#maybe he pulls his hair back in the world's tiniest ponytail too who is to SAY

[shaanks]

talkin about Shanks with a good buddy of mine yesterday about him wearing like, comfortable old worn-in clothes in a modern au setting. like picture a graphic tee from 1987 in your mind, like that. it'd suit him so much, like an old kinda faded pair of jeans, sneakers or old boots (or you know, the odd pair of sandals bc he's like that), a bomber jacket perhaps...

anyway they had the audacity to suggest perhaps there are small holes at the seams of some of these shirts that one might be able to poke his arm or see his collarbones through so I've once again been sent away to the seaside for my health.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 18

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

I want to give a shout out to Cora_Line99, who made a beautiful edit inspired by this story! :)

I'm just constantly blown away by all of your support. Buckle up, because this is a crazy one. Enjoy!

We break through the trees just half an hour later. The sky yawns wide and blue, the vibrant pastures cracking open like summer fruit. It's so beautifully weird, prancing through the grass in my soaking wet clothes, hair plastered to my neck, a bundle of Cherokee roses in my hand, the smell of pollen on the breeze. My squeals and giggles ring out through the morning as I race through the tall wheat, toward the farm.

It's the happiest I've felt in a long time.

Dad trails behind me, all the way up the thin path and through the gate, until we reach Andrea standing watch.

She tips her straw-coloured hat at us, looking us up and down with a small, sceptical smirk. "What the Hell happened to you guys?"

"We went swimmin'!" I laugh without explanation, skipping past without a care in the world.

"Sure," She chuckles, watching me go. Dad asks her where we can find Carol, and she points to the RV. "Oh, uh. She's in there, just knock."

Turns out, swimming's real easy. Weren't as scary as I thought, 'cause yeah, I guess I was a little scared, but all I had to do was kick my legs like I was riding a bike and swish my arms like a bird, and then that was it! I can't wait to go with Sophia, when we find her. She gon' love it.

We step up to the RV together. I wait with ants in my pants as Dad knocks on the door. He takes a respectful step back after, giving me a lopsided smile. He tugs on my wet ponytail. I whack his hand away, giggling, and glance over at the main gate, where Rick's car is parked on the gravel driveway. It must be time for them to take Shane, soon. The doors are all open, a couple supply bags strewn across the back seat. Rick and a few others are checking maps and pointing and nodding in agreement around the hood, while Shane leans against the opposite side of the car, head hung. The sight makes my stomach roil strangely and my fingers tighten around the flower stems. I know he deserves this. But did my Momma deserve what happened to her? Before my own thoughts can consume me, my attention is pulled back as Carol's muffled voice calls out, come in. 

I take a deep breath and follow Dad inside.

I notice straight away all the crumpled tissues littered on the floor. Smells like sadness in here. It's so dark from the drawn curtains that it feels like we're in a cave. When my gaze finally lands on Carol, who up until now I thought was just a lump of blankets on the sofa, I straighten. I realize we must look like a pair of idiots. She watches us stand here awkwardly in the narrow walkway, a grown man and a little girl dripping pond-water onto the floor, holding a bunch of white roses in my muddy hands. I think there might even be algae in my hair.

Wiping her wet eyes, Carol mutters, "Sorry for the mess." 

She was scared of my Dad last night. She still looks wary, but maybe she likes flowers, 'cause she cracks the tiniest smile.

"Oh. This is nothin'." Dad assures her, picking his nails so he can avoid lookin' her in the eye. "Should'a seen our old house. We're used to mess."

Sometimes I like to wonder if our paths would'a crossed had the world not ended. Most the time, answer's no. But somethin' tells me Carol ain't lived a life so different than ours. Both had cruelty, and bad people, and suffering. Bet we both shopped at the Dollar General, too.

I like to think we would'a run into each other at some point or other.

"We picked ya some flowers." I tell her, fiddling with them. "Cherokee roses. Found 'em growin' by a pretty lake this mornin'."

Her smiles grows a little bigger.

"Story goes that when the American soldiers were movin' the Indians off their land," Dad starts telling the story, mustering up the courage to meet her gaze, now, "The Cherokee mothers were cryin' and grievin' so much, 'cause they was losing their little'uns along the way to disease and starvation that the elders, they said a prayer; asked for a sign to give 'em strength. Next day, these roses grew right where the mothers' tears fell. I ain't fool enough to think there's any flowers growin' for our family... but I believe these ones bloomed for your little girl."

Holding them out to her, I add, "To make ya feel a little less like the whole world's against ya." 

Her eyes grow shiny with tears. Uh, oh. Did I say the wrong thing?

Peeling the blanket off her body, she stands and comes to kneel in front of me. She takes the flowers, and then hugs me. Even though I'm wet and I must stink like fish and dirt, she hugs me. Pulling back, she places a little kiss on my cheekbone. It makes my skin tingle warmly.

"Thank you." She sniffles, before standing and placing another kiss on Dad's cheek. I swear he goes red as a cherry. "Thank you both."

He begins, "About... yesterday—"

She shakes her head, clutching the flowers to her chest. "You're a good man, Daryl." She says. "Shane's wrong. People can change."

Just like yesterday, all he can do is nod. He ain't the best with words, just actions.

Carol turns to arrange the flowers in a jar, looking a little brighter than before.

Once we're outside, I see the white roses sitting in the sill of the now-open window, soaking up the sun. Across camp, I also see Lori, Jacqui, and Carl sitting at the picnic table together, smiling like they were watchin' the whole interaction. Glenn, sitting near the fire, trying to look angry but not doing a very good job of it. Dale next to him, sending Dad a stern look, and after Dad nods, an accepting look on his face.

"I'm goin' out, now, chicken." Dad calls out from behind the towel I'm changing in front of. I peel off my wet clothes and they land on the ground with a solid slap. Man, it feels good to be outta those. I pull on a blue tank top over my white shirt. "Look for the kid for a while."

"Oh, okay." I hum, and then ask, "Can I come, too?"

"No. You're stayin'." I hear him rooting around for his boots. "I ain't up for losin' another little girl while I'm at it. 'Specially not mine."

I really wanna search for Sophia, but I guess I've had my fair share of wandering around the woods for now.

With a sigh, I agree, "Fine. You gotta come back before dark, though."

Amused, he sarcastically quips, "Yes, boss."

After stepping into my khaki shorts, I push past the towel and head into the tent to look for my hairbrush, but my bag ain't here.

"Dad, you seen my bag anywhere?" I ask with a frown, upturning our blankets and sleeping bags. "I can't find it."

"Should be there." He shrugs. "I ain't touched it."

"Me, neither."

The duffel with our clothes in it is here, and so's Dad's bag, but mine's up and vanished. I swear it was here just this morning. I check the truck, and the truck bed, and even under the truck, and then the tent again, and around the fire. By that time, Dad's about ready to head out.

He hauls his crossbow over his shoulder and places a quick kiss on my hair. "Just keep lookin', you'll find it. I'll see ya later. Be good."

"I will." I mumble out of habit, left standing alone in our camp.

Guess I'll just have to use someone else's brush.

"Hey, Harley." Lori greets me when I reach camp again, after Andrea happily lends me her hairbrush. "Would you like to join us?"

Looks like they're still working on those spelling quizzes, the ones Carl was sayin' his Momma makes him do sometimes. It don't sound very fun, but it'll kill some time 'till Dad gets back, so I take a seat next to Jacqui at the picnic table. They hand me a lined piece of paper and a pencil.

"You know I ain't good at this," I pre-emptively warn them all, to save myself the embarrassment later. "Wait, no. I'm not good at this."

Lori just smiles. "That's alright. That's why we're doing this. Now, Carl's doing some big words, but you were in second grade, right?"

I nod, taking a peek at his page. Survival, Radishes, Difference, Counterpart. Wow, those are big words.

"We'll get you to do some one-syllable words, then; start small." That's what we did back at the quarry. "You wanna put your name at the top?"

"But you know it's mine."

"Just do it," Jacqui winks at me. "She likes to do things the old way."

Shrugging, I carefully pencil in the letters of my name onto the first line. Harley. I ain't done that in months. Looks like shit, kinda. But Lori tells me Well done. Then I gotta try spell Place, which is the weirdest word ever. When since does c make an s sound? And what's with the e?

As I'm working on the next word, Road, Lori asks, "What school did you go to, Harley?"

"Northwood Elementary." I muse, tongue stuck out in concentration. "Didn't go very often, though."

In my last school report, my attendance was at thirty-nine percent. That's bad, apparently. Some lady had to come talk to my Dad about it.

"Is that why you suck at spelling?" Carl giggles, earning a hard kick under the table. "Hey!"

I remind him sassily, "You can't spell, neither."

He wrote 'Harly Dikson' on that Pokémon folder, after all.

"Eyes on your own work, Carl." Lori chides him. "Don't think we've forgotten about that spelling bee we had at the quarry."

Jacqui laughs, "Boy said K-A-T."

"Whatever," He huffs.

"You done there, Harley?"

"Think so." I hold up my page. Rowd. "That right?"

"Almost. It's an A instead of a W." Lori corrects me, making me roll my eyes. Whoever made this language was a real twat. "Try Duck, next."

"Sophia was better than both of us combined." Says Carl, a little sadly. "I wish she was here, already. Dad said we'd find her days ago."

"I know. We just have to be patient, honey."

"I hate being patient."

"It does put a damper on things that Shane won't be around to help search, anymore." Jacqui sighs. "One of our best men, gone."

Lori scoffs. "'Best'?"

"You know what I mean. Crazy, sure, but good with a gun. We need that."

"His heart wasn't in it, Jacqui. You know, he told me the other day that finding her was hopeless. Wanted to quit."

"Really?" She mumbles, "Wasn't that way when Harley went missing."

"He tried convincing Rick to call off the search. He wouldn't hear any of it, though. Rick won't give up. He's not like that."

She shakes her head. "Well, thank God for that."

"My Dad's lookin' for her, too." I add. "He left not long ago."

Lori smiles warmly. "And thank God for him, too."

I mirror her smile. Thank God for Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon.

It's as I'm writing my final word, Horse, that we hear a shout from across the farm. We all jump at the suddenness of it, whirling to look in its direction. Oh, no. From what I can see, Shane's refusing to get in the car. T-Dog scolds him from the driver's seat; Rick from right in front of him, one hand on his holster, the other on Shane's shoulder. Lori lets out a small gasp when he shoves Rick into the door, his whole head red.

"If you ain't gonna do it, I will." He angers, pointing at the barn. "Them things in there are gonna kill you all, Rick!"

"What's goin' on, Mom?" Carl asks worriedly, his quiz abandoned. "What're they arguing about?"

She mutters, "I-I don't know. Just stay here with us."

"You don't sort this place out, what's the point? Kickin' me out won't solve nothin' if you ain't even gonna keep these people safe, Rick!"

"Please, Shane. This is hard enough as is!" Rick retorts, teeth bared. "This is on you! You brought this on yourself!"

"All I ever did was make sure you were safe. I'm askin' you to do the same!"

"You know I will!"

"Not without clearing out that barn, you ain't. You ain't keepin' nobody safe 'till those things are gone! You know that!"

"I am doin' my best, here!"

"Well, your 'best' is gonna get everyone killed 'fore the day's done!"

T-Dog runs around the car just in time to stop Rick from jumping him, and we watch the scene play out like a distant film, our hair standing on edge, mouths agape. They continue arguing over T-Dog's shoulders as he separates them with two strong arms, urging 'em to chill the fuck out. Others start to emerge from the house, the tents, and the RV, until everybody's standin' around the field, even Herschel and Carol.

If you won't do it, I will, is all I can hear in my head as Shane storms over to the RV and snatches up one of the rifles leaning against it.

Rick's on him like glue, hounding him as he loads it, one bullet, two, three, four, five, and cocks it, snarling, "You know what? To Hell with the Greenes, Rick. They're dumb enough to keep a bunch of killers in their barn, they had this comin'. S'like you said, you got kids here."

"This is not your decision to make!"

He throws the rifle to Glenn, who catches it on instinct, looking panicked. "Take this, man. Take it. You gonna protect you and yours?"

He stammers, glancing at Maggie, who shouts, "You do this, Shane — You hand out these guns, and my Dad—"

"What? He'll kick me out?" He laughs. "Bit too late for that, now. You see that car all packed up? I ain't got nothin' to lose, no more!"

"That's not true!" Rick grabs his shirt but gets pushed off, doing nothing but making him angrier. "You have to stop this!"

Shane loads another rifle, this time throwing it to Andrea.

"Whether I shoot that barn open right now or not won't do anything except keep ya'll safe after I'm gone. Seems pretty simple t'me."

"No. Listen, we could get kicked out, anyway. This would've all been for nothin'!"

"You're wrong. I'm the trade-off, remember. I leave, ya'll stay." He grabs a box of bullets for his pistol. "Listen, it would'a been one thing leavin' ya'll here to sit around pickin' daisies if it was safe, but now we know it ain't. I'm doin' this. I'm doin' it for Harley and Carl, since you won't."

With that, he takes all his anger down to the old barn like a storm.

When Shane makes up his mind, there ain't nothin' short of Hell itself that'll stop him from gettin' what he wants. We all know that by now. Still, Rick tries. We leave the table and bunch in with everyone else, making our way down the hill, anxious to see what'll happen, all yelling over one another, Stop, What are you thinking, Don't do this, Hey, and Herschel, who holds Beth's hand, croaks pleadingly, Stop this!

When we make it to the doors, Rick reaches out at the last second and forces Shane to face him. "Let's talk about this."

Oh, this is bad.

"Whatchu wanna talk about, huh? All you ever wanna seem to wanna do is talk. These things kill. That's the end of the matter."

"Just stop and think about this for a second."

The padlock rattles loudly. Behind those doors, there's a whole, hungry army of walkers ready to come down on us, sick or not.

"I'm not a second-guesser, man." He takes a step closer to Rick. Dale and Jacqui move forward to shield me and Carl. "You might be, but that's not me. They killed Amy. They killed Morales. They killed Otis. They're gonna kill all'a ya'll, if someone doesn't do somethin' about it right now!"

T-Dog holds up his hands. "Put the gun down, man."

Feels like Rick and Shane are about to draw on one another, when a lone walker slips from the broken panel.

"Hey. Herschel, lemme ask you something. Could a living, breathing person walk away from this?" Shane goads, raising his pistol. Before anybody can plead with him to stop, he pulls the trigger over and over again, making the rotten thing stumble around. "That's three rounds in its chest! Could someone who's alive—? Could they just walk away from that? Why is it still coming?" Bang. "That's it's heart!" Beth, squealing, Patricia crying, Rick, on the verge of tears, clutching his revolver. Bang. "That's it's lungs!" Bang. "It's throat. Why is it still coming!?"

"Shane, that's enough." Glenn bravely intervenes, not a single bullet missing from his chamber. "That's enough, man."

"Yeah." He agrees, but I know it's not for the right reasons at all. "That is enough. Enough waitin' around, scared of doing what needs done."

"No," Herschel puffs, barely able to stand. "No."

"If ya'll wanna live — If ya'll wanna survive once I'm gone — You gotta fight for it. No doubtin'. No waitin'. No second guessin'."

"Shane," Rick breathes, trying to keep everybody calm, voice brittle. "We'll do it. I'll do it. Just— Just not now, brother. Not now."

His answer is the cocking of a gun.

He knows what's about to happen. "No. No, please. This isn't the way. You can still leave without doing this."

"Can I?" He retorts, squinting. "I ain't so sure you know what it takes, man. I'm not leavin' just so you can keep puttin' everyone in danger."

"I won't. I promise you that. Please."

"See, I don't believe that. Weren't for me, this barn would stay sealed 'till someone gets killed. That's your problem, Rick. You wait to take action."

"Shane, please. Don't do this."

"You saw how close Harley was to being bitten last night."

"I know. And I promise, I will never let that happen again. Just put the gun down. There's another way to do this."

"Get behind me." Glenn mumbles shakily, herding Maggie in behind us, because he knows, too.

"There is no other, way, Rick." My heart leaps up into my mouth, making it impossible to breathe. "This is what needs to be done."

Rick only has time to let out half a cry before Shane turns, aims, and fires. The lock explodes into hundreds of tiny metallic shards, raining down like shrapnel. I huddle into Jacqui's side, wondering when exactly this whole thing went so wrong. Today? Yesterday? The moment we stepped foot on the farm? The doors whine open like two old, hurt animals, releasing the dead upon us. Then, the groaning. Then, the gunshots. A familiar cacophony. I hide my face, squeeze my eyes closed, and wait for it to be over, 'cause there's nothing else we can do.

When the last of the gunshots die out, I slowly lift my head, peeking out from behind Jacqui, who I think is trembling.

A whole barn of sick-dead people, now laying in puddles of their own blood on the ground.

My stomach drops to my feet when the last of them staggers out.

A distant gasp, "Oh, God."

Sophia.

That's Sophia.

Carol's legs give out.

Rick moves to catch her.

Sophia — Or is it just the walker, now? Is that all that's left? — creeps forward in her small, blue shoes, gazing up at the sky. The feeling drains from my body. I go numb all over. This can't be real. It just can't. Everything else, yes, but not this. She noses at the air like there's a sweet scent on the breeze that only she can smell. I notice now how even walkers can have headbands in their hair, mismatched socks, bracelets their old friends gave them, a face I recognise. I notice how she's much less different than I would have imagined. Just skinnier; slower, paler. Still just a girl.

"Sophia," Carol weeps hopelessly, "Sophia."

A hic leaves my throat, then. My friend, dead. Somehow, I'd convinced myself that this one thing, out of all of it, was impossible.

How long has she been dead for? How long have we been talking about a dead girl without even knowing it?

My Dad's out there searching for her right now.

Rick hands Carol over to Andrea, and like always, steps up to do the impossible.

But this time, he almost can't do it. He tries to raise his gun, but his arm falters, and he has to look away.

I look away, too. I look at the sun, and I think about the pond. I think about how much fun we would've had there. I think about nice things.

BANG.

Her body drops into the dirt with barely any sound.

Another one of our own, dead.

All Hell breaks loose after that. Happens so suddenly, I can't even tell which way is up.

Beth wrestles free from Jimmy's embrace, falling to her knees over one body in particular, one with blonde hair like hers. A few rush forward to try pull her away, a few start crying, but most do nothing. It's in this chaotic moment that Shane chooses to make his next move. A look of pure, unbridled determination on his face, he makes a beeline for me. Shuffling, arguing, but ultimately, a big hand in mine. Shane pulls me from the group and drags me away up the hill. People start to alert each other of what's happening before I can even figure it out myself. Rick runs after us, suddenly, and then Glenn, too. Then, Lori, Andrea, everyone else. We're through the gate, now, halfway across the field and nearing the car.

Wracked with sobs, I try to tug my hand out of his, shuddering hotly, "Wh—? What's goin' on? What're you doin'?!"

His grip is far too strong to escape. He doesn't answer me, doesn't even spare me a glance.

"Shane!" Rick screams, racing up the path. I can't quite tell if he's enraged or terrified. "Stop!"

We reach the car. He grabs me up off the ground, precise as a machine, and shoves me into the backseat.

"Get in the car, Harley."

I don't wanna get in the car. More than anything, I do not wanna get in the car.

He tries setting me down, but I kick, and push, and squeal against him, even beat on him, scratch his arms, anything but get in the car, but nothing stops him from pinning me to the seat. He growls at me to, Stop it, ripping the seatbelt down and over me. He locks me in with a, click.

"No!" I grunt, grabbing for the buckle, but by the time I'm free, the door is already slamming shut. It don't budge when I yank on it. "Shane!"

He rounds the car, locking the second door, and the third. He steals the map from the hood and throws himself in the driver's seat, shoving the key straight into the ignition. The engine comes to life as I climb up to the window. Rick and Glenn are running faster than I've ever seen them run, but still so far away, screaming on the top of their lungs for someone to Stop the car!

"Shane, what's goin' on?" I breathe, petrified, trying to brute force the door open again. "What're you doin'? Let me out!"

He ignores me and orders, "Put your seatbelt back on."

"No!" God damn it! Why won't this door open?! "Let me out!"

Locked in a car, engine on. This can only mean one thing.

He's leaving, and he's taking me with him.

"Put your seatbelt on, Harley!" He shouts, twisting to grab my arm, before something over my shoulder makes his eyes go wide. "Shit! Get down!"

He manages to shove my head into my lap just in time for the entire back windshield shatter all over us.

As I clutch my head, covered in hundreds of little pieces of glass that bite into my skin, Rick screams, "Don't you dare drive away, Shane!"

He must've shot the window.

"Shit," He panics, checking if I'm alright. He glances at the bullet hole in the dash before another one splits the air and hits the radio. He grips the wheel. He steps on the gas. The tyres squeal. He makes a break for the gate, driving over rocks and twigs and even someone's camping chair, which snaps under the tyres and goes flying out behind us. I scramble to look out the broken window. Rick and Glenn, who seemed like they were moving fast as the wind, are now shrinking smaller by the second. I feel my stomach shrink with 'em. They can't outrun a car. I know that, and so do they, but they don't stop for nothin', anyway. They even try shooting the tyres, but they're too difficult to hit like this.

Even after Glenn doubles over, Rick keeps on sprinting after us down the long driveway, drenched in sweat.

But even he has limits. Watching Rick Grimes succumb to exhaustion is like watching the sun stop shining, and all hope leaves me in an instant.

"God damn it!" He cries out, shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, until he's just a little speck of beige in the distance.

"No," I murmur under my breath, realizing the horror of what's just happened. Just like that, everything's been turned upside down. I swear I was standing in front of the barn just a minute ago. I sink down onto the seat, utterly stunned. With each moment that passes, the distance between us and the farm grows larger, and the chances of them finding us grows smaller. Already, I'm trying to imagine all the ways this could end, but none of them are good. I glimpse Shane's paled face in the rear-view mirror. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel. His brow, wet.

I ain't up for losin' another little girl while I'm at it. 'Specially not mine.

What do I do? What can I possibly do?

"Shane," My voice shakes, thin as paper. I don't know what I'm trying to say.

"I know." He mutters, just as shell-shocked as I am, gripping the wheel tighter. "I know. I'm... I'm gonna make this work."

Make this work? Make what work? Are we just going to keep driving until we're lost? Is that it?

He keeps on muttering, "I'm gonna make this work."

Somehow, I think that's been his mantra since the beginning.

Highway 86, Reads the big, green sign on the side of the road, 5 Miles Ahead.

Besides me on the seat, my backpack sits on top of his. 

Oh.

"I'm gonna make this work."

That's where it went.

Sometime after the sun's moved halfway across the sky, Shane pulls onto the side of the road.

As he brings the car to a stop, I try not to let myself panic. I need to steel myself. I remember. Getting outta this — getting back to everyone — means I gotta be smart. I reckon we're about a day's walk from the farm, by now. I can't make that. Not alone. I don't even know where we are, what roads to take, how to get back. A map, then. I'll need a map. Shane's got one. It's laying out across the passenger seat. Maybe I could—

"I know what you're thinking." He suddenly speaks up, tone flat. He's been looking at me in the mirror, I realize. "I can't let you do it."

I try not to let my fear show on my face.

"You wanna go back." He tells me simply. "I'm not an idiot, Harley. Crazy, accordin' to Rick and all the rest of 'em... But not an idiot."

I know that. I think that's why I feel so scared right now.

I ask him, "What are we doin' here, Shane?"

"Startin' over."

"But I don't wanna start over. I want..."

I want my Dad.

He takes a minute to calm himself down, gazing out the window, at the trees. Eventually, he looks at me, again.

"You'll learn to get over it." He says. "There's a lot we can both learn to get over. But you're safer out here, with me. It's always been that way."

"What happened back there?" The barn, Sophia... "Were you always gonna do that? Were you always gonna—?"

"I was." He admits. "Since I walked into that room at the CDC, I've always known what I was gonna do. Just... Happened the wrong way, I s'pose."

I shake my head. "You ain't gonna get away with this."

"Harley," He chuckles, shrugging. "Look around. I've already 'gotten away with it'. It's already done. It's just us, now."

It's just us, now.

I look out the window. Trees, trees, and more trees, and a thin road that stretches for miles. Silence. And nobody but us.

He sees the defeat wash over me and turns to get out. "I need to clean out the glass."

He comes around to my door and helps me climb out. My feet hit the leafy ground. The breeze skirts across my skin. It would be so easy to run. But where am I meant to go? He's right. I'm safe with him. Somehow, the open air and the endless forest makes me feel more trapped than ever.

I sit on a nearby log, staring at a little beetle crawling across my boot, as he uses an old shirt to sweep out the broken glass.

Once he's done, he whistles for me. "C'mon, sweetheart. We gotta move."

We gotta move, 'cause they'll be looking for us. I let that thought calm me. It's all I have.

I get back in the car and he closes the door behind me.

Dad's gonna raise Hell when he gets back.

Author's Note.

Daryl and Harley have made up. It was time for some more drama. 😼

Don't worry, THIS IS TEMPORARY! Trust me, Daryl's not going to let this slide.

Sorry about Sophia... I know there were some of you who didn't want me to kill her off. I would've loved for her and the other kids to live long lives together, but I just couldn't do it.

Also, when I was writing the first scene, all I could think about was that episode where Daryl just walks up to Leah's cabin and throws a dead animal on her doorstep 😭 No decorum

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)

Again, shout out to Cora_Line99 :)

[stiricidewrites]

The Damage You Do: ch 22, pt 4

Previously

~

Option 5: Every time someone got horny anew was a new session.

“Maybe it should just be, like… when one of us gets horny again? After we’ve both stopped being horny, like… at the same time?” wwx’s words cut off as lwj lifted his arms and then pulled what might be the most comfortable sweater he had ever had the pleasure of wearing over his head. Soft, soft clouds. Heaven. Fucking heaven.

lwj hummed in contemplation, his fingers lingering at the collar of wwx’s new sweater—cause it was definitely his now. Even if his dom asked for it back, he’d have to show up at his house and steal it back. Even then, he’d probably put up a fight to keep it. “Does completion factor in?”

“Completion?” wwx asked, tilting his head in thought as lwj knelt at his feet to help him into a pair of underwear and then pants, each little tapping prompt on his legs fitting into his soul like a command that had always existed there. “Nah,” he said as lwj straightened back up, adjusting the drawstring of the sweats he was lending—or giving? It was unclear. He’d already rolled up the bottoms of the too long pants. Much like the sweater, however, they were so comfy, wwx couldn’t find it in him to even joke about how big they were on him.

Well, except in the ass. His ass would not be contained, and was currently pulling the sweats tight around his hips and thighs.

“That feels too… transactional?” Okay, maybe not the best choice of words, given this whole arrangement was transactional. “I mean, like we’re expecting something out of sex? I mean, obviously you are—you don’t pay this much money and not expect an orgasm out of it—but—”

“I have gone without,” lwj interrupted, his hand finding wwx’s, and then he was tugging him through the bedroom and back down the hallway to the living room. “It is not a requirement. Sometimes more pleasure can be found in… other things.”

“Other things” sounded more ominous than wwx would have liked.

“Things like… sending your subs away strung out and horny?” he asked dryly, letting lwj pulling him towards a couch.

lwj didn’t even dignify him with an answer, but he thought he saw the man’s lips quirk, just the tiniest bit.

His dom sat, motioning for wwx to sit in front of him. He obeyed, and immediately died when lwj’s hands appeared back in his hair. They tugged and massaged, and he wanted to live here, on lwj’s floor. He moaned, arching back into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut despite his interest in the room and all its odd trinkets and vintage furniture and—

A knock startled wwx out of his blissful, head massage filled world. He glared towards the door, towards the source of the annoyingly tentative knocks. How dare someone interrupt them with a nervous knock!

Behind him, lwj sighed slightly, so quiet that if wwx’s entire world hadn’t currently centred around the man, he might not have heard it. The hands in his hair unhurriedly gathered it up, so effortlessly pulling it into a ponytail that he wouldn’t have been surprised if lwj had once also had long hair.

“Guess it’s time for me to leave?” wwx asked, turning back towards the other man. He blinked up at him, wanting so much to just press his cheek back into one of his dom’s thighs and slip away again. Logically, he knew it was time to go—he had a son who eventually needed to be picked up, after all—but emotionally—

Fuck. When had this become an emotional thing.

lwj blinked down at him, so soft and warm and—

Emotional? No. That was impossible. That was just the happy, happy sex hormones talking.

[numbaoneflaya]

hiiii papa bear, can i get 011, 014, 022 for Felria, 021, 035, 052 for Sarge, and 028, 059, 077 for Nirn pwease and thank u

kissnig this ask so kindly as apology over how fuckn long it took me, i forgor abt it in my askbox 4give me 😭😭

Fel

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

-She is very perceptive and people watches stalks in order to get information on others- in her line of work she seduces a lot of people as part of her efforts to get closer to them, so shes very in tune with what individuals want/need, which comes in handy when trying to court a partner (and not just a target). With someone shes genuinely trying to woo shes much more playful and bratty, takes a kind of ‘pulling on ur ponytail bcs she likes you’ approach which she would never take with a victim. Teasing and flirtatious, pretty brazen too bcs shes not afraid to vocalize what she wants. Does things like leave lipstick mark kisses on notes, give expensive gifts so they can match, and also kill people they seem annoyed with or at least offer to do so.

014. Detail one secret shame your character feels.

-Honestly, shes the tiniest bit ashamed of killing her younger sister. Only the smallest part, and it may still be raw embarrassment. Imagine being so insecure you need to kill a toddler. Is it guilt? Shame? No, she tells herself. 

She's unfamiliar with the feeling of shame, mostly. Even when the guards had cursed and dragged her away naked to the black cells when theyd found her fucking the corpses of her victims, she wasnt ashamed. Only mildly annoyed and pouting. Shame only enters her vocabulary when she's going through her mountains of dresser drawers, and finds just how out of fashion some of her old dresses are- how had she ever worn those in public? Gag!

022. What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

-Herself in any new outfit in the mirror, clean and flushed, smiling and manicured. She takes her own breath away, though the view of someone exhaling their own last breath beneath her may as well  be a strong second choice. 

Sarge

021. How do they display affection?

Hes big on hair ruffling if you'll let him, given as hes about two feet taller than most people while in human form. Hes a bit of a hugger too, and gives the best bear hug you'll ever get in your life. He shows affection physically like that, and also in copious compliments in whatever you're doing. Does also do enthusiastic back slaps but it kinda feels more like being tapped by gentle moth bcs if he really went in on it you'd be slammed across the room.

035. What is the most important rule your character lives by?

-hmm… maybe just a simple ‘don't cause shit where there ain't none”? Hes pretty damn hesitant to start up drama between the human and demonic world, because he knows how fuckin difficult it is to manage that once that door is open and politics get involved. Also the golden rule of ‘Dont Shit Where You Eat’ is pretty important to him. Hes not about to start causing problems near his base or around the people he works with.

052. What is your character’s worst flaw?

He's a pretty selfish man with very little regard to any sense of greater good. He may care about certain people and love them even, so he can understand other people having the same proclivity, and he can also understand people who only care about themselves and want to cause harm to the world. But he can't fully wrap his mind around people believing in the idea of any ‘greater good’ or vague moral ideation without real world benefit.  He thinks anyone can be bought or broken down enough to get something from them. 

Nirn

028. What makes them laugh out loud?

-A well timed quip or verbal jab, especially if it takes him in surprise. If it's against him he'll still laugh just be prepared for something equally scathing in return, though he remains playful with it. Hes also fond of plays and any good comedy will probably earn a few chuckles from him.

059. List several phrases your character is fond of uttering. Where did they pick them up?

-I have no idea how to answer this one but he do be saying shit like “Truly? It is so?” “Rather unbecoming of you.” “Shall we?” *insert long winded spiel abt proper etiquette he learned from a book his father made him read as a child* “there is no need to be so… uncouth” “impudence is seldom rewarded. Mind your tongue”

077. How often do they cry? Over what?

-Very very rarely :/ mans is truly older than balls and cant recall the last time he cried. Probably if he were to let someone in and care for someone and they died, but he doesnt do that very often at all. Lat time he cried was probs thousands of years ago out of frustration over his brothers antics and the chaos they caused.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Day 14: Die A Hero Or Live Long Enough To See Yourself Become The Villain.

The Disc Finale in a Protegeinnit AU. Ordered by Dream to kill Tubbo, Tommy's confidence falls apart once Tubbo shows he really does care. Reluctantly carrying through (more for Tubbo than anything), he's prevented from even doing funerary rites. Warnings for abuse, broken friendships, referenced human experimentation, self dehumanisation and victim blaming, referenced non-consensual body modification (enchantment tatttoos), self hatred, a weird combination of assisted suicide and murder by proxy, graphic descriptions of death and corpses, and religious themes. AO3 link, if you’d prefer.

“Tommy?”

Tubbo’s voice sounded different to how Tommy remembered it, the tiniest bit deeper, the slightest bit more mature. He’d grown older, Tommy realised with a pang of jealousy, and no matter how much Dream made him hide the evidence through hair dye and raised collars, he would not.

He was taller, too. (Tommy hadn’t grown an inch.) He’d gained back some fat and muscle, and was looking healthier. (No matter how much Tommy ate- Dream insisted, for some fucking reason, even though he was never hungry- he stayed stick-thin and far too weak for a proper protege). His hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and he wore his favourite green shirt. (Prime knows Dream would throw a fit if Tommy so much as tried to do his own hair, let alone choose his hairstyle or clothes).

Jealousy cut through him like a hot knife.

Maybe he could do this, then. Maybe he could kill the boy who claimed to be his best friend, who’d sent him astray, who he now suddenly felt such hatred towards. Maybe he could prove to Dream that he was worthy. (Maybe Dream wouldn’t go through with his threat of switching the revival experiments to Tubbo because he didn’t want anyone to have to go through that suffering who didn’t deserve it, and Tommy knew he deserved far worse.)

And then Tubbo tackled him into a warm embrace, tight but not like the imprisoning vice grip he was used to, and all that certainty vanished.

“We thought- we thought you were dead. I missed you so, so, so much. I’ll get you out of here, I promise. I’ll get you home.”

Tommy furrowed his brow. He was home. He didn’t deserve L’Manberg- the residents had made that clear- and it was gone now anyway. He was a stupid kid who couldn’t survive on his own. His only place was with Dream- and besides, not only did Dream all but own him, he was the only person in the world who’d not only care about an annoying brat like him but see him as the diamond in the rough he apparently was.

Just what was Tubbo going for with this?

Tubbo pulled away, almost as reluctant as Dream always got, looking down at Tommy in concern. “I’m sorry, I should have checked if you were… Are you okay? Has he hurt you? Why are you here, bossman?”

Always answer questions. That was part of the rules. “I’m fine. Not unless I deserve it, usually. Because this is my home.” Tommy kept his voice measured, calm. He didn’t know how Tubbo would react, didn’t have that intuitive sense of what to do that he’d learnt around Dream, so being guarded seemed like the best option.

Tubbo looked at him like he’d grown two heads, and Tommy flinched back, so sure he’d be hit that he didn’t understand why he couldn’t feel the familiar guiding pain, only to open his eyes and see Tubbo with his arms raised in a gesture of peace.

The two stayed there, staring at each other, for an amount of time that could have as easily been seconds or hours, before laughter made them both jump.

“What a touching reunion.” Tommy relaxed at Dream’s voice, while Tubbo tensed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have all day, so maybe you should just say your goodbyes. After all, you haven’t forgotten the whole point of this, right, Tommy?”

Tommy hung his head. “Course not, Dream. Sorry, man.”

“Wait, Tommy, what the fuck is going on?” There was no panic or surprise in Tubbo’s voice, just genuine confusion. “Why the hell are you working with that green bitch all of a sudden?”

Tommy took his mask out of his inventory, pausing to examine the cat-smile and sharp eyes crudely drawn onto it with a sense of sadness. That was the one part of his appearance he had any sort of control over, and he loathed to take it off. Dream made him when they weren’t on missions, of course, but he’d ordered Tommy to wait without it here for reasons that suddenly seemed to make a lot more sense. “I’ve… it’s been me the whole time.”

There was no betrayal on Tubbo’s face, just a sad acceptance. “I thought you sounded familiar, you know. I heard you crying that one time.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Tommy’s face flushed with embarrassment. He’d broken down after destroying L’Manberg, and just started sobbing and screaming and throwing a right tantrum on his way back to the base, instead of doing it in his room like he’d grown accustomed to. Of course, he was swiftly punished for that slip-up, but that hurt less than the idea of an enemy catching him at his lowest. “Fuck you, fuck you, that never happened.”

Despite everything, Tubbo chuckled at that. “Glad to see you’re still yourself, man. I…” There was an expression on Tubbo’s face that Tommy couldn’t place, and the unpredictability frightened him. Things he didn’t know usually equalled a new type of pain. “What did Dream do to you?”

“He fixed me.” Tommy took out his sword, glowing netherite with enchantments delicately carved in the same handwriting as those tattooed on his wrists, covered by the bulky red-and-green “friendship bracelets” Dream insisted he wear. For some reason, his palms were slippery, shaking like a leaf, and he fumbled, trying not to drop it. “And now, I’m going to fix you.”

Tommy expected anger. Fear. Some sort of fight. Instead, Tubbo just gave him a sad, sad smile, and closed his eyes. “Well. Go ahead.”

“I- what?” Tommy blinked, convinced he must be hallucinating again.

“I’ve had a good run, y’know? I’ve done a lot. Besides, if I had to die at anyone’s hands… it’d be you.” The laugh Tubbo gave was humourless. “You know I don’t have anything left. With you and L’Manberg gone… maybe, y’know, I wasn’t meant to be around this long anyway?”

That was what finally made Tommy choke up, from a few scant tears to bawling his eyes out in seconds. His sword dropped unceremoniously on the floor, and he fell to his knees.

Tubbo knelt down in front of him and, with as shaking hands as Tommy’s own, pressed the sword back into his hands. “C’mon, if there’s one last thing you can do, even if we’re not friends anymore… just, do it quick. Please.”

The idea felt wrong, itchy on his skin, but… they really weren’t friends anymore, weren’t they? That, too, was a lie he had to discard, the idea that he could ever spend time with Tubbo like in the old days. No, Tommy’s friend- his only friend- was Dream, and the sooner he admitted that, the easier it’d get, both for Tommy and those he foolishly tried to drag into the painful process of Dream healing him.

No, Tubbo wasn’t his friend anymore, but Tommy could do this one thing for him and pretend, just for a moment.

He closed his eyes, and shakily thrust his sword forward.

Death wasn’t pretty like it was in the movies. Tommy knew that well from his own experiences, and strangulation wasn’t even that bad, really. No, this was worse- the resistance of flesh and bone giving way to an awful cracking sound, choked gasping, blood soaking his fingers wet, and it was so hard for Tommy to bear opening his eyes. Hard, but necessary.

Tommy had never been to a Primian funeral, but he’d learnt the rites the night before he first went into battle. Muttered the prayers under his breath to the bloodied jacket of Wilbur’s- he wouldn’t have appreciated it, and he didn’t deserve it anyways, but if it even gave the slightest chance that the Primes could guide his soul somewhere better, he’d have done it a million times.

“M-may your spirits be cleaned in the light of the Bells.” Tommy’s voice was shaky as he started tracing the holy symbol on Tubbo’s forehead, not daring to look down any further. Even then, it was a horrific sight, grey eyes rolled back, strawberry blond curls matted with blood, and somehow a content smile on his face that barely seemed forced. “And-“

He flinched as a hand grasped his shoulder harshly, dragging him. “We’re done here, Tommy,” Dream said, his voice harsh like the strike of his axe. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

“Please, just let me- let me bless him, Dream, just give me a few seconds, please. I can’t let-“

Tommy’s panicked stream of consciousness was cut off by a sharp slap to his face, and he could feel barely-healed bruises starting to swell up again. “Why do you care? He’s an enemy. He doesn’t deserve the love of the Gods. What, did you forget he abandoned you? Are you that stupid?”

Tommy lowered his head. “No, Dream. ‘M sorry, Dream.”

“You better be. Now, let’s get going.”

Tommy didn’t resist as he was dragged away, but he closed his eyes and finished a silent prayer in his head.

And may you one day sit with the Gods and the Prime above, watching over us all.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 71 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Fun fact: this rewrite is now the second-longest fic in the Drace Race RPF section of AO3. (Second only to the original story, lol.) So if you’re looking for a lot of content…we’ve got you. ;) Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet revealed her estranged relationship with her family to Sutan, and Courtney struggled to live up to Miss Fame’s demands.

This Chapter: Some uncharacteristic vulnerability from Violet, Met Gala meetings and morning television.

***

“Do you want more marshmallows?”

“I always want more marshmallows.”

Katya grinned as she got up from the kitchen table, grabbing Trixie’s mug to top them both up. They were decorating gingerbread men, Katya pulling them from the oven last night. Trixie was doing clothes, drawing in the lines and putting details on them, one of his favorite jobs.

It was a tradition of theirs, spending the Sunday before Christmas in their pajamas, preparing cookies and watching Home Alone, the leftover icing always ending up in the bedroom for some sticky afternoon fun.

***

“Aaaand release...”

“Oh god,” Sutan groaned, rolling onto his back and spreading out like a starfish. “I’m dead.”

When he had jokingly asked if he could join Violet for her yoga session, he hadn’t figured she’d say yes, and he definitely hadn’t expected that it’d be this hard, those last few breaths of extended child’s pose essentially torture where he could feel his bones bend and creak.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Violet grinned, his girlfriend sitting back on her knee, the leg with her cast spread out to the side. “We only did 40 minutes.”

“You’re not even sweating.” Sutan looked at her, Violet’s hair in a high ponytail, the Sunday look of one of his shirts and a sports bra quickly becoming a fave.

“Some of us remember to do more than weights and cardio, Mr. Amrull.”

“I’m texting my trainer right now,” Sutan reached over his head, grabbing his phone that he had left on the floor next to their mats, Violet giggling as she laid down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder.

“There,” Sutan pressed send, his trainer probably falling off of his chair when he read the message, Sutan always attempting to get away with the bare minimum when it came to exercise, but he refused to be humiliated by being unable to reach his toes.

He was just about to put his phone down, when Violet reached up and tapped the screen, his front camera opening up, both of them in frame as they were lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture?” Violet smiled, her sarcastic tone never wavering. “To document the moment.”

Sutan looked at the screen. It was so incredibly tempting to say yes, to keep this moment in the private password protected collection that had steadily grown since Thanksgiving, Violet really and truly trying to let him take pictures, but he couldn’t say yes, not when he knew why she was so confident.

“And can I post it?”

“Post it?” Violet raised an eyebrow, sitting up on her elbows. “Why? Isn’t your hair...?”

“A mess?” Sutan didn’t want to smile, but it was impossible not to, Violet knowing him way too well if she had already figured out that he was sometimes embarrassingly vain about his hairstyle, the mess on his head looking like he had been fucking for an hour. “Yes, but I still want to post it.”

“I-” Violet had pulled away completely now, not a single trace of the sweetness left. “No.”

“Violet,” Sutan sat up as well, putting his phone down, “I know you hate social media, but you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t think what I ask for is unreasonable-”

“Sutan. Please” Violet grabbed her mat and rolled it together in an attempt to avoid him. “I said no.”

“And I’m pushing because I don’t understand.” Sutan could feel the annoyance build, the hurt and the rejection. It stung every single time Violet denied him, hurt every time she neglected what they had.

“I’m not saying we have to announce it with a workout selfie,” Sutan hated that they were fighting, but he couldn’t help himself, “but I want to tell the world that we’re together.”

“And I don’t-” Violet looked at him, her brown eyes filled with hurt. “If the world knows, they know, and I don’t want them to know where I am or what I’m doing.”

There it was. The they, the them, the family from Atlanta that was haunting his girlfriend's life like a shadow that had slowly started to creep into his too.

“Violet, I hate to be the one to tell you,” Sutan didn’t touch her, simply putting his hand down on the floor next to hers, telling her that he was there. “But the internet exists. If they have your name, they can find you, no matter what you do to hide.”

“Have you taken a moment to consider that they might not have that?”

Sutan paused, Violet’s words like a bomb.

“... What?”

Did her family not have her name? It was true that Violet Chachki barely got any hits on google, that it was Parson’s assignments and internships that popped up, the Galactica employee directory right at the top, but Sutan had never considered that possibility, had never even toyed with it.

“This wasn’t how I planned on telling you. Actually, I probably wasn’t counting on telling you at all, but I’m not…” Violet was fiddling with the tiniest hole in her yoga mat, her fingers tugging on the foam. “I wasn’t born Violet. Wasn’t even born a Chachki. Hasn’t it ever seemed weird to you that my last name literally means trinket?”

“It does?”

“Mmh,” Violet smiled, the same heavy sadness he had seen in the hospital in her eyes. “I needed to not be… Blair anymore.”

“Blair?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded. “Blair Dardo. It was my birth name. I never liked it, and I changed it the moment I turned 18, left it behind the second I could. That’s why I can’t,” Violet gestured vaguely to Sutan’s phone. “Changing it meant that they can’t, that they can’t find me, and I-”

Sutan didn’t know what to say, but it felt like he had just been given another puzzle piece in the mystery that was his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry.”

Violet’s head snapped to attention, her eyes widening in confusion. “...What?”

“I’m sorry.” Sutan said it again, making sure he put his genuine emotion behind the words. “I should have realized that you weren’t saying no to be difficult, and yet I kept pushing.”

“Sutan-” Violet still looked confused and a little suspicious, like she didn’t really understand what he was doing. “You don’t have to-”

“No but I do.” Sutan smiled. “I get it now, and I’m sorry, but next time you have a deep dark secret, maybe you could just tell me instead of this charade-”

Sutan was cut off as Violet threw herself in his arms, knocking him down on the floor and kissing him like her life depended on it, gratitude rolling off of her in waves.

***

“Raja?”

Alyssa held out the plate of croissants, Raja waving it away since she didn’t want one. The entire senior management team was gathered in the  conference room, Fame for some ungodly reason always insisting on a full breakfast spread for their Monday meetings, even though only a fraction of them ever actually ate any of it.

“So,” Fame looked around, a gold fountain pen in her hand, a black moleskin notebook open in front of her. “Any updates?”

The theme of today's meeting was the 2015 Met Gala, Raja barely hiding a groan when Courtney had sent out the meeting agenda.

It wasn’t that she disliked the Met Gala, the first Monday in May a spectacular party, but it was such a hassle getting there, the gala the fashion world's version of the Oscars.

“Yes,” Pearl smiled, turning around in her chair. She was weirdly chipper, her blonde hair collected in a clip, her signature leather jacket exchanged with a cropped black fur. “We have the final confirmation from Jessica Chastain’s team. She’s in.”

“Good,” Fame nodded, making a note in her moleskin, the fact that Fame was actually writing herself more than enough to cement the severity of the situation. Courtney was standing against the wall, Ivy sitting at the table with her computer open, typing away, but when it came to the Met, Fame left nothing up to chance.

“She’s looking forward to working with us, and she says she’s honored-”

“Yada yada yada,” Fame made a hand puppet, and Raja had to hide a smile, Pearl leaning back in her chair with a roll of her eyes, mouthing at everyone else that she’d send a follow up email.

It was Fame who had requested Jessica, in her own roundabout way, her friend casually mentioning to Raja that she had a good smile, which was more than enough for Raja to make Pearl offer her up as Galactica’s celebrity face.

It wasn’t every house who did it, but the big ones always had a celebrity at the gala, wearing their clothes and repping the brand.

“Does anyone know if they’ve moved away from the terrible theme yet?”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Alaska offered up, the promotional material the Met had sent out at the start of the fall in the middle of the table thanks to Ivy’s forthsight. “It’s December, and since we haven’t heard anything, they’re sticking with China's influence on western fashion.”

“Good god, I was really hoping they had come to their senses.” Fame breathed out through her nose, and Raja had to agree with her. Sure, ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ made sense as an art exhibition, but there was really no way to convert it to fashion without being culturally insensitive at best and offensively appropriative at worst.

Besides, Galactica had never been a brand that sought inspiration from the east in their designs and aesthetics, which made the entire situation quite the predicament.

“I’m sure we can work with it,” Trixie gave a small smile, the stack of papers by his elbow indicating that he had probably already put his senior designers to work coming up with concepts.

“And how,” Fame turned, looking directly at Trixie. “Are we supposed to work with it? Raja’s the only one who could possibly get away with being theme appropriate.”

Usually, Fame and Raja were the ones who walked the carpet together with their celebrity, Fame a nervous wreck for weeks before the gala because of all the strangers, while Raja enjoyed it because of her modeling days, seeing old acquaintances without the stresses of fashion week, a delightful yearly treat.

“I’m Indonesian.” Raja knew Fame didn’t mean anything by it, and she wasn’t that concerned about being politically correct herself, but everyone knew what it could mean for a fashion house to misstep, Dolce and Gabbana somehow walking directly from one scandal and into another one. “Not Chinese.”

“See?” Fame sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a controversial time bomb. Either, we stay on theme, which I refuse since I look terrible in Chinese red, ”

“So we’re going off theme?” Trixie had picked up his papers, sorting through them, and Raja felt a moment of gratitude for their head of design, Trixie of course coming prepared with off-theme suggestions as well.

“Unless they get a grip and change it? Yes. Yes we are.”

*

“There!” Everyone held their breath as Maxwell pointed at Violet’s screen, an email from Ivy just ticking in, the Met Gala meeting still in full swing.

“Open it, Chachki!” Blu was practically biting her nails, hopping from one foot to the other, her red hair in a braid over her shoulder.

“Alright, alright-“ Violet clicked on the email, Bob standing right behind her, his eyes flying over the screen before he called out.

“It’s Jessica!”

A collective sigh of relief went through the floor, a loud ‘yes’ coming from Kiara who was clapping her hands together, the group breaking up, chatter filling the air.

“Thank god,” Maxwell groaned, putting a hand on Violet’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I knew having you here would be worth it Chachki.”

“Right.” Violet raised an eyebrow, looking up at him, clearly not understanding why no one had thought to simply ask Ivy for updates before, the suggestion just casually slipping from her during morning coffee, the entire department running with it instantly. “But I still don’t-“

“Get it?” They turned to look over at Jovan who was sitting at his own desk, the man one of the few who hadn’t gathered around Violet’s computer.

“Yes.” Violet nodded. “If you needed information all this time, you could have just asked-”

“Like we could have just asked you?” Bob said, cutting her off and Violet opened her mouth, only to close it again. “Exactly.” Bob grinned. “You would have told us to fuck off.”

“I see your point.” Violet tapped her fingers on her desk, a small smile on her lips since everyone knew she would have said those exact words directly to their faces when she had been in Fame’s front office. “But, why is it such a big deal if a celeb is confirmed or not? The gala isn’t until May, that’s 4 months away and it’s three outfits. A whole collection is usually done in that time.”

“A collection doesn’t have to be approved by the celebrity,” Maxwell counted on his fingers, “the celebrity’s stylist, Vogue and Anna Wintour personally on top of Trixie, Raja and Fame. Alexis usually starts producing concepts in October.”

“As soon as they reveal the theme girl!” Alexis yelled over her shoulder, already pulling her sketches from their shelf, the confirmation meaning that she’d be in a meeting with Trixie for the rest of the day, working out the details of the first round of negotiations with the celebrity.

“Huh…” Violet looked around, the puzzled expression still on her face. “And what about-“

“Fame and Raja?”

Violet nodded.

“You’d think Fame would be the difficult one-“ Maxwell smiled.

“But make something gorgeous and custom in ivory and she’s on board,” Jovan grinned, putting the pen he was using behind his ear as he turned around in his chair. “Every year, she pretends like she’ll follow the theme, and then never does.”

“Exactly.” Maxwell nodded. “Fame is demanding, but consistent. Trixie has an entire drawer of Fame-appropriate outfits that we all contribute to whenever we have an idea.”

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Violet looked mildly impressed, and if any of the rumors Maxwell had heard about how she had managed Fame’s front office, that approach wasn’t too far off from how Violet herself had attempted to tame the beast.

“Rule one of surviving at Galactica: Never disappoint Miss Fame. For once, however, Fame isn’t the problem.” Maxwell sighed, taking a seat on the edge of Violet’s desk. “Raja is.”

“Raja?” Violet looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yes really.” Maxwell crossed his arms. “Every year, she tells us that she’s chill, that she’ll wear whatever goes with the spring collection or the theme-“

“And every single year, she changes her mind at least four times.” Bob chimed in, the drama loving smirks on his lip. “More if you’re lucky.”

“Which is why,” Maxwell nudged Bob’s side with his elbow. “We’ve unanimously decided that you have the honor of dressing Raja for this year's Met Gala.”

“Me?” Violet’s eyes widened. “What? Why?” Violet looked at them, confusion painted on her face. “I’m the most junior member of staff.”

“True, but you’re also sucking her brother's dick,” Maxwell grinned, “so we figured she can’t kill you during the process, unlike the rest of us mere mortals.”

***

It should have been one of the most exciting mornings since Courtney started at Galactica--Miss Fame and Raja were being interviewed on a talk show, and so she got to go to the famous 30 Rockefeller Plaza building, and be on the set of a real television show. Unfortunately, it was such a whirlwind of activity and Miss Fame was in such a demanding mood that she didn’t have a second to enjoy it.

She felt like a chicken with its head cut off, running around in a hectic scramble to meet every request. Today was the last day before their holiday break, and even though Courtney knew that spending her break with Bianca would be incredible, she also knew that she had about a billion things to do before that could even start. Today was supposed to be a half day, but with how packed the schedule was, she’d be lucky to leave by 5.

She entered Miss Fame’s green room, silently handing her the coffee she’d asked for and then leaning on the wall to catch her breath. Miss Fame took a sip and then immediately spit the coffee back out.

“What is this?” she asked, holding the cup out like it was a bag of dog shit.

“It’s your usual-”

“This is not my usual. This is weak, and not hot enough, and-did you just roll your eyes?”

“No, Miss!” Courtney insisted, praying that she was telling the truth. She was tired, having arrived at the office at 6 am to drop off her stuff for Bianca’s, and there was a teeny tiny chance that she may have (accidentally) rolled her eyes. “Would you like a new-”

“Let me tell you something, Courtney. This may be the last day before a vacation, but I expect you to be fully present and accounted for. We have too many important things going on and I will not accept anything less than your absolute very best. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Now. Please go find me some decent coffee before I get a migraine.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And after you come back, I need you to go to the dry cleaners. I’ve decided to wear my ivory Valentino suit to meet the investors later.”

“Yes, Miss, will do.”

“That’s all,” Miss Fame said, waving her hand, and Courtney took off back down the labyrinthine hallways of 30 Rock to hunt down a coffee that would meet her standards.

***

“Good morning! Welcome back to Coast to Coast. I’m Nina West, and today we are positively blessed to have with us the icons of fashion, Miss Fame and Raja Gemini of Galactica, here to talk to us about dressing to impress in the new year, and their exciting new business ventures. Thank you so much for being here, ladies!”

“Thank you, we’re thrilled to be here,” Fame smiled, the lie easily falling out of her red painted lips.

Raja could see the way her hands were clenched in her lap, her wedding ring turned inward and digging into her palm, and knew that she was at her tensest.

Raja had long ago gotten used to giving live interviews. She had a laid-back attitude and while she always wanted to represent the company in the most flattering light, she tended to relax and let the conversation flow naturally.

Fame, however, had never quite gotten the hang of it in the same way. She was just so brand-conscious, almost to a debilitating degree, written interviews so much more her speed.

She always looked impeccable, very much the ice goddess she was so often called, but Fame had never gotten the same confidence in her speaking skills as Raja, who had been dragged through developing them in her modeling career.

Even though Fame hated being on live TV, they occasionally got an offer they couldn’t turn down, and between the makeup line being released in January and the overhaul of their website and online store, they had a lot to plug.

The whole thing was so stressful Fame had asked Raja four times to check her pits for sweat stains, her papers with facts from the makeup department and pointers from Pearl not leaving her hand until they literally had to go on.

Raja leaned forward, giving Fame’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and added, “This is our favorite show, we never miss it!”

“Aww, thank you!” said Nina, grinning. “Now, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have an exciting announcement.”

“Yes, and we’re so happy to be able to share the news with your viewers first-”

“An exclusive!” Nina exclaimed, eyes comically wide and mouth open as if this was news to her.

“Yes, exactly. Early this year, we released a limited makeup line, and it’s been doing just wonderfully. So in 2015, we’re going to be rolling out a full line of makeup and skincare, with special edition palettes and colors all throughout the spring.”

“All natural, vegan, cruelty free...I always want the very best for my own skin and I wouldn’t offer our customers anything less,” Fame cut in, and Raja felt a surge of pride at how natural she sounded. All their rehearsing had clearly paid off.

“If you use it, I’ll use it!” Nina said with a chuckle. “You both have the most gorgeous skin I’ve ever seen.”

“We expect the first batch to sell out quickly,” Raja said, “So go straight to our website, Galactica dot com, and sign up to be part of the mailing list to receive alerts on all new product launches and where they’ll show up in stores.”

“I’m doing that, the second we go to commercials,” Nina said. “But first, I heard that there’s more news about your spring line...”

***

Patrick reached for the remote, turning off the TV as Nina West rounded out the segment with Fame and Raja.

He was sitting in his office, wrapping up the last details before the firm could close down for the holiday break.

Fame had done a great job, the nerves he knew she had felt not showing on her beautiful face. Patrick picked up his phone, a smile on his lips as he started to type out a text.

Fame would probably not read it until she left work for the day, but he was proud of her, and he hoped that she was proud of herself too.

***

Fame collapsed onto her dressing room sofa, completely emotionally drained, the crystals she had stuffed in her bra digging against her skin.

Being on camera for live television always took up every drop of energy, and left her with nothing to spare. Unfortunately, she knew that she didn’t have much time to rest, since she was due at the Russian Tea Room to meet her potential investors in less than an hour. The makeup artist they’d hired was standing by for touch-ups, and her ivory Valentino suit hung in its dry cleaning bag on the clothing rack. But first, she knew that her blood sugar was dangerously low, so she needed…

She looked around. Where on earth was Courtney? Fame had never met someone with such a tendency to be underfoot at the worst times and completely MIA when her presence was required. She walked to the doorway, spotting Courtney having a casual chat with a girl in a headset, carefree as anything.

“Courtney!” she snapped, and Courtney looked up, surprised, even though she was literally here for the sole purpose of taking care of Fame’s needs. “Come!”

Fame turned and walked back into her dressing room, irritated, the rapid click of Courtney’s heels as she ran over grating on her nerves.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I need to eat.”

“Oh…” Courtney’s gaze shifted to the table, where a fruit basket sat amongst assorted pastries and other snack food.

“Not that sugary garbage,” Fame explained. “Violet always had- Don’t you have any protein bars?”

“Oh, of course!” Courtney exclaimed, rummaging through her purse.

Fame rolled her eyes, sighing. That girl truly was useless. What Bianca saw in her, Fame would never understand. She took one of the protein bars that Courtney had carefully lined up on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“I think you’d better head back to the office and prepare the conference room for the investor presentation.”

“Oh, but did you need anything el-”

“No, I’m much more concerned with the meeting,” Fame said. “Everything needs to be perfect. These people will be paying attention to every little detail.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Oh, and take this back with you…” Fame handed over a large manila envelope. “It’s some sketches I’ve been working on.”

“Sure.” Courtney began to put the envelope into her bag, and Fame’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Don’t bend them! For god’s sake…”

“Sorry Miss,” Courtney said, biting her lip, holding the envelope at her side. “Is there anything else you need before I-”

“No. That’s all.”

***

Courtney sat in the back of a cab, eyes squeezed tightly shut, using the time in traffic to center herself and go over her massive to do list. She had to make sure that all the presentations for the meeting were set up, work with IT to test it, messenger out the holiday gifts that Miss Fame added at the last minute, make sure the schedule for January was in order, set up her out of office reply…

Plus, the meeting with the investors wouldn’t begin until they were back from the restaurant, so the “half day” was looking more and more like a full day. At this point, settling in at Bianca’s felt like it was a million years away--and traffic crawling at a standstill didn’t help anything.

She pulled out her phone. Maybe she could set up some of the gift deliveries now, while she was stuck in the cab.

When they were finally in sight of the Galactica building, her phone started buzzing. She looked at the screen. Miss Fame. That couldn’t be anything good.

Courtney took a deep breath and answered, stomach tightening.

“Hello?”

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s voice was sharp, sharper than usual. “Do you ever use your head? Or do you just go through life without a shred of critical thinking?”

It was fairly obvious that it was a rhetorical question, so Courtney kept her mouth shut, wondering what had gone wrong, what mess she’d have to clean up now.

[sableflynn]

Out unseen - ch. 3

first | previous | next

guess who’s still writing this story ten thousand years later! once again this chapter doesn’t have anything explicit, but once things really get going it’s going to get a lot darker and heavier so please be aware of that.

cw: references to past noncon, noncon touch, drugging, vague pain magic, minor character death, blood, kidnapping

Also on Ao3

---

A cool autumn breeze stirred the air. The docks were silent save for the gentle lap of water against the boats, and the moonless sky was an inky void. Tucked in among the shipping containers, shrouded in shadows, Felicia and Marcus had a wide view of their surroundings while remaining hidden themselves.

She hoped so, anyway.

Shifting her crouched position to ease the cramping in her legs, Felicia glanced over at Marcus with what she hoped was a confident smile. She fidgeted with the camera in her hands, an old thing Kailo had managed to snag from the university (retro, he’d called it), held together with tape and some hodgepodge of homespun magic.

Just a few pictures, she told herself. Then they’d have what they needed, they’d have something they could use against Volkan, and she wouldn’t have to spend another second anywhere near him. She swallowed down her nerves and waited.

They didn’t have to wait for long. Volkan emerged in a swirl of cool evening mist, dressed in a sharp wool overcoat against the chill of the night. He stopped under the dull glow of a streetlamp and leaned against one of the shipping crates, looking for all the world as if he belonged there and was completely at ease.

Felicia’s stomach churned to see him, so smug and confident. Completely at ease with the monster that he was. She gripped the camera tighter, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and Marcus was beside her, silent and solid and comforting.

You have to promise me, he’d said earlier that day as they were making final preparations, promise me that if I get caught you will run and save yourself. And she’d forced down a shudder at the thought of it, and instead said, Of course, but you have to promise me the same thing. And he’d frowned, and hesitated a second before finally saying, of course.

It didn’t matter. Neither of them was going to get caught. They’d get their pictures and get out of there.

Felicia made herself look out at Volkan once again, grounding herself with the gentle touch of Marcus’s hand on her shoulder. Volkan wasn’t alone, she realized after a moment. He had two guards waiting with him, their casual posture belied by the intense sweep of their gazes across the area, and the guns holstered at their hips.

Then Becker arrived, and he wasn’t alone either.

The person with him had a bag over his head and his hands tied behind his back. Becker gave a harsh shove, and the other man stumbled into the light. Felicia’s eyes widened as Volkan stepped forward, pacing around the bound man as if sizing up a slab of meat at the market. He was talking, and she couldn’t make out the words from where they hid but there was no mistaking what was happening. Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists.

“Marcus…” she breathed, finally tearing her eyes away from the sight to look back at him. His face was pale, and she could see the conclusion forming in his mind just as it had in hers.

Volkan was buying a person. He was buying a person, some poor soul who got on his bad side or dug too deep into something or maybe was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now Volkan would torture him or kill him or—she couldn’t bring herself to imagine what he was going to do. He was going to take this person, and there was nothing they could do. They had to take the pictures and get out before they got caught too, and then they would have something to use against him. They couldn’t blow this opportunity just to help one person.

And yet she knew there was no way they could just leave him.

Marcus’s expression was shifting, resolving into something more determined. Felicia set her camera down and took his hand with both her own. Her voice was a whisper, but firm. “We need to get him out of there.”

***

They’d had to move quickly. Their plan was barely a plan at all.

Felicia tried not to let that worry her; after all, they’d had a plan when they went to the masquerade, and that…

She stopped the thought before it could go any further, and forced back the terror that threatened to paralyze her. It was fine. Marcus was going to cause some sort of distraction—he hadn’t elaborated on how—and Felicia was going to grab the man and run and they’d meet back up later. It was fine.

No, it was stupid and reckless, but that didn’t matter. They still had to try. They couldn’t not. They couldn’t just leave, knowing what they knew, seeing what they saw.

Maybe whatever ruckus Marcus caused would be enough on its own. Maybe just the knowledge that someone was nearby, watching, would be enough to scare Volkan into calling off this whole deal. Maybe she would wake up in a minute and find that this was all a dream and she wasn’t about to run right under the nose of the man who had assaulted her.

Felicia peered over the top of the box she crouched behind, her fingers grasping tight to the edges. When Marcus left to cause his distraction, she’d moved a bit closer to the scene, hugging the shadows as she crept along the boxes. Now she waited, and there was nothing for her to do but watch and count her breaths while she tried not to let her mind wander. Volkan had stepped back from examining the man and was talking with Becker in a low tone, and the man stood shivering in the cool autumn air, and the bodyguard was casting a wary eye over the area—and Felicia’s breath caught in her throat, because there had been two bodyguards—

A gloved hand closed around her shoulder and she didn’t even think, she threw her elbow back and it collided with a crack and she was scrambling, throwing herself away from the assailant and towards the maze of shipping crates—

The hands were on her again and she thrashed against them, but then she felt the cold bite of metal at her neck and she stilled.

“Don’t move,” the guard hissed, pressed the gun further up into Felicia’s chin. She was frozen. She could barely breathe.

“Please,” she managed to whisper. “Don’t—I’m just trying to find my way home, I got lost—”

“Right.” The guard let out a derisive snort and adjusted her grip, one strong arm wrapped around Felicia’s chest in an iron hold while the other kept the gun trained to her head. Felicia’s hands rose automatically to grab at the arm wrapped around her, and the guard shook her, jamming the gun harder against her skin.

“Please, don’t.” Felicia didn’t dare fight back, not with the gun pressed against her, but as the guard started to drag her back to the group, she couldn’t stop herself from desperately reaching for some escape. “Please, he’s—he’ll—”

“What he decides to do with you is none of my business,” the guard hissed, and then she raised her voice to address the group as she dragged Felicia into the light. “Sir, I found this one sulking around in the shadows.”

Volkan turned to look at them, and the air turned to ice in Felicia’s chest. His eyes were on her, he was going to recognize her, he was going to touch her again and she had walked right into it.

“Let me get a look at her,” Volkan said, his voice a rumble. “And for god’s sake, put that gun down. You could kill someone with that.”

The second the gun was away from her face, Felicia threw her weight against the guard holding her, but she was stopped short as the guard twisted her arms painfully behind her back instead. Volkan watched in silence as the scuffle broke out, stepping closer to tilt Felicia’s head into the light as she panted against the guard’s grip.

“You’re the girl from the ball,” Volkan murmured, tracing one cheekbone with his thumb. Felicia swallowed down bile at his touch. “What was your name again?”

“It’s Fern,” she spat. They both knew it was a lie, but she didn’t care; she needed something, the tiniest semblance of control over the situation. Volkan shifted his hand and she braced herself for a slap or punch, but he reached behind her and pulled her hair loose from its ponytail. The amber waves spilled over her shoulders.

“Of course. Fern.” Volkan threaded his fingers through a few loose strands of hair. “Do you remember what I said to you that night, as you were leaving?”

If I have you again, I will never let you leave. His voice had been an echo in her mind since that night. She couldn’t escape it. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

He smiled at that, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing. “I look forward to picking up where we left off, then.”

It’s not happening. I won’t let him take me again. I’ll—I’ll—Marcus was still out there somewhere, he wouldn’t let him take her, there had to be a way out of this. The guard’s grip was tight on her arms and she could barely move without her muscles aching from the strain of the position. Every nerve of her skin was alight, hypersensitive, the ghost of Volkan’s touch burning across her cheek.

“I don’t need this one anymore.” Volkan waved a careless hand in the bound man’s direction—because he was buying a person, that was why Felicia was here in the first place—but his eyes never left hers as he spoke. “I found something better. Kill him.”

The words had barely broken through the swirl of Felicia’s mind before the other guard stepped forward, knife glinting in the streetlight. The man was thrashing, yelling through his gag, and—a flash of metal at his throat, and a gurgle, and blood flowed freely, puddling on the cobblestones below. The man fell to the ground, dead. Felicia didn’t realize she was screaming until the guard holding her clamped a harsh hand over her mouth, smothering her.

Becker looked between the dead man and Volkan in shock. “You—I could’ve still sold him and gotten something!” Felicia was breathing heavily, leaning against the arms holding her, eyes locked on the body and the spreading pool of blood. She flinched at the touch of a warm hand on her face, and Volkan tilted her head to look at him once again.

“I’ll still pay you,” he said, his eyes gleaming on hers. “Indirectly, you brought me something much better.” He slowly smiled, and Felicia saw her hope flickering to nothing right before her eyes.

No. He wouldn’t take her again. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him. She took a shuddering breath, trying to still the frantic hammering of her heart. A man was just murdered in front of her, and if she didn’t act very carefully, she would be next. But if she didn’t act at all, she would get taken by Volkan to—wherever he was going to take her, and she would be trapped with him, and—

A movement among the shadows caught her eye, and then she saw Marcus, creeping closer to peer over some boxes. As soon as she realized what he was doing she averted her gaze, forcing herself to stare back at Volkan again, praying he hadn’t noticed where she was looking.

“Hey!” One of the guards called out, and Felicia’s stomach dropped. “Who’s there?”

Volkan turned to look, his hand still holding Felicia’s cheek. When he faced her again, his eyes glimmered with anticipation. “Ah, so your friend did come along,” he said. He finally released her face and she gave an involuntary sigh of relief; but then he addressed his guards, and his words filled her with dread. “Take him.”

The guard drew his gun and stepped out, and Marcus straightened up in alarm. Felicia’s pulse roared in her ears. Please, don’t leave me with him. Don’t let him touch me. Don’t let him take me. She steeled herself. “Run!” she yelled, throwing herself again against the arms of the guard holding her. “Get out! You promised!” Blood racing, she slammed her heel down on the foot of the guard and threw all her weight back, finally breaking free from the iron grip. She scrambled forward, desperate, panicked—and made it two steps before a powerful hand gripped her throat and slammed her back into a shipping crate.

She wheezed, eyes watering as she looked up into Volkan’s face once again. He held her neck with a single hand and barely seemed winded from tossing her around. His grip was tight, just shy of cutting off her air, and she scrabbled uselessly at his arm.

“Looks like he’s leaving you to the wolves once again.” He pressed her harder into the crate as his free hand raked down her side. Checking her for weapons, she realized as she tried in vain to push him off. “Some friend he is. After all you do for him.”

Volkan was gathering magic; she could feel the hum of it in the air, vibrating through her skin, and she thrashed harder against him in panic. She had no idea what sort of magic he practiced, but she knew just how cruel he could be, and the look on his face was bringing her back to a secluded alcove at a party and fingers prying her vulnerabilities apart.

“Do you think he’ll come back for you if you scream?” he asked, and he pressed his fingers into her collarbone.

The jolt of pure magic shot through her like a blast of electricity, and her vision went black as she collapsed bonelessly to the ground. She must’ve screamed; she could feel her throat, ragged and raw, but she was senseless beyond the all-encompassing pain pulsing through her. Every nerve of her body was white-hot, on fire.

She lay curled on the ground, heaving with sobs and trembling, as the pain receded and her surroundings slowly edged back into her awareness. She could hear talking above her, distant and foggy. “Shouldn’t we keep her quiet?” It was Becker, his voice concerned but deferential. “Someone will hear her.”

“No one is coming for her.” Felicia flinched at Volkan’s voice, and again at the soft nudge of his shoe against her shoulder. Weak, she rolled onto her back, and he crouched above her.

“I had this made for that boy back there,” Volkan murmured, and she saw a glint of light as he pulled something from his pocket—a syringe. Fuck. “But, well, it seems he won’t be needing it.”

Felicia tried to twist away from him, but her body still ached with the magic he’d forced through her and her movements were sluggish. Volkan held her head with a deceptive gentleness, and then she felt the telltale prick at her neck.

“No—” Her words were slurred. “What—”

“Relax.” He smoothed down her hair as he removed the syringe, and a wave of terror washed over her at the sight of it, empty, the tiniest bead of blood at the tip. Her blood. Her world was closing in on her. She saw only Volkan’s face, looming above her with an expression of mock-comfort. Felt only his arms, wrapping around her limp body and lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Heard only his voice, whispering just let it happen as she sank into darkness.

[reddeadbread]

Fortunate Ones

Javier Escuella x Reader

Part 1

Summary/notes: Javier Escuella x reader slow burn, I really wanted a fic that could be really long running and I have endless ideas for this already. Part 1 is a long one folks…

fluff and maybe angst but I never write NSFW

word count: 1867

You heard someone trudging through the snow towards you. It was starting to get darker out there and his figure was back lit by the setting sun when you dared to peer out of the crack in the cabin door to see him.

Well this is it now, that’s what you get for travelling alone like that. You cursed yourself in your mind. The figure was getting closer and closer and you didn’t even have a gun, just a pathetic little hunting knife. So this was it after a day of false ends. Bad luck after bad luck. The man pushed open the door and you leapt to your feet, lunging forwards and holding the hunting knife to him anxiously. You weren’t sure if you could go through with such a thing. “stop right there!” you said this in a way you hoped was threatening enough to at least startle him but the mans reflexes were cat-like as he pointed his silver revolver at you instantly. You froze, eyes wide. You were getting pretty sick and tired of having guns pointed at you today, it did seem like lady luck had truly turned her back on you since the moment you opened your eyes that morning.

“I said hand over all your fucking money!” the O’Driscoll had repeated himself after you had failed to hand over enough cash, he spoke with a lilting Irish accent that would probably be pleasant to the ears if he wasn’t threatening to splatter your brains into the pristine white snow on the ground.

“that’s all I have.” You responded, you were nearly penniless, so the men had only gotten a couple of dollars from you. They clearly were not happy about this as they looked at each other and then at the pathetic handful of dollars in their hands.

Maybe you can still survive this yet, “Just take the money and go. Hell, you can take the wagon too.” You didn’t know what you’d do out in the snow without that wagon, but you didn’t like your chances if you didn’t give it to them, so your mind was made up. Besides, technically it wasn’t even your wagon, rather you’d liberated it from a homestead while on your travels. You prayed this would be enough but the twisted smile on the man’s face was telling enough to worry you. The moment you saw it you felt your heart sink.

“Hey fellas, there’s an idea. Let’s take everything!” he lunged forward and grabbed you. You’d already been forced to drop your weapons, but you scrambled for them where they lay in the snow only to be hit in the face by the butt of a rifle. You were knocked down, consciousness fading as you heard the manic giggles of the men as if you were nothing but a toy in their sick game. You felt rope binding your wrists together as they heaved you into the back of the wagon, joking amongst themselves. “You’ll like it with us O’Driscoll boys!” one jeered. You felt blood on your face, your lip cut open although you couldn’t really feel the pain. One grabbed your face to get a better look at you but you managed to regain your senses enough to feel anger and spat blood at him. He had no right to touch you, but he only laughed “a feisty one ay?” he taunted. You had robbed people yourself to survive out here on your own, but this was different. They weren’t just surviving; they were delighting in tormenting innocents. At least you wouldn’t go quietly, whatever they wanted to do to you wasn’t going to be nice and the least you could do was fight.

He was looking at you. You noticed a scar on his neck, it seemed he had a habit of being threatened with knives the same way you had a habit of being threatened with guns. You stepped back a little but kept a hold of the knife pathetically, looking back at him. He was perhaps 5’8 with shoulder length black hair pulled into a ponytail. He was well dressed which immediately struck you as being a little odd in this desolate place. He had taken deadly aim but he didn’t shoot. First he looked at you, standing there, shaking from cold and fear. He looked at the bruises, the blood on your face and the panic in your eyes and holstered his gun, raising his hands as a sign he wouldn’t reach for it again, He felt a little guilty for scaring you like that when it was abundantly clear you had already faced an excruciatingly long day. He certainly knew what those days felt like. “we aren’t here to hurt you.” When he spoke it was with a slight accent, Mexican maybe? You couldn’t be quite sure and now wasn’t the time to make small talk about the man’s heritage. All you knew was his voice was like warm honey and it put you at ease. You clutched the knife still, in shock and unable to believe you’d really got so lucky as to find a little kindness in this world. “Dutch, there’s a girl here.” He called over his shoulder, lowering his hands once he felt sure you wouldn’t try and attack like a cornered animal. His boss could handle this better than he could, he didn’t have the same silver tongue and way with people that always worked so well for Dutch. He stepped closer and gently took the knife from you. As soon as you felt the heat of his hands on yours you released the weapon, the soft touch pulling you into reality again. “see? You’re okay.” Maybe he wasn’t the best at being so gentle, but he had a good heart and he could see you were shaken up.

You looked at him like a deer in headlights for a moment or two more, not letting go of his hands until you finally spoke “sorry…I…they robbed me but I didn’t have anything so they…I’m y/n. It’s been a bad day..” you stammered out, stepping back from him as his boss pushed in.

When you had arrived at the small camp where the O’driscolls were hiding out like cockroaches, the cursing and struggling from you gained the attention of some of the other men at camp, they laughed too. “You got a live one there?” another Irish drawl spoke as you were dragged off of the wagon, a little bruised and worse for wear.

Before the man who had mocked you just a few minutes ago had a chance to speak another word a gunshot cut through the air and split his skull.

In these endless vacant mountains sounds like that always seemed amplified. You stared at the corpse for a split second and felt your stomach turn but your first instinct was to take advantage of the distraction and throw yourself down behind the wagon to shield yourself from the bullets which were now raining down in full force. The second man tried to grab hold of you again, but you kicked him back, out into the open and away from this scrap of safe cover. He was promptly shot in the head.

“Kill every last one of these bastards!” you heard a booming voice that carried even over the sound of gunfire. He must be the leader since you could hear him barking out orders just moments later “push up!”. They were getting closer. You didn’t know who these men were but they didn’t seem awfully friendly. Grabbing a knife off of the first body, you turned it in to cut the rope around your wrists clumsily, trying to crawl your way into the cover of a now empty cabin now the newcomers were approaching, doing your very best not to be spotted as you did.

Once you were inside you didn’t know what to do next. Behind you were the remaining O’Driscolls, although they were quickly thinning out, and in front of you was the gang of strangers. You searched around for a gun you could use to better defend yourself as you heard the hail of bullets finally cease and more voices filled the sudden quiet “Good work boys! We’ll get what we need then clear out!” you heard the leader speak again and for one shining moment felt a glimmer of hope, the tiniest little thread of hope that you’d manage to get out of another near fatal scrape with a little luck. That is until he continued “don’t forget to search the cabins!”.

You’d never considered yourself to be terribly lucky, to be alone in this world was an unlucky thing but maybe your luck was changing. Now you had managed to find perhaps the only outlaws across this land with a shred of morals. For the most part at least. They would help you and it wasn’t as if you had anything to give them.

It was the man who had found you in that cabin who you rode with. In too much of a daze to say much of anything, you were quiet most of the way and he didn’t try to make small talk. You held onto him in silence, he was warm to the touch and you weren’t terribly upset to be close to him after freezing up in these mountains alone for days.

“what’s your name? you never said…” You finally spoke once he helped you down off his horse. You didn’t know any of their names but you felt most interested in his. He looked a little surprised that you would put your attention on him before anyone else.

“oh look, the new girl is already sweet on that little Greaser” The blonde man who had already managed to come across as a human parasite spoke with a mocking air and a smug smile.

“Javier Escuella. Don’t bother learning his name, one of these days someone is going to slit his throat.” He looked at the man threateningly but with complete calm, he definitely wasn’t joking but Micah still chuckled as he slinked away.

Perhaps you should be more alarmed by a man who would threaten a member of his own gang like that, be it indirectly or not, but you weren’t. Maybe you were just biased since he had been good to you despite the fact you were ready to sink a knife into his throat. You weren’t the first to try and maybe he was used to it because he was already a little fond of you despite that. There was something admirable about your tenacity.

“thank you,” you gave him an uneasy smile and pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek.

“Miss! Come in and get warm, I need to speak to everyone and introduce you.” You heard Dutch call to you from the rundown cabin. It was warm and full of mostly friendly people, a welcome sight to you.

You glanced back at Javier again and swore you saw a faint blush on his cheeks and a small smile on his lips until he cleared his throat and gestured for you to go in “Go ahead, I need to deal with the horses.” How embarrassing for him to be flustered over such a thing but the gentleness of it had caught him by surprise. It was very fortunate indeed that they had found you.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 20

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Simon and Martin have a chat.

Martin accepts some advice.

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas. 

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more  when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole. 

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.” 

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life. 

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?” 

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell 

Tim: just saw this 

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??

Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice! 

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call. 

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case. 

--

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.” 

[maybankiara]

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kiara Carrera

chapter summary: JJ faces his past. Things with the Heyward match seem to be getting more complicated, and there's a promise to his manager that JJ has obliged to keep. His friends, though, are here to help out.

word count: 10k

what we once had masterlist

read on ao3

The helmet comes off, and not even a moment passes before JJ’s tasting salt on his tongue, with wind swirling between the beach houses. He hops off his bike with ease, holding the helmet underneath his arm, and locks it all in place. Sweat has plastered his hair to his forehead and it’s wet as he runs his hand through it, in a vain attempt at making it look a little less stiff.

 He walks forward, between the houses until he’s reached the place where the sidewalk meets the sand, stretching on each side as far as he can see. It’s a hell of a sight, and one that he doesn’t see too often.

 There’s a pier in front of him, a little to the left, with people jumping off it. The beach itself is filled with people, too, mostly sunbathing as spring heats are starting. JJ sees a couple of surfers paddling on their boards, out to catch the early morning waves.

 His chest tightens at the thought. It’s been a while since the last time he surfed, or even touched the ocean. He tells himself he doesn’t miss it, but each time he sees the vastness of the ocean and feels its call, it rings a little less true.

 Coming to the beach is something that has happened less than a handful of times, since he arrived in California.

 JJ sits on a bench at the edge of the sidewalk. All he can hear is the gulls crashing into waves and people’s chatter – the houses muffle the sounds from the street.

 Moments like these are something JJ doesn’t allow himself to have very often. Seeing people living their lives like they belong to the ocean reminds him of what he’s lost, and JJ Maybank has done everything in his capacity to forget the past. The ocean, the waves, the thrill of riding water with nothing but a wooden board to support him – he’s sacrificed all of it.

 It was his only choice.

 There’s a memory, one that he doesn’t seem to be able to get rid of, fluttering in the back of his mind, slithering its way into the forefront. He feels the board under his chest as a wave splashes into his mouth and all he tastes is salt, and it’s so much of it that he coughs, while his friends laugh. He recalls splashing the curly-haired girl on his left with water, and it goes back and forth until he takes hold of her legs and drags her off the board. The other two join them in the wrestling, and JJ feels his head being pushed underwater, time and time again, all with laughter. The waves come and go and they rise to their surfing boards and catch them, one friend teasing the other. The memory is so real that it seems as if he can still feel the wave underneath his fingertips as he rides on it, keeping himself on the board until the very last moment. The girl in front of him is just as good, if not better, and the smile she gives him… In the moment, the two of them are all there is. The rest of the world can go screw itself, for all he cares, as long as they’re riding the waves and she’s smiling at him like she knows. But then the wave crashes over him and JJ nearly drowns, and the memory crashes to an end.  

 JJ heaves a sigh, letting his body relax against the back of the bench. The helmet is still on his lap and he’s tapping against it, the rhythm akin to that of the waves crashing on the beach.

 He glances at his phone to check the time – 9:43am. He’s got over an hour until he needs to be at the cafe. There’s also a missed call from Elliott; JJ twirls the phone around in his hands, waiting for the tightness around his chest to loosen its grip.

 JJ Maybank’s a fighter, not a surfer. He’s done with that – he is done with the reputation the Maybank name had carried until now. He doesn’t need to be just another fisherman, another surfer, another goddamn waste of space who can’t breathe without water.

 The phone rings. Elliott answers on the third bell.

 ‘My phone was on silent,’ says JJ, in lieu of a greeting. ‘What’s up?’

 ‘Daphne and I are arguing about’—‘Discussing,’ is demanded in the background—‘Right, discussing tables.’

 JJ laughs Elliott’s little aggravated sigh. ‘Tables?’

 ‘Seating arrangements. Daphne is saying we should put Ada and Julianna with the gym table, and I’m saying—’

 ‘Julianna? Jorge’s ex?’ JJ shakes his head, unable to fight the grin forming on his face. ‘Dude, no way. They’ll kill each other.’

 ‘Exactly! She keeps saying it’ll be good to reunite them.’ Elliott repeats JJ’s words to Daphne, who replies something the phone doesn’t catch. ‘Can you come over? We need a mediator.’

 ‘You mean you need someone to support you.’

 The ocean’s call is quieter than his friend’s chuckle. ‘Not too far from the truth. Actually, Daphne’s sister brought some cookies last night, they’re really good, and there’s still a lot left. I would bring them to the gym, but you know Tommy.’

 ‘Yeah,’ chuckles JJ. His fingers are playing with the chinstrap, lightly pushing the inner foam of the helmet. ‘Look, the cookies sound great and all, but I’ve actually got something in a bit.’

 ‘Something,’ Elliott repeats with a hint of teasing. ‘Something that’s got you all mysterious?’

 ‘If it goes well, maybe I’ll tell you about it.’

 Elliott hums in response. ‘Alright. I’m hoping it goes well, then.’

 ‘Thanks.’ JJ itches the skin below his jaw. ‘Hey, Elliott?’

 ‘Yeah?’

 ‘Can you bring those cookies to the gym, actually? Tommy doesn’t need to see them, just give them to me in a box.’

 There’s laughter on the other end of the line and Elliott, muffled, tells Daphne that JJ wants the cookies, after all. He promises to bring the cookies and wishes JJ luck, again, with whatever it is he’s got coming up. JJ thanks him and a part of him wishes he wasn’t so persistent in keeping the whole thing a secret. It’s a fleeting thought – JJ knows that the more he talks about something, the more real and permanent it becomes.

 This is a one-time thing. Nobody needs to know. In a few hours, it will all be done and over with.

  ★

JJ parks the bike a few blocks away, a few minutes before it hits eleven. He knows he’s going to be late, but he didn’t account for the lack of parking spots on a Friday morning in the heart of San Diego, and he tells himself that the miscalculation isn’t entirely his fault, or on purpose.

 It’s only a few minutes.

 (And a few years, but JJ doesn’t let the thought fully form in his head.)

 His hands are casually in his pocket and he’s got that casual stride on the pavement and he’s looking around, casually, because he’s not stressed. Because he’s crossing the distance between his bike and the cafe at a normal speed, despite knowing he should probably try not to be any more late than he already is. The people around him are going on about their day as usual and he tells himself that he is doing the same.

 It’s just coffee. It’s just a business meeting. He’s done plenty of those.

 When he spots the cafe’s sign across the street, he’s waiting for a green light. The inside is well-lit and his eyes scan for familiar bushy hair, or braids, or a tie-dyed headband, despite knowing that the distance is too great for him to see anything. The most he can make out are silhouettes and shapes, and all he can do is wonder which one of them she is.

 (He wonders if her skin is still sun-kissed, with faint freckles littered across her face.)

 The green light comes. JJ crosses the street leaning to the left, so when he’s on the other side, he’s not standing in front of the cafe window.

 He takes a big breath, ignoring the increasing pace of his heart’s beating.

 ‘C’mon,’ he whispers, ‘it’s just business.’

 JJ starts walking alongside the window, glancing in. She’s not anywhere on the left side so he peeks towards the right, taking his time as he approaches the entrance door – but there’s no girl that fits his expectations.

 He enters and, for a moment, thinks she isn’t there. His heart sinks in his chest as he frowns, scanning the crowd once again.

 (Did he want to see her?)

 He doesn’t have time to think, because when he lays his eyes upon her, sitting in the very middle of the cafe, he can’t tear them off. His feet are frozen in place and a breath hitched in his throat and he feels as if the world is spinning, just the tiniest bit.

 Her hair’s not curly, but straight with big, elegant waves at the tips; it’s not pulled up into a effortless bun within a moment, but a high, slicked-back ponytail that accentuates her cheekbones and her jawline, and brings the ten years he hasn’t seen her in, to full display. She looks sharper. Too sharp — seeing her brings him into a state that is almost delirious.

 Has he not believed her to be more than a figment of her imagination, after all these years? Has the memory of her been etched into the back of his brain so deeply that combining that with the image of the person in front of him is impossible?

 She’s not looking at him and he’s lucky, because his jaw is on the floor, and he might faint.

 JJ remembers her to look unruly, untamed, wild in every way he could appreciate. Her face is in front of him yet he hardly recognises her, while knowing it’s truly her all the same.

 He brings himself out of it – he’s here for one thing and one thing only.

 Kie doesn’t look up as he approaches her, until the chair opposite of her screeches and he sees himself to it. Her lip quivers a little and she takes a sharp breath, blinking quickly.

 JJ’s had a moment to recalibrate. ‘Hey,’ he greets, and before she gets a word in, ‘look, I’m here strictly on business. Everybody’s been nagging me to do this match and I figured if I get you to stop asking, they’ll do the same. I’m not doing it. I don’t care about the money, or whatever it is that you guys are offering. This match is not happening.’

 All Kie does is stare at him with her mouth slightly agape, brown eyes running over him as if trying to comprehend what she’s seeing. Trying to believe it.

 A waitress comes and asks for his order. Kie’s got hers already, and all he gets is a sandwich and some coffee. It’s good for his stomach. The waitress leaves with a smile on her face because JJ told her she’s done her hair nicely and he sits back, looking at Kie, waiting.

 Expecting.

 She’s tapping her fingers on the table with a sharp look in her eyes, lips pressed together. His gaze doesn’t waver even if he feels scrutinised and judged.

 Kie calls his name. ‘Can’t we just talk, like normal people?’

 ‘I thought you called about a business thing,’ JJ responds, before he can think about the melody of maturity in her voice and how much they’re not kids anymore.

 ‘I did. It’s about the match. But I wanted to—’

 ‘Then let’s talk about the match, yeah? The one that’s not happening? Is that enough?’

 Her eyebrows furrow and she parts her lips to respond when the waitress puts coffee in front of JJ, with a sandwich and a croissant. When he thanks and asks about the croissant, she gives him a sheepish smile. ‘It’s for nice customers.’

 (Later, he finds her phone number written on the bill. He throws it away.)

 Kie relaxes her hand, taking a sip of her coffee or whatever it is that she’s drinking. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t seem as agitated when she sighs – it’s assurance. ‘If it was just about the match, you wouldn’t have come here.’

 ‘You’re the one who travelled halfway across the States to get here.’

 ‘And?’ Kie’s raised eyebrow is a challenge. ‘I’m here on business because I’ve been invited here, expecting a little more than just a refusal that could’ve been done over the phone.’

 ‘Well, that’s what you’re getting. I’m done.’

 His voice may be steady, but he feels his armpits sweating, and his toes tap a silent rhythm against the parquet. He was a fool to think he could sit it out here, in the cafe, with Kiara fucking Carrera on the other side of the table. He’s only had one rule that he’s stuck to for nearly ten years now and he can’t believe he managed to fuck it up.

 Stupid, he thinks, fucking idiotic.

 JJ rises from his chair with a screech loud enough to turn a couple of heads. He apologises quietly, a little uneasy about causing a commotion.

 ‘You haven’t touched your food, JJ.’

 He glances at it. ‘It doesn’t look very appetising.’

 ‘I have a feeling your waitress will be disappointed.’ There’s a bite to her tone, something more dangerous than the playful kind he’s used to, and it makes him falter – and that seems to be enough. ‘At least stay until you’ve finished your food.’

 Without a word, JJ moves back into his seat, well aware of the eyes still on him.

 There’s no victory in the stifled tilt of Kie’s smile. A little irritation, disbelief, maybe even disappointment, but no gloating. No self-satisfaction in knowing she’s got her way.

 JJ takes a bite out of the croissant, unsettled by the unfamiliarity of the girl in front of him.

 ‘I told you this isn’t happening, so I’m going to finish my food and leave. You’ve got time to say whatever you want to say until then.’

 Kie’s neck tenses and the sip she takes seems almost forceful. The arch of her brow is the same, but the intensity of the gaze is deeper; protruding, rather than tempting. ‘What I want to say?’

 ‘Mhm.’

 ‘You’re unbelievable.’

 ‘Aren’t you supposed to be begging for the match or something?’

 ‘Begging?’ Kie gasps quietly – all her emotions seem to be expressed through the poor cup of coffee, which she nearly slams on the table. ‘You ran away without telling anyone. Without telling us. Pope and I, we— we thought you were dead. For nearly four fucking years. And surprise, guess what? We find out you’re alive by accident, and not only are you alive and well, but getting into boxing, and have the audacity to say I’m here to beg you? Do you know how that feels?’

 ‘No,’ JJ responds, mouth full of croissant, ‘but if the way you’re being right now is saying anything, seems like you’re taking it too close to heart. And for the record, I do kickboxing.’

 ‘Are you fucking kidding me right now?’

 He holds her gaze for a few moments, unwavering. ‘Do I look like I am?’

 If this was old Kie, she would kick off at someone treating her like this. She would curse and tell him off and make him regret ever being born. But no – all she does is lean back in her chair, look to the side with anger palpable but dissipating.

 JJ finishes his croissant and starts drinking his coffee. ‘Did you arrange the match to get to me?’

 ‘No.’

 All he does is raise his eyebrows, and her sigh falters. Her hand reaches for the end of her ponytail, twirling a few strands around her fingers – her hair’s longer than he’s ever seen it, and usually JJ finds this kind of hairstyle hot, but there’s something off about this. He can’t place a finger on it.

 When their eyes meet again, Kie doesn’t seem so…stiff. Her posture drops and she seems to almost fold into herself, letting her hair fall over her shoulder.

 ‘Pope is wanting to try out kickboxing,’ she says, finally. ‘Branch out, and all that. We thought that if we’re doing this, then we might as well try getting you into the equation.’

 ‘Two birds, one stone.’ JJ runs a hand through his hair; it’s no longer sticky, but there’s a weird texture to it, and he’s self conscious about the way he looks for the first time since he’s arrived here. ‘I’m just a pawn in your little game, then.’

 ‘No, JJ— You know that’s not true. We’ve been trying to contact you for years, and this was the only way.’ When he forces a chuckle, she adds, ‘I’m being serious.’

 ‘I thought the lack of ways to contact me would speak for itself.’

 Kie crosses her arms on her chest. ‘Not for everybody. Friends keep trying.’

 The chuckle escapes him before he can stop it. There’s a lot he could say right now but he keeps it to himself, because he doesn’t think she is ready to hear exactly what he thinks about friends. That fateful summer, a lot happened, and a lot of it JJ has been repressing to this very day – the summer didn’t end with the storm.

 He doesn’t see a point in telling her any of that when he’s already moved on. He eats his sandwich, instead, and watches her as if she’s the most boring thing he could possibly be looking at. After this, she’ll know how he feels about the whole reaching out thing. If all goes well, he’ll never have to look at her again.

 ‘It’s been ten years.’ Kie shifts in her seat, gauging his reaction to her statement. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

 ‘There’s a lot more but I don’t think you’d like to hear any of it.’ It comes out snappier than he expected it to and she flinches. ‘See?’

 ‘I’m not doing this for me, JJ.’

 ‘Oh, really? Cause I don’t see Pope anywhere around here, and you sure as hell aren’t doing this for me.’

 JJ says Pope’s name as if it were a curse. Kie flinches at this, again, and he doesn’t like the way he isn’t opposed to seeing her flinch from his words. Maybe some part of him is relishing in the ability to hurt him the way she hurt him all those years ago – a nasty, malevolent part, but a part of him nonetheless.

 Kie stares at him for a moment, as if loading a gun, and then: ‘We’re doing this for John B and Sarah.’

 She fires it.

 JJ feels as if someone’s dragging him by his feet, down into hell, where everybody can see and hear and feel what he sees and hears and feels – the repressed guilt seeping through every scar being cut open. He doesn’t feel like eating anymore.

 But in reality, all he does is set his sandwich back on the plate, and let the bitterness of the coffee fill his mouth. ‘What about them?’

 ‘We never held a funeral for them.’

 ‘We buried them.’

 ‘No, we didn’t,’ she says. Her voice falters. ‘There were no bodies, so we refused to believe they’re really dead.’ She pauses a little and JJ thinks he can see an internal battle within her. ‘We just thought it’d be nice to, you know. Actually pay our respects. Say goodbye. We never really got to do that.’

 ‘I said my goodbyes when I left Kildare,’ JJ retorts. ‘It’s not my problem that you didn’t.’

 Kie sits there, looking as if he’s backhanded her across the cheek. There’s an ache in JJ’s chest when he realises this, yet he drowns it by having the rest of his coffee.

 He’s a quarter of a sandwich away from never dealing with his past again.

 ‘So you don’t want to—’

 ‘No. Whatever you’re about to say, the answer is no.’

 I don’t want anything that’s got you included in it.

 ‘Okay,’ says Kie, with a shaky little breath falling from her lips. ‘If that’s what you want.’

 JJ raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s it?’

 Kie shrugs, a little too nonchalant, fiddling with the phone that was turned face-down on the table until now. Her eyes avoid meeting his. ‘I’m not here to beg, JJ. I tried to get through to you, and you’re refusing, and I’m not a fool.’

 ‘Cool. Thanks.’

 She shakes her head. ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing.’

 There’s a beat and it’s almost as if the world has stopped, and then: ‘I’m happy here, Kiara. I don’t think I’ve ever— I’ve never felt like this.’

 She understands what he’s saying, he’s sure of it, and he knows that it hurts her to hear him even if she isn’t showing it. Kie clears her throat and sips the last of her coffee, rising from her chair with more grace than he would’ve expected from her.

 ‘Great, then. I’m glad to hear that,’ she says. ‘Just… Take care of yourself, JJ.’

 ‘Yeah.’

 You too, he thinks, but can’t bring himself to say it.

 He watches her take her purse and put on the leather jacket as if he were watching her in slow motion – she’s taller, he thinks, and the top she’s wearing is skin-tight (JJ tries not to take notice of her curves, but his eyes are only eyes) and the black trousers are elegant, with simple platform shoes to complete the look. It doesn’t seem like the Kie he’s used to, but he guesses the Kie he is—was—used to doesn’t quite exist anymore.

 In her place, instead, is this woman he hardly recognises, who straightens her hear, wears smart clothing and holds herself with the pride worthy of a Kook.

 Guess both of them have grown into their roots.

 An image flashes before him – Kie in her Midsummer’s dress, leaping into his arms with the desire to go on an adventure. She played the role of a lady then, but now she felt like one, and JJ has never been and never will be to consider himself worthy of someone like that.

 It pricks, like a thorn in his foot, and maybe it’s spite that washes over him, or jealousy, or bitterness that their lives have gone this way, and he doesn’t know what comes over him but—

 ‘I thought I was falling for you, you know.’ He lets out a dry chuckle, not shying away from her gaze. ‘I was a fucking idiot.’

 Kie freezes. She’s looking at him as if she wishes she wasn’t – as if the bullet he’d just fired hurts the same as the one she fired at him. Her lip quivers and when the realisation dawns over her, the taken-aback look in the lines around her eyes is so reminiscent of his Kie that JJ almost regrets his words.

 Almost, but he doesn’t. Not when he can still feel the lump in his throat choking him from the mere mention of what he’s lost.

 She rubs her forehead with her finger, opening and closing her mouth for a few seconds, shock slowly dwindling; JJ just watches. Wonders if she’s got another bullet up her sleeve.

 ‘I, um— I’m guessing no one told you.’ She pauses and looks at him – she’s acting as if he hadn’t just confessed that. Instead of anger, or shock, her face is showing  genuine concern; another flash of his Kie. ‘Your dad died two years ago.’

 She doesn’t express her condolences and JJ appreciates that. ‘Thanks.’

 ‘Yeah. Well.’

 He doesn’t ask her to stay. She doesn’t offer.

 Kie leaves without a real goodbye, and JJ is left sitting alone at a coffee table for two, with a quarter of a sandwich he never picks up again. His thoughts are swirling around his head and he thinks he can hear her shoes clicking as she walks through the door, behind him, but doesn’t turn to look.

 The back of his head is ringing loud enough to tune out all the other noise and JJ finds himself drowning in the sound, finally choking on the lump in his throat until it almost kills him.

 But it’s over now – he survived.

 It’s over.

 He buries his head in his hands, and just breathes.

  ★

‘C’mon, Stan, give me a proper jab. You keep going like that and Leila will kick your— Yeah, kid, that’s good!’ JJ pats Stan, a scrawny boy of barely twelve, on the back, and gives him a light shove back towards his training partner. JJ claps his hands, grabbing the attention of all the twenty-ish kids in proximity. ‘Alright, kids. We’re going to switch it up a little. Stan and Owen, go find yourself some space. Stella and Charlie. Simon and Vi. Leila and Allie. Freddie and…’

 Within half a minute, all the pairings have been switched up. Most regular gym-goers are currently away so the kids have got nearly the entire gym to themselves, and JJ likes making use of that.

 ‘Make space,’ he tells them, spreading his arms wide. ‘We’re doing a combo – two jabs, a cross, a hook, and then you finish off with any leg move you’d like, but make it a surprise. Leila, come over.’

 The girl who was just paired with Stanley walks up to JJ, hands locked behind her back as a wide smile stretches across her face. Her hair’s tied up in two pigtails, curly and brown. For a moment, she reminds JJ of another girl with dark curly hair.

 He shakes the thought out of his head.

 ‘Leila,’ he says, raising his hands. ‘You remember the instructions?’

 ‘Two jabs, a cross, a hook, a kick.’

 ‘Alright. You ready to show it on me?’

 The little girl nods, confident. JJ raises his hands and helps her perform the blows, all a little flimsy, but hitting the targets. When she finishes, he gives her a high-five, and Leila skedaddles back next to Allie.

 He blows the whistle and sets the timer on his watch, looking over the kids as they perform. He takes note of Stanley’s fast improvement, Owen’s determination to learn from his mistakes, Leila’s knack for precision, Vi’s astonishing speed, Charlie’s firm defence. Each of the kids has got something special going for them – something that, if JJ does his job right, will get them far in the future.

 JJ loves his job.

 They do some more exercises until the end of the session, when JJ gives them a makeshift obstacle course to go through. Most of them groan, but he tells them that if they want to get somewhere in life, they’ve got to go through the hard stuff, too.

 He isn’t always motivational because he knows it easily becomes too much, but he’s aware that some of these kids don’t have adults to properly guide them. If all he contributes is a statement that hardly makes sense every now and then, but sticks around in their little heads, it’s still better than nothing.

 Besides, JJ likes these kids. He wants to help out as much as he can.

 (He tells himself it’s got nothing to do with his own lack of a positive authority figure when he was a kid.)

 JJ walks up to the ring bell they have in the corner of the gym and strikes it, letting it echo for a bit. The kids scramble themselves into a line and he walks along them, smiling.

 ‘You were great today,’ he tells them. ‘Keep up the progress. You can have a day off tomorrow, but we’re going to start introducing a couple of new things next week, so I’m expecting everybody to be doing some working out even on your days off. Understood?’

 There’s a cheer of yes’s, and JJ’s smile widens. ‘Questions?’

 There’s a cheer of no’s, so JJ extends his hand. Within seconds, all of the kids have got their hands on his, assembled around him in a circle. ‘What are we?’

 ‘WARRIORS!’

 The kids cheer again, as they always do, running off to get changed and leave. JJ watches it unfold with an ease inside his chest – it never ceases to amaze him how easily kids are pleased. All they need is someone to believe in them.

 JJ clears his throat. ‘Simon, it’s your turn to help me tidy up!’

 Another scrawny boy with a red birthmark on his left eyebrow turns around, running over to JJ with no hesitation. Today, there’s a bruise marking his face, too.

 ‘It was my turn last week,’ says the kid.

 ‘Well, sometimes life isn’t fair, so your turn comes twice in two weeks.’ JJ shrugs and throws an arm around the kid—he reaches to JJ’s shoulders—and walks with him to the mats, starting to pile them up.

 Simon is one of the best kids JJ’s ever taught. Smart and quick, easy to miss – all the kids are good, but Simon is the one JJ would put his money on. Kid’s got talent. Now it’s only the matter of time when he’ll start honing it in.

 But he can’t do that if he’s getting into fights outside the gym.

 ‘So,’ JJ says, picking up the cones from the obstacle course. ‘Who managed to get their hands on the hardest kid to aim for?’

 Simon freezes a little. ‘It was just some guys from school. It’s not a big deal.’

 ‘Were you the one who started it?’

 ‘No, Coach,’ says Simon, a little offended. ‘I’d never start a fight.’

 ‘Okay, I don’t doubt it.’ He elbows him gently, so Simon could see the concern on his face. ‘These kids, do they tease you often?’

 ‘Sometimes.’ The kid shrugs; he’s still avoiding JJ’s gaze. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

 ‘Simon—’

 ‘Really, Coach. You don’t need to worry about me.’ He says it with assurance, as if it’s absurd that JJ would even worry about him, and it strikes a note of familiarity JJ wishes it hadn’t.

 JJ sighs and sits down, motioning for the boy to do the same. Most of the other kids have left already so no one would find it odd, even if they took notice. ‘Is your dad expecting you home soon?’

 ‘He’s not going to be home until late.’

 ‘Well, would you like to help me make the plan for next week? Nothing big, just to see what we could do. I haven’t made up my mind yet, so…’

 Simon smiles and the purple on his cheek shines bright under the gym light. ‘I’d love to help, Coach!’

 After training the kids, JJ usually has a training session himself. He either spars with Rocco, who waves at him just now as he enters the gym, or boxes on the punching bag to test his limits. Now, he’s showing Simon how to keep his defence better and firmer and read the opponent’s body language before he evades, including some exercises Rocco showed him a few weeks back.

 Simon doesn’t like help and charity, something that JJ can relate to, but he needs some sort of guidance if he’s going to be dealing with bullies.

 After about half an hour of their one-on-one session, they’re both sweatier than before, and Simon is panting a little. He’s got good stamina for a thirteen-year-old, but that doesn’t always help in a brawl.

 ‘Look,’ says JJ, quietly. ‘I know the rule of the club is no fighting outside the gym. But you can defend yourself, alright? That’s fine. We’re going to understand that. As long as you don’t start anything and you don’t hurt anyone more than you need to defend yourself, it’s fine.’

 The realisation dawns on Simon’s face and his eyes drop to his feet, shoulders slumping. ‘I don’t need special lessons, Coach.’

 ‘I’m not giving you special lessons. You’re going to learn this either today or at some point in the future. I just thought it could be more useful to you now.’

 He doesn’t mean anything by this, but Simon is just thirteen and he’s taking this as a wound on his pride, if the way he’s holding himself is anything to judge by. Maybe JJ isn’t the best person for things like this, but he doesn’t think Simon’s dad can improve his defence in a scrap. Court officials don’t seem like they could hold their own in a street fight.

 ‘Look. You don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to. But when they come at you, the most important thing is to protect your head, if you can’t get away, or run.’

 ‘I can’t run,’ Simon mutters. Something flashes over his face and he adds, ‘Running is for cowards.’

 ‘Running is for smart people who don’t want to get beaten. Take it from me.’ JJ lifts his shirt a little, exposing his lower side – on the left, there’s a thin scar that’s an imprint of one of Rafe Cameron’s rings. ‘Better save your head than your pride.’

 Simon nods. There’s a little hesitation in the way his eyes are glued to JJ’s scar until he covers it. ‘What if really I can’t run?’

 ‘Then you defend yourself.’

 ‘And if I can’t defend myself?’

 ‘Then you hit, and try to run.’

 ‘And what if I can’t do that, either?’

 Who the fuck are these bullies? ‘Then you call me.’

 At this, Simon seems a little more relaxed, and JJ wraps an arm around him again, pulling him closer. Simon’s hands wrap around him without hesitation. ‘Thanks, Coach.’

 The boy’s spirits seem to be lifted when he finally leaves the gym, a little better for the wear. JJ finds himself worrying about the kid – he’s never been a troublemaker and he doesn’t seem like someone who’d be an easy target for bullies, but then again, San Diego works differently than Kildare.

 It could be a one-off thing, JJ tells himself as he finishes cleaning up. The gym starts to fill as it’s just hit half past eleven and he makes a beeline for the punching bag next to Rocco, doing an elaborate handshake with the guy when he spots him.

 ‘What’s up, Daddy Maybank?’

 JJ ties the bandages around his palm with a quirk in his brow. ‘What the hell are you on about?’

 ‘The kid,’ Rocco says, nodding towards where JJ and Simon were sitting. ‘I saw you were dealing with him fine. Was that because of the bruise, or what?’

 ‘He’s got some kids bugging him.’

 ‘You worried about him?’

 ‘Nah.’ JJ extends his hands towards Rocco and he tightens the gloves, tapping them lightly. ‘Simon lives three blocks away from here. He’s tough.’

 Rocco nods and takes a step back before unloading a few punches to the bag hanging in front of him, all light but precise. ‘His dad’s that judge, right?’

 ‘Judge MacIntyre, yeah.’

 ‘Eh. Seems like kind of an asshole.’

 ‘That’s what being a judge does to you,’ JJ mutters, landing a few punches to his own bag; they land heavier than expected. ‘Or having any power over the small man.’

 Rocco lets out a sharp chuckle. ‘Good thing he’s got you, then. You’re going to make a good dad someday.’

 There’s a retort on the tip of JJ’s tongue but he swallows it, and opts for a punch, gritting his teeth, instead.

 ‘Seriously. You’re a natural with kids. No wonder they love having you as a coach.’

 Thud.

 ‘Can we go back to boxing, or are you going to get all sappy now?’

 ‘Alright, alright.’ Rocco raises his hands in defeat, shaking his head a little. ‘No need to get all Rocky Balboa on me for that.’

 JJ heaves a sigh and it’s as much of an apology as Rocco’s going to get. Both of them seem to be aware of that, because they do end up going back to boxing. They agree on a series of timed exercises, all the advanced versions of the ones he plans on giving the kids, chatting about things they’ve got going on for them. Rocco’s recently started a new job downtown as a sous-chef and it’s looking pretty good for him – he’s got a ten-year plan of having his own restaurant, and seven years are already behind him.

 They’re doing variations of the jab-cross-hook-kick combination he gave the kids. JJ’s punches are hard enough to be heard throughout the entire gym, or so it seems – he’s feeling the pressure of the intensity in the tendons throughout the back of his hand, getting tense and sore already. He’s got an unfamiliar stiffness in his shoulders, pushing his feet into the ground; beating the shit out of the bag does little to help to relieve the tension.

 Physically, anyway. Mentally, JJ feels like he’s pushing out every thought he’d repressed to the back of his mind in the past few days – every face and memory that showed up unannounced and unwanted.

 Rocco calls his name, loudly, and JJ gives it one more go until his hands drop to his sides, sweat dripping down his temples.

 ‘Where did you go?’

 ‘Nowhere,’ says JJ. He wants to wipe the sweat off of him, but he knows better than to use his gloves, like he used to. ‘I just thought I’d push myself today.’

 ‘Don’t push too hard just yet. I still want to beat your ass after we’re done warming up.’

 ‘You, beating my ass?’

 ‘Damn right.’

 Rocco winks at him and announces the start of another round. JJ takes it a little easier; his hands ache a little and even his neck is sore from all the tensing, still.

 They end up sparring a few rounds later. Rocco puts up quite a fight but it’s mostly fun, a little dirty, and a little more challenging than one would think a friendly spar would be. Rocco’s good and he’s more of a technical fighter rather than a brawler, which is a stark contrast to JJ (even with all his improvements over the years). Not only is Rocco good at deflecting JJ’s throws from a southpaw stance, but he also knows JJ’s strength and weaknesses better than probably everyone apart from Tommy.

 Sometimes, JJ wonders what would’ve become of Rocco Voigt if he decided to pursue a form of boxing instead of the culinary arts. He could’ve been one of the greats – but some people just prefer to enjoy the quiet simplicities of life.

 (Others, JJ thinks, don’t have that luxury.)

  ★

On Sunday morning, he finds some inspiration for tinkering around the bus. Jorge said that they could add some colour to it, a name spelled out over the entire thing in graffiti (art would be done by Jorge himself), but JJ hasn’t made his mind up on the name just yet.

 He’s sitting on his toolbox with the spring sun high above him, staring at the bus as if it’s going to tell him its name. There’s quite a few things he’s thinking of fixing up today – the suspensors, for a start, and he’s got an additional few sets of screws to hold the back seats in place. He needs to take measurements for a minibar, too, one that he hopes to install by the time the next match comes around, so that the boys don’t need to carry drinks in bags.

 With headphones stuffed into his ears, JJ finds a hard rock playlist to jam to while fixing up the bus. Usually he’d listen to something more soothing, like reggae, but now it doesn’t feel like the right pick.

 Shortly after, JJ finds himself under the bus. There’s a mechanics’ garage just next to the parking lot, where JJ used to work. Still does, occasionally, when he wants to tinker with something and he doesn’t know what to do with the bus. The mechanics there are more than okay with letting him use the equipment on Sundays, provided he pays for what he breaks, if it comes to that.

 It’s a fine deal.

 Some Metallica is blasting through his earbuds when JJ feels the bus shake a little. He’s lying on a creeper seat with his hands covered in grease, suspensors half through being fixed – all he can hope is that whoever needs him, doesn’t need him for long.

 JJ pushes himself out against the bottom of the bus. When the sun hits his eyes he shields them, and some of the grease drops onto his face – great.

 ‘Thought you said you’d be taking time off this weekend.’

 ‘You know me,’ says JJ, wiping his hands on his trousers before finally taking the earbuds out.  ‘Can’t let myself be without something to do.’

 Tommy is sitting on his toolbox, his trademark hoodie thrown over his head despite the relatively warm weather. He’s twirling a wrench in his hand. ‘What are you fixing?’

 JJ nods in the direction of a box with metal parts sticking out of it. ‘Suspensors. The back’s a bit bumpy.’

 ‘Doesn’t seem like a lot of work.’

 ‘There’s a few other things.’

 The silence that falls after Tommy’s nod isn’t unpleasant. Cars drive in the background and there’s distant chatter, all paired with a flicker of JJ’s zippo. He inhales the smoke from the cigarette and rolls his eyes at the trainer, who seems to refrain from saying anything.

 When JJ flicks off some of the burnt parts, he sighs. ‘It’s my only one in a week.’

 ‘As long as you’re preparing for the match.’ There’s a pause, then: ‘Which you are.’

 All JJ does in response is nod, blowing smoke through a small hole between his lips.

 Of course I’m preparing for the fucking match, he wants to say, but he’s learnt to keep his flame from setting everything on fire. It’s about my life. I’m not gambling it away.

 Half of the cigarette has burnt out and it tastes more bitter than he’s used to. He flicks it to the floor and stubs it out, then throws it out in the bin. Tommy gives him the slight raise of brows, but doesn’t comment.

 JJ sits down on the creeper. ‘What’s bringing you here?’

 ‘I know you’re still pissed about the Heyward match.’

 ‘I’m not.’ He pushes the creeper back until he’s pressed against the warm steel of the bus. ‘I got that sorted out, it’s in the past. All I’m thinking about is how to beat McLaggen.’

 (I did what I had to. It was the right thing to do. It was.)

 Tommy stares at him – his brow lowers over his eye, protruding and scrutinising. JJ holds his gaze, despite the chills rising up his spine at the feeling of being analysed. Tommy’s good at the psychological, even without the talking, and it’s not often that JJ is on the receiving end of it.

 I know you’re lying, says Tommy’s quiet sigh, and the little shake of his head before his face relaxes tells JJ, I know your head’s not as in it as it’s supposed to be.

 He doesn’t say any of that.

 ‘We’re starting boxing and MMA training right after that match’s over.’

 JJ frowns. ‘That’s too soon.’

 There’s another pause. Tommy’s hands bring the wrench to a still, before he throws it at the blond. ‘Nick told me about the ultimatum.’

 ‘The one he gave me or the one I responded with?’

 ‘Both. You’re playing with fire, and people are talking.’ Tommy’s voice is stern but the lines of his face are softer than usual; the tilt of his brow concerning rather than scolding. ‘I know you don’t pay attention to the press, but if word about this gets out, you could get some shitty comments your way.’

 Think about your reputation, is the underlying warning here, but JJ doesn’t quite give a fuck. Or at least he likes to think so – the reputation is what’s giving him matches and keeping the bookies on him. It’s yet another thing he can’t gamble with, despite consistently dancing on the edge of doing so.

 JJ sticks his hands into his pockets. He finds the Zippo, and wedges his finger between the cap and the body. ‘What are the consequences?’

 ‘Don’t fuck with me, Maybank. You know what I’m talking about.’

 Tommy glares at him with head tilted to the side, fingers running through his hair like it’s his own future JJ’s toying with.

 The moment is charged. JJ lets out a quivering sigh, giving his trainer a reluctant nod.

 It’s not his kickboxing reputation that’s on the line. If word gets out that he refuses matches and whatnot, he won’t be able to fight high-profile fighters upon his very entrance into the MMA and boxing worlds. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t give a damn, but he made a promise to Nick that he’s got to keep.

 (He knows it would’ve been easier to do the match he keeps refusing and never do boxing again. It just happens to be the one piece of his integrity JJ can’t compromise.)

 ‘Can I worry about that later?’

 ‘When’s later?’ asks Tommy. ‘After the McLaggen match, after securing your first boxing match, after fighting in the octagon?’

 ‘Whenever.’ JJ takes the Zippo out and lights it; he watches the flame dance until the gentle breeze blows it out. ‘Just not right now.’

 Tommy waits for a beat, and then he’s off the toolbox, standing in front of JJ with hands stuffed in pockets, with the sun shining behind his back. His face is half-shadowed by the contrast and the dominant energy reminds JJ of someone else who used to stand over him like that.

 He flinches, then lets the Zippo burn his finger a little until the pain brings him to the present.

 ‘Maybank.’ Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to another, teetering on the edge of whatever he’s about to say. ‘If there’s anything you want to talk about, there’s—’

 ‘There isn’t. And if there was, I don’t think it’d be you I’d come to.’

 It may be the sun’s optical illusion, but JJ thinks he sees a genuine smile in the corners of the man’s lips. ‘I was going to suggest Thawne. Or Barbas.’

 With a pat on JJ’s shoulder, Tommy declares this conversation over. He stays for a few more minutes, asking JJ about the suspensors and the other things he’s planning to do, even letting the boy show him how to fix some of the things he didn’t know. By the time Tommy leaves, JJ realises he’s gone from a sour mood to something where he can focus back on tinkering without feeling the weight on his chest that comes whenever the cursed bout is mentioned.

 JJ dunks himself under the bus again with a flashlight in his mouth, grabs a wrench, and gets back to work.

  ★

Jorge Barbas is, as per usual, late.

 JJ’s found himself a spot in the back of the dive bar, slumped in the seat as he glances over the place again, looking for something to divert his boredom. There’s a group of bikers a few tables away, loud and having fun, and maybe a few weeks ago JJ would’ve joined them, and share some of his own experiences from back when he travelled half the country on his bike. On the other side there’s a group of girls, two of whom keep looking over, and maybe a few weeks back JJ would’ve entertained that thought, too.

 The only conclusion JJ draws from this as he keeps on looking, is that in the past few weeks, he’s definitely lost some of what made him fun.

 The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He shoots Jorge another text and he gets a reply almost instantly, consisting of the usual: Got held up at Joanna’s. I’m on my way. Sorry! It makes JJ laugh – Jorge’s honest, at least, even that means admitting he’s late because he can’t resist his fiancee. It’s just as endearing as it is annoying, and JJ lets it slip.

 At least now he knows he’s got about ten more minutes to kill, if Jorge’s just left Joanna’s. That’s on top of the fifteen he’s already waited, and the one beer he’s finished, and…

 Boredom, like alcohol, drives a man to do things he otherwise wouldn’t.

 JJ googles Pope Heyward.

 It’s more of just clicking on the previous searches, if he’s being honest with himself, and he goes to the page that posts quality videos of Pope’s matches. The most recent one was a month ago, so about the same time as JJ’s. He opens the video and watches it, recognising Pope’s moves, analysing it as if it were another fighter, another opponent, and not someone he would’ve once upon a time taken a bullet for.

 (Has taken a bullet for. Not a physical one, but jail time and a fine at sixteen feel all the same.)

 Pope hits the guy with a messy, exhausted cross—not unlike he’d do to JJ when they would playfight—then steps back, and ends the match with a clean, powerful right jab straight into the nose. JJ feels a distant sense of pride swell in his chest – seeing the smile on Pope’s face when he realises the guy’s down, but walking over to make sure he’s doing okay, it makes him think that maybe not everything has changed.

 Then they zoom into Pope’s face, and JJ drops to the comments. Most of them are positive, some are critiquing Pope, and some are so blatantly pure hate and irritation that JJ finds himself wanting to argue with them – Pope’s doing a good job, he thinks, I’d know better than anyone.

 There’s a reason why Pope’s name is up there with the big guys. He’s still got quite a bit left to climb, but he’s as reputable in boxing as JJ is in kickboxing – considering the scales of each sport, Pope’s got it much better. He’s like a bull, steadfast and determined, where JJ is like a snake, quick and whimsical.

 It could’ve been a bout to watch.

 One of the bikers slams his beer on the table and JJ’s head snaps in his direction; it’s nothing, he tells himself, even if his body tenses. The girls on the other table are throwing concerned glances around the bar. Half-heartedly, he nods at the one who catches his eye, as if to say that he’s got this.

 Don’t worry, he thinks the look is saying, I’ve got this.

 His head’s ringing a little and he’s gripping his phone so hard it might break, but nothing comes of it. The bikers quieten down, and JJ’s attention is brought back to his phone when he sees what he’s accidentally clicked.

 Pope’s Instagram account is less… Pope, for the lack of a better expression, than he’d expected. The first few pictures are of him, some solo shots and others with his training team, matches, whatnot. JJ finds himself scrolling for a while to find a photo that feels even the slightest bit personal – there’s a photo of him with his parents for his dad’s 55th birthday nearly a year ago. Hardly any photos with friends, and none with—

 JJ clicks on a photo dated from September, 2018. Nearly two year and a half years ago. There’s Pope, sweaty after a match, with a belt for the lightweight category around his waist, and Kie at his side, arms wrapped around the boy. Her hair is flat there, too, but the smile on her face is just as JJ remembers it – open and welcoming, as if the entire world ought to smile, too.

 Pope’s embrace is firm. He looks ecstatic, happier than he’s ever looked from how JJ remembers him.

 JJ’s gaze remains on the picture for a moment, before he finds himself scrolling through the other pictures from the post. Another one of him and Kie, with his parents, too, this time; one of him and his entire team by his side; one of what must’ve been the afterparty. Pope looks nothing short of belonging there – Pope, who was the worst at parties because he always wanted to just smoke weed and talk about the most random things, and almost exclusively it would be just the Pogues entertaining him. Kie is in the frame, too, with a glass filled with champagne, the same wide smile taking over her entire face.

 Leaving was the best decision he could’ve made for them.

 His finger slips (or so he tells himself) and the account that opens is Kie’s. JJ closes the app within a heartbeat, putting his phone away.

 He can’t be doing this. He said it’s over. He called it all off, told himself he’d never meddle with their lives again, that what happened in Kildare stays in Kildare. He said what he said to make her not want to get in contact with him again. He said what he said because it was the last time he was going to talk to her. He said what he said because it was the only thing he never got to say.

 He can’t be doing… Whatever it is that he’s doing right now.

 (Ten years, he thinks. I’ve held out for ten years. Looking at her Instagram profile won’t change that.)

 So he looks around, checks that Jorge’s ten minutes are up and he still hasn’t showed up, and unlocks his phone.

 For a while, he scrolls. Kie’s profile feels more like the Kie he used to know than the one he met a few days ago – pictures of animals, travels, friends and family, Pope’s matches, and even some photos and videos of her trying to box, too. She radiates happiness, the genuine kind that he doesn’t think can be faked even on social media. She’s got herself the life she’s always wanted.

 This time, JJ doesn’t try to fight the happiness bubbling in his chest, or the smile reaching his cheeks. He clicks on a photo of Kie and an elephant, and the location is somewhere in Africa, dated from January. She’s got a tank top and cargo shorts on, with her hair pulled up in a ponytail and messy curls seeping out of it. There are photos where she’s polished, all prim and proper, but these are rarer. This seems like the person Kie is when the curtain is drawn and she gets to be herself.

 It only hurts because that means that the Kie who came to meet him wasn’t this Kie.

 (He’s kind of known that they were both coming guarded, putting up pretences of whatever they were trying to portray. She was just as closed off as he was, just as defensive, just as unwilling to show honest care. It was the PR manager Kiara Carrera, not his Kie from the island, even if she tried to make it seem different.

 He wasn’t the JJ from the island, either.)

 She’s happy. Pope’s happy. That’s all that matters.

 JJ can move on now.

 The infamously-late friend shows up shortly after that, with two beers in tow, and all’s forgiven. JJ’s entertained by a story about Jorge’s in-laws, who seem to be giving him hell even before he’s officially an in-law.

 ‘I won’t be late again,’ Jorge muses, index finger pointed up.

 JJ chuckles. He shakes his head and sips the beer, knowing he’s going to particularly enjoy alcohol tonight. ‘Famous last words.’

 ‘You’ll see.’

 ‘As long as you keep getting a round whenever you’re late, I’m down.’

 The two shake hands and Jorge gets JJ talking about the kids he’s training, about Elliott, about how Nick won’t get off his back, and his tongue loosens enough to talk about these things without feeling the weight of them. Jorge’s good helping people unwind, and JJ loves him for that.

 It ends up being like with Tommy – he’s worried about shit and then someone comes around and takes his mind off of it. By the third beer, he forgets Kiara Carrera or Pope Heyward even exist.

  ★

JJ comes home late. It’s nearing midnight, which isn’t all too late for a twenty-six year old bachelor living alone with no job to wake up for in the morning, but it’s late for him.

 He comes home late, and drunk.

 The door nearly kicks him in the face when he stumbles into the hallway, struggling to even find the light switch. He curses and teeters around, wanting to just plop into bed and forget about the headache he’s going to have in the morning. All he needs is to find a pen so he can write down the plans he made with Jorge, because sober him won’t remember.

 JJ sticks his hand into the drawer in the hallway cupboard and instead of a pen, his fingers grip an envelope.

 Intoxicated, pissed at the world for trying to throw his past at his face, he lets the universe—fate—win. He takes the envelope out of the drawer, not even wiping the dust it has gathered in all this time. His head is spinning a little so he steadies himself with the empty palm flat against the wall, letting the cold bring some sobriety into him.

 I need to turn on the heating if I’m planning on showering, he thinks as he sinks onto the windowsill. I need to put more coffee grounds in the coffee maker.

 In his hands, the letter feels as if it’s on fire. He throws it on the coffee table to prevent himself from getting burnt.

 Outside his apartment, the moon is barely there, and everything seems to be tinted an ugly shade of orange-yellow. Orange used to be JJ’s favourite colour – vibrant and joyful, a little out of the ordinary, but you can find it anywhere you look. Now, it feels like everything that made it vibrant has sucked all life and joy out of it, filling the gaping holes with rust that’s spreading like a virus, eating at everything that once was good.

 JJ Maybank spent ten years repressing the trauma of his childhood and adolescence. He spent ten years erasing everything his father had done, good and bad, in order to rewrite his own sense of self. He spent ten years learning who he is when he’s not bound by the shackles of being a Maybank.

 He fights under the name because he has chosen to reclaim it. To prove to himself that being a Maybank doesn’t guarantee being a good-for-nothing nobody.

 The letter on the table is the last thing that’s keeping him from letting go and knowing that pains him more than he’d ever admit.

 He sits on the couch with hands clasped in his lap, pushing at his nailbeds. The entire place is shrouded in darkness, even with the orange seeping through the window – it lands on the envelope like a curse, wrapping its repellent stench of rust over it. It’s almost as if the rust is coming from the inside, too – the merging of the evil.

 They’re as good as one.

 JJ’s head is ringing and he feels the pressure pushing on his ears, pushing him into himself, the sensation all too familiar; when does this end?

 You do as I say, echoes Luke Maybank’s voice. JJ’s teeth grip and he shuts his eyes close, to not see the envelope, to not see the rusty light, to not see the rust underneath a car that could fall on top of him, to not—

 JJ dives and grabs the letter. He doesn’t look at it until he’s sitting back in the chair, his heart is beating its way out of his chest, and he’s said to himself a thousand times that he can’t hurt him.

 It’s dated June 21, 2019. Almost two years ago.

 Luke Maybank always had a funny way of sending letters on the odd occasion he’d do it, writing down the date of sending it on the envelope. In case it gets lost, he said once JJ asked him about it, You can’t trust the fuckin’ post. They’re all scummy, stealin’ letters left and right.

 JJ couldn’t have been older than six, yet his father was already crass and blunt, with no regard for raising a child. He’d never meant to be a father in the first place, and it’s a fact that JJ could never fix.

 (He tried. He tried running away, doing whatever Luke asked, being whoever he wanted him to be, until he realised that he’d only be happy if JJ was dead.)

 His fingers glide across where the envelope has been closed, feeling the edge of the paper. A thick layer of dust remains on his finger. He thinks of his mind, of all the memories he must’ve buried to be able to not fall apart from the heaviness of his childhood, and wonders if there’s a layer of dust covering them, too.

 He’s afraid of what he’d find.

 In the end, JJ puts the letter back in the drawer, and sees himself to bed. There will be a day when he won’t feel like opening that letter would open everything he’d sealed away; when opening it won’t feel the same as lying underneath the guillotine with Luke Maybank holding the rope.

 Today, there is only a line without dust – a line uncovering his full name written in his father’s handwriting, and it looks like a curse.

  ★

  next chapter

[hexx-bunny]

if you keep moving, you will come to a better place

zukka, abo, omega!Zuko, alpha!Sokka, slow burn When Zuko presented as an Omega, he knew Ozai would find the worst possible way to get rid of him. He is to be married off to anyone who wins a stupid tournament. Zuko has other plans though, which include escaping and living his life however he wants. But it proves harder than expected. Cue Sokka enters his life, a non-bending Alpha unlike any he ever met. A marriage that may or not happen. And a long, weird roadtrip that shows Zuko the rest of the world is not as cruel as his Father made him believe.

AO3

Chapter 1:

Zuko was ten when he presented. Earlier than expected, and worse than anyone could predict. He still remembered those days vividly. After a visit to the doctor, he was scolted back to his rooms, which he was forbidden to leave. Nobody would look at him. The guards, usually gentle sometimes, avoided him. He could hear his mom and dad screaming at each other from the other side of the Royal Wing. Was he sick? Was he going to die? He didn’t feel like he was dying. He just felt alone, and scared.

When the door finally opened he almost jumped from the bed, waiting to see Uncle Iroh. His uncle never lied to him. But Azula waltzed in with a smile that never brought anything good.

“Guess what I just found out, Zuzu~”

“Go away, Azula. I’m not in the mood.”

Since their last presentation of Firebending progress to their grandfather, she’d been more smug than usual. Azula ignored him, tapping a finger to her lips as she studied him. She knew how to press his buttons.

“What?!” Zuko snapped.

“Hm… nothing. Just, I thought Omegas were prettier. But you still look the same.”

The boy’s heart froze.

Omega. Omega?

“You think it’ll make it harder to marry you off?” she continued, “Since, you know, that’s all you are good for now. Maybe they’ll give you to some old, gross man. Actually, I’m kinda sad. I really wanted to keep seeing you embarrass yourself in front of grandfather, but Omegas aren’t allowed to Firebend and all,” Azula chuckled, “At least it explains why you are so bad at it. Omegas are just… not made for that stu- Hey! I’m not done, come back!”

But Zuko wasn’t listening anymore, he was running before he noticed. Omega. He was an omega. Dad may not like him very much but he wouldn’t… he couldn’t right? Ursa and Ozai’s screams were too close, and before the guards could stop him, Zuko was opening their door.

“Dad!” he cried. He was an Omega. He was crying. He felt like the smallest thing in the world, yet he gathered all his courage for that moment. Zuko’s tiny fingers grabbed the red robes of his dad, his mom was trying to pull him away but he refused to budge, Dad, please! I- I don’t care that I’m just an omega, I promise I’ll try harder. I’ll get better! I’ll… I’ll train more, and master Bending, please, please don’t give me to an old man. Please, I pro-”

That part he remembered in flashes: Ozai’s pure look of disgust. His hand moving. Zuko braced for a slap. The heat, the unforgiving heat, he didn’t expect. It burned. It burned. It burned. Something smelled bad. The bright light died, and as everything went black, he heard his mom crying.

“Look at what you’ve done,” was the first thing Ozai spat when he woke up. The pain almost made it hard to hear. Actually it…  was kinda hard to hear. Why was his face covered up? What had happened? “Do you know how hard it’ll be to find you a mate now? Nobody wants a weak, scarred Omega.”

Ozai didn’t visit him again. Neither did Azula. Those days were spent in silence, in pain, Ursa cradling his body. Zuko wondered which of them was shaking.

He had ten years, still Zuko never got fully used to the scar. The way people turned their faces when they saw it was maybe part of the problem. He knew what they whispered about him, about how ugly it was, nobody would want a mate like that. Any partner he managed to find would certainly be just after his position. Correction: any partner his Father managed to find.

Zuko guessed he would find out in a few hours.

He stared at his reflection. Maids and servants only prepared married Omegas, Prince or not he was supposed to get ready by himself. It didn’t look so bad. His long dark hair half secured on a high ponytail with the Fire Nation symbol. The red robes also fitted him well, even though they were a pain in the ass to walk in. Zuko would gladly kill whoever had decided Omegas needed to wear so many layers of clothing. The most important part, the makeup, was missing. He didn’t exactly despise that part, but he despised how the paint would only bring more attention to his scar. He had angrily scrubbed it all off, better to endure his Father’s anger for one more day than to be mocked for walking around like a half-painted clown.

Mothers were allowed to help their unmarried Omega kids. Ursa probably would’ve managed to paint him well, she would’ve looked over his shoulder to their reflection and said Zuko looked beautiful. But she was gone.

Zuko let his fingers touch the golden earrings. They used to belong to her. That was when the door finally opened.

Uncle Iroh gave him a half-hearted smile.

“Are you ready?”

He had been the only person Zuko could count on for a decade. When he was banished from learning Firebending for being an Omega, Uncle Iroh would sneak him out of the palace late at night and teach him. When Zuko was prohibited from fighting, Uncle Iroh gave him double swords as a secret birthday gift and taught him how to master them. And when Zuko told him he was going to run away after today’s celebrations, it was Uncle Iroh who hugged him tightly and promised to help. Even though it would break his heart, Uncle Iroh always helped.

Zuko often thought his Uncle was probably the only decent Alpha in the world.

“Yes.”

Here is how an ideal life for an Omega would take place in the Palace: they would learn just enough to manage a household and attract a mate. After sixteen, Betas and Alphas would start courting them. By eighteen, it was normal to be married off to a mate that could bring status to the Omega’s family.

Here is what Ozai decided: Zuko would learn enough to manage a household. Nobody wanted to court him, he was too damaged, too much of a black sheep. Instead of marrying him to some foreign Prince or Princess, he decided to host a mating tournment. He invited nobles from all the world to fight for Zuko. Dogs fighting over a scrap of meat.

The marriage wasn’t even going to be officiated in the Fire Nation if a foreigner won. Zuko was theirs, and therefore no longer Ozai’s problem. Azula, who to nobody’s surprise presented as an Alpha at twelve, was his heir and all he cared about. Soon there would be high status Betas and Omegas begging for her hand and Zuko would only be on the way.

As always. Always on the way. A blemish on his plans, reflected by the one on his face.

Ozai didn't even spare him a glance when Zuko arrived at the podium, sitting on the smallest throne right next to Azula. The Palace courtyard was bursting with excitement. It was impossible to figure out which of those people came to fight or to watch. The complete lack of respect for the noble participants was unlike the Fire Lord, who would plan even the tiniest detail, showing there was a hierarchy and his place was at the top. It was just another sign of his disinterest, that tournament was not for him, it was to humiliate Zuko. And now, surely with any high ranking nobles leaving for what they would consider an insult to their status, he was left with…

“The rabble is very interested in your hand, Zuzu.”

He had an escape plan. It was not a question of if, but when. He had it all ready. He could firebend, he could fight, he had the money and supplies Iroh smuggled to him. Still, seeing how many old, terrible Alphas and Betas were in line to mate him was terrifying. Zuko’s biggest fear for years stared back as dozens of eyes: being forcefully mated off, raped and diminished to a baby-making machine until his death.

Happened with his mom, why wouldn’t he have the same fate?

A warm hand gripped his shoulder. Uncle Iroh sat on the last throne.

The drums begin playing, a mimeckry of his heartbeat.

No. No panicking. Zuko was gonna get out. A few hours, and he was out.

“By the way,” Azula whispered by his ear, looking as bored as ever, “Your runaway kit is ridiculous.”

Her hand grabbing his arm was all that stopped him from jumping away. The pit on his stomach grew, it felt about to swallow him whole.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he croaked.

“C’mon. You are not that dense,” she relaxed her grip, “Father doesn’t know about it. Yet.”

“What do you want, Azula?”

The first nobles stepped on the makeshift arena. Zuko couldn’t care less.

“A deal. Father just wants to get rid of you, but General Zhao has other plans. He thinks if he wins, you’ll give him some political leverage. He’ll probably try something stupid like killing me and putting one of your… spawn on the throne. I know, a complete idiot. I’ll kill him by the end of the year, I swear he is so boring…”

“What are you talking about,” his throat felt dry. Zhao was never part of any of his plans. Azula clearly knew that.

“Well. He set some of his agents on you," she shrugged, as if those were old news, "Here is what’s gonna happen: If he wins, you are on the heart of the Fire Nation, surrounded by his men and legally mated. There is no way you could escape.”

“Yes, I can,” Zuko gritted his teeth.

One of the contestans was knocked out. People cheered. The second round began.

“Be realistic, Zuzu. Now, if he doesn’t win one of the two things will happen: either some low-level Fire Noble wins. You are still stuck here. And his agents will probably try to make a widow out of you and he'll sweep in, oferring to take you. Daddy will agree, of course, you know it. Or, some Earth Kingdom nobody wins. Zhao is too much of an idiot to know how to infiltrate the Earth Kingdom, but he is set on making his agents follow you to the borders. Maybe he’ll try to make it look like an accident on the road. Who cares. The thing is, you will be out, then you can run. Unless… someone tells daddy dearest of your little plan.”

Zuko’s scar throbbed. He thought he was being so smart. But at every corner, Azula seemed to take pleasure in proving him wrong. He looked angrily at her with his good eye.

“What do you want ? Spit it out.”

If he weren't so immersed in his own desperation, Zuko would’ve been shocked at the way her face changed. Few people could see when her mask of cruelty slipped, and then, for a moment, Azula looked heartbroken. It was gone as soon as it appeared. He briefly wondered if he had imagined it.

“I won’t tell on you if you find Ty Lee for me. She is on Kyoshi Island. Tell her,” she forced the next words out, low and too sincere, and making sure Ozai wasn’t listening, “I wish there was another way.”

Zuko was taken aback.

“But- how would you even know I did it?”

“I know all about your stupid concept or honor. You would do it. And you wouldn’t use it to blackmail me,” Azula faked a yawn “Deal?”

Not like you are giving me a fucking chance here, Zuko thought. Yet, he muttered:

“Deal.”

He stared at the sea of green and red uniforms that made the crowd. Air Nomads would never participate in such a ritual. And the Water Tribes never seemed to care much about their business. The arena was already marked by Earth and Fire bending, each disgusting Alpha trying to out-Alpha the other. For a moment he spotted General Zhao and Zuko forced himself to take a deep breath. He thought he saw a flash of blue clothing, but it was probably a trick of the light.

Those few hours suddenly felt too long to endure. The third round was about to start.

[ohholyfanfics]

Daycare 0.3|Tom Holland

Past Parts: One| Two 

Author’s note: I thought it’d be easier to gave y/n an actual name so after much thought I’ve decided that the name Evelyn Rose Smith. 

Tom’s weekend was spent between taken care of Liam and y/n, all while leaving Harrison completely frazzled by his best mates state. He watched as Tom lowly talked on the phone as he held a pen writing no doubt whatever else he needed to get from the store. Harrison wasn’t no fool and knew that Tom had been going out to see someone every couple of hours, it settled into a routine and followed it’s way into Monday and Tuesday as well.

“Leaving again?” he asked as Tom jumped not expecting him to be creeping from the sideline. His cheeks were flushed as he fixed his tie and nodded his head. Harrison looked down at his watching knowing Tom still had another hour and a half before he was due to pick Liam up. “It’s not time to pick little man up yet though..” he breathed testing the waters out.

“I just need to stop where beforehand.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow in question, he thought he knew Tom well enough to know there was something else. Or in this case someone, yet he wasn’t sure how to even approach the topic. The last time just as much mentioned dating, Tom nearly shit himself at the mere thought.

“Oh.”

Harrison watched his friend collect a few things from his office including a paper bag that seemed to have a few grocery items insides. He leaned back in the leather seat as he watched him fix his hair once more in the reflection of the glass windows. There had to be someone and he just hoped it was the same person that he had in mind.

The ride to Evelyn’s, Tom couldn’t help but feel a sheer wave of panic built up within him. He had promised himself that dating wasn’t something he was ready for and yet all he can think about was her. From the moment he woke, to the second he fell asleep. Yet even in his dreams her sweet smile and soft laugh hunted him. There was a longing feeling that loomed around him and he knows she was the only one that could tame it.

He ached to see her smile.

He wanted it directed towards him. For him. Because of him. He wanted to bring her joy; be the source of the way her eyes lit up and those cute dimples he loved so much to appear on her full cheeks. He watched her bring countless amounts of joy and happiness to everyone who knew her. He craved the warmth she’d give him.

He wanted her to show him the beauty she found in everything. Tom found himself craving things he’d never thought of before and the thought petrified him. Since the moment Tom had adopted Liam as his own, it’s always been the two against the world and now having her in his life scared him. It scared him to know that even time he closed his eyes he imagined her there, sharing even the tiniest of milestones Liam hit.

As much as he hated to admit it, he found himself falling and he was falling harder than he had ever expected it.

That afternoon things were slightly awkward between them, she was more put together than the past few days. Her hair wasn’t thrown in a messy state, that he had learned to love, no instead it was pulled back into a neat sleek ponytail. Her sweats had been switched to a pair of leggings but her torso remains covered in a sweater. Her face had color again and her voice was slowly returning to that velvety silk-like song he adored.

“You know you don’t need to keep checking up on me..” She breathed out as she took the last spoon full. As much as she appreciated everything he was doing, he was making it harder on her.

“I know..”

She studied him with a sigh before collecting both of their dishes and walking it towards the sink. Tom Holland was by far the most complex man she had ever met in her twenty-four years of living. She thought she had him figured out, but the man sitting behind her was most definitely not the CEO  she was used too. This was the same man that had walked into Evelyn’s office a little less than two months ago.

“I just-I wanted too Evelyn.” He spoke a few moments later as her cheeks flushed. She was more than grateful to have her back to him. “I don’t look at that phone call as a mistake.” He pointed out as she nodded her head.

Looking back at him she couldn’t stop the swirl of butterflies within her, the same feeling that showed up that very night. Biting onto her lower lip, she allowed herself for the first time to feel everything that she had been locking away. She was falling for this single father, at a rapid speed that had her gasping for air. It was all so sudden it had her begging for some sort of relief.

Much to Evelyn’s joy and disappointment, it was Tom for leave, Liam’s day at the center was coming to a close. Standing by her door, she gave him a soft smile as he nervously stuck his hands in his suit pockets. His heart thumping rapidly as he looked into her olive-green eyes. She couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the situation, it was almost comical as she looked into his soft eyes.

“Um, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiled softly as she leaned forward, his breath cut short as she placed a soft kiss on his cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut as the feeling of her lips lightly brushing against his flushed skin, sent his body into overdrive.

“Bright and early.”

The rest of her day was much uneventful other than the few texts from Tom and a very promising one from Harrison. She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips as he waltzed into her kitchen. It was clear he had come straight from work, a bottle of her favorite cheap wine and a bag full of take-out. She raised her eyebrow as he pulled a glass filling it straight to the rim.

“Rough day?”

She teased as she reaches inside the cabinet as he took a long sip. It wasn’t long before the pair were both seated at her table surrounded by Chinese take out and a glass of cheap wine. It was silent for a few moments before Harrison spotted the same bag Tom had been holding earlier. He couldn’t help but smirk before taken a good look at his friend.

“Feeling better?”

“So much Haz you wouldn’t believe the shit days I had.”

He smiled softly knowing Evelyn never took being sick well, he also knew she never allowed others to care for her either. Hence his lack of presence lately, but he couldn’t help but wonder made her cave. His thoughts were eating away at him that he didn’t even notice her talking to him.

“Have I lost you Haz?” She hummed softly shaking his shoulder causing him to flush and roll his eyes before giving her a soft smile.

“Sorry just thinking..”

“Penny for your thoughts..”

“Just thinking…”

“Oh no, that’s never good Haz.”

“It’s nothing like that Evy..” He breathed out as he sighed wondering if she would even react to what he had to say. It wasn’t that he was meddling, no he liked to think that he was helping. “I just, I think Tom has so much on his plate lately..” He tested the waters as she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“I just think he’s been so cooped up with Liam, he hasn’t had much time to himself.” He explained a she smiled softly and placed a hand over his. “I think he just needs to let lose a bit.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” She asked as he nodded his head. She tilted her head to the side taken a sip from her drink as she thought back to Tom. He did seem a bit dazed these past few days. “Maybe he just needs a night out.”

“He needs to get laid,” Harrison mumbled with a wicked grin as she chocked on her wine. Her cheeks were flushed as she let out a little awkward chuckle before filling her glass up. “Much like you.”

“I don’t need you insulting my love life mate.”

“Not insulting, I’m pointing out the obvious.” He stated as a wicked thought came to mind. She couldn’t help but sit straighter once she saw a wave of excitement flash across his features.

“Harrison no.”

“You don’t even know what I have in mind babe.”

“I don’t need to know what it is, to know it won’t be pleasant.”

“Just trust me, Evelyn Rose Smith.”

She walked into the center with a skip to her step as she welcomed Sophia who couldn’t help but chuckle. It was clear that she was better than ever as she helped the other teacher’s set everything up, as she rearranged the last few decorations for the spring. Taken a seat at her office, she looked at the pile of new applications knowing she had a few moments before Tom would be showing up.

“Knock knck.”

Looking up her heart swelled as she cheeks flushed at the beautiful flower arrangement that was starring right back at her. The pinks and whites blended so well it had her head spinning slightly as she met his bright brown eyes.  

“Morning darling.” he breathed out with a soft smile as he placed the beautiful vase of flowers on her desk. He couldn’t help but feel a wave of pride wash over him as he took notice of her flushed expression.

“What are these for?”

“They’re a welcome back gift.”

“You didn’t have to Tom.” she smiled softly as she stood infron of him. The vase now in her hold, as she brought them towards her face. Her eyes closed as she took in the sweet smell mixed eith pollen. Biting her lip, she looked at him as a wave of apperication and adortion took over her. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anything for you..” he mumbled as he shifted his weight on his feet, he lookeed at the clock on the wall and chewed on his bottom lip. “Um I should get going.” 

“Um yeah of course..” 

“I’ll see you later?” 

“Um yeah, I’ll be here..” 

Watching him walk away she couldn’t help but let out a soft squeal as she held the vase tighter in her hold. Tom Holland was going to be the absolute death of her. 

Taglist: 

@greenarrowhead​ @xinsonyax​ @rescue3000​ @abschaffer2​ @fav-fan-fic​ @cutiepiemimi13​ @starkerismysexuality​ @jackiehollanderr​ @obsessed-librarian​ @parkeret​ @peterparkersdestiny​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @tomkindholland​ @yourbiggestspiderfan​ @ditzymoon​

[dem-obscure-imagines]

The Prince’s Girlfriend

Prince Zuko x Reader

Note: You voted! Here it is! I’ve lowkey had this idea bouncing around since I wrote the other one lmao hope you like it!! (This is the sequel to Time Traveler’s Daughter)

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.5k

Growing up the way you did, with a childhood split between worlds, you had a few groups of friends. You had the witchy group of friends that you celebrated solstice and other witchy holidays with, your dimension-hopping friends, who came to visit whenever it was convenient, and then, there were the mortal friends you had who lived in constant awe of your crazy life.

It was the third group that was assembled in your living room.

Given the recent events in your life, your mortal friends, who still didn’t know quite everything had proposed an Avatar marathon, and really, who were you to refuse? Zuko, who had moved in after jumping to your dimension, was currently in your room, playing the Sims on your computer. It was cute how obsessed he was with it. He’d made you and himself and moved you into a house and started a little family. It was heart-melting, really.

You were only on the first season when the boyfriend question popped up.

“I heard you’re seeing someone!” Your friend Devin said, smiling.

“I am!”

“Could we get some details, maybe?” Logan prodded, reaching over you to take a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

“Well, he’s handsome, first of all.” You giggled, blushing. “He’s got this really fiery personality, you know? Pretends to be all tough on the outside, but he’s got a heart of gold, a real prince.”

“Treats you like a princess?”

“Of course.” You nodded, grabbing some popcorn for yourself.

“Where’d you meet?” Devin asked, intrigued. Little did either of them know that the guy you were talking about was currently on the screen in all of his season one glory, ponytail, temper, and all.

“This little tea shop out of town.” You answered, smirking. Technically, nothing you’d said so far was a lie. Were you dancing around the truth? Of course. But that would only make it more fun whenever Zuko finally wandered out of your room and you got to officially introduce them.

It was pretty rare that your mortal friends got to meet people from the other parts of your life. The exception was the one time Tadashi Hamada had popped in to ask your dad a question about an assignment he was working on while you were having a movie marathon. Needless to say, they had been pretty surprised.

“How did he ask you out?”

“It was kind of a mutual thing. I liked him, he liked me…the rest is history.”

“Haha, that rhymed.”

“She’s a poet in love…” Logan sighed. He looked back to the screen in time to see Zuko yelling at someone about his honor. “Oof, I can’t wait for his season 2 hair.”

“Listen, fire boi ages like fine wine. Glow up of the century.” Devin agreed.

“Oh yeah. Big time.” You nodded. When you looked out of the doorway of the living room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen, you spotted Zuko standing at the fridge, getting a glass of water. He was wearing a gray sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over his head, so from the side, he just looked like some dude standing in your house. Certainly not the prince of the Fire Nation, and definitely not the handsome boyfriend you boasted so proudly.

“How’s the Sims going, babe?” You called and he looked over at you, grinning. From where they were sitting, Devin and Logan couldn’t see into the kitchen.

“Your boyfriend is here?” Logan asked, anticipation spreading across his face.

“Taking a break. My hand hurts.” He chuckled. “Mind if I come out there?”

“There’s a spot over here.” You scooted over and patted the spot beside you. “Come meet my friends.”

So, he walked into the living room, lowering his hood so your friends could get a better look at him. Devin paused the episode, his mouth hanging wide open as he looked back and forth between the prince’s cartoon form and his living, breathing one.

“Um, hi. I’m Zuko. (Y/N)’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

“You’re kidding. No fucking way.” Logan stared for a long moment before finally looking at you for confirmation. “You’re—He’s—What the fuck?!”

“You never tell us when you go on cool dimension-hopping adventures!” Devin whined. “You’re dating Prince Fucking Zuko?!”

“Well, technically, he’s the Fire Lord now…” You chuckled to yourself, motioning Zuko over from his spot in the doorway. He was grinning, still not quite used to the idea that you and your friends had grown up watching him on your magical image boxes. Well, TVs, as you had taught him. “I meant to tell you sooner, I really did, but I thought it would be too funny to surprise you.”

“Good call, princess.” Zuko nudged you over the tiniest bit, sitting down next to you with his thigh pressed against yours. “That was hilarious.” He was about to ask what you were watching when he finally looked up at the screen to catch sight of his past self. He cringed. Ugh, he couldn’t believe there was ever a time he had…looked like that…acted like that. It was embarrassing that you had grown up seeing that version of him, even if he did change over time.

“Please tell me my redemption arch starts soon.”

“Well, we’re in the middle of the first season, so no. Not for a little while here.” You tugged Zuko’s arm around you and draped your legs over his thighs. “You’re so warm…” you mumbled into his hoodie, reveling in the rumble of his amused chuckle.

“Why are you always so cold, baby?” His fingers playing with your hair, he kissed your forehead. He looked up to find your friends still gawking at him. “You can…ask questions if you want.”

“Yeah, sure, how did this happen?” Logan cut to the chase, motioning between the two of you.

“Well, you see, for my graduation, Dad gave me a dimension-hopping watch and the first place I crash-landed was Zuko’s world. Sometime during season 2, I think, while he and Iroh were running the tea shop in Ba Sing Se.”

“And I fell head over heels in love with her, so once the war ended, I used her Dad’s tech to make an alternate ending for us.”

“You literally changed the timeline for her.”

“Yeah.” Zuko shrugged, winding his arm further around you.

“Love that for us.” You chuckled, nuzzling against him.

“Wait, but…didn’t you get with Mai after season 2? You were dating in season 3…” Devin was always the one to start fact-checking things when they seemed off. Honestly, you hadn’t even thought about that? Had the events of the cartoon played out the same way even though you’d interfered?

“It didn’t happen that way when I did it. I can point it out and tell you what happened when we get there,” he looked to you, “if you let me stay for the rest of the marathon, that is.”

“Of course you can stay, Zuko.” You giggled, kissing his cheek. “I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

And so he did. The marathon ran for what seemed like eternities, but it got more interesting once you finally reached the point after you left Ba Sing Se.

“I never went back to the Fire Nation. Iroh and I ran off and went on the road for a while. All of this…” He watched as the alternate version of himself made all of the choices he never would have made. “I can’t believe that’s the way it would have happened…”

“Sure, you got a little lost, but…you found your way back eventually. I think that’s why I liked you so much growing up. You made mistakes, but in the end, you learned from them and became stronger because of it.”

“Yeah?” Zuko looked down at you with that amused glimmer in his amber eyes.

“Yeah.” You nodded, a smirk slowly stretching across your features. “Well, that and you got really hot in Season 3.”

He snorted, nearly choking on the popcorn he’d been attempting to eat. “God,” he coughed, laughing, “don’t say things like that, you’re gonna make me choke. I didn’t come all the way from another dimension to die eating popcorn.”

“She’s not wrong.” Logan laughed, still absorbing what he and Devin had learned that day.

“Can confirm. Glow up of the century.”

“Oh shut up.” He shook his head, his cheeks getting redder every second.

You reached up and pinched one of them, laughing before pulling him in for a kiss. “You’re a real Prince Charming, you know that?”

“For you, princess, I’d be anything you wanted me to be.”

“Quit being cheesy, the hot firebender is talking.” Devin shushed the two of you as Zuko’s cartoon counterpart started to say something.

You grinned softly to yourself, leaning against Zuko, listening to his breaths, his soft laughter, taking in how good it felt when his fingers brushed through your hair. Your seven-year-old self and you were united in that moment, wrapped up in his strong arms with his lips pressing tender kisses to your forehead.

At long last, your prince had come for you, and you never wanted to go back.

[shedreamsofstars]

Threads of our Sols - Chapter 1

A series of fluffy interconnecting snapshots inspired by the Silvaze Week 2019 themes of dream, music, fairy tale, marriage, ‘I’m okay’ lantern and gardening.

Next chapter

These Threads That Dream

Silver was a cad.

What other word was there for someone whose gaze kept drifting back to a beautiful yet unsuspecting woman? He wasn’t even being coy he noted, blinking slowly as Blaze read through and signed another Royal contract, blissfully oblivious to his ogling.

They were currently in the large meeting room where the Queen usually held gatherings with her advisers, but today they sat alone at the long empty table. Silver had offered to help Blaze sort through and prioritise the many request forms she’d received from the citizens of Sol, but he had long since given up the endeavour for something far more intriguing.

Day dreaming hopeless yet perfect scenarios in which he figured out how to reveal the secret that he was currently hiding in his back quills.

He had crafted close to a few dozen different plans, each more elaborate and extravagant than the last. But even those had subsided when he realised that Blaze was so engrossed in her work that she had no idea what was happening around her. Or who was admiring her.

Silver mentally berated himself for being so ungentlemanly, but the more he tried to look away the more he found that he couldn’t. Her eyes were golden nectar and he the bumblebee that had been caught in her sweet gaze. They were molten honey in the afternoon sun, drawing him in with every flutter of those dark lashes.

The ivory hedgehog’s back quills itched annoyingly, and he reprimanded his brain for betraying him. It wasn’t time. Blaze was busy working and he had had no time to prepare and execute any one of the several ideas he had just come up with. He needed the moment to be perfect and that meant that he had to plan everything down to the letter.

The Queens forehead dipped into a small crease as she read through the paper in her hand and a crooked grin stretched across Silver’s lips. Only confusion ever brought out that particular frown, and for a moment he let himself wonder what it would feel like. To reach out and smooth it away with his fingertips, to feel the smoothness of the crimson gem without being sequestered away in some hidden nook of the palace.

Sol be damned, he could write a million and one poems about this woman he thought as he tipped his head and cradled it with his hands. About the way she’d always bring the pen in her hand close to her mouth, as if to chew it, before catching herself and placing it gently before her. The way the strands of her hair that always escaped her braids and ponytails swayed at the tiniest movement. The way her lashes brushed her cheeks as she turned to look towards –

“Silver?”

The hedgehog startled instantly, chin hitting the table with an irritable twinge of pain as he momentarily forgot what he was doing. “Yes?” he yelped, suddenly uncomfortable as he realised that he’d finally been caught out. He cleared his throat as Blaze levelled him with a look he had no clue how to interpret. Intrigue? Anger? Confusion? All three?

“What exactly are you doing?” she asked carefully.

“Hmm?” he said, pretending he hadn’t heard her. He needed time to think of an answer more appropriate than ‘admiring how wonderful you are’ but no luck.

“Were you day dreaming?” she asked when he failed to respond. Her tone lacked any accusation, but Silver felt guilty regardless as he realised he hadn’t finished going through the requests.

“No, of course not,” he said, sounding unconvincing even to himself. He most certainly had been day dreaming and from the way the cat arched a single brow at him, she knew it too. “Okay, yes. I was daydreaming,” he said, cheeks blazing with embarrassment.

She watched him with those piercing eyes, golden and intense with a hint of something warm that he fell for every time. That he loved. Silver’s back quills seared again with purpose and he swallowed nervously, battling with the idea that maybe he had been going about this the wrong way all this time.

Maybe this was it.

What if this perfectly normal afternoon was that perfect moment he had been waiting for and attempting to create all along. He was never happier than when he was with her, cherishing even the most mundane moments so maybe this one was their moment.

They were together, alone and happy – how much more perfect could it really be?

“Do you want to know what I was day dreaming about?” he asked a little too quickly, completely ruining the casual air he was aiming for as he stood and made his way towards her.

She tracked his every movement with her trained eyes, dipping her head in a simple nod – a request for him to elaborate.

“I was dreaming of a world where you said yes,” he said coyly.

Her forehead dipped into that enticing frown again, forming a small valley between her brows as she stared up at him. “I don’t understand Silver. Yes, to what?”

Silver took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. It was now or never. He reached forwards, taking Blaze’s two hands in his own as he guided her up onto her feet and into the strip of sunlight streaming through the window.

Her eyes widened a fraction as he dropped onto one knee, her hands still warm and comforting in his.

“Silver…” she breathed.

“Blaze,” he said, swallowing down the nervous lump in his throat. If he was going to do this properly, then he was going to need a little distraction. “Will you consider sharing your desserts with from now on?” he said quickly, the edge of his lips quirking into a smile. “Dessert is my favourite and you never finish yours anyway.”

“Oh, Silver,” she chided mockingly, pulling him back into a standing position with an airy laugh. He had a little height on the cat, enough for him to have to tilt his head down to look at her. “You had me thinking you were going to ask something important. Of course you can share my desserts silly.”

“Hey,” he said a little offended. “Desserts are a very serious business I’ll have you know.” He watched her smile reach her eyes before she noticed it – the glowing teal orb hovering just over his shoulder.

Blaze froze mid-laugh, watching the glowing orb in wonder as it circled the pair of them once before drifting down to occupy the sliver of space between herself and Silver. Her eyes flitted between the orb and the hedgehog in a mild panic, the fake out clearly catching her off guard as he dropped to his knee once more.

“Silver is this real?” she said, voice hushed in disbelief as the boy released a hand to catch the ring floating between them. A single gold band held an emerald cut diamond that caught the light just so as Silver held it up to Blaze.

“Blaze, Queen of Sol and eternal marvel of my soul … I don’t even know if I’m technically allowed to ask this,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “Having Gardon bark all that royal etiquette stuff at me is going to be a nightmare.”

Blaze squeezed his hands once, quick and gentle. “Ask,” she whispered. “Please … just ask.”

Something jumped in Silver’s chest at the warm longing he beheld in her eyes. A longing for him, for them. He obliged her request as much for her as he did for himself.

“Blaze, will you marry me and make me the happiest and luckiest man to have ever lived?”

“Yes,” she whispered, falling to the ground before him and pressing her forehead to his. Their noses knocked together clumsily but neither of them could care less. “I will you marry you in this world and every other that exists … I will marry you,” she repeated softly, a smile in her voice.

“Really?” he asked, looking more than a little stunned that it had truly been as easy as asking. She nodded and pulled back, letting Silver slip the gold band onto her finger.

Silver tried to commit the moment to memory but as he held onto the hand of the woman he loved he already knew there wasn’t a hope in the world that he would forget this. This surreal moment would be burned into his mind, engraved into his very soul – marking this moment forever more.

Blaze admired the ring for only a moment, refusing to relinquish her hold on Silver’s other hand before she reached up and placed the hand with the ring gently against his cheek, the cold band of metal soothing against his warm skin.

“Am I still daydreaming?” he asked out loud.

Blaze kissed the question off his lips and he got his answer.

Nope.

He was definitely not day dreaming anymore.

...xxx...

Thanks for reading guys, feel free to drop me your thoughts if you can.

Hope you enjoyed todays [very loose] interpretation of the theme, DREAM. Just a quick heads up folks that this will be a sad boi hours free zone – there’s plenty of that good ol’ stuff around already, so we’re keeping this particular story to strictly fluff and low-key drama only.

Thanks again for reading and I’ll see you in the next theme, chao for now :)

[maximumkillshot]

The Situation-Part 2

Warnings: Mentions of Menstrual cycle, Gender bent! Dean Winchester, Some Cursing,  I can’t remember anything else at the moment but I hope y’all enjoy!

Pairing: None

Characters: Gender Bent! Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Rowena and Jody are mentioned, Castiel

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy!!

“All I Could Do” Masterlist- CLICK HERE

Overall Masterlist- Click Here

“When You Call” Masterlist- Click Here

Wanna Chat? Click Here

“The Situation” Masterlist- Click Here

Previously:

Sam said, “Oh C’mon Dean it can’t be that bad, you're just being overdramatic.”

I looked shocked… “How dare you. No. How dare you say that to me.”

“Drama queen” Sam laughed back

“Excuse me?!” I said shocked  “I was about to conquer the world. I was this close. Don’t you call me drama queen!” I spat at him… “Now look at me, I feel like I have a blender in my pelvis, my breasts hurt, and I simultaneously want chocolate pudding pie and want to puke… what happened to me? The only positive here is that I’m kinda hot.” I said as I choked, near tears.

Cass responded from the doorway, “perhaps it was the witch that you called, ‘a spineless weak little girl’ that we killed yesterday.”

Dean looked at Cass and said “Oh shit… alright Sam, get those things for me please. Cass, call Rowena…

Sam said, “And what are you going to do?”

“Me? I’m making a triple decker bacon cheeseburger and fries, a chocolate milkshake, and a shit ton of mozzarella sticks… then I’m eating myself into a food coma.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know Sam, WHY ARE  MY INTERNAL ORGANS SHEDDING?! NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE YET HERE WE ARE!” I screamed as I stomped off into the kitchen.

“How is he?” I heard Sam ask as he came through the bunker's garage with bags.

“So far, he hasn't torn up anything too badly. But he's been on a, what you humans call emotional roller coaster.” I heard Cass say as gently as possible

“What?”

“Well it started when he couldn't find the buns for the cheeseburger…”

“What happened?”

“Well, he started rummaging through every shelf we had. Then when he couldn't find it he started crying until I found it. Then he couldn't find the mozzarella sticks and he started screaming about how he can never find anything, then he couldn't find the chocolate ice cream and he started panicking…. He eventually stomped off into his room...  ”

“Ok let me talk to him”

“Dean” Said Sam as he knocked on my, his brother turned sisters, room, “ I got you a camisole and some jeans that may fit, the underwear, pads,a heating pad for the pain, plus a few hairties for your hair since you said that it was getting on your nerves over the phone…”

“Come in”I mumbled as I tried to sit up in the bed.

“I talked to Jody again, she said that working out or walking can help with the cramping, it helps tense and release…”

“The uterine walls contract making the lining shed with less pain, yeah I know… I was reading up on it.” I said as I gripped my pelvis, the pain was throbbing sometimes and searing the next minute… it was ridiculous. No matter how I stood, laid, or sat it wouldn’t go away, so I texted Jody and she said a warm shower helps, so I did that as soon as I possibly could, I actually just got out.

“So, are you gonna workout or?”

“HELL NO, Sammy, I can’t even sneeze without my underwear looking like ‘The Shining’ I quipped as I snatched the bag of supplies and scurried off to the bathroom.

“I thought you’d say that… so I heard that you didn’t get too far in making your food, huh?” asked Sam as he walked up to the door that I closed to the bathroom.

“Yep, got so frustrated, so angry, it sucked,” I said as I took off the new boxers… only to find at least a gash wounds worth of blood…. There goes the third pair today… and I have to pee again.

As soon as I sat down I heard Sam ask,

“So why don’t we go to the bar?” .

“I could go for some whiskey….” I said as the telltale rip of a pad being opened resonated through the bathroom. I then grabbed the panties and slid them on… it’s so weird I’m used to slipping these off of women and now they’re on me.

“How is everything going in there, Dean?” Asked Sam, he remembered what it was like with Jess, she had really bad periods, sometimes she couldn’t even make it to class because of the pain, at least that’s what he’d tell me whenever we talked about domestic life. Lisa was the opposite, always up and going, I could never tell when she was on hers...

“Well, you’d think beheading a werewolf would be more blood than this, but you’d be wrong,” I said as I swiped another handful of toilet paper and wiped for the twelfth time… It never ends, I went through two rolls already… TWO ROLLS!

After I pulled up the underwear with the pad on it I felt weird immediately….. I feel like a baby with a diaper on. It was even worse when I pulled out the jeans, they look like they’d fit but they look so tight, and they don’t have enough room for my hips. As I shimmied the denim up I could feel the sweat gathering on my brow, I could’ve sworn that I was smaller in the morning… then I remembered… water retention, which also explains the sweating.  By the time they were buttoned, I welcomed the comfort of a shirt with a little more breathability.

As soon as I put on the camisole I breathed semi-easily. I grabbed the hair ties and tied up my hair into a ponytail and grabbed the boots that were hidden at the bottom of the bag. Then I opened the door.

Sam’s jaw was wide open as I looked at him… “WHAT?” I said agitated….

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re kinda hot,” said Sam as he was almost horrified at what he was saying.

“Listen, it isn’t nearly as weird for you as it is for me, where’s Rowena?” I asked.

“She’s a few days out… she’s gonna be here as soon as possible,” said Sam.

“Great, just great… I need food and alcohol, a whole lot of alcohol.” I said almost defeated as I slid on my boots.

“Alright let’s head out.” said Sam.

________________________________________________________________

The minute I stepped into the Impala I had issues. For one, the wheel was way too high, then I couldn’t reach the pedals, and then the mirrors had to be adjusted, I just gave a huff and threw the keys at Sam, knowing that him driving is going to be easier.

When I slid into the passenger’s side I scared myself, I looked at the rear view mirror and I actually thought that it was a different person in my car. Things only got weirder when we went to the bar.

I immediately slammed a fifth of whiskey and started to nurse a beer as I listened to Guns n’ Roses play on the jukebox.

“Dean, you’ve gotta slow down” whispered Sam.

“Sammy, never tell a man who’s hemorrhaging from his junk to slow down when drinking..” I growled.

After I told the bartender what I wanted to eat, which was everything I continued downing my beer.

Then I heard something… a whistle…

“Hey gorgeous,” said a man. He had the longest rattiest beard I’d ever seen.

“I know you aren’t talking to me… I know he isn’t talking to me,” I looked to Sammy, only to find him trying to hold a laugh in.

“Yeah I am, a fine piece of ass like you, can’t blame me for lookin and wantin to talk to you, at least tell me your name.”

“Deannnaa.. Deena, my name’s Deena, you happy now?” I growled as Sammy choked on his drink.

“I won’t be happy until you’re in my bed, sweetheart.”

“ALRIGHT LISTEN HERE ZZ TOPP!” I yelled and Sam interrupted me..

“What my girlfriend is trying to say is that she isn’t interested… right sweetie?” Sam said.

I put on my best smile as I said with all the sarcasm that I could muster, “Yeah pumpkin, M’sorry, just had a rough day.”

"what's wrong with you, are you on your period or somethin'?" said the guy with a twinge of a laugh.

I gave him the death stare as I said "Walk away..... Fuckin’ walk away from me"

“I’d listen to her, she’s deadly, “ said Sam.

“What, are you whipped or somethin’ lettin a little girl control you?” Said the man.

“Not whipped, just smarter than you…” said Sam as he looked to me.

“C’mon Baby, just have a seat, don’t worry about him, we didn’t even eat yet.” Said, Sam, as he guided me back to the chair.

As soon as the man left we looked to each other and I said "We are NEVER speaking of this again" and he replied with "Wouldn't dream of it... never happened" It was then that we clanked our beer bottles together…

“Bitch,” I said under my breath,

“Jerk”.

After a bunch of bar food and way too many drinks, I found myself leaning on Sammy…

“Sammy, but suuuuurrrrously… my tits are amazing… they’re so soft and perky… Pillows on my ssheesttt…”

“Dean you’re hammered” said Sam as he watched me grab on to his arm.

“And you’re so ssttrrronngg, like holly shiit. I reemmmeebbburr when you’s a little baby…. Tiniest little thhingg now look a’ chu!! A fuckin’ Adonis on moose legs! Hoow? I have nuuu fuckin’ clue!”

“Annnd that’s definitely enough for you… looks like your metabolism changed too.” Mumbled Sammy.

“WHAAAA NUUUUUUUU I NEED MOORE!!!” I screamed.. “BARKEEP ANOTHER… HA SEE WHAT I DIID THERR SAMMY? THOR, GOD OF THUNDER… I’m gonna call you Thor from now on…” I then petted his hair, “SO soft...like my…”

“OKAY, thanks for the drinks, I’m gonna take her home now.” Said Sam to the bartender.

The second I went to get up my legs gave and Sammy caught me, he carried me like a toddler to Baby as I yelled, “HA! I KNEW IT, SO STRONG… LOOK…. PICKING ME UP LIKE A PIECE UH PAPER!”

Soon I felt myself plop down in Baby’s back seat…

As soon as Baby’s engine roared to life I said, “Hey Sammy?”

“Yeah Dean?”

“I’m glad you came back…”

“What?”

“After Jess… was afraid you’d pull away… that I’d lose you for good, y’know… but you didn’t… Maybe it’s selfish of me or maybe it’s the booze but I’m happy you came back… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You would’ve been fine,” said Sammy.

“No I wouldn’t have been ‘fine’. I wasn’t fine when you were gone either… I missed you. Had no idiot little brother to nag me about my Nirvana tapes. Would’ve never had fun like I had tonight, wouldn’t have anything without you.”

“Shut up… Missed you too…”

“We’re a team, right Sammy?”

“Yeah… yeah we are…”

“Mmmm I knew it” I said as I passed out.

WANT MORE? TELL ME SO!!!

TAG ARMY:

@mamaredd123 , @impala-dreamer , @impalaimagining , @jotink78 , @nichelle-my-belle , , @scorpiongirl1 , @ilostmyshoe-79 , @teamfreewillimagines , @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid , @chelsea072498 , @brickwall035 , @maui137 , @mogaruke , @jayankles , @butiaintgonnaloveem , @kawaiilivkitty , @naviwhite , @emoryhemsworth ,              

@cole-winchester , @nanie5 , @emoryhemsworth , @carribear31 , @death-unbecomes-you, @clarinette07, @curlyhairedblueeyedangel, @deansbabygirl01, @anathewierdo , @atc74 , @kickasscas67, @mannls, @adoptdontshoppets, @meganywinchester, @xalgaliareptx , @healojane, @wolfiebucky, @rayvenrider, @screechingartisancashbailiff , @goodgodimaweirdperson, @beltzboys2015-blog, @animegirlgeeky, @paintballkid711

[risingfire17-the-weeb-trash]

Buds of Beginnings-Original Story

“Ugh, isn’t that your own fault?” he drawled into the phone, his voice a mixture of boredom and exasperation. Kyle Brennan had just finished his opening shift at the grocery store, and had a mere half hour of freedom before starting his shift on campus as a repairman. He couldn’t stand university students, who flew into panic at the tiniest sink leaks, before fishing out their parents’ credit cards so he could save them from “that awful dripping sound” interfering with their studies. Sometimes he wanted to ask them if reading Plato put food in their bellies, as it had clearly fixed their sinks. But full-time campus jobs came with a good salary and even health insurance, which was a huge score for a high school dropout like Kyle. Besides, he actually liked the work itself, working with his hands, where things made sense, and he could make things happen. At any rate, his day was long, and he certainly didn’t want to spend his precious break time listening to his mother rant drunkenly about the latest loser boyfriend to leave without paying his share of rent for her decrepit trailer.

“That’s cold! All I did was refuse to take his shit! There are some things a self-respecting lady just can’t put up with!”

Kyle sighed, remembering the call from the trailer park manager last week, something about his mother drunk and naked in front of her trailer, throwing beer bottles at some piss-smelling tweaker and cursing him as he left. As usual, a promise of free repairs had staved off a call to the police.

“Besides, I never had to worry about rent before you moved out, so isn’t it your fault?!” Another sigh. This again, huh? “Hey, why don’t you move back in? It’s cheaper than whatever yuppie apartment you live in, maybe you could cut back on work and actually live a little!”

“Mom, you already know my answer to that. Don’t start.” A slight edge was creeping into his voice. He shuddered at the thought of ever again living in the trailer-turned-brothel-turned-traphouse he had grown up in.

“See?! It’s all your fault! I never should have had you! You know, I-“ And with that, he hung up and set his phone to Do Not Disturb. He had long ago stopped getting angry when she did that, and now he could enjoy the rest of his walk to campus with Metallica coursing uninterrupted through his ears, drowning out any fatigue or annoyance that life could throw his way.

He had almost finished engulfing himself in his monstrous headphones when he saw her just ahead of him. She must have turned onto this street at the last intersection while I was on the phone. She’s probably going to campus too. I’ll just stay behind her so I don’t have to talk to her. Michaela Sommers. Student. He only knew her because she was a part-timer at the grocery store. Like all students, she annoyed him. She came with the extra annoyance of being oddly unconcerned with others. Once, they had taken lunch at the same time, and she had been alone in the break room when he had walked in. She had looked up from her book to greet him and as how he was doing, and her smile had seemed genuine enough, but as soon as they had finished exchanging niceties, her face was back in her book. Maybe she’s shy, he had thought. But she had just sat there with her book, smile on her face, happily absorbed in her own world as she abandoned real-life responsibility. She even giggled at her book! Like they had some secret too good for the actual person in front of them! Maybe they were even laughing at him! How rude, in a public place! Doesn’t she understand how uncomfortable she makes people? He had finished his lunch out back with a cigarette, even though he was trying to quit.

That was just Michaela. Every free moment of hers was spent in her own world with some bliss she refused to share with anyone else. She always turned down party invitations from coworkers. Given her chubby cheeks and puny frame, she was probably too young to drink; he honestly would have taken her for a teen if he didn’t know she was a university student. But he was only 20, and got on just fine! It wasn’t like people were terribly opposed to buying for minors around here! No, she didn’t turn down invitations because she was young, she did it because she was a stuck up prude who probably got off on some dead philosopher rather than making actual friends. Well, let her!

At least she worked hard and never called out, which was honestly more than Kyle had expected from her. Most students worked part-time just so they could post selfies in uniform on Instagram with “#worklife,” but called out if they were ever scheduled for nights, weekends, or more than five hours per week. Who would take a job seriously with Mommy and Daddy paying all their bills? Michaela would, it seemed. Good. One less thing to worry about.

And here she was. Despite the baby-pink scarf and matching fingerless gloves, the black oversized sweater, and the faded denim blue backpack stuffed to full capacity, (no doubt with more damn books) her beige work pants and black non-slip boots gave her away. Furthermore, her black hair was pulled out of her face into a sporty ponytail. She must have work after class today. She seemed like that practical type of girl who would wear her uniform to school so she needn’t carry it (probably because there was no room in that book-crammed backpack).

But, for once, she wasn’t reading. Now, she strolled down the block, constantly looking up to stare at the trees lining the street. Trees, of all things?! Just WHAT is this girl’s deal? Although, following her gaze, Kyle realized for the first time that the trees had pink leaves, same as the girl’s scarf and gloves, rather than the green he assumed all leaves were. He also thought how odd they looked, blooming on such a cold, gray February day. But the sight was not entirely unwelcome. Maybe such a dreary day needed some pink leaves. Kyle found just the slightest hint of a wry smile sneaking onto his face. Is this the kind of world she sees? So far, it didn’t seem so bad. He couldn’t imagine having the time to notice such a world, though.

He draped his giant headphones atop his shoulders and continued to watch her as they made their way down the street. Someone’s got to watch where that dumb kid is going, because she sure isn’t! He didn’t understand how she could be so careless. He didn’t understand how any of these kids could be so careless. He had never been able to be careless. He had worked since he was about 10 to keep himself and his mother in that shitty trailer. He had always been careful not to waste time, money, or food, because his mother would do that for him, and he would have to fix that before rent came due. Now he was careful to ensure he would never again have to live that way. He was too used to his own studio apartment, tiny but his own, his music collection, and the occasional carefree night at a concert or party. Unlike Michaela and the other college kids with trust funds and whatnot, Kyle was always one mistake from losing everything he had worked for, and he took this reality seriously. He, for one, always watched where he was going.

He was a few feet behind her when she walked through a tunnel of construction scaffolding affixed to the shop next to her. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed the “Workers Above-Watch For Falling Objects” sign, because her eyes were still on the trees across the street. Damn kid. As he entered the makeshift tunnel, he lazily looked up, just in time to see a worker knock over a wrench that had been left carelessly behind him. The wrench began to plummet.

Straight. For. Michaela’s. Skull. And still she smiled, blissfully unaware of the tool coming for her. Blissfully unaware that even a small metal tool from that height could crush her skull, tear into the brain beneath it, even take her life. So blissfully unaware that this could be her last peaceful moment…

Kyle didn’t realize he had lunged for her until after her tiny body was wrapped in his arms, her hazel eyes turned up to him, open wide in astonishment. The wrench clattered harmlessly to the ground right behind them. The worker who had knocked it over was screaming “my God, are you kids, okay?” But Kyle didn’t register this yet, nor did he register anything that had just happened. The first thing he noticed was Michaela’s heartbeat pounding against his chest, so intense it might even be her heart, and not his own, sending his blood rushing through his ears in a torrent. He realized he was still holding her, and put her down, his face growing hot.

She seemed to recover quickly. She glanced at the fallen wrench and gently patted the spot on her head where it would have landed. She looked back up at Kyle with a warm smile and a soft chuckle.

“Well that could have ended badly. I’m glad you put a stop to that!” and then, a little softer: “Thanks, Kyle. Really.”

He wasn’t sure why her nonchalant acceptance of what had just happened made him uneasy, only that it did, so he started on her. “Christ, Michaela, can’t you watch where you’re going?! You kids are all so damn careless! It’s a miracle you even made it to 18 like that!” She had been handing the wrench back to a construction worker while Kyle scolded her, but as he finished, she turned and fixed him with a stare, cocking her head slightly, before chuckling and continuing on her way. With nothing else to do, he caught up and fell into step beside her. She was still glancing at trees! Damn kid!

Anyway, what’s so interesting about trees?” At that, she paused to look at him. He felt like her gaze was taking him all in, absorbing his existence into her strange world, and it made his face grow hot again. When he averted his eyes, she answered his question with one of her own:

“Don’t you think such a dreary winter day could use pink petals like those to brighten it?” Kyle froze. Did this girl read my mind earlier? Just what kind of scary powers has she got?

“…I guess.”

“Do you know what kind of trees those are?”

“…not really…I never thought about that kind of thing.” Does she study trees in school or something? Was she doing her homework while walking? Why else would she care?

“They’re cherry blossom trees, native to Japan. In springtime, they bloom en masse and shed their flowers immediately, so the entire air is dancing with pink flowers. Even though Japan starts their new year on January 1st like we do, their school and fiscal years start in April, around blooming time. It’s said that when the cherry blossoms fill the air, any new beginning is possible. Isn’t that sweet?”

“That’s…kinda cool, I guess.” He now remembered cleaning the streets after the spring festival a few years ago. He had felt like he and his broom were drowning in a sea of those pink flowers. But when he was no longer the one cleaning it, he had to admit it had been a refreshing sight. Is this the kind of world she sees all the time? He wondered where a student with a job found the time to notice this world. Especially one who actually showed up top work. Come to think of it, he saw her at work quite frequently. Could she possibly be full-time, on top of her schooling? That would make the time she spent in her hidden world even more miraculous. Even the yuppie kids without jobs didn’t seem to have that kind of time, between exams, books, staring at their phones, parties, and whatnot.

“But hey, here we are, in February, still shrouded in cold and gray. No one tells the trees that Spring is almost here, that they just need to hold on a bit longer and then they can share their blossoms in warmth and safety. But still they bud; they work hard because they know their time of suffering is almost over. How do they know?”

Kyle couldn’t even begin to answer that. He wasn’t sure he even understood what she had said. It sounded like nonsense, like the ravings of a mad little girl who had forsaken reality. But, strangely enough, he found himself asking if her nonsense world was such a bad place, or if it was even truly nonsense at all.

He didn’t notice that he was staring at those beautiful cherry blossoms, or that he had slowed his voice, until he heard her voice again, softer as it gained distance: “Do you think nature speaks a language that we could understand if only we actually listened? Do you think maybe we would even be happier?” Once again, he had no idea how to answer, but he had a feeling she did, and he found himself wanting to hear. Before he could ask, though, she changed the subject:

“By the way, what makes you think I’m 18?” Kyle wasn’t expecting that, but he supposed if the girl could go on tangents about trees and hidden languages, he better be ready for anything. He shrugged.

“Well, you attend university, so obviously you’re at least 18. No offense, but I doubt you’re any older than that.” He quickly eyed her up and down to indicate how young she looked. Was she about to tell him she was really 30 in some immortally youthful body or something?

She just chuckled again. “I’ll be 17 next month. My home life wasn’t great, so I graduated early and became legally emancipated last year. I chose this school because it was the furthest I could go from home without paying out-of-state tuition. I came here for a new beginning. I worked hard for it, and I still do. I don’t resent it any more than the cherry trees resent Winter, because I always know Spring is on its way.” She finished with a flippant smile.

It was Kyle’s turn to stare and take her in. Michaela Sommers. 16 years old. Alone in a new city. A child living as an adult. Tiny, so, so tiny. But that tiny girl fought for her future, making it happen with her own two hands and willpower. Yet, still she could be gentle; still she could giggle, despite the looks she got, at things she couldn’t possibly share, because who would understand? Still she could notice things like cherry blossom buds in February, and the hard work the trees put into those buds. She was a tough girl, tough, but not hard, unlike weary, hardened Kyle. And he couldn’t help but think that was simply amazing.

Of course, he couldn’t tell her any of that. Who would say something that awkward? She would, probably, but…oh, hell, I can’t do this! I need to get out of here, damn it! His face was burning and his legs felt like rubber for some god awful reason. He had to get out while they would still move! He picked up his pace and left her behind him, muttering that he had to get to work. Damn it, Kyle, don’t be a dick! He turned around, feeling feverish at this point, unsure of what to say, settling on “it…was nice talking to you, Michaela. Really.” Then he turned and practically fled the scene, speeding off to the repairs waiting for him. At least those made sense!