually told my friends what’s up. Got some pep talk. Even talked to my sister (she’s great, she always hypes me up with my stuff and sometimes I think she’s my biggest fan with how she appreciates my drawings and I’m really grateful for that).

My world turned a 180 and I was weirdly positive after all that crying because brain chemicals and shit. I had a revelation. If I hate how my art style looked so much, then I should have been putting effort in changing my art style, not trying to regain my old art style (that I don’t like anymore)

I researched a lot. I analyzed different art styles and anatomy again. I did everything I could think of to find a style that works for me. I might have even neglected school for a bit to focus on digital art lmao

After all that work, I posted a fanart of middle school BakuDeku in their classroom. I love that fanart so much even if I probably have better ones by now because that was the first fanart I made that I felt like I could be proud of and it was the first one I made in my new art style. It was a milestone for me.

March 2020, I moved back to Japan and without the toxic relationship, I’m a lot positive now. Happy. I’m myself again after the previous bad years. I’m still continuously learning though, trying to improve, but at least, now, I found my own art style :) I really suck at interacting with people online, but I’m always grateful for the support everyone has been giving my fanarts. I’m happy when my content makes people happy.

This is why BNHA is important to me. The series is great alone, but it’s not just that to me. BNHA is so much more. It’s what made me find the passion to create again, only this time, it’s focused on drawing (I used to write, but now I just draw, but maybe I’ll write again for BNHA).

My family is supportive with my love for BNHA, but I think they don’t know the deeper reason why I love it. Sure, I was fine living on with nothing much going on in my life. I’ll finish school, get a job, work until I die or something. It was okay. It was the way of life. But BNHA gave my life color again. I wasn’t just blindly going through life anymore. I have something to look forward to everyday now. BNHA even became a bridge to other things. Ever since then, I’m a lot more open to people, to try new things, to explore and not just live through life and waste away. I got better at leaving my comfort zone. I’ve never been happier in my life :D

Thank you for supporting my fanarts. Thank you so much for giving me a chance to express myself through BNHA. I hope to make more content in the future and improve even more :)

[orangeoctopi7]

A Turning Point

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 :  Part 8 :  Part 9 : Part 10

The morning broke clear and bright. Stan had plenty of experience sleeping on the ground, so he was actually well-rested. When the first piercing birdsongs woke him, he sat up, stretched, and looked around at his compatriots. Of course, they were both still sound asleep. That wasn't surprising. McGucket had really worn himself out yesterday, and Ford had apparently learned to appreciate sleep over the past decade or so, given how grumpy he was every time Stan woke him. 

Actually, this was probably Stan's best opportunity to talk to McGucket about what had happened to Ford yesterday. He hated to wake the guy after he'd obviously been working so hard, but it wasn't like they'd be able to talk about it in the car later, and frankly, Stan wanted to have this conversation sooner rather than later. He leaned over and poked the inventor's sleeping bag.

"Hey, hey Fidds, wake up!" He whispered.

Fiddleford poked his head out and blinked awake blearily.

"Whoa! What happened to your face!?" Stan yelped in surprise, forgetting to keep his voice down.

"Wha? What's wrong wi'my face!?" McGucket panicked into full wakefulness and started patting his cheeks.

"You grew a full beard overnight!"

"Oh." The inventor calmed down immediately. "That's normal. I got a genetic condition, makes my facial hair grow three times faster'n average. Is that all you woke me up for?"

"No, the beard just caught me off-guard. I wanted to talk about what happened with Ford yesterday in the UFO."

Fiddleford glanced over at Stanford. Luckily Stanley's outburst hadn't woken him. "Alright. Lemme grab my shaving kit, we'll talk outside of camp."

They found a low-hanging branch a few meters outside of camp where McGucket could hang his mirror and a small bucket of water.

"It jus' didn't seem like the sorta thing Ford would do." He explained as he lathered up some shaving cream. "When we was in University together, he never put much stock in that metaphysical, in-tune-with-the-universe type stuff, despite the fact that he was subscribed to every cryptid publication in the country."

"Yeah, he didn't believe in that stuff when we were kids either. I mean, our mom was a phony psychic, we knew all that stuff was crap."

"Well, apparently not. Somethin' led him to that engine room, and given what all I've seen here, I ain't even that surprised anymore."

"Oh, something led him there alright, but I don't think it was the universe or whatever. I think he was actually communicating with something."

Fiddleford turned pale and almost nicked himself with his razor. "Ford mentioned ghosts. Y'don't reckon those aliens are still… y'know, still around?"

"What? No." Stan explained how a strange new version of his spider-sense had been bothering him since he first arrived in Gravity Falls. How it always seemed to be centered around Ford. How he'd used the light filtration goggles to try and figure out what it was, and seen the little one-eyed yellow triangle depicted all over the house come out of Ford's head.

"So you think Ford's been in contact with that creepy cryptid?" 

"Yeah, isn't it obvious? I've seen the thing twice now!"

"Hmm, it'd certainly explain a few things… but any two points make a line."

"You can't seriously think it's just a coincidence!"

"Now calm down, I ain't saying I don't believe ya. There's certainly some kinda correlation. I'm just sayin' we need more data."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I tried to ask Ford about it while you were gone. All I got outta him was that it's some sorta knowledge-giver. Then that twingey sense came back and he clammed up. I think that thing showed up and told him not to spill the beans."

"I'm afraid I don't know much about it myself." Fiddleford frowned, carefully shaving all the hairs off his upper lip. "It's a symbol that's been found all over the world. I do know it's been found on a lotta Native American artefacts here in the valley. Maybe if you spoke to an expert like a tribal elder or historian, they'd be able to tell you what it is."

"Yeah, well, whatever it is, I don't think it's a new development. You remember what he said back there about a little help from a friend? He said the same thing before about getting around a roadblock in his studies after he first found the UFO. And while you were on vacation, he kinda implied he wasn't up here alone before you moved in. I think this has been going on for a while. Maybe even years. Did you ever notice anything weird right after you moved in?"

"Other than that creepy triangle symbol everywhere? Not really…"

"What are you two doing out here?" Ford asked behind them. They both jumped; they'd been so deep in their conversation, they hadn't noticed him coming their way.

"Jehosaphat, Ford!" McGucket pressed his thumb over where he'd nicked his cheek. "Don't sneak up on us like that!"

"Well maybe you two shouldn't sneak off without telling me!" Ford shot back.

"What? Heh, we didn't sneak off." Stan assured him with a nervous chuckle. "I was just, uh, watching Fidds here shave. Wow, you really have to shave that much every day?"

"Heh, yep, either that or I'll have a beard as long as a necktie by the end of the month." 

Ford looked at them both skeptically. "You're sure you weren't discussing anything behind my back?"

"PCH, no!" Stan scoffed forcefully.

Ford didn't look convinced. "Stan, I need your help gathering all our equipment back up. Fiddleford, once you're done, I expect you to come help too."

* * *

Once they were all packed up, Ford suggested taking a short-cut back to the truck, following some sort of game trail. The others went along with him, if only because they felt bad about talking behind his back earlier. 

It was a peaceful morning, until Stan heard a strange rumbling sound coming from further down the trail. He halted in his tracks.

"What is it?" Ford asked.

"Sounds like something's on the trail that way." Stan explained. "Maybe we should go around."

"I'll go check it out." Ford took another step forward.

"Uh, Ford, maybe you should let the guy with super strength go check it out." McGucket suggested.

"You really think I'm going to let Stanley have all the fun just because he has super powers?" Ford scoffed and forged ahead.

The two of them waited about five minutes before Ford returned, an eager grin on his face and his Journal out, ready to take notes. 

“You two have to see this! Come on!” He whispered excitedly, waving them down the path.

A few meters down the path, around a clump of trees, Ford stopped, pointing at what first appeared to be a pile of fungus-encrusted boulders. When it moved up and down slowly, they realized it was a sleeping creature, and a closer look revealed long tusks, sharp claws, and huge pointed ears.

“I can’t believe we actually found a Gremloblin!” The scientist continued giddily. “This is one of the most rare creatures in all of Gravity Falls, I’ve only ever heard tales of them from the gnomes, it’s much uglier than I expected! Supposedly, if you look into its eyes, you’ll see your worst fear.”

Fiddleford gulped. “How about we leave it be, then.”

Ford scoffed. “Don’t worry, it’s fast asleep. I may never get another opportunity to study this creature up close!” He sat down and began sketching.

“Hey, y’know what’d be faster? Just take a picture and let’s get out of here.” Stan suggested.

“I didn’t bring a camera.” Ford said simply.

“Are you kidding me? We practically packed everything but the kitchen sink, and you didn’t bring a camera!?” Stan hissed.

“I don’t want any photographic record of Crash Site Omega. And besides, I like to sketch.”

“Well I like to not be attacked by a hulking beast that’ll show your worst fear. Let’s go before it wakes up!”

Ford rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to wake up! They’re supposed to be very heavy sleepers, it should be fine as long as none of us disturb it.”

“P-please, Ford, let’s just move along and not tempt fate.” Fiddleford pleaded, cowering behind a large tree.

“We can go as soon as I finish this sketch.” Ford assured them.

And so they sat there for a few minutes; the only sounds were the scratching of Ford’s pen and the Gremloblin’s rumbling snores. Just as the researcher was taking note of the grooved claws, and theorizing about their function, a high-pitched whistle pierced the air. Fiddleford, who had been carrying the hyperdrive, had been clutching the device so tightly in his anxiety, that he'd set off some sort of alarm. He banged his fist against the machine, trying to stop the noise, but it was too late.

The Gremloblin awoke with a snarl and pounced at McGucket, immediately scooping him up in its claws and staring into his eyes. Both the monster and the inventor's eyes took on a pale yellow glow.

"I told you. I told you this would happen!" Stan yelled at his brother.

"Not the time, Stanley!" Ford snapped back. The first thing he could think to do was throw the nearest object at the beast to distract it. The nearest object just so happened to be his canteen, as he'd just been drinking from it. The lid hadn't been screwed on tight, and water splashed all over the creature as the container bonked off its head.

The Gremloblin was distracted enough that it looked away from McGucket, but it didn't let him go. Instead, the creature flexed as it grew enormous spines, quills, and wings out of its back. With a mighty flap, it was airborne, a still whimpering McGucket in its claws.

"Way to go, genius." Stan snarked, strapping on his web shooters and swinging after the monster through the trees.

"Stan, wait, you don't know what this thing is capable of!" Ford shouted after him.

"Obviously you don't either!" Stan shouted over his shoulder.

Ford grit his teeth as he sprinted after them, branches and thorns tearing at his clothes and skin. Stan couldn't wait just thirty seconds for him to explain that the monster's claws were probably poisonous, or that its head was relatively unprotected. He couldn't even slow down to let his brother explain these things as they ran. No. He had to swing ahead with no plan and no idea of what he was up against.

Ford was about to lose sight of the Gremloblin, when Stan webbed up the monster's wings. It plummeted to the ground with a screech, crashing to the ground at the top of a nearby cliff. The researcher picked up the pace as he watched his brother tackle the creature. In the scuffle, it dropped McGucket and the hyperdrive, but the two combatants also careened over the edge.

"Stanley!!" Ford cried, rushing through the trees to the foot of the cliff. When he finally broke through the underbrush, he found his brother fighting hand-to-hand with the Gremloblin. Stan had already sustained a few scrapes across his forearms, and it looked like he was trying to box the creature into submission. It wasn't going well. 

Stan's movements and superhuman reflexes seemed to be slowing, and the monster got another swing in at him, raking its claws across his chest. 

Ford cast his eyes about frantically, searching for some way he could help. A glint of light at the top of the cliff caught his eye. It was the hyperdrive! It was sitting just near the edge of the cliff, right above the Gremloblin's head. He pulled out his magnet gun and took aim.

"Stanley, step back!" Ford warned his brother as he pulled the trigger. The hyperdrive zipped off the cliff face and collided with the Gremloblin's head, narrowly avoiding Stan. The Gremloblin fell to the ground with a thud, knocked out-cold.

"Are you ok?" The researcher asked as he rushed up to his brother in concern. 

"Fine, fine." Stan waved him off with one hand, holding the other arm to the scrape across his chest.

"Good." Ford smacked him upside the head. "What were you thinking, knucklehead? You could've gotten yourself or Fiddleford killed!"

"There wasn't time to think, genius, I had to do something before that monster flew off with Fidds!"

"Yes, the fact that you weren't thinking is obvious." Ford growled. "Come on, we need to make sure Fiddleford is alright."

They were able to scale the cliff in a matter of seconds with the web shooters. McGucket was curled up in the fetal position, quivering with fear and babbling frantically to no one in particular.

"Fiddleford!" Stanford rushed to his friend's side.

"D-don't take 'em away, I ain't h-hurt n-nobody…  I ain't… I ain't like that… n-no don't! ... he's jus' a boy… n-needs his daddy…"

"It's ok, you're safe now." Ford tried to hold his friend's hand reassuringly, but McGucket didn't seem able to grasp it. He didn't even seem to notice his friends were there. He just continued muttering like he was in the midst of a nightmare.

Ford frowned and gently took his friend's arm, carefully feeling for injuries. 

"It's broken." He shot a glare over his shoulder at Stan.

"What's that look for!?" Stan asked.

"He wouldn't have been injured if you hadn't forced the Gremloblin to crash land!"

Stan gave an exasperated snort. "Look, I had to act fast or that thing was gonna get away with Fidds, so I took a risk. I'd like to see you do any better in the same position!"

"Well I didn't get a chance to do any better because you rushed off without me!"

"Again, no time! And news flash, genius, this wouldn't've happened if you had just moved on and left the giant monster alone like we told you to!"

Ford scoffed and carefully lifted McGucket off the ground. "How was I supposed to know the alarm was still active? It would have been fine, otherwise."

"You're unbelievable." Stan rolled his eyes and leaned down to pick up the hyperdrive, but instead he… missed.

"...Huh…" Stan rubbed his eyes and tried to pick up the machine again. Once again, he just grabbed the air beside it.

"Stanley, did you hit your head in the fight?"

"No, mom, I didn't hit my head! I just got a headache, it's makin' my vision a little blurry is all."

Ford looked him over in concern, noting that many of the claw marks the Gremloblin had given Stan had broken the skin.

"I believe the Gremloblin's claws may be poisonous. You're probably suffering the side effects of some sort of toxin. Come on, we need to get you both back to the lab for treatment as soon as possible. Here, hold out your arms."

Stan held out his arms uncertainly. Ford carefully transferred McGucket into them. "I'll carry the hyperdrive for now. Let me know if you feel like you're going to drop him."

"What about the rest of our gear?" Stan asked. "We left it back in the clearing where you found that thing."

"We'll have to come back for it later." Ford assured him. "It'll only slow us down now, and besides, the hyperdrive is the only thing I'd be really worried about leaving out in the open."

As they made their way down the mountain, Ford found he needed to steer Stanley out of the way of trees or rocks with increasing frequency. At least he could still walk. Fiddleford remained catatonic, and the researcher doubted he could carry both his brother and his friend.

* * *

In the end, they managed to get home before Stan passed out. After doing his best to treat McGucket for shock, Ford took a blood sample to try and determine what kind of toxin the Gremloblin had in its claws. It was a neurotoxin, but thankfully, it seemed that Stan's spider powers had already developed an antitoxin to combat it. He'd be fine after a good night's rest.

It took another hour or so to treat both their wounds, and by the time he finished they were both fast asleep. He was quite eager to join them. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"SHEESH, WHAT A DAY, AM I RIGHT?" Ford was too tired to even be surprised by Bill's visit. “ALL THE WORK TO GET THE HYPERDRIVE, AND THEN YOU HAVE TO DROP THE THING ON A GREMLOBLIN’S HEAD.”

"An unqualified disaster, yes." Ford agreed. "But at least no lasting damage was done, and we got the hyperdrive back in one piece."

"TRUE, BUT ALL OF THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED."

Ford felt his temper flare. It was bad enough that Stanley was blaming him for all of this, now Bill had to lay on the guilt too?

"It is my job to study the anomalies in this valley! Excuse me for trying to do it!"

"OH, THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Bill laughed. "YOU WERE RIGHT EARLIER. YOU COULD HAVE DONE BETTER, IF YOU'D HAD THE CHANCE. IT'S LIKE I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU, STANFORD. YOU'D MAKE A MUCH BETTER HERO THAN YOUR BROTHER. YOU WOULD HAVE STOPPED AND THOUGHT ABOUT YOUR OPTIONS. YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN TO LOOK OUT FOR THE GREMLOBLIN'S CLAWS. YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO ATTACK ITS WINGS WHILE IT WAS FLYING. YOU WOULDN'T HAVE GOTTEN YOUR ASSISTANT'S ARM BROKEN."

"Well, maybe so." Ford nodded in agreement. "But I'm still not sure if I want that kind of responsibility…. I'm not sure I want to change like that." 

"I GET IT, YOU DON'T WANT TO BE EVEN MORE OF A FREAK THAN YOU ALREADY ARE. UNDERSTANDABLE." Bill patted him on the head like someone might pet a dog. "DON'T WORRY, I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THAT. IT SHOULD BE ARRIVING IN THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS."

"You… ordered something for me in the mail?" Ford asked in confusion.

"HAHAH, NOT EXACTLY, BUT I GUESS THAT'S THE CLOSEST APPROXIMATION YOU FLESH BAGS HAVE."

“Bill, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I really don’t know--”

“OH COME ON, SIXER, AFTER I WENT THROUGH THE TROUBLE TO FIND THIS THING AND SEND IT YOUR WAY, THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS TRY IT OUT! AND YOU’VE GOT THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS TO DECIDE IF YOU REALLY WANT IT.”

“Well, I suppose that’s alright… and if it’s something that doesn’t cause a physical change in me, I don’t see why I couldn’t at least give it a try.”

"THAT'S THE SPIRIT, SIXER! TRUST ME, YOU'RE GONNA WANT IT! YOU'LL BE THE KIND OF HERO THIS WORLD DESERVES!"

GI GUGFOVUC PPNTZY, SHB V’BX BVNZQ OM WRA PNBX MFZM JKBLU CALIAICBOVITF JVLR KYZVPBF. SHLV NOTXXMJVDR HXBRIQBX, EYJF ARRY WFABEUE, U KRVQKGWP GW QU ZIFSG QGGWVF QA VNVCVK… V’S LOIR QG’Y GIKUQAM LNRANBXW HVRLF ZH EEBE NHHOK.

[amandaoftherosemire]

Bulletproof -- Part Twelve

Fandom: Marvel/College AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader, Platonic!Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Gamora, Peter Quill

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,383

Format: Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff

Summary: Bucky goes to Steve for advice. You go out of your way to get Bucky alone.

A/N: Here it is, folks! So many of you have asked for it, and I’ve loved every single scream of agony as y’all did so. But it’s finally here: the chapter where people actually talk to one another!

Banner by @hellzzzbelle

Part Eleven here

Part Twelve

Bucky locked your apartment door behind him on his way back to his own and immediately regretted it. He swore, viciously, under his breath on his way down the hallway to his door, wishing he'd turned around and woken you up to deal with all of this once and for all. He cursed himself for a coward as he unlocked his own door.

He didn't know what to do. He wanted to push, to make you listen to how he felt and tell him how you felt. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge of what you'd done when Thor had confessed to deeper feelings than an FWB should admit. Should he force you to deal with the fact that he was in love with you, he was far from sure you'd respond with anything more than kindness.

Especially now that he'd realized how far he'd truly fallen in your estimation. It wasn't only that you thought him merely promiscuous or unreliable, but you'd come to associate him with the very thing that had been used in an attempt to incapacitate and violate you. You'd left only his name on a bottle of the substance that had almost destroyed you. Whether you'd thought that deeply about it or not, he couldn't stop, and he was making himself sick to his stomach.

Which is why, when he saw the light on in Steve's studio, his first thought was relief that he didn’t have to be alone. He could talk to Steve, tell him what had happened and ask for help. Bucky assured himself that he didn't have to talk about being in love with you to get his best friend's input and advice on how to fix what he’d done. Moving on instinct, he didn't think twice about walking in with only a perfunctory knock.

Steve had deliberately stayed home to finish his big project so he could ask Peggy out for Saturday night guilt-free. Since he knew Bucky would be out until all hours and would most likely collapse straight into bed, if he came home at all, Steve had devoted the entire evening to a final big push. Which meant he had everything out as he put the finishing touches on all four works, and he hadn't bothered to lock the door.

"Steve, do you got a min--" Bucky came to a screeching halt at the sight of his best friend surrounded by sketches, drawings, paintings, all of you and all in varying states of undress.

"Shit." Steve was already turning around, but not in time to avoid Bucky's fist in his face. He twisted in desperation, grabbing Bucky as he went and tumbling to the floor to avoid damaging the canvas he'd been working on at his friend's inopportune entrance.

The two of them rolled over the floor in a tangle of limbs as Steve tried to defend himself without harming his friend or knocking over any of the paintings. By the time they came to a stop with Bucky crouched over Steve, his metal fist in the blond's shirt, his other hand shoving a sketch of you laughing naked in a bed of clover in Steve's face, they'd managed to scatter paper everywhere.

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't 'she knows about this,'" Bucky growled, "I'll do more than bloody your nose."

The sheer insult that took over Steve's face had Bucky's hand loosening before he'd even responded. "Of fucking course she knows!" The shiver of relief that ran down Bucky's spine was in sharp contrast to his breaking heart and pure confusion, especially when Steve dropped his head to the floor with a thud. "But no one else is supposed to. She's gonna be so pissed at me."

Bucky pushed himself backward until he was sitting on the floor, one leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee for him to brace a forearm. He stared as Steve scrambled to his feet to check the canvas he’d been working on with worried eyes.

“Why?” Bucky asked, not sure what to say but desperate for any kind of explanation as to why there were a thousand images of you staring at him. Without context, Steve looked like the unhealthiest of stalkers.

Steve wasn’t paying attention, too worried about his painting to hear the layers to the question. “She nagged me to lock the door and I told her to shut up,” he answered absently. When he was satisfied the mermaid was unharmed, he stepped back and crossed his arms with a sigh. “She's never going to let me hear the end of it.”

Bucky was standing at this point, staring at a completed drawing in pastels of you in a golden gown that barely veiled the glory of your body, your face drawn into proud disdain. He'd seen that look before. Usually when you were about to say something cruel or cutting to him. "She's your model." Bucky was smiling a little when he turned to meet Steve's eyes, and so was shocked to see horror there. The next thing he knew, Steve was bundling him out of the room in no uncertain terms.

"Ah, come on, punk." Once out in the hallway, Bucky tried a cajoling tone and a wide grin. "Let me see the rest."

Steve planted himself in front of the door with a scowl and crossed arms. "No. No one can see them until she does, jerk."

Bucky glared at Steve for a moment, who glared defiantly back. He thought about needling Steve some more, but ultimately conceded, too familiar with his friend's stubbornness. Bucky figured if he couldn't make Steve do anything when he outweighed him by a hundred pounds, how in the world could he manage it now? Instead of pushing it any further, he faked toward the door, then laughingly let Steve push him down the hall.

"So that’s why she’s in our apartment in her robe all the damn time," he said smiling, but with an accusatory finger as he flopped onto the couch, splaying out to get comfortable as he teased his best friend. He was so relieved to finally have an answer to your and Steve's weird behavior, he could almost forget about what you'd said that night.

Steve dropped into the recliner next to the couch and raised a brow at Bucky. He could see the distress under the cheerful teasing and wondered what had finally brought his friend to him, grateful for it even if it meant he’d have to face your wrath for not being more careful. "How do you know that?" Steve accused. "You're supposed to be in class."

Bucky snorted. "And I've never skipped class, ever." He didn't know how to keep going, to ask the questions he needed to ask, to confess the things preying on his mind. He opened his mouth, but nothing sprung immediately to mind.

Taking pity on him, Steve only let him sit there with his mouth open for a couple of seconds before rescuing him. "So," he asked, genuinely curious as to what had sent Bucky bursting into his studio at nearly two AM after a frat party. "What did you need?"

"Shit. Nothing important." Bucky's courage completely failed him, unsure what it meant that you were Steve's model and not sure, now that he was faced with it, how to talk to Steve about what was bothering him without giving away how he felt about you. He threw his arm over his eyes, trying to give off the impression of someone who had nothing more on his mind than a nap after a long night.

Which is why he didn't see the eye roll that would have warned him that Steve was about to lose his patience. "Come on!" Steve cried, exasperated, causing Bucky to sit up and stare at him. "What is going on with you? Why don't you just talk to me about y/n already?"

Bucky could tell by the question and its tone that Steve had already guessed plenty, probably knew way more than he'd given him credit for. Bucky could also tell by the hurt on his face that he genuinely didn't understand why Bucky wouldn't talk to him about it.

He heard himself say, "Y/N got happy drunk and chatty and said a bunch of shit I didn’t want to hear." He sat forward, rubbing his hands over his face as he finally confessed, to a degree, giving Steve the gist of the conversation surrounding your Bottle of Poison without hinting at anything regarding the physical change in your relationship.

"She's not even mad about it anymore," Bucky finished, "but I can't stop beating myself up over it."

"Did she explain the bottle at all?" Steve frowned on the outside, but a part of him relaxed at the first honest answer he'd gotten out of Bucky about how he felt in months. Though he hadn't realized it, a part of him had been growing steadily darker and sadder the longer his friend shut him out.

Bucky took heart at the fact that Steve sounded genuinely surprised. Though your opinion of him may have soured, perhaps Steve hadn't thought so badly of him. "I would have helped you kick the shit out of Brock if I'd known why you were doing it, Steve."

"I was pissed at you," Steve admitted as he sat forward with a shrug and a smile, "and though I'm not pissed anymore, I wouldn't change it." He looked back fondly and wondered what would have happened if he'd zigged instead of zagged. He would always think of the pretty redhead as the one that got away. "Natasha had my back there. I don't know that Nat and I would be the kind of friends we are without that fight."

Bucky tilted his head and wondered at the story in Steve's eyes, but the answer made him feel better. His friend didn't hate him for all of his mistakes. "I was selfish, and I hurt y/n because of it." He reached out and grasped Steve's shoulder, his eyes blazing as he went on. "But I don't think I realized how much I fucked up a lot of other relationships by doing it. I'm sorry."

Steve smiled sweetly, happy to already see the beginning of mended fences. "You're fixing it," he replied, and his face turned teasing with the next words out of his mouth, "and you've been doing a good job, considering how happy she's been lately."

Bucky let go of Steve's shoulder as his cheeks flamed, thinking about the hand he'd had to clap over your mouth to muffle the moans spilling out as he fucked you from behind in a closet during a party. He didn't know if that counted as "fixing it" or a "good job" but he could not and would not deny it seemed to make you happy.

To cover, he went on to explain what had set him off that night, sobering quickly as he thought about the things you’d said. "I carried her home tonight, dropped her off in her bed, and as I'm leaving, I spot the Bottle of Poison." He flopped back in frustration; now that he was talking to Steve, he wasn't able to stop. "I ask her about it, she drops that whole bombshell on me, then rolls over and goes to sleep. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?"

Steve, by now, was grinning at Bucky in sheer delight, both because he was happy to have his friend opening up to him again and because he'd always known you'd drive Bucky happily mad. "Yep," he replied and leaned back, his hands behind his head, "she's an asshole."

Bucky scowled at the other man without lifting his head from the arm of the couch where he lay sprawled, not entirely certain how to take the fact that Steve sounded like a loving but exasperated brother. "The point is she thinks I’m poison, Steve." Bucky sighed sadly, making Steve’s lips twitch in amusement until he continued. "How do I argue when you were here saving her life while I was off screwing some girl whose name I remember only because I lost y/n over her?"

The grin had faded from Steve's face to be replaced with a soft smile, one rich with compassion. Bucky had made mistakes, but Steve could easily see he felt bad, wanted to learn from them, make up for them. It made it easy to give his friend a hand. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "she never wrote the word Bucky on that bottle, so that's something to think about."

Steve's warmly teasing tone had Bucky's head lifting to see the kindness on his friend's face. Once their eyes met, Steve was going on. "She doesn't think you're poison, Buck. Maybe she did, at one point, but she would never have gotten drunk and let you take care of her if she still didn't trust you."

"Why didn't you guys ever get together?" Bucky couldn't believe he'd finally asked the question he'd had burning in his brain for what felt like forever, but now that it was out, he held his breath waiting for the answer.

'Steve.' He'd finally gotten up the courage to press his lips to yours and he couldn't make himself do anything. Your lips were soft and sweet, but he couldn't kiss you for real, nor could he answer the wry sound of his name coming out of the corner of your mouth. 'Steve, are you gonna kiss me or…?'

'I am kissing you. Shut up.' His gruff retort had you beginning to giggle, forcing Steve to settle his lips more firmly against yours.

'Oh god.' You'd pulled away to snort gleefully up at him. The two of you were sitting on his bed, awkwardly giving making out a try. 'You don't normally kiss like this, do you?'

'No.' Steve sounded insulted, which only had you giggling harder. He shook his head and scowled at you. 'Dammit, will you shut up?' With that, he grabbed your face in his hands and held his mouth to yours, just trying to get you to stop talking or snorting or--

'This isn't kissing, Steve. This is resting your lips against mine. This sucks.'

Steve couldn't take it anymore. He pushed you away from him with a sigh of exasperated frustration. You fell backward, giggling, and Steve wondered why he put up with your ridiculous ass when you wouldn't take anything seriously. 'You are just the worst, you know that, right?' he sneered down at you.

'It's not my fault!' You cried out in mock outrage, still helplessly trying to stifle the giggles, your hand over your heart and your eyes narrowed. 'You're being weird!'

'You're weird!' Steve had cried back. The bickering the two of you had devolved into from there ruined any further experimentation, either that day or any other.

Steve snorted at the memory, then laughed out, his face crinkling sweetly. The awkward frustration, the exasperation with you, the amusement at the ridiculousness of it rang out in that genuine laugh. He didn't even know how to describe it, so he simply said, "It just didn't work out. We were always gonna be better friends than anything more."

"I find that hard to believe." Bucky's eyes were narrowed, but despite his words and expression, he was starting to believe it. Steve's laugh had begun to convince him.

Steve snorted again. "That's because you don't seem to think she's an asshole." He lifted a brow at a scowling Bucky. "She is. But for some reason, you don't notice." The wry tone Steve with which infused the words for some reason had Bucky blushing.

His heart in his throat, he asked the question point blank. "You're seriously telling me you're not in love with her?" Bucky knew Steve's answer could change everything for him, but he couldn't spend another moment not knowing for certain.

Steve's answer had Bucky's heart clenching in despair. "I love her." Steve shone with it, beautiful and pure. "With all my heart. But I'm seriously telling you I'm not in love with her." The expression on Steve's face melted into sly amusement at the misery all over Bucky shifting swiftly to joy. "I doubt you can do the same."

"Steve," Bucky sighed, with a relieved grin, "I'm stupid in love with that girl."

The light streaming through a crack in the blinds directly into your eyes woke you at around 10:30 the next morning. You opened your eyes into that piercing ray of sunshine and felt like you were being stabbed in the brain. You’d done a decent job of staying hydrated the night before, so you’d escaped most of the nausea, but light was your enemy, making your head pound like a drum.

You hissed and slammed your eyes shut in response to the light, rolling over to bury your head under the covers. You vaguely remembered chattering at Bucky about all sorts of embarrassing things, but you also remembered his happy answers. You may have gushed and fawned all over him, but he had been just as sweet and adoring to you.

Something worrisome snickered at the back of your mind, however, reminding you that the conversation hadn’t stopped at sweet nothings. You carefully lifted the blanket to peer at your desk, not entirely certain you hadn’t dreamt the last part but hoping desperately that you had.

Your hopes were dashed as soon as you saw your Bottle of Poison out of its place. You definitely remembered telling Bucky what it was, but you remembered nothing of an explanation as to why it had his name on it. You were terrified that you’d done irreparable damage last night by simply not telling the whole story.

With a groan of frustration and pained disgust, you threw the covers back, grossed out by the smell of smoke and beer that emanated from you and now your sheets thanks to sleeping in the clothes you’d partied in. You made yourself get up and strip the bed; you absolutely had to change the sheets. As soon as that was done, you shimmied out of your dress, letting it fall to the floor with an unexpected thunk.

Realizing you’d slept with your phone in your pocket, you pulled it out and remembered the video Natasha had sent you. Your stomach sinking a little in dread at the admonition to watch to the end and to contact her with any questions, you pressed play.

As soon as you saw the video was recorded in a laundry room, presumably the one in Quill’s frat house, you knew the identity of the man with his mouth on someone other than you. Though it was awkwardly framed, obviously being taken surreptitiously, the video was remarkably clear. In that first second, your heart shattered all over again and you knew you’d gone back on all the promises you’d made yourself.

You’d told yourself you were bulletproof, that you could take Bucky on without fear. You told yourself that you could play with him, enjoy him, and walk away relatively unscathed as long as you remembered that Bucky was for fun, not for keeps. You’d lied to yourself, and because you’d wanted to believe it, you had.

But you’d been vulnerable from the first moment you let yourself care. Bucky was your weakness, always had been. You simply loved him too damn much.

In the next second, you were remembering your promise not to shut him out and your determination, because of that promise, to keep things between you casual and undefined. No matter how it hurt you, no matter what he'd done, you could not walk away. You were seriously considering punching him in the face, however. Or the dick.

The next second, you were seeing Bucky yank the woman away from him and the expression on his face was most definitely not happy or aroused. You knew what Bucky looked like when he was an eager participant; this wasn't it. Then your heart was soaring as you heard muffled words like “no means no” and “not interested.”

By the time the video was over, you were laying on your bare mattress, your phone pressed to your chest as you stared with starry eyes at the ceiling. Then you watched it twice more, obsessed with the phrase “involved with someone.”

Because you'd promised Bucky that you would stay his friend no matter what, you'd refused to put any labels on whatever was happening between you. You were operating from the logic that he couldn't cheat on you if you weren't his girlfriend. Even should the worst happen, you could find it in your heart to forgive him as long as he wasn't technically unfaithful.

Examining how you'd felt in those brief few moments when you'd thought the worst had happened and he'd technically-not-cheated on you, it was crystal clear that you’d broken every promise to yourself,  every rule you'd laid down for dealing with Bucky. You'd known you were going to get hurt, but you'd hoped being logical would prevent the worst of the heartbreak. You knew now you'd been hopelessly naïve, that you could no more prevent Bucky from breaking your heart than you could stop time. At this point, you’d given him all the power; whether you liked it or not he held your heart in his hands.

You didn't know when it had happened, but you'd apparently begun to trust him again, believe in him again. Those brief moments when you'd thought you were witnessing Bucky betray you had been shocking, a complete and utter surprise. That shock told you more than anything else about how much faith you'd already placed in him. You'd questioned whether you could trust Bucky again, but your heart had evidently already made the decision for you.

You also examined how you felt upon watching the rest of the video, the part where he lived up to the trust you'd begun to place in him. Going from shattered to elated so quickly gave you whiplash, but also forced you to confront how deep you'd already fallen, how much power you'd already given him.

Pushing up into a sitting position, you looked at the bottle on your desk and thought about the sinking feeling you felt in your stomach when you thought about what little you'd said in regards to it and how easily Bucky could misconstrue its true meaning. You couldn't help but feel a little touch of panic at what Bucky might be thinking and feeling after the abbreviated conversation you remembered having.

That thought had you taking a deep breath and admitting to yourself that you weren't the only one vulnerable, that he wasn't the only one with the power to cause pain. That dangerous thought led to others until your heart was racing with hope and anticipation. You didn't know what was going to happen next, but you were determined to fix whatever was broken rather than accept that it had to be that way.

You wanted Bucky. It had always been him for you. When you thought it impossible, you’d tried to move on, but a part of you had never been able to stop grieving for what couldn’t be. The bright, gorgeous idea that you’d been wrong, that Bucky wanted to be yours had you leaping to your feet. You may have been pale, naked, and headachy, but you knew what you wanted and were determined to fight for it.

You wanted Bucky, so you were gonna go get him; it was as simple as that.

Now that you had a goal, all you needed was a plan. You smiled, slow and wicked, at the almost empty bottle of Jameson, the first glimmers of an idea forming. Slipping on your robe in case Gamora had company, you grabbed your phone and the sheets to head for the washing machine and the shower. You had a lot of shit to get done if you were going to pull this off, but you needed to text Steve first.

Step One in Operation Poison Control? Get Bucky alone.

Steve had told you he was skipping the party to push on the project. You also knew if he'd gotten everything finished, he planned to try to get a date with Peggy. You had your fingers crossed that he'd managed both when you texted him around noon.

So? Did you finish? Are they done?

Steve felt guilt already crawling up the back of his neck as soon as he saw your name on the text. He wanted to confess immediately, to tell you that he'd fucked up and Bucky had seen some of the drawings. He didn't want to confess over text, however, knowing you'd be less likely to hold a grudge if you could berate him in person and right away.

I did and they are. You wanna come see?

You’d been hoping Steve would say yes for the purposes of furthering your Bucky agenda, which is why you were blindsided by the urge to rush over and look right away. You reined it in, though the anticipation of seeing the finished work was genuinely exciting. You reminded yourself that you had higher priorities at the moment.

YES!!! I really can’t right now, tho. What are you doing tonight, 8ish?

Steve cursed under his breath. He had really been hoping to get you over to look at the finished works that afternoon so he could be done with all the subterfuge once and for all. He wanted to tell Peggy the whole truth about the project, show her what he'd accomplished with your help. He had a feeling about her, knew he had a shot at something spectacular with her.

He also didn't want to leave Bucky alone in the apartment with temptation. He didn't think Bucky would go into the studio now that Steve had explained that you hadn't seen them yet and you had dibs, but he also didn't want to push it. If he could only have shown you before he had to leave, he could have confessed and taken off guilt and worry free.

I’ve got a date with Peggy. I ran into her at the gym this morning and she offered to buy me dinner to celebrate the end of the project. She’s amazing.

You were busy spreading clean sheets over your bed as you set up your evening. When you saw Steve's text confirming he'd be out of the apartment at exactly the time you wanted to be cornering his roommate, you grinned wickedly and began to plot in earnest.

Though nothing in the message mentioned it, Steve had, often enough, that you had an idea of where his head was at. Even if it wasn't, you knew he'd appreciate it, regardless, so you shot a quick text to hopefully make his date a little less stressful. And then another simply to squee over how freaking adorable they were.

I know it's been driving you nuts, so go ahead and tell her the whole thing. But I still get to see them first!!

I love how happy you are! She’s so great! And you guys are so great together! Goddammit! Agdhhdkfkfkjsh!!!

Steve grinned at your response, the relief huge enough to almost drown out the scream of guilt. He knew he should tell you right now that Bucky had seen at least one of the finished paintings and a ton of the sketches, but he was terrified you'd take it back and he really wanted to tell Peggy the whole truth. He vowed to tell you everything and beg for forgiveness. Tomorrow.

THANK YOU!!! Stop congratulating yourself.

No! I rock! I am the Queen of Matchmakers!

Yes, fine. Thank you, your majesty, for introducing us.

By the time you were done with the quick banter, you were sitting at your desk, making a checklist of all the things you needed to get done to make your plan work and also not fail your finals. Anxiety crawled up your neck as the list got longer and longer.

But you also REALLY wanted to see Steve’s paintings.

You’re so totally welcome. How about tomorrow afternoon then? I should be able to take a break.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. He’d only have to hold on for one more day. He’d talk to Bucky again, get his promise that he’d stay out of the studio. Then, tomorrow he’d show you the paintings, apologize for not locking the door, and everything could hopefully go back to normal.

Sounds good. I’ll text you around two?

Perfect.

Perfect was exactly right. Steve would be gone, and Bucky planned to stay in and study for finals. At least, that was the plan as of last night. You hoped nothing had changed because…

Step Two of Operation Poison Control: Full-on seduction wear. The rest of your checklist complete, and that had been hell to accomplish, you dug into your closet for a dress you’d only bought at Nat’s insistence. She’d been sure she’d be able to talk you into it during the coming summer nights when you went clubbing. A short skater dress with cutouts for cleavage, an abbreviated hemline that stopped just south of your ass and fabric that tightly hugged your torso before flaring out at the hips, it was both incredibly revealing and wonderfully flattering. You couldn’t wait to see Bucky’s face.

You pulled out all the stops with your hair and makeup, going for tousled and sultry with pouty lips and bedroom eyes. When you were done, after a day of laundry, studying, and careful plotting, you stood in your bathroom, looking at your reflection and taking a few deep breaths.

When you stepped out of your bedroom on strappy stilettos, the Bottle of Poison in your hand, Peter Quill was sitting on the couch in your living room next to Gamora. The two of them turned at the sound of your bedroom door, but their expressions could not have been more different. Gamora’s face spread in sly satisfaction; she could see the determination and the optimism all over you.

Peter, on the other hand, gave a full-on jaw-drop before he wolf-whistled. Opening his mouth with a smirk, he said smoothly, “Damn, y/n, you look--"

“Peter, if you hit on my best friend you won’t even make it to that first date. You’re on probation, remember?” Gamora's voice was sharp and unamused, but you could see the twinkle in her eye that told you she was having a perverse kind of fun.

Quill held up a hand, his voice carrying the offense of the maligned innocent, “I was gonna say… that she looks hot but come on!” He was laughing as Gamora stifled a smile and smacked his arm. “Look at how hot she looks! It’s not my fault!”

She rolled her eyes at him before fixing you with a piercing stare. “Are you finally going to listen to me? Actually talk to him?”

You lifted the bottle. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gamora gave you a quick once-over. With a nod, she smirked. “You do look hot. Go get him already.”

As you walked out of your apartment you heard Quill say, “Uh, Gamora? That wasn’t the look of a woman planning to talk.” You were cackling wickedly as you shut the door behind you.

With their stamp of approval, you were certain that you'd accomplished your goal, which was to sex it up enough that there was no way you wouldn’t succeed at…

Step Three in Operation Poison Control: Get through the door.

Bucky sat at his desk with his head in his hands, his eyes on the diagram in front of him, trying to shut out thoughts of you so he could concentrate on memorization. He was almost grateful for the knock on the door because he was failing miserably.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you, had already grabbed his phone to text you a dozen times. Knowing you were just down the hallway was absolute torment, but he didn’t know what he’d say even if he gave in and knocked on your door. Steve had been little help, advising him to tell you he was in love with you, but Bucky couldn't explain to his friend all the reasons that was a minefield.

And the first was staring him in the face when he swung open the door to find you in a dress seemingly designed to give him an instant hard-on. The problem was that he was pretty sure he was addicted to you, and the sight of you standing at his door in straight fuck-me wear with a smile on your face to match did not help his affliction in the slightest.

His voice already aching, he breathed, "Babygirl. Where you going looking like that?" Bucky gave you the lopsided half-smile that always preceded bedroom eyes and a lowered voice. "And can I come, too?"

Careful to keep the bottle behind your back, you stepped close, biting your lip and laughing sultrily. "That depends on if you’re alone. And if I get to come first."

Bucky couldn't have said no even had he wanted to. He'd never been so happy Steve had a date. "I’m all by my lonesome tonight." He stepped back to hold the door open wide in welcome for you. "Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll see what we can do about the rest?"

You let your arm fall to your side as you sauntered by on your way to the kitchen. You tossed over your shoulder as you went, "You take care of the rest and I’ll let you come inside."

Behind you, Bucky was rolling his eyes in appreciation for your ability to turn him on with just your smart mouth when he spotted the bottle in your hand. He thought he recognized it and his stomach sank in dread as he followed. "Whatcha got there?"

You moved to the cupboard where Bucky and Steve kept their glasses, taking down a couple of mismatched shot glasses. "A peace offering," you answered, moving to the counter and setting them down. "I realized this morning that I'd explained some of this," you lifted the bottle and shook the little bit of liquid in the bottom, "but not all of it." You poured what was left into one of the shot glasses, then picked it up to pour half into the other. You offered the empty bottle to Bucky, a soft smile on your face as you explained.

"This is how I did it, how I cut you off for years." Your face was soft and sad and made Bucky's heart clench in misery as he took the bottle from you, though he wasn't sure what you were trying to say. "I convinced myself you were bad for me. That you were poison. I never let myself forget it."

Bucky knew it wasn't enough, but he'd apologize a thousand times if you needed it. “Y/n, I'm sor--”

"But you're not bad for me. You’re not poison." You cut him off, knowing where he was going and not needing or wanting to hear it again. "Bucky, I'm sorry."

Of all the things he expected to hear, that was the very last. "What?!"

"You shouldn't have run from me," you said with a teasing smile, "but I shouldn't have hidden from you." You picked up both glasses, offering one to Bucky. "Forgive me? I'd say let's trade, but you've already apologized, and I've already forgiven you."

Bucky took the glass from you, hoping he understood correctly. "I don't need an apology," he said seriously.

You smiled sweetly. "Need or not, you deserve one. I promise to never cut you off again." You lifted the rim of your glass in offering, to toast on the last of the poison together.

Bucky hoped he understood what you were offering, not only forgiveness, but a clean slate. He clinked his glass to yours and spoke what he hoped was only the first of a thousand promises. "And I promise to never let you go without a fight."

Bucky could see that had been exactly the right thing to say as your face lit up with a smile so sweet and sparkling it took his breath away as surely as the whiskey that burned down his throat. He was pretty sure it was only you making his head spin, however, as you came around the counter to grab his hand and pull him toward the living room as you pulled your phone from the little pocket in your skirt.

"Next order of business," you said with a mischievous smirk as you pushed him into the recliner, "I want to show you a video I received last night, but I didn't see until this morning."

Once he was seated, you slid sideways onto his lap, one arm behind his neck, the other holding the phone up as you showed him the video Natasha had sent you.

Bucky had been grinning at your playful attitude, happy to welcome you into his lap. His metal arm behind your back, his flesh hand had already started to climb up your leg when he realized what he was looking at. Panic setting in immediately, his hand tightened almost painfully on your thigh as he heard himself begin to speak without a clue what he was going to say. "Y/n, I swear--"

"Shh." You cut him off with a finger to his lips, then a kiss to the tip of his nose, effectively silencing him. "Listen." Once the video came to a close, you stuffed the phone back in your pocket and linked your hands behind his neck, turning your body towards his and leaning in.

"So," you smirked into his happy, hopeful face, your lips a breath from his, "you're involved with someone?"

Bucky laughed a little, breathlessly, and wondered who he had to thank for sending you the video. "Involved doesn't begin to describe it."

Your smile sparkled again and made Bucky's heart race. "Really?" Your voice was smug as you snuggled further into Bucky's lap. "Anyone I know?"

Part Thirteen here

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