#save me mens section of old navy save me

[glassamphibians]

clothes shopping everyone pray for me

[ceilidho]

oh i just know bear latches onto the single pregnant woman working at the diner closest to his place, he sees her as a way of saving her from gods wrath if he married her and adopts her unborn child and he gets the family he always wanted with Lena (who idk she rubbed me the wrong way in the show, maybe its due to the shows inability to write woman but i digress) but like that god complex sort of mentality that has been building in him with the loss of his navy brothers, the divorce and the loss of his own child idk man youre the one with the amazing brain and ability for these concepts god i love your work sm its not funny.

oh you've got something insane cooking here........

divorce has been finalized, Lena's long moved out and maybe even left the state altogether (I'm not touching what actually happens in the last ep)......only his work is really keeping Bear upright at this point, otherwise he would've just gone on a year long bender. he still has his bad days though, weekends where he just disappears. passing out in the bushes outside his house, waking up with a kink in his neck and a headache that threatens to split his forehead open. spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but just won't kill him.

and then one day he stops at the diner for a quick meal before heading to the bar and notices the new waitress. pregnant, obviously so. not terribly far along, but noticeable. his first thought, the most immediate thing that jumps into his mind is what she's doing working at this crummy diner on a friday night. just his luck that he's seated in her section and remembers how to turn on the charm, smiles and asks for her name and peppers her with compliments and she just rolls her eyes and smiles bashfully like she's used to grumpy old men melting around her.

when he finds out that the guy that got her pregnant has long since skipped town, told her in no uncertain terms that he has no interest in becoming a father, Bear's eyes go cold and hard for a bit. after what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then...sending it back...has him feeling just a little off-kilter. not quite right. it doesn't last long and he apologizes when she seems unnerved, but the rage still sizzles under his fingertips. makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems.

but as he sits there, drinking his coffee and lingering, the hour slipping by into the next, it starts to come together in his mind. why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. he was supposed to be in this diner with this sweet girl and save her. make her an honest woman, give her baby a father. bring her into the lord's house and do for them what he couldn't do for his daughter and fallen brothers.

so he sips his coffee and waits for her to come back to his table. and plots.

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

It’s me again! 

So, we all know Rooster had his little meltdown and said his whole schtick: “No wife. No kids. No one to mourn you when you burn in.” to Maverick like a spoiled little brat while having none of those things. And okay, he was mad, sure, but he hit below the belt — anyway, hang on…

Imagine this instead:

A nineteen-year-old Rooster going to college classes at a university that isn't the Academy (after blowing up at the only family he has left), who falls for a Bio Major that offered him a free bulb when his tail-light blinker went out. 

I need you to imagine that he really loves this girl — the full Carl and Ellie from Up — he loves her more than anything. Of course, they have no money and they live off ramen noodles in a shitty studio apartment. But he starts a life with this girl, proposes to her with his Mom’s ring, and all he wants to do is call Mav and Ice, to call the Flyboys, to say look at her, isn't she perfect?

He starts to lose that anger, it flows out of him with every hungry night that he gives up his dinner so she can have more, with every paycheck-to-paycheck month and when they both pull all-nighters to make it through.

He slowly realizes how much Mav must have sacrificed when he was small and suddenly, he feels wrong inside. 

He wants to apologize, to go home. 

But he's still young and bitter and he doesn't want them to be right. He doesn't want not-going-to-the-Academy to be a good thing. He wants to be right. 

So he chickens out of it every time he goes for the phone, finding yet another reason to push it off. 

Until there are three positive pregnancy tests on the bathroom sink and he's barely twenty and they get married at the courthouse because they're desperate. 

They graduate at the same time and she's pregnant with triplets. 

He’s floored, because triplets? 

They have nothing, but it’s a beautiful life nevertheless.

They move to Cali and live in his parents’ old house. Bradley joins the Navy and she decides to start teaching. He refuses to ask for help, even when they struggle, even when he knows his family is less than an hour away. He also feels so guilty, because now there are going to be babies and he has a wife and it all seems so small in comparison. He doesn't care about the Academy anymore. All he cares about is her and the babies.

He doesn't know how to do this, how to be a father without the men who showed him what it is to be one.

And he's going to call, he swears he is…

Then his wife starts complaining about a headache that doesn't go away and her ankles are so swollen. 

He rushes her to the ER as fast as he can, but she has a seizure in the car that goes on for forever. She has eclampsia. She won't stop seizing. They have to do an emergency C-section. She's only twenty-three weeks. 

They lose her on the table, Baby A never makes it to the NICU, Baby C is born sleeping — there was something wrong with the placenta — and they ask him if he wants to try and save Baby B. 

Baby B, the smallest of the bunch, who has a severe form of spina bifida, a cleft lip and is barely a pound. 

Bradley says yes and plans for four funerals at the age of twenty-one. 

But Baby B doesn't die, he gets just about every dangerous complication for a twenty-three-weeker in the NICU, but he doesn't die. 

Mitchell Thomas Bradshaw — Mickey — named after the two strongest men that Bradley knows — comes home with him after seven months in the NICU. 

I need a Bradley who intimately understands what he's saying to Maverick, I need a Bradley who has had both of those things — a wife, kids — and lost them too. 

I need a Bradley who has lived a life in the interim and has grown up despite every challenge he faced, whose anger isn't really anger anymore. 

I need a Bradley who tried to call home once, only once, while his baby was dying in the NICU, and was told to stop calling after what he did by one of the Flyboys (probably while Ice was sick). 

I need a Bradley who has a deeper reason to be upset, who is angry at himself as much as he is at Maverick. 

I need a Bradley who has been raising a child for fifteen years on his own — one who gives him just as much back-talk and sass as he once gave Mav — who lost the person he loved most in the world and his children and somehow had to keep going. 

I need a Bradley who has become Maverick. 

That’s how that line makes sense anyway 🤣

[thisisthinprivilege]

My experience with the thin privilege roller coaster

I've struggled with my weight since I was about thirteen years old. I'm now twenty-five, and I have been on both sides of the spectrum. I've experienced both thin privilege and fat discrimination. At my heaviest I wore a size 16-18 and weighed about 200 pounds at 5' 6" tall. I realize that isn't incredibly heavy and I still had more privilege than many people, but I was still what many people consider "fat." I couldn't shop at the same stores as my friends. American Eagle jeans? Out of the question. Better go to Old Navy and check out their "vanity sized" clothing. I could have shopped in "plus sized" sections, or even stores, but I was too embarrassed. I couldn't bring myself to even look at them.

I couldn't get a date to save my life, despite the fact that, over the years, there were several people I was interested in. But they always went for the thinner girls. I remember my dad telling me, "You know, you'd be really pretty if you'd just lose weight. I bet you'd get a boyfriend then."

When I was about twenty, something in my life changed. I transferred schools and was incredibly busy with my homework while also working 25-30 hours a week. I didn't have time for snacks and honestly, I didn't even think about eating most of the time. I was quite unhealthy, often only taking in about 800 calories a day. This continued for months until I weighed 145 pounds. 

And suddenly I was in a completely different world. People held doors open for me. They smiled. If I wore a skirt or shorts, I'd hear crude comments from men, and even the occasional cat call (this is not a good thing and I would never, EVER advocate men treating women like this; I'm simply commenting on the fact that it happened.) My size 8 jeans fit perfectly. I was far more outgoing and confident. I started going on dates and making friends with people who I thought wouldn't have even given my 200 pound self the time of day. I went to the beach for the first time in years. In all honesty... I was happy.

How sad is that? How pathetic is it that losing 55 pounds - in a very unhealthy way - just makes the world open up to you? Instead of people whispering about my weight, they were whispering to ME about OTHER PEOPLE'S weight. And the most sickening part of it all? I laughed along with them. I was happy to finally be included. 

Be it karma, a change in my schedule, or just settling back into old habits, I gained most of my weight back a few years later. Suddenly doors started closing on me. There were less smiles and more shoulder bumps from people who either didn't care or didn't notice me. Men stopped asking me out, and I was even turned down for a teaching job in Japan because of my weight.

Very few "overweight" people are able to say they wouldn't be happier if they were thinner. I'm not saying this to advocate thinspo - quite the opposite, actually. It's the fact that we live in a world that tells us thin people are harder working, more attractive, more intelligent... I'm sure I could expand this list for paragraphs. In many cases, thin people are more likely to be happy because doors (both literally and figuratively) open up for you when you're thin. My self-esteem plummeted when I gained back weight. It wasn't because I was a different person. I didn't magically become lazy or ugly or unintelligent. But the world believed I was, and so I believed I was.

I did lose weight again because I decided to take up running. BOOM - the privilege was back. But this time I aware of it. I remembered that fat me and thin me were the same person. Thin me is not smarter. Thin me is not more charming. The only difference between thin me and fat me is that, in the past, thin me could be incredibly cruel. But thin me will never discriminate against someone for being overweight again, because pounds mean nothing. They do not change who a person is, only the way the world perceives them. 

Although I have learned a lot from gaining and losing weight several times, I wish that this experience had taught me to be immune to wanting thin privilege. I wish that I could eat a bacon cheeseburger and not feel regret for days afterward. I gained some weight back over the winter because I stopped running, and now that the weather's broken all I can think about is wanting that thin privilege back. I keep telling myself "you need to lose ten pounds if you want to wear shorts this summer."

If you're considered "overweight" and you're comfortable wearing shorts, I think you're an absolutely amazing person for saying "screw you" to a world that tells you you shouldn't wear shorts. Because you should wear whatever you want to wear, and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.

For me, personally, I need to feel thin to allow myself to wear shorts. I care so much about what other people think, and I hate that about myself. So what do I do? I cut calories and push myself too hard at the gym. All because I want more thin privilege than I currently have. Because I want that single digit jeans size back. Because I like when people hold doors open for me, strike up conversations with me, and invite me to parties. How sad is it that to feel like a proper human being I have to feel thin?

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1081 - Initial Thoughts

And we're back

Another week break is behind us so we can now resume to the next section Oda chooses to put Egghead in

Let's see what he has going this time

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release too

A colorspread of sleepy boys to start with

Oh we're sticking with Fullalead for the time being!

Grus also uses his fruit to cushion the ship's landing

I love how in Japan a common insult to old people is to call them an 'old fossil' XD like nobody would ever say that in real life but it works well

Garp even laments the 'small-scale' his Galaxy Fist caused, prime Garp would've been worldbreaking

Koby quickly reunites with the group, leading to Grus being jealous of Garp's 'future of the marines' comment, Kujaku wants them to have their moment

Confirmation that Tashigi's not a part of SWORD, which is a shame since the G-5 is as close to SWORD as the Navy can be

Hibari's on the ball though, noting that they're not out of the woods until they escape

Hibari Nooooooo!

Girl got iced

As confirmed by the chapter title, Aokiji is indeed the 10th Captain of Blackbeard

The way he words things is interesting though, it's not 'I can't let you escape' it's 'it'll look bad if he escapes while Teach is away'

Oda is playing that fine line of 'is he or isn't he?'

We flash back to Aokiji joining Blackbeard, a year after the Punk Hazard fight

Aokiji iced Wolf and Teach's men near a bar, where he's having a drink - insistent that Wolf and co started it

And instead of a brawl it's just a merry feast roasting Akainu

Still, would've given Aokiji more credit if Akainu lost a limb, being 'banged up' doesn't really have the same level of impact as losing a leg

The Man Marked by Flames is mentioned again, it seems they think he might have the final Poneglyph

Of course, Teach doesn't know one is in Zou

According to Lafitte though the Man Marked by Flames sails a ship of pitch black, and may have a whirlpool fruit

Tbf yeah I wouldn't have put it past the WG to have had a Poneglyph to keep the One Piece out of reach, but Aokiji notes he never saw one to Shiryu

Some lamenting about Ohara too from Kuzan

Lafitte made the mistake though of asking Teach in Kuzan's earshot whether they intend to take his fruit, so back on the icing

Teach however offers him to join

See, as bad as Blackbeard is, the way he sells thing seems much like how Luffy does it: just people with their agendas living how they feel, the difference mainly is the way people do things

Back in the present, Aokiji refuses Garp's demands to unfreeze Hibari and return to the marines

Aokiji questions if Garp can kill his first protege to save another

But Garp sends him into the ground again 'only weaklings lose their way'

Garp seems to have space-themed attack names, since this one was 'Blue hole'

I wouldn't say Kuzan is being 'weak' here though, even Garp resists the system they worked for, he's living on his own path now is all

And now back to team Law vs Blackbeard ('winners island' as it's called)

Law's hat is on the floor and the Polar Tang destroyed

RIP to another cool ship design

Teach didn't have to pile it on either, his first ship was literally a fucking raft

The Rocky Port people are in Fullalead still too, still without their hearts, I guess the WG are in no mood to return them

Just as Teach sets sights on Law's fruit, Bepo goes Su Long

I was spoiled on this yesterday unfortunately, but the design is good

He did it without a moon too, thanks to Chopper. Makes me sad again though because Carrot could've had this tool in her arsenal if she was in the crew

Law is carried away at sea by Bepo, sadly having to leave the rest of the crew behind - despite Law's objections

Bepo notes how they will survive, but I guess that means the remaining Heart Pirates get to hang out with Pudding

Forced to retreat, like Kid: the Heart Pirates were utterly defeated

Blackbeard stocks are going up again

With Aokiji in Fullalead too that means it's likely that Lafitte and/or Devon are in Egghead, but we have wrapped up the Winner's island incident.

Law losing was expected, him and Bepo getting away does mean that Law may play a role in Luffy's and Blackbeard's eventual clash. We will have to wonder further with Fullalead though if Koby escapes, I mean I don't think Kuzan can beat Garp but Shiryu, Vasco, and Pizarro haven't made a move (not to mention Moria and Perona haven't had a follow up), so until they get involved I can't say the ball is in SWORD's court. Perhaps like Law only some will escape, perhaps Koby, Helmeppo, Hibari and Tashigi get away while Garp, Grus and Kujaku are held (hero of marines, high ranking officer's granddaughter and a high ranking SWORD member).

With Aokiji I still feel like he's playing a bit of a long con, it's just that working with Blackbeard aligns with interest right now. The way Teach is with potential allies though shows the layers of the man, he's an asshole to Law and Luffy, villano numero uno, but to Aokiji he was a lot more palatable, reasonable and a little bit encouraging, the art of the salesman I suppose.

They didn't say a break next week, but Golden Week is approaching so we'll see if we'll follow up, I kinda expect us to go back to Egghead again but we very well may stick to Fullalead a little more, maybe Marejois with Kuma. Lot's of things are still happening, and a big incident in Egghead is still about to occur.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

The Champ

Oliver Wood's girlfriend cheers him on as Puddlemere United plays in the European Quidditch League Cup.

Oliver Wood x Reader

1204 words

“Thanks for the tickets, Y/N!” Ginny Weasley gushed as our group made our way through the throngs of people clad in navy blue.

I grinned at the redhead young woman. “No problem! Ollie said he wanted as many old Gryffindors as possible here tonight.”

“How is Ollie these days?” George Weasley asked with a devilish grin.

“Fine, til he hears you calling him that,” I retorted with a pointed look. “Our seats are over here.”

I got everyone settled in their seats and found my own. I quickly pulled out my Puddlemere United jumper and pulled it on. Harry Potter, seated to my left, grinned.

“You excited?” he asked, trying to make himself heard over the noise of the crowd.

I nodded earnestly. “Of course! How often does a girl’s boyfriend play in the European League Cup?” My eyes turned to the program I held in my hands. I flipped it open and quickly found Oliver Wood’s photo, smiling and waving up at me. “He’s gonna do great!”

Oliver and I had gotten together during our last year of Hogwarts, after a couple years of flirting back and forth. Years later, we were still going strong and living in Dorset, me as a sports reporter and him as the starting keeper for Puddlemere United.

Our section of the stadium soon filled with Hogwarts alumni, all there to cheer on Oliver in the European Quidditch League Cup. I waved and called out to friends and classmates I hadn’t seen in years. The last time this many of us had been in one location had been the Battle of Hogwarts; it felt good to see one another for something so joyful. Even Professor McGonagall gave me a friendly hug as she took her seat in front of me. She proudly wore a Gryffindor pin on her usual emerald robes and made sure I knew how proud she felt of Oliver.

“Me too!” I agreed as the stadium lights dimmed. Giving my old teacher a quick squeeze on the shoulder, I stood with the rest of the crowd to join the cheers as the Puddlemere United team whizzed onto the field. I cheered for the players as their names were called; men and women who had become good friends to myself and Oliver, who we often hosted for dinner parties.

“And now,” the announcer’s booming voice called, “the keeper for Puddlemere United- Oliver Woooood!”

I screamed at the top of my lungs, slapping my hands together hardest of all. “Oliver!” I yelled. “Go Ollie!”

Our whole section went crazy with cheers for Oliver; I even heard Professor McGonagall squeal with joy as he flew into the stadium. I tore my eyes away from his flying figure and turned my head to the screen on the far end of the stadium, which showed a close-up of my burly boyfriend. He flew a lap around the stadium and turned to join the rest of his teammates. As he came to a stop, he grinned and held up his right index finger to his heart, tapping it three times; it was his secret hello to me, something he started doing back at Hogwarts when we began dating.

“I,” he had explained before the first game of the year, tapping his heart once. “Love.” Another tap. “You.” The third tap. Seventeen-year-old me blushed as he said those three words to me for the first time. Even now, that signal sent butterflies to my stomach. Despite knowing he couldn’t see me, I tapped my heart right back at him.

I. Love. You.

I spent the next couple of hours screaming and cheering for every save Oliver made. He was completely on top of his game, but it was still a close, exciting match. A sudden loud screaming came from one end of the pitch; on the screen we saw it: the Snitch! The whole arena began shouting and cheering, encouraging their team’s seeker to find it.

Both seekers went after it, racing to get closer and closer to that little glimmer of gold— next to me, Harry was yelling at the top of his lungs—McGonagall was on her feet, hopping up and down—I clasped my hands together, my eyes darting between the seekers and Oliver in front of the hoops—

“THE SNITCH HAS BEEN CAUGHT! PUDDLEMERE WINS!”

I screamed and hugged the people around me, jumping up and down. My eyes scanned the sky as the Puddlemere team flew a celebratory lap around the pitch; there was Oliver, doing loop-de-loops in the air.

“Show-off,” I mumbled with a smirk.

“Y/N?” One of Puddlemere’s staff was calling me from the aisle. “Come on!” I followed her towards the field, my friends patting my shoulders and shouting their congratulations. As I approached the field, I saw other spouses, significant others, and families gathering to congratulate our players. I greeted a couple of significant others with big hugs and hand squeezes; everyone was absolutely glowing.

Suddenly, a strong pair of arms wrapped around me and spun me around.

“Hey there,” Oliver said, that cocky grin on his face.

I hugged him tight. “Amazing!” I shouted over the noise around us. “You were amazing, Ollie!” I planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’m so proud of you!”

Oliver lifted my hand to his chest and used it to tap his heart three times.

I. Love. You.

“I love you, too,” I said with a giggle, leaning my forehead against his. “This must be the best night of your life!” I gushed.

“Almost,” he corrected in a sing-song voice.

“Oh?” I furrowed my brow, confused. “But Oliver… this is your dream come true.”

Oliver held up a finger, shaking his head. “Not quite. But you can make it my dream come true.”

“How-?”

But before I could finish, Oliver was down on one knee. My eyes widened as he pulled a chain out from under his uniform; a diamond ring dangled from it. He quickly pulled it off his neck and held the ring up, grinning at me.

“Oliver, what are you- what do you think-?” I couldn’t quite get out a complete sentence.

People around us noticed Oliver down on one knee; cheers grew around us, and I could hear the Hogwarts section of the stadium start to scream. I swore I could hear Professor McGonagall chuckling with joy.

He laughed and held the ring up higher. “What do you say?” he asked, that cocky grin playing on his face. The grin he usually reserved for a great save.

A smile spread across my face as lifted my hand to my chest and tapped my heart three times.

I. Love. You.

Oliver’s grin widened as he placed the ring on my finger. He quickly stood and kissed me deeply, holding me close. He smiled against my lips as I felt happy tears stream down my cheeks.

We finally parted and rested our foreheads against each other, laughing uncontrollably. I gestured to the stage that was being summoned to the middle of the pitch, where the European League Cup would be waiting shortly.

“Better go get that cup, champ,” I teased.

Oliver shook his head and kissed me again. “I’ve got my prize right here.”

[arysafics]

prompt: clarke finds bellamys old online dating account thats obvious he hasnt used in forever, but she sees all his preferences are exactly the opposite of her (i.e. tall, brunette etc.) which makes her insecure. then he can convince her she hit him out of nowhere?

haven’t had much time to write lately since i’ve just moved apartments, but here’s a little something to tide you over until i can finish my next proper fic

like a freight train

rated t, ~1.7k words

Clarke hasn’t been on a dating site in forever, so honestly, it’s kind of fun to help Emori set up her profile. Things hadn’t ended well with Murphy, and after a string of Tinder hookups, Emori claims she’s ready to really move on and try a proper dating site, the one Raven met her current boyfriend Shaw on. There’s a sign-up fee and everything.

So Raven and Clarke have had fun picking Emori’s best photos, writing her bio, and selecting all her preferences, while Emori vetoed all their worst suggestions, and now they’re onto the really fun part—vetting the men.

They’re crowded around Emori’s laptop, sitting on her living room floor. A selection of thirty matches have come up for Emori, and the way it works is you don’t actually get to see the guy’s photo unless you agree to the match based solely on his biographical information.

“Why do all men either love fishing or cars?” Clarke asks, after the fourth man Emori has declined based on the fact that he will clearly never love a woman more than he loves his four-wheel drive.

“It would be fine if they had other interests too,” Emori says. “I like cars. And I could like fishing, I don’t know, I’ve never tried it.”

“Ooh, okay, what about this guy?” Raven interjects, then starts reading his bio from the screen.

“Looking for someone like-minded who enjoys fitness and the outdoors, particularly hiking and cycling. I also love kayaking, rock-climbing, soccer, and basketball. Would love to find someone to share those passions with me. I love a woman who can cook, not because I can’t (I can) but because I think great food is a way to share culture, history, and passion.

I want somebody laidback, who isn’t afraid to go with the flow and be spontaneous. I don’t vibe well with people who are intense or highly-strung. I hate country music and refuse to listen to it, yes, that includes Taylor Swift. Especially Taylor Swift.”

Clarke interjects then. “Emori, I don’t know about you, but I could never be with a guy who doesn’t like Taylor Swift.”

“You know I only listen to metal.”

“Shh, I’m not done,” Raven huffs. “Looks aren’t as important, but I’m partial to tall brunettes.”

Clarke snorts out a laugh. “This guy would hate me.”

“Yeah, but he’s perfect for Emori. What do you think, Em?”

“First halfway decent guy, I vote yes.”

Raven, who for some reason is the one in control of the laptop, hits the accept match button. Immediately, the man’s photo and name pops up, and immediately, Clarke’s stomach drops. Raven and Emori both erupt into fits of uncontrollable laughter. Because, of course, it’s Bellamy. Clarke’s very own boyfriend.

“Clarke, you better watch out, Emori’s going to steal your man.”

“He must have lowered his standards since then, Clarke,” Emori jokes. Clarke isn’t laughing.

Actually, quite the opposite. She feels like she might burst into tears. Her chest is all tight, and she knows her reaction is probably unjustified, but she can’t help it.

“Grow up, Clarke,” Raven says, rolling her eyes when she notices Clarke’s expression. “We’re just kidding around.”

“I know,” Clarke snaps. “I don’t care about that.”

“What then?” Emori asks. “You don’t think he’s actually still using this, do you? The photo is obviously so old, he clearly hasn’t been on here in years. Look,” she adds, pointing out the last active section on his profile, “last active 2012.”

Clarke nods, her jaw tight. It’s not that either, but she doesn’t feel like explaining it to her friends. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m being stupid.”

“Exactly,” Raven agrees. “Okay, who’s the next guy?” She turns her attention back to the screen.

“I think I’m going to take off,” Clarke says. “Bellamy gave me a shopping list, I’m supposed to pick some stuff up so he can make dinner.”

“Okay, whatever,” Raven says. “See you later. We’ll let you know if Emori finds the love of her life.”

Clarkes picks herself up off the floor, says a quick goodbye and hurries out of there. She’s not really in the mood anymore.

She does Bellamy’s grocery shopping on the way home, taking longer than she needs to, because for once she’s actually not eager to see him. The things he wrote in his dating profile haunt her. How is it possible that when he described his ideal woman, he described the exact opposite of Clarke? If those are the things he wants, what is he even doing with her?

She’s not tall, or brunette, for starters. Clarke hates fitness and the outdoors, and she especially hates sports. She’s not a terrible cook, but she’s not exactly Masterchef material, and she doesn’t enjoy it, just does it out of necessity. She’s intense, and uptight, and high-maintenance—and she fucking loves Taylor Swift.

Emori was right, Bellamy clearly lowered his standards.

She makes it home eventually, and Bellamy is already in the kitchen, getting dinner prepped. He’s got on his navy apron, that Clarke bought for him, with his name specially embroidered on the front.

Clarke dumps the bags of groceries on the counter, and Bellamy looks up from where he’s chopping onions, and gives her a heart-melting smile.

“Just in time,” he says, putting the knife down and wiping his hands on his apron. He reaches for her, with the clear intent of kissing her, but Clarke pulls away from him, still hurt from reading his old dating profile. His wounded expression makes her feel a little guilty, but not enough to overshadow her dejection.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Clarke takes a deep breath. She has to talk about the calmly and maturely—they promised each other they always would. No passive-aggressive comments, or screaming matches, or walking out in silence because of a lack of proper communication. That’s how Clarke’s last relationship ended.

“Raven and I were helping Emori set up a dating profile today,” she explains. “And one of her matches was you.”

Bellamy hesitates, and she can see the gears turning in his head. “And you think…I’m still on dating sites?” he guesses. “I’m not, Clarke, I promise. I was on a few back in my twenties. I guess I didn’t delete all of them.”

“No, I know,” Clarke says. “It’s not that. It’s—it’s what you said in your bio. About what kind of woman you want.”

Bellamy groans. “Did I say something grossly offensive and misogynistic? If so, Murphy probably wrote it, he was helping me out with them.”

Clarke shakes her head. “It was all perfectly respectable. It’s just—it wasn’t me.”

Bellamy stares at her. “Well—I didn’t know you then.”

“No, but you seemed pretty certain about what you wanted. A fit, tall, brunette, who loves sports and cooking and sucking your dick.”

“I’m sure I didn’t say that last one. Besides, you do love sucking my dick.”

“That’s not the point,” Clarke huffs. “The woman you want is the complete opposite of me. Why are you even with me, when you could have anyone you want?”

Her voice cracks on the last sentence, and the tears spill over. She tries to blink them away to save herself the embarrassment, but it’s no use.

“Clarke, baby,” Bellamy says, all gentle and loving. He pulls her into his arms, and she lets him. There’s nothing more comforting than his embrace, even if he’s partly the reason she’s upset.

“I have exactly who I want,” he says. “All that other stuff is meaningless, just dot points on a list I thought I could check off and magically find the perfect partner. I was what, twenty-five? And a complete idiot. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“But I’m not laid back or fun, and I don’t go hiking with you, or canoeing or whatever,” she sobs into his chest.

Bellamy kisses the top of her head, then pulls her back so he can look into her eyes. “Truth is, I once thought that stuff mattered. I was counting on meeting that woman, I was on every dating site, looking for her. But then I met you, and there was no magic dating algorithm that could have predicted that. You hit me like a fucking freight train, Clarke. As soon as I met you, I knew I was done for. You’re it, you’re absolutely it for me. I love your intensity, I love that you care so much, that you’re so organised. I love how you pretend to care about sports for me. I love cooking for you, knowing how much you appreciate it because you hate doing it yourself. I love you. I love you. Understand?”

Clarke nods, and she’s absolutely bawling now, but for entirely different reasons. He’s said he loves her a million times, of course, and she loves hearing it. But he’s never laid it out quite like that—never had the reassurance of him telling her he loves her exactly as she is, not in spite of her faults but because of them.

“You’re still crying,” he says worriedly. “Do you still not believe me? Because—”

Clarke cuts him off with a wet kiss, still half crying. He’s too surprised to kiss her back properly before she pulls away. “I love you too,” she says.

He nods, a little bewildered.

“I love you,” she repeats, kissing him again, and this time he kisses her back. “I love you, I love you, more than you will ever know.”

He brushes his nose against hers, then presses his lips against her tear-stained cheek. “I think I might have some idea,” he whispers.

“You know, in your dating profile,” Clarke murmurs, “you also said you hate Taylor Swift.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Well, you definitely fixed that,” he says. “Is that what you were really upset about? Did I not sing every lyric when we went on that road trip and you played nothing but Taylor Swift?”

“Good point,” Clarke says. “I think I’m definitely a good influence on you.”

“Definitely,” Bellamy agrees. “Now, back to Emori’s dating profile—you know this is going to crush Murphy, right?”

[missputotyra]

Monster boy Encyclopedia- MDZS- Gusu Lan 1

“Welcome to Gusu Lan I assure you there is nothing wrong , I just don’t think humans and non-monsters can handle what the Cloud Recesses has become all at one .Please take this Stone and experience our true home at your lesiure . - Lan Xichen , Current leader of Gusu Lan.

- So Gusu Lan’s main base The cloud recesses is an Eldricht Demon realm . Which is why Xichen has filter over it for someone who is a good Cultivator like him it’s pretty easy to look at Gusu Lan in its full warped Eldricht Beauty with out going insane .

- They have a lot of Harpys and Were rabbits around the

- this dose Bring Concerns about about Sizhui the only human there who sees the true Cloud Rescesses everyday and is still sane . There are. Many theories that people have which includes Him actaully having a personal Filter , him being adopted at an age were he could adapt to it and the most ridiculous being Sizhui being a higher Eldricht Being hiding using Sizhui’s body as a way To manifest itself.

- Kamen Riders , Lilim and Patron Librarian also seem to be able to by pass the Filters on Cloud Recesses and not go insane.

- the Realm is described as A visual depiction of Music the Fauna is often as Living Lyrics, notes that’s Fly ,walk like normal creatures and the Scales move like snakes across the Sky and thier are constant beautiful mesmerizing voices singing the music of Gusu Lan

- but inside there a grating dissonance takes over the Mind of those unprepare for Gusu Lans True beauty. You’ll want to stay there forever and Turn into one of them an You’ll become a Slug , a Shoggoth , An Eldricht priest Or Very rarely a Mindflayer

- Shoggoth and mindflayer seemingly lose thier natural Pigment and turn white and Blue when joining the Sect. Shoggoth also lost thier Butler like devotion for a more familial devotion

- Though many of these Shoggoth were abandoned by thier masters to dry out on the mountain and thus felt betrayed

” what about these Slugs . Well the Slugs were originally Human members of Gusu Lan.”

Xichen seemed to change hes serene Tone for a more Melancholy one looking at one spefic Slug person with two Juniors one was a Slug like Him and other completely human . The Slug Junior seemed to have done something wrong as he was being pulled the older slug .

“Who was that you asked ? Hes my Younger brother Wangji…. I mean Lan Zhan .Wangji is a courtesy name.”

- Wen  wanted  to  Assert  Dominance   . Basically  in an Archery match the sects  have  every year  in Wen sect  no body  from  Wen  sect came in the top 4   Lan  Wangji came in  4th despite  throwing the competion  halfway  ,He's  brother Xichen  came in  second ,Jin Zixaun was third  and in first was JC's Adopted Brother Wei Wuxian  .  This  made Wen worry  

- The  first thing that Wen  did was   attack the  cloud recesses of Gusu Lan  .However Wen   didn't just  stop at forcing them  to   burn the place  down  not  they did something worse after they had burned the  Cloud recesses  they then  release  a  Large amount of   Parasitic Slugs on  the  poor sect  and since  thier Home was burned they had no where to  go , since Wangji 's Leg was  broken  and everyone  left to  run  Wangji   was  infected more severely than most of the  sect .

- However  Lan sect was Surprisingly resistance. to  Changes these Parasitic  were  making to thier  bodies and  Lasted a long while until  Xichen came back  with allies .Where Qiren  inform him of the  state  Gusu Lan was in , If the slugs weren't removed they'd all sex addicted feral  frankly ugly eldritch Slug creatures  known as Deformers  and says some have already transformed and left the sect in search of  what ever  unfortunate  partner they can get thier hands on. 

- Luckily, the Order of the Chief god heard the Plight of  the sects  fighting  against Wen's sect and thier healer/doctors could help them  . Not really ...the order of the chief god are kinda  horrible   people when it comes to  monsters  including the Chief god�� himself and When Xichen  asks for  help removing  parasitic monsterizating slugs  from members of his sect most healers/ Doctors  from  the  order  turned him down saying Gusu  Lan was a lost cause and Xichen couldn't  get  help  from healer's or doctors from the area even with help of Jin Guangyao and  Nie Mingjue asking  around when they weren't  fighting  no one would take the  Job  as it would require a skilled surgeon and Gusu Lan's resitiance to the  change  was dwiddling .

-  Xichen  started to notice  that his own brother  would sometimes  attack him  in a brief feral Lust fuel rages before  snapping out it as if Wangji couldn't discern Xichen  as  his brother .

- Xichen was getting desperate he  didn't want  anymore of his Sect to become these  feral minded sex fuel Monsters that barely any remembered  who  they were. Even if they did win the Sunshot campaign , Wen would still have the last laugh .Xichen  even  consider  infecting himself with the slugs  so that  he'd aleast be able suffer with his sect  in thier final moments of being human and being capable of  having  rational  thought .Even though Jin Guangyao and Mingjue protested him doing this  they both knew thier was no point  Xichen was going  to go down with his  ship . “That was until  a strange man  who was eating  cake at the other   table  put down his  fork  he seemed to  have  be from Zipangu“ Xichen countined his Story ”however Mingjue got  more defensive when  he saw the strange  belt  around his waist the man  was a Masked Rider one the orders many  Hero's several of whom help us out in the fights against Wen. “

- However this rider  stated that he  meant no harm as he hand over heard Xichen's  plight about  the parasitic slugs and give the men the hard  truth ,The order  doesn't operate on people  with these Parasitic  slugs inside them because Removing  doesn't prevent people from  becoming  monsters.But it dose save thier ability to  think rationally  though they become  an entirely different  monster from a deformer .

- The rider then  said  He'd offer to help as he's known through the order as being a Master surgeon able  operate on any organ. Xichen accepted his  offer  with  tears of joy and hope it wasn't to late to save  his brother  and Uncle .

The Rider called his  two female  assistances  over  and told them they  were headed to Gusu lan's Section of the battle field and then to  the cloud recesses itself

- The  Cloud Recesses  now  regard this rider  and his assistances as a hero who selflessly put themselves on a the order's chopping block as they resisted the order commands not to help them .

” The Rider told me to call him Brave as to not give The order any reason to attack Gusu Lan .” Xichen snapped out his Reminescening when you ask a question “ What are the Slug people called now well Beforers .”

Beforers

- Beforers and Deformer are a Type of Eldricht Slug monster That was an Idea that me and a friend came up with during her Recent Star Wars obsession . I expanded upon Cloud Recesses and Beforers After taking a look at Junji Itos Uzamaki you know the story where people turn into snails and spirals .

. - yes Gusu Lan being Eldricht beings is inspired by the Eldritch Lan Au I personally found it on@angstymdzsthoughts

- Anyways beforer just like Other Eldritch monsters are Weird . Beforers and Deformers are classified as Tritionia subspecies as they look like Sea slug though thier body structure mimic The struture of blue Dragon sea slugs( though they often are seen with legs ) they can have the Look of anything kind of sea slug.

- Deformers come from a Parasite . Deformers are basically Feral Eldritch beasts that basically Attack anyone the see as a potenial Vessels For the slug parasites and Taking them out is A basically only one way to become a Beforer as previous Said Gusu Lans Music can also cause humans to become beforer .

- So Beforer don’t manifest Genitals until they take partners. but they do Birth Asexually little slug creatures That eventually turning into Beforers basically cloning themselves

-Yes Beforers are Hermaphrodites like Normal slugs .

- They a look plumper and Gain Long tentacles like appendage that grow from their lower back that seem to have mind of its own after Taking a partner.

-yes The Tentacles are infact Their Partners dont worry they can change back at will . They do the weird Transformation thing all eldritch monster do.

—-

“ What Am I ? ” Xichen looked in confusing “ I’m A Kind of Subspecies of the Dark Priest , I guess you could say I’m an Eldritch Priest.

“ A few month Of living in this Realm I start having dreams I was in the water in the deepest Depths of the ocean and a voice saying that I should Join my people and teach them of the Great old ones. ”

Eldritch priest

- a Subspecies of the Dark Priest Who are more connected to the the Great Old one .

-They are more Cultish in behavior than the Dark priest of the Fallen god.

- usually keep doing thier Jobs of recruting people into the great church of Cthulhu even after obtain partners.

- What Eldritch priest transform thier Partner into is Entirely thier Choice Among the Eldritch Monsters .

You notice the strange almost Mint green colored cloak or was it a pale Yellow it was twice as Large as Xichen and it was really dark inside but , Did you see two scary looking yet familar Faces in that cloak . Your suspicions were confirmed by a hand Coming out and stroking Xichens Face it’s had Yellow sleeves so they had to be from Jin .

——-—

Notable individuals In Gusu Lan

Name: Lan Xichen

Species : Eldritch Priest

Notes: He’s smiles all the time and it’s kind of unsettling . Their are often Golden and/or Green Masses attached to Xichen so hes Most likely Taken .

Favorite color: …White I’ll describe it as white

Favorite Types: Caring and tender people

Status: Taken?

-———-

Name: Lan Qiren

Species : Beforer

Notes: He’s Apparently Lan Xichen and Lan Zhans Uncel

Alot people like the “Moustache”

looks more like Chromodoris willani

Favorite color: Navy Blur

Favorite Type: …he hasn’t really thought about that I guess Mature and Gentel

Status : Singel

————-—

Name: Lan Zhan

Species : Beforer

Notes:

He looks so Sad

he Hates the Leader of Yunmeng Jiang with hidden burning Passion and Lan Zhan wrote down he wished that “ The Leader of Yumeng Jiang be put to sleep like the dirty mutt he is.”

Lan Zhan also wonders why BoJian( MDZS oc) is Even friends with Yunmeng Jiang‘s Leader

Likes rabbits

looks like Glaucus Aka Blue Dragon sea slug

Favorite color: Red

Favorite Type: he Drew a picture that looked similar to current Yiling sect leader if he was human . When we mentioned this he immediately tagged along with us to Yiling .

————-—

Name: Lan Jingyi

Species : Beforer

Notes: He was Born a Beforer it’s believed he split from Lan Zhan

We thought He and Sizhui were twins but they arent

sweet kid ,Huge mouth ,forgetful

Looks like Chromodoris elisabethina

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite Type: I don’t know someone like Jin Ling !?

Stautus : I’m not ready to marry yet !! ;-;

———-—

Name:Lan Sizhui

Species : Hes Human

Notes: The only Human Gusu Lan

Lan Zhan says he came from Wen

As Said before This is Strange because He’s only a Junior and hasnt Gone insane for Gusu Lans Beauty

Favorite color: Periwinkle

Favorite Type: I have no idea I guess I follow Jingyi and Say someone like Jin Ling

status: Not ready

[jessikahathaway]

Crimson Grail Part IV

Holy shit this one too? Oh heck yeah. I did tell one of my lovely readers I would update this story before the end of the month so here’s to them! I hope you all enjoy it!

I DON’T OWN THE PHOTO! 

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

Genre: Pirate!AU, Romance, Adventure

Warnings: Really aren’t any in here. If I missed anything please let me know!

Words: 4,797

he morning brought a dry throat and an ache in your shoulder. In fact it wasn’t even morning anymore. It had to have been around early afternoon.

You gained your bearings and hauled yourself into a seated position. The sharp pain of your wound echoed deep within your body. It hurt, but at least you were alive to tell the tale.

Not many got to say that after being shot.

Moving to stand you braved yourself against the bed frame. Looking to the vanity you saw a fresh set of clothes and a sword with buckles to hang it on.

You grinned and hurried over to the clean items. Taking off your damp shirt you discovered the soapy wash basin and began to bathe. You delicately removed the bandages from your wound and winced. A nasty scar would mar your flesh, no doubt. You’d wear it proudly, however. 

It was the brand of a life saved. 

Pulling on the shirt you smiled as it was light against your skin. The softness immaculate. Weeks at sea made you forget about such things as clean material and soft blankets. Things such as these should be cherished, you’d do that from now on.

Pulling on what you thought were pants you were surprised. A long skirt braced your form, a partial corset sitting on the chair as well. Signs of femininity. Signs of your gender. You didn’t have to hide any longer, you could be true to yourself. 

Bracing the buckles of the corset around your midsection a knock came to the door. You turned to find Greaves standing there, smiling bright.

“You look like a vision, lass.” You smiled and walked to him, smoothing the fabric of your skirt with shaky hands. 

“I certainly hope so, quite an effort to get back into one of these,” you teased. Greaves just shook his head and chuckled.

“Come, the Captain would like a word with ye,” he stated. You nodded and headed towards the door with him.

—

“Step lively men! I want those sails at full mast!” Jin shouted.

The bustle of the deck was overwhelming to watch. You itched to help them fasten the rigging correctly, as you had done for the weeks you’d been sailing with them all. Greaves went over and secured the mainsail before moving towards the bow to check the jib.

“My Lady,” Jin bowed his head while addressing you. You raised an eyebrow before looking towards the helm. Yoongi stood proud, watching his men work tirelessly towards a common goal. A common love of gold and treasures beyond time itself.

“Where are we going that requires such haste?” you asked Jin, moving towards the stairs to the helm. He followed close.

“The meeting of the Council my Lady, Captain Min will explain further once you two are alone. Best not to let the men hear too much,” he said, keeping his head low. “Kolton! Tighten the Stay Line!” 

Jin moved into the crowd of men, barking orders like he did everyday. You sighed and walked up towards Yoongi. His eyes scanned the open waters before him like a challenge not yet faced. He watched all of the men with a keen eye, something you’d never seen up close.

“Do you plan on staring at me all day, you might want to blink before the sea sprays your eyes,” he commented. You jolted and looked away with a flush on your cheeks.

“Thank you for the clothes, they’re very comfortable.” 

Yoongi turned and appraised you. His gaze racked over your body and fell on your corseted waist and ample chest. He bit his lip and chuckled when he met your unimpressed glare. “You look great, Y/N. Like a true Pirate Bride,” he smiled. 

“Jin says we are heading for the Pirate Council, why?” you asked. 

“A meeting of all the Pirate Lords. Dangerous waters such as these, ones where we feel at home are becoming our graves. Sooner than preferable. We need to gather all the Pirate Lords to come to an agreement on what is to be done about the disappearances. The White Fox, The Livered Gull, Stained Mast and Maiden Curr all have fallen in the past months. Ships not lead by daft men or women. Perhaps they were newer to the sea, however sinkings such as these aren’t common place. So why? Why are they sinking?” he asked, turning to you. 

Your mind was racing. 

The stories were true then? The disappearances of Pirates and Military vessels all from the seas. 

“I heard of it as well, back in Albion. Reports would come into the tavern. The Endeavor, Cutlass and Silver Stallion all fell to the waves. The Endeavor was the pride of the Royal Navy, and not a ship to lift your nose at. Have only experienced sailors been the targets?” you wondered.

“Why do you say targets?” Yoongi asked, raising a brow.

“Well, the White Fox and Livered Gull were both manned by seasoned sailors. Not ones to make mistakes in poor conditions or anything of that sort. However the Maiden Curr was a newer ship with a green crew. Hardly made through their first plunder with their lives in tact. But the Captain wasn’t ignorant to his nativity. The Endeavor and Cutlass were both stars of the Royal Navy, no doubt travelling with a group and serving as the flag ships for both. But the Cutlass and Endeavor would never go together in a mission, too much to lose if a loss is to take place. It seems that whatever is happening here, is either random or planned attacks that throw in a random ship to throw people off their trail,” you explained.

Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. 

“How interesting. Your thoughts are not misplaced. All information aligns,” Yoongi smiled.

“I’m a keen observer,” you noted.

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind,” he nodded. The wind ripped through the canvas aggressively, you noticed the change in weather.

“Where are we? Shouldn’t the weather hold a little longer?” you asked. 

“The thing about the Pirate Council, is that only the Pirate Lords are skilled enough to make their way into the port,” he smiled. You bit your lip as the wind picked up once more. The men down below scurried along, trying to make sure the lines and sails didn’t get away from them. 

“I’m worried for their safety,” you stated, looking at the crew beneath you. 

“Have you no faith in me?” he asked, raising a brow. 

“It’s not that I lack faith in you, I lack faith in the weather being kind to us,” you stated.

“The weather here can change within a moment. It’s why the council decided to converge here... Only the most skilled of pirates can maneuver their way in... Hold fast to something, because we are about to let the sails go,” he announced. 

“Let the sails go? Are you insane? Then you have practically no control!” you yelped. 

“Perhaps no control is the best, hmm?” he asked. You swallowed hard, Yoongi grinned and brought you in by your waist. “Hold to me my dear, I won’t let you fall.”

You blushed, looking off towards the large rocky passing. Your heart thudded in your chest. How were you meant to clear that? The boat was too large and if the crew let go that left just Yoongi to control where they went.

“JIN! GRAB THE JIB EVERYONE ELSE! HANDS OFF THE RIGGING!”

The crew looked up at him astounded. 

“But sir if we let go-”

“I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS! MEN RELEASE THE RIGGING AND JIN, GRAB THE JIB!”

You cringed as everyone followed his orders. You watched as the canvas began swirling in the harsh winds. Jin wrapped the ropes for the Jib around his arms and pulled fast on them.

“MEN GRAB THE BOOTLEG!” Yoongi cried out, “PORT SIDE!”

You watched as the men did as commanded, gathering the rope and fastening it to various sections of the deck. Your eyes widened at the idea Yoongi was going to perform.

Large rocks cane into vision through the fog. Your heart hammered in your chest at the realization. He was going to try it. All sails free save for the jib and in these waters? It was madness.

“We’ll die, please stop. Hard to starboard, it’s the only way we’ll make it out!” You cried. Yoongi gripped your waist firmer.

“Do you see the channel to the right?” He asked, keeping his eyes trained forward.

You looked frantically, when Yoongi places his fingers on your chin to direct your eyes. There, you spotted a narrow channel. One the grail might possibly scrape through if everyone held their breaths and prayed collectively.

“We’ll die.” You breathed.

“Or we’ll live,” Yoongi simplified. “Two options. I plan for the latter.”

“Dear God save us all,” you whispered.

“THROW THE BOOTLEG! NOW!”

You watched as everyone hauled the thick rope over, having it catch on the few rocks that were to your side. The sound of scraping wool caught your attention, and suddenly you were being thrown against Yoongi’s chest. He held onto you, letting the wheel move hard over. But soon he caught the turning helm and pushed, keeping it steady as the ship craned around the rocks. You felt your heart in your throat as everyone clung to various parts of the ship.

A sharp snap filled the air as you were rocketed through the channel. Your throat began to ache as you heard screaming in your ears. It was your own, you realized as Yoongi pulled you into his neck. 

“Don’t look, just listen to my voice,” he encouraged. “You’re safe, I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not now, not ever. This fear will pass.”

Gripping his jacket in your palms you shut your eyes tight. Your heart was rattled in your chest as you heard the sound of the water slapping against the aged wood of the ship. Yoongi’s heart was audible to you as well. Thudding soothingly in your ears as you tried to even your breathing.

Cries of the crew made you jump, but Yoongi pulled you back to show you the sight. Several shipwrecks were piled together in the center of this cavern. Some old, some new. Some still holding their crew who partied aboard.

“Welcome to Pirate’s Cove,” Yoongi declared to you.

“W-We... You did it, you did a bootleg turn,” you stated, not believing your eyes.

“Your amazement is cute and a little insulting, but I’ll take it for now,” he smiled.

“MEN! GET THE RIGGING BACK UP AND TAKE US IN!” Jin yelled.

“What now?” You asked, walking forward and putting your hands on the railing. The lights from several ships made the inky water sparkle. Yoongi marveled as you gazed at it, his mind going slightly blank as he watched you. Shaking his head he focused back ahead of him. He had to be on his toes, or risk your life and his.

—

Yoongi helped you walk down the wooden board connecting the Crimson Grail to the dock. There were several ships docked in a similar fashion to the Grail surrounding an island in the middle of the large cove. 

“Now, keep to yourself until we have time to scope out the threats. I don’t want anyone getting too close to you,” Yoongi said, his grip on your arm tightening just a tad bit. You sighed and patted his hand. 

“No trouble, I won’t do anything but be a simple arm piece,” you grumbled. 

Suddenly, you were pushed up against the nearest wall, Yoongi’s hands on either side of your head. 

“Do not presume that you don’t have worth here. One of the Pirate Lords is a woman. And she is one of the most ruthless pirates here. You are young, and innocent of the sea that is now colored with blood. But if you want a taste, if you want this freedom that I offer, let me protect you in the only way I can for now. I promise you, this isn’t a shackle,” he said, lifting your hand and turning it over in his hands. “It is the most powerful weapon I can give to you right now.”

“Then I’ll wield it as well as any cutlass,” you smiled. 

“Just keep your eyes peeled and don’t let anyone but me too close, they are all trained killers, and they would want nothing more than to see my bride wind up dead. Even though they personally might not have anything to do with it, I can’t speak for their crew remaining unbiased in the situation,” Yoongi explained.

“Very well, I won’t cause any trouble, cross my heart,” you said, crossing your fingers in an X over your breast. 

“Now, let me tell you who all of these people are,” Yoongi began. “There’s Scarlett River, a truly bloodthirsty woman who would like to be Queen of all Pirates. However, the council cannot agree on a candidate but that is besides the point. She’s deadly with a pistol and will drink any man under the table. But she’s a great sailor and can prove to be an amazing ally if the need arises. She has several men and women under her mast and they are all loyal to her. She is someone you might be able to trust. But like I said, all of these people would like nothing more than my wife dead, so please, do keep her at arms length.”

You nodded and he continued.

“Next, is Allistar Morningstar. He is the youngest Pirate Lord at 19 and has the following to back him up. He’s immature and ruthless, but has the strategic mind of a man at constant war. Never place your bets against him, because he’ll defy all the odds and make you regret underestimating him. Generally he is pleasant, but keeps to himself. He wants to find himself a bride as soon as possible, seeing you will no doubt upset him. Just keep your head low around that crazy kid and I’ll see to it nothing goes awry.”

“Allistar Morningstar? He actually exists?! I heard that he-”

“Please don’t fawn over him like all the others do, its unwise,” he commented, before continuing. “ Next is Apollo.”

“You meant the ‘One-Eyed Sharpshooter!?’” You squealed. “I heard that he took down an entire battleship with ten people and a half loaded pistol!”

“He’s not one to trifle with that’s for certain. He is known to never show up to these meetings, but he’s here now. That means whatever we’re dealing with is serious, I want you to know that not a lot is known about this guy. He keeps to himself. He had a bride once, and she died. She never made it to their first council meeting before she caught an illness and died back in Lunavox. She was heir to a fortune that she turned down to be with him, it was love and he was devastated when she died, seeing you here won’t be easy for him either. Steer clear of that one,” Yoongi informed.

“Aye aye,” you said. 

“Next is Park Jimin. He’s a sleazy bastard, but a great friend of mine. But don’t trust him as far as you can throw him, he’s always in it for himself. But, when the time comes, I know he’d do the right thing. He has several people behind him as well. Loyal and diehard to his cause of debauchery. Just, don’t drink anything he gives you and don’t let his wandering hands find your body or he might lose them,” he growled. 

“I’ll be sure to cut off his hands before he can think about touching me,” you smirked.

“Atta girl. But finally there’s Swallowtail. Keep clear of him if you can. He’s no good and is rarely associated with good people. However, he has intel on everyone and everything. No doubt knows you’re here already. But, we might surprise him tonight if we’re lucky. He doesn’t mix well with women and has it out for them in a certain way. Mommy issues, but we don’t need to get into all of that here. But those are all the Pirate Lords, every conniving one of them.”

“You missed one,” you whispered, looking into his eyes as he stared back at you.

“Ah, it seems I did... No matter, you’ll find out my secrets one day. Perhaps,” he smiled. 

“Captain Min I-Oh! Sorry! I didn’t know you two were, uh. Excuse me,” Jin said, stumbling over his words.

Looking at your situation you gently pushed Yoongi away from you, crossing your arms over your chest before looking at Jin with a neutral expression. 

“No need, we were just discussing business. What did you need?”

Jin cleared his throat before looking to you then Yoongi. “The meeting will be proceeding in the next fifteen minutes. We must head inside soon.”

“Very well, lead the way Jin,” Yoongi said, taking your hand in his. 

—

The inside of the Pirate Council meeting room was decorated with several swords and cutlasses and other types of weaponry. It was almost uncomfortable with how much was crammed in there. But Yoongi kept a close hold on you as you walked through the halls. It was a bunch of different shipwrecks, crashed together and molded around one another to create a type of structure. The wood underneath was rotting and you held tight to Yoongi for fear of falling straight through the floor. 

Jin was silent ahead of you as a few other women came out from the woodworks it seems as they began leading you to the Council room as well. They were beautiful in their own right. Shapely bodies and gorgeous locks that made you slightly envious. 

As you rounded a corner you began to hear yelling and smashing of objects.

“COME HERE YOU SON OF A BITCH!” A woman screamed as you heard boisterous laughter and cheers. 

“Sounds like Jimin must of pissed off Scarlett again,” Yoongi stated smirking. “He always tries to get under her skin in some way shape or form during these meetings.”

“Why?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Because, he likes her but won’t admit it and two pirate lords being together could cause a hell of a lot of trouble for the Council and one of them would have to give up their title for love and both of them love treasure and power more than one another so, they just fight it out,” Yoongi says. 

“That’s kind of sad,” you commented.

“It’s not so bad, they made their weird relationship work in it’s own right,” he said, rubbing your good shoulder. 

But before you could speak a bottle was flying straight for your head. 

Yoongi, quickly, grabbed you and let the bottle shatter against his back. Grunting with the effort of the blow. 

“Yoongi!” You gasped, grabbing his arms and checking him over frantically.

“I’m alright dear, I’m okay,” Yoongi said, taking your hands in his. 

“But-”

“So this is the Pirate Bride we’re heard so much about,” someone said. A man with dark eyes and blonde hair approached. He looked young, he must be Allistar Morningstar.

“Back up Allistar, don’t want you scaring away the new beautiful young woman,” another man, with dark eyes similar to Allistar’s, but much more friendly and black hair secured under his pirate cap. 

“Jimin,” Yoongi smiled, taking his hand in Jimin’s. 

“Yoongi, good to see you, and lovely to meet you my dear,” Jimin said, taking your hand and kissing it softly.

“Alright alright, off my wife,” Yoongi said, pushing Jimin in the shoulder gently.

“Finally! Another woman to add to the group!” A crisp voice rang out above the crowd. A beautiful woman with golden brown eyes and scorching red hair approached you. 

“Scarlett, everyone, this is my bride, Y/N,” Yoongi introduced you.

“Hello,” you waved, suddenly shy.

“Oh don’t be modest my dear! Come, sit by me!” Scarlett said, taking your hand and pulling you into the crowd. Yoongi let you go, not fazed by Scarlett’s over-friendly attitude as he began chatting with Jimin.

A few minutes later the group came to a calm, people were chatting amongst themselves as you sat awkwardly with your hands in your lap. 

Scarlett had downed her second glass of wine since the two of you sat down and you were feeling more and more ostracized by the second.

“So,” she began, catching your attention, “Yoongi huh?”

“Ah. Yeah...” you trailed off, not sure what you could divulge about your situation to her. It was still new to you as well. 

“Don’t yeah me! Tell me the details! How you met! I want the whole love story,” she said, resting her chin in her palms like a small child awaiting a bedtime story.

“W-well... Uh, we met in Albion,” you began. She didn’t interrupt you so you continued. “I was working as a barmaid and well... The head of the bar was selling my bed to the highest bidder,” you cringed, trying not to think of the awful memory.

“No! What a degenerate,” Scarlett growled, taking another swig of wine.

“Um, anyways, Yoongi paid 60 trinity coins to share my bed with me. But when we got up to the room he didn’t touch me. Just told me to rest and that he might want me to repay him some day,” you explained.

“Wow, what a Yoongi thing to do,” she exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” You asked, intrigued.

“Well, Yoongi has never been able to let a damsel in distress go unsaved. It’s kinda his thing, but you must be special if he chose you to be his bride! You’re easy on the eyes that’s for sure, and you must be able to hold your own in a battle too!”

“Well, I’m not sure about that-”

“Alright ye mongrels! Gather round,” a voice yelled.

Looking up you saw a tall man standing towards the back of the room. He was wearing a aged leather hat and his beard touched the middle of his chest. His mousy brown hair also hung low, intermingling with the hair of his beard when he sat down. 

It was Swallowtail, Apollo sat to his right. One blue eye gazing around the room. Scarlett looked towards the back as Yoongi took his seat next to Jimin. You were surprisingly anxious sitting by yourself without Yoongi there. But you had every right to be here, just as they did. So, you started listening.

“We are here in regards to ships goin’ missin’ off the seas. Does anyone have any ideas as to why this might be happening?”

The room was silent. 

“Perhaps the Royal Navy has finally caught up to some of them,” Allistar said, lifting his cup to his lips before drinking his rum in one go. 

“People in the Royal Navy have gone missing you dunce,” Jimin said, smacking the glass out of his hand.

“Does anyone else have an idea?”

The room went silent once more.

You thought long and hard as the silence bore on.

What could be causing these attacks? Why were whole ships going missing without a word or any survivors?

What kind of people don’t take prisoners or at least the bounty of those they have taken down. These whole ships are sinking without their boon being taken at all. It’s all just sinking...

That must mean whatever is doing this isn’t doing it for money. Perhaps they just want the glory? Pirate killers? But they’ve taken down Navy members as well. 

And it can’t be someone inexperienced, it’s a trained murderer. 

Then a story popped into your head. One your father told to you years ago. 

“If a man takes the Heart of the Sea, then a monster will arise far stronger than any man alive. The only way to keep the treasure is to kill the one you truly love, or to give the necklace back to the ocean. This monster is called a Kraken.”

“W-What if it’s the Kraken?”

Scarlett spit out her drink.

Jimin laughed.

And Yoongi looked slightly embarrassed.

“My dear, just let this one go,” Scarlett advised, wiping her mouth.

“But I’m serious,” you said, thinking about it more.

“What if someone took the Heart of the Ocean and released the Kraken?” You said, putting your hands on the table.

“Y/N,” Yoongi said, looking at you sharply.

“So good to know Yoongi took a loon for a wife,” Allistar said from across the room.

“I’m not a loon! I-I heard the stories when I was younger,” you declared.

“That’s all they are, love, stories,” Jimin said, swirling his wine in his glass.

“But what else could it be? The stories say he who holds the Heart of the Sea controls the ocean! It would explain why all these ships are going missing.”

“No one’s ever seen the Heart of the Sea, let alone found a map leading anywhere near it or where to find it! Honestly, Y/N, let’s think of something else,” Scarlett said, placing her glass down.

“These ships are all being attacked at random, no one knows why or how they’re being taken down. Whomever is destroying these ships isn’t doing it for the boon! It’s all sinking! And why take out ships that you could add to your bounty? It doesn’t make any sense, but what would a monster gain from stealing when all it wants is to devour the ocean whole?”

“Y/N, that’s enough,” Yoongi said, sighing and rubbing his forehead.

“Like hell it is! This could be it! And if that’s the case all we have to do is find the Heart of the Sea and give it back to the ocean! Then all these ships will stop going missing and-”

“I said that’s enough!” Yoongi said, slamming his fists down on the table. “We are not here to make mockery of each other. We are here to discuss why these ships might be going missing, not telling one of your wives tales, Y/N!”

The burn of shame was hot across your cheeks as Yoongi settled back into his seat, Jimin placing a warning hand on his shoulder. Scarlett shushed you in the corner.

The room was silent.

Until.

“I believe her,” a soft voice came.

Heads snapped in the direction of the voice.

“Apollo you can’t be serious,” Allistar said.

“I’m very serious,” Apollo said, not wavering.

“What do you mean?” Swallowtail said, inching closer to the one eyed man.

“I heard someone talking recently about finding a map to the Heart of the Sea. I didn’t think anything of it, until now that Y/N puts it all together.”

“She’s delusional!” Allistar shouted.

“Watch your tongue!” Scarlett said, standing up.

“Does anyone here know of Tobias Bridge, the Captain of Satan’s Compass?” 

You could hear Yoongi hiss under his breath.

“We’re well acquainted, yes,” Yoongi growled. 

“It was him whom I heard talking about the Heart of the Sea, and finding an old map off the coast of Port Sarrion. If Tobias has truly found the Heart of the Sea and unleashed the Kraken, then it might already be too late.” Apollo stated, worry interlacing in his tone.

“No, I won’t let that smarmy bastard get away with something like this,” Yoongi said.

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Swallowtail announced.

“Go after him!” You said, as if it were obvious.

“Y/N the last time you went up against Tobias you got shot, I don’t think that going up against a man who controls the sea is the best option here,” Yoongi said, feigning frustration.

“But what else can we do Yoongi? Just wait until the Kraken devours everyone? We need to stop him and return the Heart of the Ocean,” you said.

“I agree with Y/N, if Tobias truly has it, then we need to stop him as soon as possible,” Scarlett said from your side.

“I think you’re all insane,” Allistar stated, drinking more.

“Then let’s take it to a vote,” Swallowtail said. 

“All in favor of hunting Tobias Bridge, say aye!” 

“Aye!”

“Aye!” 

“Aye!”

“And all opposed?”

You saw Yoongi’s hand raise as well as Swallowtail’s and Allistar’s.

So it was a draw.

“Y/N,” Scarlett said.

“What?”

“You still have to vote,” Scarlett said as if it were obvious.

“She’ll just go with what Yoongi says, so let’s discuss another matter,” Allistar whined.

“I say we go after Tobias Bridge and take back the Heart of the Sea,” you declared. 

Yoongi’s eyes shot to yours, before quickly diverting his attention elsewhere.

“Then at dawn we sail for Satan’s Compass to take back the Heart of the Ocean!”

[justanotherlifeff]

Levi Ackerman × reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, matured themes, slowburn

Warning: There's mentions and descriptions of underage rape and suicidal themes and self harm and other triggering stuff.

(Y/N) POV

Damn those 3DMGs... After using those for a while, I suddenly felt so dizzy that I passed out. Right on that cart. I recovered fairly fast but just when I did, someone injected me with something. I was already tied up and drowsy so I couldn't fight. When I regained my consciousness, I was tied to a chair, my 3DMG was taken off and there were six men standing in front of me. "So you're (Y/N) (L/N) eh? Humanity's strongest woman? That runt really got himself some good meat." a very tall man chuckled. My mouth was gagged so I couldn't give a reply. I just glared at him.

"I don't know if you know me. I'm Kenny. Now that I know that Levi has a thing for you, I'll keep you nice and tied up here so that I can kill him when he comes to get you. Meanwhile, you can enjoy the company of these fine lads" Kenny chuckled again as he got out of the door. One of those five men came close to me and told the others with a laugh, "Captain gave us permission. We really should enjoy this one". Saying that, he started groping me. I almost tried to protest but then I remembered that I had a pocket knife in my panties. Levi made me keep it with me when we were gearing up before leaving the safe house.

My hands were tied behind me and there was a gap on the chair right above my ass. I slipped my hand in my pants as calmly as possible, while one more person joined him to grope me. One of them took of my scarf and saw the hickeys that Levi left. " Darn it! Marked women aren't attractive!" one of them grunted. "Well, we can bite her and leave worse marks" another chimed in and one of them bit my neck really hard. It hurt like hell and I did not enjoy it because it felt exactly like how everything felt when I was underground. I yelped at that, gritting my teeth to stop myself from crying. I reached the pocket knife somehow and got it out of my pants and unsheathed it.

I slowly cut the rope tying my hands and then the rope that was tying my torso to the chair. The guards didn't notice because they were too busy groping me and biting me. It took about 30 seconds for the whole process but I decided that I had to wait till Kenny is gone.

A few weeks back:

Levi and I were standing on the clearing of the safehouse. He was training me to use knives. "If you can defeat me with only a pocket knife while I have a sword, you would be good enough to survive against Kenny with a knife. Everything I learned about using knives was from Kenny. I don't expect you to be that good but I want you to be able to take on 3-5 people with a pocket knife. I only won against Erwin in sword duels a few times because I had years of experience. You won't have that and good for you, you won't have to face either Erwin or Kenny. Now, focus." Levi told me as a pep talk. His pep talks were more discouraging than encouraging.

I decided I had to wait for about five minutes before whatever there was outside the room was clear. I had limited time to cut everyone open and strap into their 3DMGs that have guns attached. I endured absolute hell for five more minutes and when I was done, I, without any warning, slit the throats of the two men closest to me with one swash. One body fell down and I kept another on top of me to shield the bullets. I used the knife to cut the rope that tied my legs and used the body to run up to the closest soldier, slit his throat, threw the chair at one of the two soldiers left and ran up to the other with the body of the soldier whose throat I just slit and threw the body on him and got on his back when he was loosing balance and put my knife on his throat but suddenly, the other soldier ran towards him and snatched the knife from me.

He thought he got me but I snapped this guy's spine with a kick that I delivered by swinging on his neck and kicked the last soldier on his face, picked the knife up and slit his throat too. It took 7 minutes approximately. I had three minutes at max to strap up to the 3DMG. I did that as fast as possible in about 4 minutes and also took the most filled tank and took all of their unused bullets. I opened the door to find two soldiers running towards the door in the hallway but instead of shooting them, I flew towards them and slit their throats with my knife. I didn't want to attract Kenny's attention. I already felt nauseous and dizzy for using the 3DMG but I kept myself calm and in control.

I saw a window in the hallway and opened it, shot towards it twice to break the grille and flew out. I was still in Trost but in the military building for the interior squad. They had their own buildings in every major city. I got the attention of the MPs already and they chased me. I knew that I couldn't afford a 3DMG chase because I felt dizzier by the minute, so, I changed my direction towards the market place, went through several narrow alleys between buildings and lost their tail for a second and got into a clothing store.

An old lady was at the counter who looked at me with shock as I rushed towards her and told her in a pleading voice, "Please help me! They will kill me. I need a place to hide.". She saw the marks on my neck that clearly stated that I was physically abused not long ago and she said, " Okay my dear, into the dressing room. Now.". I rushed into the room she showed me. Suddenly I saw her throwing a blue cloak over the door with a (Different hair colour) wig. "Wear these." she instructed. I did as she said, wearing the navy blue long cloak and the wig. "Come out when you're done dear and wash off all the blood on your face and hands in the bathroom. You will attract attention if you don't" she told me in a soothing voice.

I did as she said and I honestly looked very different except for the marks on my neck. When I came out of the bathroom, she gave me a grey scarf to cover it. I searched in my pocket and found my purse. I didn't have much in there because I didn't get a chance to collect my pay check. I only had three gold coins. I gave those to her and told her, "Ma'am, I could never repay you for your kindness. Please take these coins. They are all I have now. I promise I'll pay the rest as soon as I can..." she interjected me and said, "I know who you are. You're (Y/N) (L/N) from the scouts. My dear, everyone has heard of your bravery. I'm honoured to help you. You young people give your lives for humanity and this is the least I could do for you".

I didn't know how to answer to that so I smiled at her and muttered, "Thank you. I have to go now" and left the shop. I saw the military police looking for me but the wig saved me. I knew what location to go to because Levi explained us the plan about where the hideout would be. It was night, the market streets were still pretty busy but they won't be a while later. I knew I couldn't borrow a horse or anything because that could blow our cover. I had to walk to the forest in which the new safe house stood. It took a while, the streets were empty when I got close.

I got inside the forest and used 3DMG to get in further even if that made me feel dizzy to speed up the process. When I reached, it was late. There were lights inside the house and I knocked the front door. I took the wig off so that they would recognise me. There was no sound for a while till someone cracked the door to see who's knocking and the door flung open and Jean stood there with Connie and Sasha. Sasha pulled me in a brief hug asking me if I was okay, etc.

"Get me a place to sit" I muttered as they took me in there to the dining room and let me sit, giving me water and bread. I started eating those like my life depended on it. I could hear screams of agony in the background but I wasn't feeling good enough to give heed to it. I didn't even notice that Connie disappeared from the room. A moment later, Levi entered the room along with Eren, Mikasa, Armin and Connie.

"So, you're back." he said with his cold tone dripping with sarcasm. I looked at him with a surprised expression. I expected him to ask me if I'm okay. "So, you feel like not answering your squad leader is completely fine. Then again, you seem to disobey my orders without any issue." he told me in his cold voice again.

"I'm sorry heichou, I felt like you stated a fact instead of asking a question. I don't know how to answer to facts. About the order, two lives were at risk. I did what any second in command would do because they are my subordinates too. Infact, under the Survey corps rulebook, section 4, a second in command can make their own decisions in case of life or death situations..." I continued formally and coldly when Levi stopped me with his hand slamming on the table as he talked quietly and menacingly, "Are you fucking kidding me? I know what the fucking rulebook says! My point is, how the fuck can you make such an absurd decision like that in your current condition?!".

My eyes widened at that. I noticed everyone standing around us silently, quiet perplexed by the tension in the room. "What do you mean by my 'current condition'?" I asked quietly. Levi continued to give me his cold stare and said, "You really thought I won't find out you're pregnant?". I knew I would be in big trouble now. I calmed myself down and looked at everyone else in the room and told them, "Could you all give us some privacy?". They all murmured an yes and rushed out of the room. Levi and I were alone in the room.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by myself when I said, " I didn't want to worry you by letting you know about it. You already had a lot of burden on yourself..." I tried to reason with him but he stopped me and said, "How do you think I feel right now? I feel like a complete failure as a partner and..." I saw him hesitate for a while before he continued, "and as a father.".

"I'm sorry" I blurted out. "I couldn't live with the blood of my comrades on my hand. Not when I could've saved them. I should've told you about the pregnancy. It would've helped you make plans better. I found out very recently too and everything got messed up so suddenly..." I tried to reason with him. He didn't reply for a while. I knew he was trying to calm down. I knew that he needed time to adjust to the whole situation. Even if he is the strongest man of humanity, he still is human. "Could you live with the blood of your kid on your hand?" he asked me softly. "No. I can't. That's why I'm alive..." I started when I remembered about the injection.

"Levi, I need to see Hanji. They gave me an injection that made me pass out. I don't know if it will harm the...baby." It felt weird to talk about...it. I still couldn't believe I was going to have a child. I saw a glimpse of concern in Levi's eye. "I'll send Hanji as soon as she arrives. She is supposed to be here soon." he told me. There was another awkward silence before I asked him, "Do you want the kid?".

He looked at me as if I just asked him the most stupid question ever. "(Y/N), why do you think I just shouted at you for making a completely rational decision?". I smiled at his answer. He wanted it too. "I'll tell Sasha to boil some water for you. You need a shower. You look like shit." he told me before walking out of the room.

Levi POV

I was torturing Sannes when Hanji arrived. She tried to join me but I stopped her and said, "(Y/N) escaped them. They injected her with something to make her unconscious. I need you to check if it affects the baby in any way". "You know? She told you?" Hanji asked with surprise. She was pretty sure that (Y/N) wouldn't tell me about it, at least, not yet. "No she didn't. I heard it from Connie. Tch! If she just talked to me about it, I wouldn't let them kidnap her or inject her with some sort of crap that might harm the baby". I grumbled.

"I'll go check on her. Are you coming?" Hanji asked. "Yeah coming". I muttered as I took the bloody apron off and followed her. (Y/N) already took a bath and was wearing her own normal clothes. We all kept our bags in the warehouse before going into combat. We collected those and Reeves from there later. I sat on a chair in the room next to the bed where (Y/N) was lying on. She was in my room, of course. There were many rooms in this house.

Four bedrooms, two of them had one bed in each and the other two had three bed in one, and two bed in one room. Hanji took one of the rooms with one bed and I took the other. Moblit and the male members of my squad were staying at the room with three beds and the female members of my squad were in the room with two beds. There was a spare room which we used as a torture room. There was, of course the dining room and the kitchen and a small underground dungeon.

Hanji was doing a blood test on (Y/N). She somehow always has her equipment in her bag no matter what the situation is. She mixed her blood in some chemical and declared that it was a mild sedative which won't harm the child. (Y/N) was sleeping, probably because she was too tired from the events from the morning. I decided to go back to torturing Sannes when Hanji was checking (Y/N)'s temperature and some other stuff to make sure she's completely fine. I noticed the bite marks on her neck as she was sleeping. "What did they do to her..." I thought grimly.

I was pretty sure they laid their hands on her and I intended to cut their hands off and feed them to dogs. She just had to say the name. I took one last look at her and left the room. Even after going through so much, she still managed to look like the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. On the way back to the torture room, I told Mikasa to wake (Y/N) up in time for dinner and give her the news Hanji gave me about the sedative not being harmful. After a while, Hanji arrived the torture room and apologised for being late and literally jumped onto torturing Sannes.

No one's POV

Mikasa woke (Y/N) up when dinner was cooked as instructed by Levi. The first thing (Y/N) asked after waking up was about the injection. Mikasa gave her the news about it being harmless. "How did things go with Levi Heichou?" she asked (Y/N). "We sorted things out. By the way, did Connie tell Levi about the...you know.." (Y/N) tried to ask Mikasa about the baby but hesitated because she felt uncomfortable about the whole thing. "Yes but don't kill him" Mikasa told (Y/N) as she smiled at her. "Well, I was intending to but we need all squad members" (Y/N) sighed.

The two girls went downstairs to the dining room. Everyone except Hanji and Levi were eating. Hanji and Levi still were busy torturing Sannes. As (Y/N) sat beside everyone else, everyone became silent. Mikasa calmed everyone down by mentioning that things were okay between Levi and (Y/N). "Oi Connie?" (Y/N) called Connie out calmly while eating as Connie gulped. "Didn't you promise me to keep your mouth shut?" (Y/N) asked him in a calm tone. "Uh, you see, I felt that it would be wise to tell Levi Heichou since he told us about you... I'm so sorry (Y/N)! Please forgive me!" Connie looked scared to death. To that, (Y/N) smiled and said, "Seems like you actually made a good decision Connie. Levi would've killed me himself if I told him about it later. You really aren't as dumb as I thought". "Huh?" Connie said looking confused. "Well, I guess I'll take the last sentence back" (Y/N) remarked at that.

Everyone laughed at that except Jean, who made a serious face, looked straight at (Y/N) and asked, "So, you're already in first name basis with him.". Everyone including (Y/N) was thrown aback by Jeans sudden serious demeanour. "Why are you stating the obvious?" (Y/N) asked Jean calmly. She just didn't understand why Jean hated Levi so much. "You really never noticed me did you?" Jean sighed loudly. "Noticed you? Apart from you fighting with Eren constantly, misbehaving with your mother back in the trainee corps days and being called 'Jean-boy',and, recently complaining about how bad Levi treats me, what else was there to notice?" (Y/N) asked looking confused.

"You never noticed that I never fought back when we sparred back in the trainee corps days? Or the fact that I always helped to point out the dummy titans in our combat training exercises and I always happened to be around you? I even complimented your hair the first day we talked! I complained about Levi because I was worried that he would hurt you! But of course, you got together with him even if he probably never showed any positive feelings towards you! Instead of asking you if you're okay after being kidnapped, he blamed you for everything! And you got knocked up by that guy. How do you even know that he wont leave you later?.." Jean stopped when he noticed the sympathetic look on everyone's face except (Y/N)'s, who's eyes looked like she was pleading someone to spare his life.

Looking at the direction everyone was looking at, Jean sighed and stated, "Levi Heichou is standing behind me. Right?". "Yes he is. Muck the stables till your hands get raw. I'll cut your hands off if I find a spot tomorrow. Don't even think about dinner tonight. If you can, spend the night with the horses. After all, you look like one too." he heard Levi's voice from behind him. "Hai!" he shouted nervously as he got up and saluted and went for the stable.

Levi sat down for dinner with Hanji joining us a while later. She revealed the idea about making the other military police they caught read a script because Sannes wouldn't talk. The idea was already implemented before they came for dinner. The rest of the dinner went quietly because no one was brave enough to talk with a pissed Levi around. Everyone went to bed after dinner except Levi and Hanji, who went to get Sannes to talk. (Y/N) decided to go to bed but instead went to the stable to find Jean. Jean was muttering curses at Levi while cleaning the stable when (Y/N) found him. "Jean?" she called him out.

"Sorry about my behaviour during dinner." Jean muttered. "It's okay. I'm sorry that he got you into this." (Y/N) apologised too. After an awkward silence, Jean spoke up saying, "I still want to know why it was him instead of me.". (Y/N) looked right into Jean's eyes and asked him, "What would you do if I talked to you about my past? I killed that garrison soldier because he tried to take advantage of me. I spent seven years underground in a brothel. I was five when they made me serve customers. How would you comfort me from that?".

Jean was taken aback by (Y/N)'s sudden confession about her past as well as the question. "Well, I would tell you that I'll protect you from anything like that. I'll make sure you forget the bad past with an amazing future." Jean replied after thinking for a while.

"This is the reason why I chose Levi. He never promised me a good future or protection because he knows the future can't be decided. He never said that he can make me forget my past because anyone who lived in the underground knows that you can't forget that place. What he said was that I'm strong enough to protect myself now and that's what matters. He taught me to be stronger even if that hurt me. That's why I'm alive today. He shouts at me because he cares and doesn't want me to make mistakes. If he wasn't serious about me, he wouldn't shout at me for making a good decision. He only did that because he was worried about me and the...baby." (Y/N) answered softly.

Jean didn't know how to answer to that because she was right. "I'm sorry Jean. You deserve someone who isn't as complicated as I am." (Y/N) told him with a sympathetic smile. "You're right. I wish the best for you. Can't say the same for Levi Heichou though since he's killing me here" Jean chuckled. To that, (Y/N) got her hand in her pocket and pulled a bread out. She got that from the kitchen for Jean on her way out. "Here, take this as an apology in behalf of Levi. I had to steal it from the kitchen" (Y/N) said as she handed the bread over to Jean. Jean took the bread, muttered a thank you and before he took a bite, the stable door opened and Levi stepped in and said, "That was a wonderful speech but I still can't allow him to eat. That's part of the punishment.".

Jean quickly tried to hand the bread back to (Y/N) but she looked at him and said, "No. Keep it" before turning back to Levi and saying, "It will take a while for him to get done with cleaning the stable. We don't want weakened soldiers in case of any sudden attacks.". Levi looked at her for a few moments before answering, "You're right. However, Hanji and I have an announcement to make. Jean, meet us at the dining room when you're done eating and cleaning yourself up". To that, Jean muttered an okay and waved at (Y/N). (Y/N) smiled at him and waved back.

On their way back to the dining room, (Y/N) asked Levi, "Now that you know why I chose to be with you, I want to know why you chose to be with me.". To that, Levi chuckled and said, "Pregnancy is getting you soft. The (Y/N) I knew would've never asked that". "Right. So soft that I killed 5 people in 7 minutes." (Y/N) scoffed at that. "Were those the people you gave you those marks on your neck?" Levi asked with a dark tone. To that, (Y/N) answered, "Yes.". "Well, that's a job well done for beginners. Try to make it in five minutes next time. If you didn't kill them already, I'd have done it and fed them to dogs." Levi told (Y/N) in a monotonous voice. A frown formed on (Y/N)'s face as she told Levi, "You still didn't answer my question".

"Well, I wanted to be with someone who has a high chance of survival but isn't some shitty housewife too because I want to be with someone who can keep up with me. Other than that, I guess I wanted someone who would understand what's in my mind without me having to dictate everything." Levi answered to (Y/N) before asking, "The things you told Jean, were those true?". Before answering to Levi's question, (Y/N) mocked him by saying, "Seems like my pregnancy is making you soft too. That isn't the Levi I know" with a chuckle. Levi made his usual grumpy face at that and said, "Shut up and answer the question". " Yes. That was true." (Y/N) answered.

They reached the dining room. Hanji and Levi announced that the Reiss family was the true Royal family. Sannes confirmed it. Everyone was shocked by the news specially because no one ever imagined that Historia is the true heir. Hanji also mentioned that Eren could be eaten. Mikasa cringed at the thought and tried to get out of the room. Levi talked some sense into her about how going on a rampage won't work. It was planned that Levi squad would move to one of the Reiss family lands at dawn and Hanji will immediately go to Erwin with Moblet to give news about Sannes's confession.

When we were done, Levi and I returned to our room and a while later, both laid down on the bed, together. A few moments later, (Y/N) noticed Levi's hand run into her hair, gently patting her head as her face was on his chest. "You've done really well, (Y/N). I'm proud of you." he sighed. An uncharacteristically huge smile formed on (Y/N)'s face as she muttered a "Thank you" before passing out.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: I felt like I should explain the timing of everything that happened since it all happened in one day.

3:00PM-(Y/N) got kidnapped

4:00PM-Levi questioned Reeves

5:00PM- (Y/N) escaped the military police.

6:00PM- Sannes and Ralph were kidnapped

8:00PM- (Y/N) arrived at the safe house.

9:00PM- Hanji arrives at the safe house

10:00PM- Dinner is set, Hanji and Levi tricks Sannes.

10:30- Dinner is over. Sannes confesses immediately. He is sent to share a cell with Ralph. Levi says Hanji to report to everyone about Sannes's confession and goes to look for (Y/N)

11:00 Hanji sets out with Moblit to give the news to Erwin. Everyone else goes to bed.]

To be continued...

Taglist: @reality-is-often-disappointing, @kingtamakimurder

[alexthepartyman]

When I’m Saved (Part 1)

AN: This story is a loose and dramatised version based on a true event that happened to me. I have changed names and situations for privacy reasons. This will be a Tumblr and Ao3 exclusive fic. I hope you all enjoy laughing at how much of an idiot I am for getting into this situation.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming in on such brief notice, and I apologise for calling you all in this late.” Section Chief Mateo Cruz greets his tired team after the plane takes off. “You will notice, Dr Lewis is not here. She took a flight out to Peyton, Idaho to be the liaison for the La Byorteaux family. In the meantime, we have Dr Spencer Reid.” 

“What exactly is the situation?” Agent Prentiss asks. 

“Sixteen-year-old Dmitri La Byorteaux was reported missing from Disneyland at midnight, when the park closed. Park security and LAPD are still searching the park just in case he is still there. Dmitri was with his school group, the Peyton Panthers Marching Band and Colour Guard. The LAPD is taking copies of all of their records concerning Dmitri. The band directors are John Tremblay and Mark Wozniak, assistant leaders are Amy Tremblay, Jill Mellencamp, Nicholas Grace, Nicholas Vasquez, Lily Jones, and Arthur Wallace. There are parent chaperones, the one in charge of Dmitri is Ressa Kilburn,” the section chief explains.

“None of them know where he is or can get ahold of him?” Agent Jareau asks.

“No. These girls may know, though.” 

“Adelaide Parker, Tessa Anderson, Emily McClane, Imogen Wilkinson?” 

“His roommates. They were with him for every moment of the trip.” 

“Roommates? Why would they room a boy with four girls? That sounds very strange.” 

“Hello, crimefighters!” Ms Garcia cheerfully greets the team. “I’ve just been through Dmitri’s records that Mrs Mellencamp has provided. He didn’t have a seat buddy on the bus. He was in the back of the ‘orange’ bus, with Imogen and Emily in front of him. And Dmitri is on three medications, two anti-depressants and a thyroid hormone. He is also reportedly allergic to ibuprofen.” 

“Two anti-depressants?” 

“Yeah, fluoxetine and trazodone.” 

“Those two together can create an effect called serotonin syndrome, which is an excess in the hormone serotonin, which is known as the hormone that makes people happy. Symptoms can range from headaches and myoclonus to hyperthermia and a drastically increased heart rate,” Dr Reid says.

“Dmitri’s phone is most likely dead, because I can’t track it.” 

“Does he talk to anybody from the Los Angeles area?” 

“I spotted a few Los Angeles numbers in his contacts. One belongs to a Hussein College. Another is registered to a man named Diego Castro, and yet another is registered to a Jacob Freeman. I’m sending contact information to your mobiles.”

“Castro’s a forty-year-old drag queen. Has the physique to easily overpower Dmitri.”

“Freeman is six feet tall, twenty-one-years-old, also has the physique to overpower Dmitri easily. Do they know each other? Did either of them know Dmitri or each other before yesterday?”

“No. I don’t even think Diego and Jacob know each other now, but I...I just found a picture on Diego’s Instagram, it’s from yesterday, and both Dmitri and Tessa are in it. Diego’s the one hugging Dmitri, the other men are friends of his.” 

“That’s Tessa over there on the other side. And is Dmitri in a wheelchair?”

“Yeah, none of the band records mentioned a wheelchair or a mobility impairment, so let me just get ahold of Dmitri’s medical records…” Typing can be heard through the laptop. “Huh. There’s nothing for Dmitri. At all. Like, he doesn’t exist. I found a Rhys La Byorteaux, though, they have the same prescriptions, same hometown, same last name... same parents… the only thing different is that Rhys is a girl and Dmitri is a boy. They even have the same therapist.”

“Rhys and Dmitri sound like they’re the same person. When did Dmitri start existing?”

“Early 2017. That’s also when Rhys kind of started...not existing… yeah, they’re the same person, records from Dmitri’s clinic show Rhys is a legal name and that he is biologically female, but he is seeking treatment for gender dysphoria and uses the name Dmitri.”

“Oh... he’s transgender? Why weren’t we told of that?” Agent Jareau asks. “I feel like that would be important information to know.”

“I don’t know, but we’re still calling him Dmitri, right?”

“We should, to avoid confusion. How common is that last name?”

“Not very, sir, the only other people I’m finding in America with that last name are the acting brothers and Dmitri’s family... there is a birth certificate for a Luke La Byorteaux, born to Nathaniel La Byorteaux and a Maria Alvez, but I can’t find anything for Luke past 1989.” Agent Alvez looks to the laptop with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Did you just say Maria Alvez?” 

“Yeah, she also kind of went missing, too.” 

“Garcia. Focus on Dmitri.”

“Got it. Dmitri’s medical records look relatively normal until the age of three, then after that, it looks like he’s a frequent flyer in the medical field. He was born relatively healthy for being induced three weeks early, except for the part where his father, Nathaniel La Byorteaux, was removed from the delivery room for protesting when the doctor threw the baby at mother Eva Kelly’s chest, and also for refusing doctors access to newborn Dmitri, who was born anemic.” 

“What kind of father refuses treatment for his newborn child?” Agent Simmons asks. “What started happening when Dmitri turned three?”

“A lot of appointments with specialty doctors, peppered in with ER visits. They referred Dmitri out to an audiologist based on concerns of multiple ear infections and being deaf. They found out he wasn’t deaf by scanning his brain waves when the regular test didn’t work out, and he was developmentally delayed, put in preschool at three, the youngest in his class. He ate a penny, went to the ER to have it pumped out, that’s like the one relatively normal thing that happened to him. Eva Kelly and Nathaniel La Byorteaux voiced many concerns about Dmitri’s never-ending ear infections and the strep throat that he would get constantly, and the frequent nosebleeds that happened nearly daily. He was admitted to the ER many times, covered in bruises from head to toe, bleeding profusely, dangerously high fevers, and they rushed him from the hospital in Ontario, Oregon to Boise, Idaho. CPS was called over concerns of Nathaniel abusing Dmitri, but charges were dismissed once Eva explained that Nathaniel wouldn’t actually beat Dmitri if he didn’t wake up, that was just how Nathaniel woke him up.” 

“What? Nathaniel threatened to beat up Dmitri?”

“Yeah, I wish that was a joke. All of the tests came back that there were no platelets in Dmitri’s system. Anywhere. Zilch. He was given three bags of immunoglobulin and carefully monitored after that. Doctors determined that the only explanation could have been this rare disease called ITP, or-”

“Immune Thrombocytopenic Purpura. The body mistakenly attacks and destroys platelets in the body, which are fragments of cells that help clot the blood when the body is wounded. It usually starts in children after a viral disease, and it usually resolves itself with no need for treatment.” 

“Yes, Good Doctor. Dmitri’s condition was closely monitored after that, and then shortly after his fifth birthday, he was diagnosed with autism by a specialist in Salt Lake City, Utah. He went to the MayoClinic in Phoenix, Arizona for a month to have a splenectomy, and then that August, he and his brother Roger Kelly were nearly killed in a single-car rollover, and more blood bags were needed, both sustained concussions. Dmitri was admitted to the ER again later that month after he reportedly fell from the shelves in his closet during the night, that’s a concussion, and then again after he tipped over one of those old-person motor scooters onto himself, but miraculously, all he had was road rash and a bunch of scratches.” 

“What? Where did he get a motorised scooter?”

“His dad apparently got it after breaking his knee on his stepson, Robert’s trick bike, when he collided with the garden gnome. Robert also split his chin open and had to get five stitches. Again, the garden gnome. No, I’m not making any of this up. Let’s see...no hospital activity until Dmitri got his tonsils removed at age nine, apparently that was the reason he got strep throat five times a year. He went through urgent care all the time for weird accidents, like one time, his face swelled up to the size of a grapefruit because of misusing acne wipes. He went through urgent care at fourteen for a concussion, was sent home, no further testing was done... and then two months later, he was admitted to the ER for a major concussion, tests showed no brain bleeding, he was sent home to recover from it, when to the ER three months ago because he had bled out during a panic attack...He didn’t go to the ER again until three weeks ago, and yeah.”

“How does he behave in school?”

“Uh...Dmitri is mayhem incarnate, constant behaviour issues. He’s noted to be moody, fidgety, stubborn. Quite closed off from his peers, distracted, impulsive. He does his work super fast and is noted to be quite intelligent but breaks the rules. He is known to be very messy, and he is regularly known to be very goofy, often covered in markers and other things.. He argues with teachers a lot, has his phone confiscated a lot, violates dress code a lot, has been involved in weird incidents, has a very filthy mouth, serves a lot of detention for being late, a lot.” 

“He’s a rule breaker. You think he left on purpose?”

“He doesn’t look like he can in that wheelchair. It looks like a park rental. Garcia, check into that wheelchair thing. And check Dmitri’s social media. His emails and text messages, too.” 

“On it. I’m going to update Tara.” The blonde woman ends the call, and the screen returns to a navy blue background. 

“I’m going to call LAPD, tell them Dmitri has less time than we thought,” Chief Cruz says, pulling out his cell phone and stepping towards another section of the plane. 

“How do you bleed out from a panic attack?” Agent Rossi asks. “Kid has got talents.”

“That entire family has talents. A garden gnome?”

“Less talk about the freak garden gnome accident, more trying to find Dmitri. He couldn’t have gotten far if he needed a wheelchair, so someone would have had to carry him out if he got far.” 

“We have to figure out why he was in the wheelchair.” 

“He had a concussion three weeks ago that went mostly untreated, he’s probably still showing symptoms, and he may have developed physical coordination issues rendering him temporarily unable to walk. He may also be extremely dizzy, or his limbs may be extremely weak,” Dr Reid explains. 

“Someone would have had to take him. We should track down Diego Castro and Jacob Freeman, see what they know.” 

“The girls would definitely know what happened to him. We have to talk to them. We should also talk to the chaperones that would know Dmitri the best, starting with John and Amy Tremblay.”

[nrsranger]

1.7

Ord Mantell

Ord Utellian (pop 10,003)

The Mantellian Sepritist

1904 hrs

The Mantellian Sepritist was a large bar on the outskirts of the City of Ord Utellian, which served as the host city for the New Republic Fleet, it was a three walled establishment with a low brick fence extending out, then comprised the fourth wall leaving 12 meter by 12 meter section in the open air. The walls of the bar were decorated with art and artficats from the days of the Old Republic, Old Mantellian battle helmets, the most prized artifact was an Old Republic Trooper SpecForce armor from the famed Spec Ops Unit known as Havoc Squad. Several dozen tables sprinkled the large floor space. Currently all the tables and the bar space were filled out with uniformed officers from the New Republic Navy. The noise was kept to a modest level with occasional outbursts of laughter, that's what Dorman thought when he, Yarn and L.T Commander Maldoza walked in. The three of them crossed the room and found a table with five people gatherd around it. The Light Blue uniform identifyed them as pilots in the Star Fighter Corps. Glancing at the rank insignia on the shoulder and chest they were identified as three Squad leaders, a Flight L.T and the highest ranking officer, a Flight Captian. The moment Dorman saw the Squad leader insgnia he instantly snapped a salute, Yarn was a bit slower as he went to attention. Then men seated at the table turned toward the out of place display of promt millitary protocol.

“Who’s on watch at this table?” L.t Commander Maldoza demanded crisply

“I am” Flight Captian Alek Mauz said getting up and facing the two men and the Bothan as if they were in a standoff. “At ease Ensigns”

“Do I even need to ask?” Maldoza said all formalily and hostility dropping.

“I don’t know why you still do?” Alek said then added as they shook hands in a way only old friends can shake hands “These are my two new pilots?”

“Yes, they are, enjoy them!” L.T Commander Maldoza said “I have to go immedatly” he added

“Your not going to stay, Ralrost?” Alek siad

“I wish I could but things are in motion things that require my attention” Ralrost said “or is that to vuage” throwing a glace toward Dorman and Yarn

“Anything I should know about?” Alek said

“Not yet, but make sure none of your pilots are” Ralrost stammed a bit as if trying to remeber a coiloqual saying “K.O, we might have work tommorrow”

Alek starred into his friends face susspisouly, “yeah, sure thing” he said hessitently, but then continuing he said “Joker, get the L.T Commander somthing for the road!”

As Joker stood up and hopped over the bar “Does he want some Bothan concocktion or a cup of Jawa juice?”

“Careful! I’m the guy who can get you a date with every Todarian drag queen from here to Naboo” Ralrost said drawing “oooooOOOO’s” from the whole crowd

Tinged with a bit of embarssement but with a playful smile “It was one time! Howd you know about that?,” Joker said

“What can I say, I’m Bothan…..and the fact that you talk when your K.O’ed drunk” Ralrost said smiling ear to ear

“Well you just earned yourself a Bothan Protein Martini” Joker said as he assembled the drink.

Ralrost then felt a buzzing in his pocket and grabbed out his commlink, listened for a bit shut it down and looked up just as Joker was finishing with the drink and was looking for a to go container he found a hydro-cylinder took off the cap took a wif then made a face as he poured it out into the sink, he then refiled the container with Ralrost’s Bothan Protein Martini, he then put the cap back on. The bartender starred not caring, so long as he got paid he then shrugged his shoulders and went about his business.

“Alright Commander here you go” Joker said as he tossed it to Ralrost,

L.T Commander Maldoza caught it, thanked Joker and exited the bar in a rush.

“What was that all about?” Yarn said

“Ralrost Maldoza so so high in the Bothan interllignce network even I don’t know how much he is informed about, if he is worried, somthing is big is happening” the Flight L.T said

“Trippers right, Everyone lets go light on the drinks!” Alek said

The bar erupted in low grummbles put deep down they all knew that Maldoza information has saved their lives more time than they could count, and thats all the ones they knew off. Alek Mauz then turned his attention to the two new Ensigns that are now under his command

“So what are your names Ensigns?” Alek Mauz said

“Ensgin Yarn Belmic! Sir!”

“Ensign Dorman Tarn!,Sir!”

“Congratulations, Belmic your Firebird 11 your temparory Call Sign is 11, Tarn your Firebird 12 your temparory Call Sign is 12, now 11, 12 take a seat and lets make some introductions” Alek Mauz stood up and said “Fire Birds introduce your selfs to your new squad mates”

From behind them came “I’m Derci Alpine but you will refere to me as Joker, Squad leader, or the King of Naboo”

“Names Taus Maic I’m your new Flight L.T Callsigns Tripper” said one of the men sitting at the same table as them

“Call Sign Squid” Said a Quarren sitting at a circular table with three other pilots playing a friendly game of Sabbac with table snacks making up most of the winnings “but my name is Talllos Quarn”

The person the human to his right said in a deep voice “Mac Ran callsign Brawl”

The Sabbac dealer was a Rodian who said “Ives Derven, Sabbac”

The final person at the table was a human who said “Sir, Magnolian Vardeenios 5th lord to the thrown of Varlelos call sign Drip”

The next voice sat a table with three Rodians belonging to a Weequay “Call sign is Mob, thats all you need to know right now”

“Mash Ric Callsign Root” said a human sitting at the bar alone “thats Utapa Tarples grandson of the Great General Tarples from the Clone Wars, his Callsign is Gungan he dose not like to talk infront of most people” Mash said indicating a Gungan sitting on a chair leaning aginst the wall with his uniform cover covering his face appering to be taking a nap.

“This is Squad Leader of the Night Owls Natalia Gee callsign Vine” Alek said indicating the Theelin Female “This is the A-Wing Squad Leader Otis Tik or Noodles” indicting the two squad leaders sitting at their table “and last but not least my name is Flight Captian Alek Mauz, Callsign Firebird and I am your CAG” said the ageing man that gave them their call signs ”You probaly have alot of questions, and so long it does not interfere with the enjoyableness of the evening, you may ask”

“Umm ok,my first question is, what kinda Jedi esc stunt did you pull to get a whole X-Wing squadron named after you?” Yarn Belmic said

“Oh ho ho ho! Now thats a story!” Tripper exclaimed leaning in revealing how much he enjoyed telling this story “You don't know that your sitting in the mists of a galaxy wide celebrity, Alek Mauz is credited with the last confirmed kill of the Galactic Civil War”

“And the Call Sign Firebird?” Yarn said

“If you stick around for a while you might learn why” Alek said with a hint of reluctance.

“I have a question” Dorman said talking twoard Tripper “what did Commander Maldoza mean by asking whos on watch?”

“Now, that is a practice that dates back to the founding of the Rebellion, whenever the Rebels needed to blow off steam and went into a cantina or bar they would always pick out someone to be on watch incase Imperials came in or if any of his comrades wanted to pick a fight there would always be a sober man to break up the fight or to get his men out of there, when Captian Namin who was in the Rebelion from the early days was put in command of the Ranger he instituted this practice” Alek said

“And why are you always on watch?” Dorman asked

“Amoung my people, our gods have promised us in what we call the Palaidin Promise, that who ever swears off Alcohol, additicve substance, sexual relations, and who lives their life as moral as they can, they will be blessed by the Gods that we will be faster, stronger and better than our enemies.” Alek said slowly and cautioly as if this was something very important to him and he did not want anyone to misunderstand.

“This is all fascinating but Captain can we return to the topic at hand? I need to prepare my squad for the next threat” Noodles, the A-Wing Squad leader butted in impatiently.

“Yes, Yes as I explained before, both the First Order and the Resistnace pose threats to the New Republic, and we need to be prepared to deal with both of them” Alek said

“I don’t buy that Captain, the Resistance was formed as a result of the First Order making several threatening moves” said Vine The Y-Wing Squad leader

“Senator Organa only formed the Resistance as a result of a psychological need to fight someone somewhere and when she runs out of enemies who will she fight. I am just saying, look at our training exercise today, we went up against three light cruisers, one grand cruiser and several dozen fighter craft. The carrier jumped out when we destroyed most of the fighters who had 4 cruisers and fighter crafts?” Noodles said

“I met the Senator! she is not a person who is addicted to violence!” Vine exclaimed

“No, she does not seem like a violent person but look when the Empire fell she stayed in the fight to the very end until all the Remnants no matter how small were ratted out and crushed them. She has been fighting her whole life then when Alderan...um, blew up something snapped and she has been a loose cannon, fighting anyone who raised a blaster in her general direction.” Noodles said getting more heated as he’s speech went on

“Your beginning to sound like an Imperial, because Senator Organa has done nothing but sacrifice anything and everything to keep our galaxy safe and all your doing is complaining” Vine said getting just as heated

“No, no you miss understand me, Natalia. I am very grateful for what all she has done she sacrificed everything for the benefit of the Rebellion so that today I don't have to live in a tyrannical empire, but when there is finally peace, what would warriors do, they find another war to fight and when there are none, they start one” Noodles escalating his voice

“I don’t know but the First Order is clearly the bigger threat, and the Resistance is ill maned and ill equipped to take on the First Order or anyone for that matter” Vine said

“You won’t hear an argument from me on that one” Noodles said “But that won't stop them growing”

Yarn was following the conversation very closely but his concentration was interrupted as Joker walked back from the bar, grabbed a seat flipped it backwards and sat down resting his hands on the head rest and looked at Tripper, and Alek who at this point have stayed out of the conversation letting the The squad leaders duke it out verbally. At this point in the argument it turned to how the Resistance is “only made up of Old War Heros like Acbar and Organa, people with nowhere left to go and academy washouts”

This is where Yarn jumped in “I had a classmate in the Academy who got his first posting as an X-Wing pilot before deserting to the resistance” That was like throwing Coaxium off a clift as the argument turned into a three way argument with Noodles saying how the Resistance is a dangerous enemy causing desertion to fill their ranks with Military personal, Vine defended the Resistance recruitment practices by justifying how most of the Navy would leave to fight the real enemy and Yarn was somewhere in the middle.

“Oh Shut up and kiss already!!” Joker said over the clamor drawing the attention of a few other pilots. Noodles and Vine looked at Joker with a stare that could kill, then looked at eachother as they begian to laugh as they stood up faced eachother then boom! They were kissing, and kissing, and kissing either passionatly or viloently, drawing laugh cheers and whoops from the other pilots this went on for few minutes.

Trapper looked accross the table at Yarns face contorted in shock

“Oh, no we broke the new guy” Joker said

“Eleven?, Eleven? You there, Ord Mantel to Eleven come in Eleven” Tripper said waving his hand toward Yarn.

“Huh!!, WHAT THE CRIFT JUST HAPPEND” Yarn said in shock

Chuckling Joker said “Oh that? They have been together for the last few weeks, they argue like this just to throw us off their scent, but IT DIDN'T WORK” he directed the last portion toward the kissing couple.

“Hey, Hey it's Elvens first day here, let's not scare him too bad, ok?” Tripper said nugging Joker.

Throughout this whole ordeal Dorman sat back minding his own business and read the one book he always carried with him in his right thigh’s pants pocket

Alek noticed what Dorman was reading and with a roll of his eyes he realized just how much work his old Bothan friend cut out for him.

“What your reading there, Twelve?” Alek asked

“Just refreshing myself on whatThe New Republic StarFighter Regulation Manual says about improvisational combat plans” Dorman said

“Let me set a few things straight” Alek said then asked “let me see your book”

“Sure, “ Dorman said as he handed it to his Captian

“Look you see this book? Who wrote it?” Alek said displaying the front of the manuel

“Senator Trayis Malcor of Russan?” Dorman said puzzled

“Exactly, this book is useless! It is a military manuel written by a politician, a politician who does not even have a lick of military service” Alek said demeaningly

“Well, sir, uhhh” Dorman stammed

“Look Bookworm there is only one book that matters here in the field” Alek said slamming the manuel down reaching in and holding up a little black book that contained the names of people who should be notified in the event of his death or capture, it also contained personal notes and the last will and testament of Alek “Firebird” Mauz, every pilot filled out two, one he or she carried and one left in their lockers. “The only thing that matters” Alek continued is returning to the people who are in this book and making sure they never hear what I wrote inside it, the manuel only hinders that goal” Alek said with the most stearn voice anyone ever heard him use

A few seconds passed then “Joker?” Tripper said, shouting over low tumult of the crowd trying to lighten the increasingly darking mood “Did you hear that?”

“Yeaah, it sounds like a Callsign” Joker said, jumping on top of the table drawing all the pilot's attention.

“As your Squad leader” Joker said “and Flight L.T” Tripper joined, “we now crisan you Ensing-” they said together “what’s your name” Joker ask “Droman Tarn” Tarn filled in,

“We now Crisan you Ensign Dorman Bookworm Tarn!” they said together

“That's too on the nose Joker!” Root said “Get more creative!”

“Ok! Just Dorman Worm Tarn”

“But that’s my call sign!” Waldmir Vardom a Rodian A-Wing pilot said

“You're not making it easy, Worm!” Joker then said “Ok, ok fine If nobody else has any other exueses you are now Ensign Dorman Book Tarn!!!!”

No body interupted

“Alrighty” Tripper shouted “Let's give Book a Ranger Carrier Air Group Welcome!!!”

“WELCOME TO THE RANGER, BOOK” the whole bar erupted, even Noodles and Vine stopped kissing for a moment to join in the shout.

[fallencomrade]

𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀   𝐑 𝐀 𝐃 𝐈 𝐀 𝐓 𝐀  a  drabble  based  on  this  post  from  my  old  blog ( x ) PER REQUEST,  i will happily  turn this into a thread ! ◝(●˙꒳˙●)◜

     THEY HAUL HIS LIFELESS BODY INTO A DARK ROOM,  handling  him  the  same  way  a  proud  hunter  might  drag  in  his  latest  kill,  his  latest  TROPHY.  they  are  pleased  with  their  triumph,  but  the  muscle  required  to  take  down  such  a  beast  certainly  demanded  a  price.  TWELVE  MEN,  it  had  taken  twelve  men  and  a  locked  door  -  and  they  had  just  barely  managed  to  SUBDUE  him.  just  barely.  they  are  all  in  bad  shape,  the  majority  of  the  strike  team  absent  due  to  serious  injuries  that  required  immediate  attention.  rumlow,  disregarding  his  own  injuries,  the  tremendous  PAIN  livid  inside  his  own  body  ( ORDER  ONLY  COMES  THROUGH  PAIN  )  refuses  to  miss  this  though.  he  will  lick  his  wounds  later.  now,  it  is  time  to  bask.  

     ‘  heavy  fucker ,  ’  he  laments  as  he  dumps  the  body  into  the  reinforced  steel  chair  bolted  to  the  floor.  he  begins  the  arduous  process,  starting  with  the  leather  restraints.  he  wraps  them  around  each  arm  and  leg,  as  well  as  around  the  torso.  next  come  the  magnetized  cuffs  which  clamp  tightly  around  wrists  &&  ankles.  they  will  hold,  developed  and  proven  to  withstand  super  -  soldier  strength,  tested  on  some one thing  similar.  the  drugs  they  pump  into  his  body  have  been  tested  just  the  same,  and  if  his  serum  works  anything  like  theirs,  the  man  should  not  wake  until  they  are  ready  for  him  ;;  until  they  PERMIT  him  to  do  so.  rumlow  wraps  chains  around  each  limb,  just  to  be  safe. 

     once  finished,  he  glides  his  tongue  over  the  blood  pooling  from  his  split  lip,  and  spits  the  taste  of  it  out  at  his  prisoner’s  feet,  finally  stepping  away.  pulling  his  phone  free,  rumlow  dials  a  single  number.  ‘  connect  me  to  pierce ,  ’   he  orders,  heated  eyes  burning  as  he  glances  back  at  the  body  in  the  chair.  

      ‘  SIR.  we  have  him.  steve  rogers  has  been  CONTAINED.  ’

     rumlow  had  wanted  to  KILL  rogers.  (  for  personal  reasons  and  selfish  delights,  more  than  anything  else  )  but  he  also  understands  how  DANGEROUS  the  captain  is.  he  has  worked  alongside  him  now  for  a  while,  and  knows  the  RISK  keeping  him  alive  poses.  but  pierce  had  been  very  clear  with  his  orders.   he  wanted  the  captain  taken  in  ALIVE,  seemingly  confident  ‘guts  and  glory’  here  could  be  convinced  to  cooperate.  rumlow  is  doubtful,  but  questioning  pierce  is  not  in  his  best  interest.  whatever  the  secretary  has  up  his  sleeve,  it  is  time  to  start  putting  it  into  motion.   convincing  rogers  will  not  be  easy.  

            whatever  his  hand  is,  it  better  be  good. 

      THEY LEAD THEIR LIFELESS SOLDIER INTO A COLD ROOM,  handling  him  the  same  way  a  medical  professional  might  examine  a  CORPSE  -  with  cold,  clinical  hands.  they  remove  the  thermal  suit  clinging  to  his  trembling  body,  the  material  still  cold  with  the  lingering  breath  of  stasis.  they  hose  him  down  and  scrub  his  skin  raw.  the  technicians  spend  a  great  amount  of  time  washing  his  body,  which  is  different  -  but  if  the  soldier  notices,  he  does  not  say  anything.  the  asset  does  not  question.  they  order  him  to  sit  down  in  a  chair,  and  so  he  sits.  they  pull  out  a  blade.  no  -  it  is  a  razor.  the  soldier  expects  them  to  hand  it  to  him,  to  use  as  a  weapon  during  this  next  mission,  but  they  do  not  assign  it  to  him.  neither  do  they  use  it  for  testing  purposes  -  not  to  poke,  prod  or  slice  into  his  skin.  no,  instead  they  tell  him  to  lean  back.  he  complies.  they  tell  him  not  to  move.  he  complies.  then  they  rub  something  frothy  across  his  face.  they  glide  the  sharp  blade  across  his  skin,  scrapping.  it  doesn’t  hurt… and  that  is  surprising.  the  techs  put  away  the  blade  without  spilling  a  single  drop  of  blood. 

     they  cut  his  hair,  hacking  away  until  there  is  more  on  the  floor  around  them  than  on  his  head.  no  longer  can  he  HIDE  behind  dark,  oily  bangs.  they  are  sheered  away.  they  cut  until  his  hair  no  longer  lays  on  his  shoulders,  no  longer  covers  his  neck  -  and  it  leaves  the  soldier  feeling…  strangely  EXPOSED.  it  is  odd,  different  -  but  the  asset  does  not  question.  one  of  the  technicians  holds  out  a  piece  of  paper,  its  contents  unknown  to  him.  the  asset  does  not  question.  her  dark  eyes  flicker  back  and  forth  between  him  and  the  page  and  after  a  moment,  she  frowns  and  sighs,  shoulders  slumping  with  what  appears  to  be  DEFEAT.  ‘  his  eyes ,  ’   she  criticizes  and  for  a  brief  moment,  the  asset  wonders  what  it  is  in  his  eyes  that  DISAPPOINTS  her  so.  —  but  the  asset  does  not  question.  she  shrugs  soon  after  anyway,  with  a  dismissive,  ‘  it  will  have  to do.  ’ 

     finally,  they  strap  him  in  the  chair  and  REVIVE  his  mind.  the  ice  is  swept  away,  replaced  with  their  steadfast  CONDITIONING.  the  soldier  is  ACTIVATED,  once  again.  ready  to  comply.   —  &&  when  it  is  finished,  as  his  cerebrum  sparks  &&  flickers  with  electricity,  lightning  scorching  all  passageways  to  his  brain,  while  numbing  everything  else  -  they  prepare  him.  if  he  were  in  his  right  mind,  the  soldier  might  ask  why  they  decide  to  dress  him  in  the  attire  they  choose.  why  they  have  him  tug  on  a  pair  of  dark  jeans  instead  of  the  usual  cargo  pants.  why  they  have  him  in  a  soft,  navy  dark  cotton  shirt  instead  of  the  standard  kevlar  and  tactical  vests.  this  flimsy  long - sleeved  shirt  will  do  little  to  stop  bullets  and  blades.   

                        —  but  the  asset  does  not  question.    

     ONLY A SELECT FEW  are  allowed  inside.  secretary  pierce  certainly  is  not  intimidated  by  an  audience,  but  these  are  delicate  matters.  it  is  important  they  maintain  a  level  of  professionalism.  they  are  situated  in  a  sub – level  basement  located  in  the  underbelly  of  a  large  accounting  firm,  one  owned  &&  run  by  hydra.  it’s  a  well  respected,  legitimate  business.  perfect  record  of  excellence,  fortune  500  company  with  outstanding  company  morals  and  ideals…  and  growing  inside,  beneath  the  guise  -  a  hydra  head  breathes,  thriving.  

     when  pierce  arrives,  security  detail  in  tow,  the  captain  is  just  starting  to  stir.  ‘  his  serum  is  impressive,  ’  one  doctor  whispers  to  another,  glancing  down  at  his  watch  before  scribbling  notes  onto  his  clipboard.  they  are  eager  to  start  conducting  tests,  but  without  direct  authorization  from  pierce,  all  they  have  been  able  to  collect  thus  far  are  a  few  samples  of  blood.  they  are  also  afraid  to  get  too  close  to  rogers  without  him  being  properly  sedated  &&  restrained,  and  for  good  reason  too.  much  to  the  strike  team’s  chagrin,  the  scientists  were  privy  to  the  elevator  footage.  hydra  values  their  minds,  not  their  muscle  ;;  they  are  of  no  use  DEAD.  so  for  now,  they  will  maintain  their  distance,  jotting  down  what  little  details  they  can  obtain  based  on  observation  alone,  tucked  safely  behind  the  pointed  guns  of  what  remains  of  the  strike  team.  sectioned  off  in  the  middle  of  the  room  sits  a  makeshift  holding  cell,  the  space  completely  surrounded  by  sturdy  metal  bars.  at  its  center  sits  two  chairs  -  one  occupied  and  bolted  to  the  floor,  the  other  empty  and  unbounded.  it  is  an  accustomed  outlay,  especially  for  hydra.  still,  the  doom  and  gloom  of  it  all  still  makes  pierce  huff  and  shake  his  head  a  little.     

     POLISHED SHOES STEP FORWARD,  into  the  cage.  the  door  closes  behind  him.  he  removes  his  suit  jacket,  draping  the  expensive  material  over  the  back  of  the  unoccupied  chair.  a  single  light  hangs  over  the  cell,  illuminating  the  small  space  while  casting  the  surrounding  area  into  thick  darkness,  allowing  the  others  to  observe  without  being  seen.  but  not  pierce,  no.  alexander  pierce  wants  to  be  seen  ;;  wants  to  be  heard.  the  man  is  optimistic,  pleasant  even  when  steve  finally  wakes  up.  he  remains  patient,  reasonable  -  welcoming  the  captain’s  VITRIOL  with  calm  understanding.  ‘  i  would  like  us  to  become  business  partners,  captain.  i  was  not  lying  when  i  shook  your  hand  and  said  it  was  an  HONOR.  ’   but  steve  is  quick  to  spit  back,  ‘  you  killed  nick  fury  ’  and  that  has  pierce  amused,  knowing  smile  stretching  across  thin  lips.  ominously,  he  responds,  ‘  not  me.  ’ 

     but  pierce  should  know  swaying  the  captain  will  require  more  than  just  a  simple  invitation.  steven  rogers  is  STUBBORN  with  ferocious  tenacity  and  even  stronger  ideals.  no,  it  will  require  something  a  little  more  refined.  something  far  more  personal  than  the  promise  of  money  or  power.  hell,  even  the  prospect  of  saving  billions  from  an  out - of - control  overpopulation  will  not  appeal  to  the  captain.  he  is  too  HONORABLE,  and  when  pierce  points  out  how  they  are  both  fighting  for  the  same  thing  :  PEACE,  the  captain  scoffs  in  his  face.  the  captain  appears  to  be  INCORRUPTIBLE.  steve  rogers  however  is  just  a  man  underneath  all  that  righteousness  -  and  all  men  have  a  price,  a  breaking  point  -  a  weakness,  a  DARK SIDE.  hydra  needs  only  find  a  single  weak  point,  the  smallest  opening  to  burrow  beneath  -  and  then  it  could  grow,  consume,  overpower.  A  PARASITE.  lucky  for  them,  hydra  already  possesses  steve  rogers’  WEAKNESS.

     ‘  we  can  give  you  many  things,  captain.  but  you  don’t  TRUST  us.  i  understand.  maybe  i  could  offer  something  else…  in  exchange  for  your  cooperation ?  ’  

     the  secretary  stands  up  then  and  makes  a  gesture  over  his  shoulder.  the  cell  door  opens  behind  him  with  a  SINISTER  groan  and  in  walks  a  SHADOW.  the  older  man  steps  closer  and  turns,  perching  himself  at  steve’s  side.

            ‘  a  gift,  for  your  COMPLIANCE.  ’  

     A GHOST IS MEANT TO BE UNSEEN.  he  is  a  SHADOW,  meant  only  to  exist  in  the  dark,  chased  away  into  nothing  if  exposed  to  light.  his  presence  is  to  be  felt,  but  never  seen.  to  have  so  many  eyes  on  him  at  once,  it  makes  him  feel  exposed  in  the  worst  ways  possible.  his  skin  crawls  as  he  is  summoned  from  his  hiding  place,  the  heat  of  their  gazes  nearly  BURNING  through  his  composure.  focus,  soldier !  focus !  his  mind  berates,  shoving  him  forward.  his  orders  are  still  unclear,  but  he  has  been  trained  well.  he  knows  to  follow  directions  issued  by  his  handlers  ;;  knows  to  never  speak  unless  addressed  or  given  explicit  permission.  he  knows  to  always  do  as  COMMANDED  and  to  never  question.  they  want  him  inside  the  CAGE  and  so  he  enters  the  cage.  

     he  has  been  watching  this  whole  time,  a  SPECTATOR  and  he  is  ashamed  to  admit  his  mind  has  been  restless.  this  entire  time,  his  stomach  has  been  twisting  tighter  &&  tighter,  to  the  point  of  great  discomfort.  he  has  been  unable  to  identify  a  source,  a  culprit  to  explain  the  pain  -  but  it  hurts.  his  mind  wavers,  lulled  by…  the  voices  (  a  voice  )  in  the  room.  he  tries  to  chase  after  the  calm  DRONE  of  static,  but  he  finds  himself  getting  distracted,  which  is  concerning.  he  had  just  undergone  maintenance,  not  even  an  hour  ago.  it  shouldn’t  be  this  hard  to  concentrate  ;;  and  the  restlessness  in  his  blood  is  a  sign  of  stasis  deprivation.   —  but  he  had  just  come  out,  hadn’t  he?

     SOMETHING IS WRONG.  he  can  feel  it  in  his  bones.  there  is  a  heavy  weight  pressing  down  on  top  of  his  shoulders,  legs  dragging  as  if  chained  to  his  SHADOW.  he  wants  to  go  back.  the  soldier  realizes  with  muted  curiosity  that  he  doesn’t  want  to  step  into  this  cell.  he  wants  to  turn  back  around  and  BEG  to  be  put  back  into  stasis.  —  but  the  asset  does  not  want  and  the  asset  does  not  CHOOSE.  so  he  continues  forward,  despite  the  AGONY  cracking  his  chest  open.  each  step  PULSES  through  him.  he  feels  all  their  eyes  on  him,  but  when  the  captain’s  fall  on  him,  he  IGNITES,  insides  burning  away  into  ASH.          stop.  stop,  stop.  it  HURTS.         

     HE TASTES DEATH ON HIS TONGUE.   he  falters  -  mind  stuttering  into  WHITE  NOISE,  attempts  to  recover  quickly  -  but  he  can  tell  pierce  notices  and  he  is  displeased.  the  captain  is  forcing  a  REACTION  from  the  asset  and  he  doesn’t  know…  why?  for  a  half -  second,  their  eyes  lock  -  and  it  is  an  ONSLAUGHT  of  noise,  emotion,  and  PAIN.  gold  hair,  big  blue  eyes.  dumb  expression.  it  plucks  at  strings  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  a  melody  of  some  kind  whispering  across  his  subconscious  -  tugging  at  memory,  which  immediately  insights  sudden  PAIN.  in  order  to  SURVIVE  this  ordeal,  the  soldier  charges  forward  ;;  he  pulls  away.  eyes  retreat,  dimming  and  with  each  step  forward,  he  grows  more  and  more  distant,  DETACHED  -  until  he  is  empty,  ready  to  be  filled  with  orders.  ready  to  comply.  he  focuses  on  pierce  and  only  pierce.

     pierce  nods  towards  the  chair  and  the  asset  sits.  the  FEAR  is  slowly  draining  from  him,  like  pus  from  a  wound  -  leaving  him  feeling  cold  &&  tired,  but  he  notes  with  a  flare  of  perplexity  that  he  is  AFRAID  of  the  captain.  why  is  that?  he  avoids  both  their  eyes,  instead  choosing  to  look  down,  focus  coming  to  a  stop  on  pierce’s  hands.  they  dim  and  eventually  gloss  over  -  and  the  asset  awaits  orders.��

     pierce  smirks,  pleased.  his  hand  comes  up  to  rest  on  steve’s  shoulder  and  he  squeezes  the  muscle  tightly,  making  an  offer  steve  rogers  cannot  refuse.  ‘  hydra  can  give  you  many  things,  captain.  we  can  even  give  you  your  BEST  FRIEND  back.  ’  

                          ALL  YOU  HAVE  TO  DO  IS  COMPLY.  

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Someone You Loved (Part 1)

Summary: The reader is the daughter of a well known mafia boss in her city and is used to an easy going life. When her father is arrested along with his crew, the reader is forced into a different life full of lies and adversity. Worst of all, her boyfriend of the past year, Dean, is an undercover cop who put her father away. She’s perfectly content with never seeing Dean again but he has a habit of making his way back into her life...

Pairing: Cop!Dean x Mafia!reader 

Masterlist

Word Count: 5,900ish

Warnings: language, mentions of a break up, angst, harassment

A/N: This series turned out quite a bit different than I was going for and it’s a bit angstier than I normally write but I hope you enjoy!... 

_____

“Last one,” said the lawyer, sliding another sheet of paper in front of you. You blinked slowly at it and squiggled your name on the line, the lawyer taking the paper and adding it to the third pile. He said something to the detective on the other side of the table, the room quiet for a moment.

“What?” you squeaked out, taking a sip from your nearly empty water bottle.

“That’s all, Ms. Y/L/N. You’re free to go,” said the detective.

“Where am I supposed to go? My house is a crime scene,” you breathed out. The detective stared at you and then your lawyer, glancing behind you at the one way mirror for a moment.

“An officer can escort you through the house to retrieve some clothing or personal items. Everything else is evidence,” he said.

“What about my car?” you asked.

“Everything purchased by your father is evidence and has been seized. Technically the clothing should stay too but I ain’t heartless and everything you’ve given us the past day, that’s good stuff. You’re a smart kid. You get to walk out of here without a record. I’d take that as a win,” he said.

“My father is going to prison for the rest of his life. His men are. People that were my family. I’m the one that screwed up and the last thing he told me was to give you whatever you guys wanted and to save myself. I have nothing now. Then there’s the fact my boyfriend for the past year is an undercover cop which is…” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Take the room for as long as you need it. I gotta go get these scanned,” said the detective, taking two stacks of paper along with his files out of the room.

“Y/N. Come on. It’s been a long day. We’ll go back to the house and get your things and you can stay in my guest room tonight,” said the lawyer.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. He gathered up his things as you took your empty water bottle, tossing it in the trash on the way out. You hadn’t left the interview room in over twelve hours. A few trips to the bathroom right next door maybe but that’d been it. You’d given all the information you could, gotten yourself an airtight deal.

You did what you were supposed to in case shit ever hit the fan.

It didn’t change the fact that everyone you knew was either behind bars or was never speaking to you again.

The lawyer followed an officer that led you both back into the main station. You barely lifted your head as you cut through the desks. They sounded like they were throwing a party. You didn’t necessarily blame them. It’d probably be a case that’d make all of their careers.

“Almost got ‘em all,” you heard someone say under their breath. You kept your head low, trying to follow the lawyer’s shoes ahead of you. He came to a stop though and you realized you were at a desk, the lawyer signing something else.

You took a deep breath, two pairs of voices catching your attention. Coming out of an office was the police chief. You’d met him earlier in the day. He was a bit grumpy but you kind of liked him. The other voice quickly cut itself off when he saw you. You looked him up and down. He was still in his brown boots, his dark jeans and a navy henley with his sleeves rolled up.

He looked just like he did when he left to go pick up breakfast that morning. You were supposed to be out on date with him right now, probably talking about how bad he’d been at pool the night before or making plans to go visit open houses on Sunday, talk about getting your own place together soon.

The gun in the thigh holster seemed too natural on him and the badge on his hip only told you what you knew from the start.

Dean Smith was a good guy.

Well, Dean Winchester, maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, but at least he was very good at his job. Not too many people could single handedly bring down a mob family.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Go celebrate,” said the chief. Dean nodded and lifted his head, walking past you without a glance, more party sounds going on behind you as Dean headed back towards them.

“Is that really necessary?” asked the lawyer.

“I would take your client and leave. Now.”

“I don’t want her in this house,” you heard outside the guest room that night at the lawyer’s place.

“Honey, she’s an innocent kid. Cut her a break,” he said.

“I want her gone in the morning,” she said.

“Alright, alright. Just let her stay the one night.”

“Early riser?” asked the lawyer when you trudged down the stairs the next morning, your backpack on your shoulders. He frowned but you shook your head. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

“The city. Restaurant district. Everybody always needs a waitress,” you said with a shrug.

“That is very true. I don’t feel all that comfortable dropping a young woman off in the middle of the city though when she has no place to go,” he said.

“I’m not your problem. Tell the police if they need to contact me they can use your law firm. I’ll update you once I got a place,” you said.

“Here,” he said, standing up and handing over an envelope. “Your father paid me well over the years. Take it. Get a job, get in the subsidized apartments downtown. That’s enough to cover it and get you in something today.”

“Thank you.”

Two Months Later

The sound of a car alarm going off woke you up twenty minutes before your alarm was set to go off. You stared at the clock for five minutes and turned it off, sitting up with a groan. You rolled off the bed and went out to the hall to the only bathroom, quickly getting ready for the day. You took a cold shower and dried off, hanging the towel up to dry. You headed back to you room and grabbed your white button up, your tank, and black skirt, tugging them on along with your wretched black tights. Your hair was thrown up in a bun. You padded down the short hall into the eat-in kitchen, opening the fridge and frowning.

“Toast and eggs. Again. Yay,” you mumbled, taking the food out and tossing a pan on the burner. You learned pretty quickly that working at a diner was horrible but there was enough free food to feed you most of the day. You were already sick of waiting tables during the day and tending bar at night but you needed a degree for freaking everything nowadays and you were tempted to murder your father for encouraging you to take a few break years before you went to college. But you were slowly saving up and you knew eventually you’d be able to start going and get on your feet better.

After a short breakfast, you walked around the apartment. You kept it as clean as you could, even if it was old. You took a seat on the world’s lumpiest couch, taking your phone out of the charger by the wall. Not that anyone ever called you except the lawyer.

“One more day,” you said, grabbing your purse from the kitchen counter, tossing it over yourself. “One more day.”

“Careful,” you said during the lunch rush, helping catch the platter of drinks the new girl was carrying to a table. She gave you a thankful smile as you went past, stopping at the manager’s station. “We’re swamped.”

“I can see that. Alex and Brandy both called in sick today. I need you to cover Brandy’s section and yours,” she said.

“You want me to cover nearly twenty tables by myself?” you asked.

“Yes. Now go,” she said, grabbing an apron off the hook. “I have to take Alex’s so I’m pissed at them too. Go on.”

You sighed and headed over to the new section. The next two hours were a whirlwind and you were proud of yourself for only screwing up one out of nearly a hundred orders. You were more than ready for your break when you heard the bell on the door.

You spun around and grabbed your pad, pausing when you saw two guys in uniforms, two in plain clothes, walk in and take a seat at a booth. A pair of green eyes quickly avoided your own.

“Hi. Special is sriracha bacon cheeseburger with fries today,” you said, still deciding where to look when you approached the table. “What can I get to drink for you-”

“Holy shit. Is that the Y/L/N kid? The one Deano had to fake date?” said one guy with a smile. “It is, isn’t it?”

“May I take your order,” you said dryly.

“Look at you, out in the real world,” said another, your gaze going out the window. “Life’s a bit different when daddy ain’t paying for everything, huh?”

“May I take your order,” you said again.

“Four specials and waters,” said Dean quickly, looking at the guys he was with. You took the menus away and put in the order, hiding out in the kitchen and debating whether to spit in anyone’s food.

You knew better though and despite the urge, you didn’t do a thing aside from steal a few fries for yourself.

You brought the food out silently, setting a plate down in front of each one, the four of them going quiet.

“You know some people think you ought to have gone to prison too ya know,” said the one on the outside of the booth. You turned to leave, a hand catching your wrist.

“Please enjoy your food,” you said, shaking him off. You took a deep breath as you walked away, your manager catching your arm as you headed in the back.

“There a problem?” she asked.

“No.”

“I don’t care who it is, no one touches my girls,” she said. You gave her a smile, her hand dropping away.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

Two Weeks Later

Everyday the four of them came in for lunch and you got more comments, Dean looking more and more uncomfortable each time. One day they never came though and you thanked God they’d gotten bored of harassing you.

After your shift at the diner, you changed out of your tights in the bathroom and shoved them in your purse, taking your hair down and rolling up the sleeves of your shirt. You gave the manager a short smile as you left to walk the two blocks over to your shift at the bar. The break room there was a bit nicer than the diner and the staff wore tank tops that were provided. You took off your white button up to show off your tank you’d had on all day and folded the shirt up in your locker along with your purse. You threw your hair up in a high ponytail and headed out to the bar, some of your regulars already sat in their spots.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Evening, Hank,” you said with a smile as you slid behind the counter. The old guys, the early crowd, those guys you liked. They had interesting stories and most of them had kids they talked about, most had problems with those kids. You were mainly a sounding board for them to complain about life with but you knew they enjoyed talking to you and some of them reminded you of your dad, especially Hank.

“When are you going to quit this job?” he asked.

“Someday,” you said, setting his favorite drink down in front of him. “When you gonna quit drinking, Hank?”

“Someday,” he said with a smile.

“Well when I quit, you quit, how’s that sound?” you said.

“I can agree to that,” he said.

“It’s a deal,” you said, heading off down the bar to take care of some of the others.

Eventually the old timers would leave though and the younger crowd came in. Some nights it was fine and slow, some nights it was frat boys and so many comments about your ass and chest you just stood there and balked. Other times you flirted back, got a bigger tip that way. You made way more money there than at the diner after all.

“Crew of guys just hit the end of the bar,” said your other bartender for the night. She was working her regular end and you nodded, cocking your head when you saw who was there. You sighed and stepped over, throwing over four coasters in front of the four of them around the wrap curve of the bartop.

“What can I get you?” you asked. Dean turned his head at the guys, narrowing his eyes.

“We missed you at work today,” said Gary. You gave him your best bitch face but didn’t say anything. You hated Gary the most. Devin and Steve were equally obnoxious but at least they waited until you walked away from the table to start snickering about you. “We’re celebrating. Round of shots. Tequila. Then a Jack and coke.”

“Cheapest whiskey. Double,” said Steve.

“Same,” said Devin. You waited for Dean to order, his eye twitching. “Get a water for our DD.”

“You three outside now,” said Dean, jaw clenching.

“Deano, we-”

“OUTSIDE!” shouted Dean, the whole bar going quiet. The three guys looked at each other and slowly left, Dean’s body carefully relaxing. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you said.

“No it’s not,” he said, lifting his head, looking you head on for the first time in months. “You don’t deserve...it’s called police harassment and you should report it.”

“No one cares about people like me,” you said. “Those guys are dicks but I’d rather spend the rest of my life stuck with them over you. At least I know who they are. If you’re not ordering a drink, leave.”

“What happened to you?”

“Life. Leave before I get the bouncer over here. Now.”

“For fucks sake,” you said the next day, Dean walking into the bar with his gun on his leg and badge on his hip, Hank spinning around in his seat.

“I’m off duty,” said Dean, taking a seat at the mostly empty bar top, just one spot over from Hank. “Whiskey.”

You grabbed a glass and started to make his drink for him, putting in two ice cubes and sliding it in front of him.

“Aren’t you that cop that was on the news?” asked Hank. “The Y/L/N mafia family?”

“A lot of people worked to do that,” said Dean, giving Hank a barely there smile.

“Those were some bad guys. All in the drug business,” he said.

“Eh, they were more white collar crime. No drugs,” said Dean.

“Oh. The news made it seem like they were ruthless killers,” he said.

“Just people who did a few illegal things, not really bad guys,” said Dean. “With a whole lot of money though.”

“The whole family went to jail,” said Hank. “The father, the brothers, the nephews, the whole shebang.”

“Eh, not the whole family. The news don’t tell everything to you straight. They got to tell a story after all,” said Dean, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Devil’s cut.”

“Hank why don’t we leave the officer alone,” you said, glaring at Dean. “I’m sure he can’t talk about his case.”

“You’re right. Y/N here keeps me on track. I even talked to my son last night,” he said.

“You did? That’s great Hank. How’d it go?” you asked.

“Oh he was pretty angry but he answered at least. He wants me to get out of here, go stay down in Florida with him for awhile,” said Hank.

“You really should Hank,” you said. “Neither of my parents are around anymore. I know he's angry but someday, he’s gonna want you there and you won’t be if you don’t get your act together.”

“She’s been watering down my drinks lately. Weaning me off the stuff,” said Hank to Dean.

“Hank,” you said with a smile, leaning over the bar. “Get out of here. I’m cutting you off.”

“I had two drinks,” he said.

“I got the right to refuse service,” you said. “Go try your son again for me.”

“I still ain’t quitting until you quit,” he said as he stood up.

“I know, I know,” you said, Hank giving you a wave. “Take it easy.”

You cleaned up his glass, feeling Dean’s gaze on your back.

“That’s the Y/N I remember,” he said. “Kind. Helpful. Sees the good in people.”

“It’s an act,” you said, turning around, wiping down the bar top.

“No. This whole attitude is an act,” he said. You leaned your head back, eyes tearing up when you looked back at him, Dean’s face going blank.

“This is me now. My life sucks and I get that. I own that. It’s my problem. I wake up, I got to work, I sleep for four hours, five if I’m lucky and then I do it all again. I live in a shithole that I’m terrified to walk to and from everyday but I need to pay the bills and no one wants to hire a fucking Y/L/N around here. I know I lost everything. I lost my boyfriend and my best friend that day too. It wasn’t even like we broke up though. Our entire relationship was you getting close to me to get access for your case. There’s a hundred million things that made me feel like but the one that pops up so much besides me being a damn idiot and feeling betrayed was that I loved you. I told you things. I shared things. Things I felt, things that are wrong with me, things about after my mom died. You told me exactly what I wanted to hear to make me fall in love with you. You broke my heart. And I’m the idiot that let you in. You humiliated me. Well I’m not making the same mistake. This is me now so deal with it.”

Dean took a long sip of his drink, staring down into the glass. You cleaned up the bar, getting your composure back just in time to hear him open his mouth.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I’m always going to love you. I chose my job over you and I have to live with that the rest of my life. You never did a single thing wrong. Shit, you never even double parked or jaywalked when we were together. They couldn’t get you for anything because they didn’t have anything on you. I vouched for you. You didn’t deserve prison for something you had nothing to do with and you don’t deserve this kind of life either.”

“No one deserves this kind of life, Dean,” you said. “I want you to finish your drink, leave, and never come back. Is that clear?”

“I do love you,” he said.

“I will never trust a damn thing that comes out of your mouth ever again,” you said, swallowing hard. “I don’t know anything else. Stay away from me.”

“Problem?” asked Ricky, stepping away from his post besides the door. You shook your head as Dean downed the rest of his drink and slapped down a hundred.

“I got a promotion. New case to work,” he said.

“Good for you,” you said. He left quietly, Ricky watching you slam his empty glass in the bin for wash up.

“Don’t let that guy back in the bar,” you said. “Ever.”

Two Weeks Later

A cop car in your neighborhood late at night wasn’t out of the ordinary. There was normally one there for one reason or another. You quickly walked past, stilling when you heard two doors open.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” said Gary. Looking over your shoulder you saw him and Steve, frowning when you noticed Devin get out of a dark sedan parked across the street. “We got a report of some suspicious going ons at your apartment. People in and out. Possibly drugs.”

“Well that’s a lie. I just want to go home,” you said, Steve tsking you.

“Stay put, miss,” he said.

“Detective Carver, we have probable cause to search the premises,” said Gary.

“No you don’t,” you said.

“Not according to eye witness accounts of the coming and goings,” he said. Devin went over to your front door and it popped open easily, Steve holding a hand out when you went to follow after. Devin returned a moment later with a small white bag, frowning at you. “I got drugs.”

“You didn’t find that! You just took that out of your pocket!” you said, Steve stepping over to you and grabbing your arm. “He didn’t-”

“Drug charge for distribution? That won’t be pretty for a girl like you,” said Steve, putting a pair of cuffs on you. You opened your mouth but he lifted his head. “Your Miranda rights are in effect. Let’s go.”

He shoved you in the back of the cop car, Gary leaning down as he put a seatbelt on you.

“File an anonymous complaint again and you’ll see how much worse this can get,” he said before slamming the door shut in your face.

You stuck to a corner of your small cell, mostly drunks in the other ones. You didn’t look up when you heard a pair of footsteps come to a stop.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes flickered over and you saw the police chief.

“On your feet, let’s go,” he said.

He led you out of the cell and signed you out, guiding you past a familiar hall and into his office, the door quickly shut. Dean was leaned against the wall, hair tufted up in that way you knew he’d just rolled out of bed.

“You sure?” asked the chief, Dean nodding. “Dean, go ahead.”

“I’m working undercover. We think there’s a few bad eggs in the bunch, have been for a while. I think you know who I’m talking about,” said Dean.

“You put in the anonymous tip?” you scoffed. “Those three could have done something far worse than pinning a drug charge on me.”

“I was there,” said Dean.

“What do you mean you were there?”

“Tell her the full story,” said the chief.

“How much full story?” asked Dean.

“I think he said the full story,” you said, glaring at him.

“She’s not a cop,” said Dean. “I’d prefer she stay in the dark.”

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Maybe it’s better if I explain considering your personal history,” said the chief.

“Oh. That he was my boyfriend? That we used to fuck? Or that we dated over a year and here I thought I’d be engaged and planning my wedding at this point?” you said with a cock of your head.

“Detective Winchester relayed his conflict of interest early on in the other case,” said the chief.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he fell for his protectee,” said the chief. You raised an eyebrow, Dean pursing his lips. “It was quite glaringly obvious to some of us, a select few, that after your statement, you knew nothing of what your father truly did.”

“He laundered money,” you said. “Right?”

“Your dad...has worked with law enforcement for many years. His business had gotten a pass because of all of the useful information we’ve gotten over the years. Crooked cops, drug deals, murders...he’s helped a lot of people. But he stumbled onto something about a year and a half ago. A very big and connected network of businesses that are fronts for smugglers. He knew that was big and...he got worried. He made a deal to help find out more information if we gave protection for his daughter without her knowing,” said Dean.

“Your big case was made up?”

“Mhm. Your father and his men, your family...they aren’t in prison, Y/N. They’re in witness protection. We think that Gary, Steve and Devin work for this network which is why they’ve been in such close contact with you lately. They’re making sure you don’t know the truth and if you do, you know to keep your mouth shut. I’ve been getting close on purpose but-”

“But his little outburst at the bar got him backtracked with that plan of going undercover with that organization so now we’re on Plan C,” said the chief.

“Which is,” you said.

“She’s not a cop,” said Dean. “She’s not a criminal either. Her father barely was.”

“We’d like you to approach the officers, offer them some of your father’s resources, tell them you’re sick of living the life you have been and you want your old one back,” said the chief.

“...Is that why I can only get shitty jobs? You’ve...you’ve made my life as crappy as possible so I seem desperate enough?” you said.

“If you take the deal and help stop the network, you get your family back, Y/N. You get your life back,” said the chief.

“You don’t agree with this,” you said to Dean.

“I think the odds are pretty good you end up dead or in a situation where you wish you were dead. It’s not safe,” said Dean.

“You don’t have a say,” said the chief.

“She was my girlfriend. I get a say,” said Dean.

“You get to keep your job. That’s what you get,” said the chief, Dean getting a glare of his own. “I’ll kick you off this thing if you can’t get your priorities straight.”

Dean pressed his lips together and stared at the ground, the chief turning his attention on you.

“I’m not an idiot. My family committed crimes, even if they weren’t that bad. They don’t just get to come back like that,” you said.

“What about some unfrozen assets?” said the chief. “How about you tell us what you want in exchange?”

“I want to go wherever my father is. I want my degree paid for at whatever college I go to. I want no record and when it’s done, I want to be left alone, especially by him,” you said, nodding at Dean.

“We’ll put something together,” said the chief. “For now go home, don’t act like anything more has happened. Your contact will stop by soon.”

The next morning you were munching on a piece of toast when a knock came at the door. You took a deep breath and looked through the eye hole, resting your head against the door.

“Of fucking course,” you said, Dean giving you one of his best bitch faces when you opened. “I got work soon.”

“We’re gonna go visit the guys. You’re gonna tell them you made the complaint to get their attention. Last night shook you up so you didn’t say anything. You approached me first because you thought I was in charge and we’ll both try to get in,” he said. “I was pissed the night at the bar because I thought they were throwing away a good opportunity to use your father’s old connections. Got all that?”

“Yeah. I got it,” you said, popping the last of your breakfast in your mouth. You spun around to get your purse, Dean taking a step inside.

“This is where you live?”

“No. I hang out here for fun. Of course it’s where I live, jackass,” you said, throwing your purse on. “We going or what?”

“You eating enough?” he asked.

“What do you care?”

“How many times do I have to say it? Me being your boyfriend...that was all me,” he said.

“I don’t believe you. Stop okay. Just stop. It was an act for your job. This is just another job. I help with this and then I want to get out of this town and forget you even exist.”

“You want to throw away a whole year?”

“I already threw it away,” you said. “You should do the same. You’re good enough at pretending. Shouldn’t be too hard for you. You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.”

“That was the real me,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t. The real man I was in love with would have trusted me enough to tell me the truth. He’s not real. All that’s left is you and you...you’re nothing to me. So let’s just get this done with as fast as we can so we can both get on with our lives, alright?” you said.

“I underestimated you. You’ll do just fine. You can pretend with the best of them, can’t you? I bet you don’t even let yourself cry over how shitty everything is anymore, huh? You never let anyone see you cry, except me. So I know that face you make when you’re shoving it down. So don’t try to lie to me and say I’m nothing to you,” he said.

“Fine. It still hurts. Who fucking cares? We got a job to do. You never had a problem putting that above me before. Let’s go.”

“Relax,” said Dean. “Stop being so pissed. You’ll tip ‘em off.”

“Obviously you should hang out in shittier neighborhoods, learn how people really act,” you said. You walked over to an outdoor table where Gary, Steve and Devin were sipping on coffee and eating some bagels. You sat down without asking, the three of them staring as Dean pulled over a chair and took one as well. Your arms were crossed and you leaned back in your seat, staring at all three.

“Can we help you?” said Gary.

“Yeah. You can. I can help you too,” you said. Gary raised an eyebrow, the other two laughing. “I say it’s time we all stop dancing around this.”

“Dancing around what, princess?” asked Steve.

“I want in,” you said.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” said Gary.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you said. He didn’t move but flicked his eyes over to Dean. “Your boss said I should talk to you.”

“He ain’t my boss and I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” said Gary.

“Yeah you do,” said Dean. He leaned forward in his seat, glancing at you. “I want in too. There’s an opportunity here.”

“Didn’t you fake date her, goodie two shoes?” said Devin.

“Why you do think I took the assignment, dumbass?” said Dean with a smirk. “It’s called a long term plan.”

“You,” said Gary, nodding his head. “Let’s take a walk. You two, talk to Deano here.”

You stood without waiting for Gary, exiting onto the sidewalk and feeling him catch up with you.

“What exactly is it that you think I do?” asked Gary.

“Nothing wrong with making a little extra side money,” you said.

“Like?”

“You tell me.”

“You working for anyone?”

“Myself.”

“What are you offering?”

“Connections that require a relationship. I’ve already got those,” you said.

“In exchange?”

“Do I look like I live a great life?”

“Glad to see you can read between the lines,” he said.

“Well you’re still a dick but I got there eventually,” you said.

“Let me guess. You’re not looking for a one time deal,” he said.

“I’m the middle man,” you said.

“Dangerous place to be. You think I’m a dick, you should meet my other boss,” he said.

“Well it ain’t working out so far without me. Ten thousand a month. Twenty five for a finders fee up front. I don’t think that’s too unreasonable,” you said.

“Five a month.”

“Seven and a half.”

“Seven.”

“Deal,” you said.

“Deano. He here as your boyfriend or a cop?”

“I despise the man,” you said. “But he knows a deal when he sees one.”

“He won’t be getting your kind of deal.”

“That’s his problem. I just agreed to get him to the table if he could guarantee no more late night visitors,” you said.

“The charge got dropped,” said Gary. “It always would be.”

“Twenty five tomorrow morning. I can get an introduction going same day,” you said.

“What made you suddenly want to hop into crime?” he asked.

“Why does anyone hop into crime?” you laughed, stopping at the corner. Gary looked you up and down, giving you a brief smile. “You understand.”

“Yes, I do. You also need to get a little bit better at lying,” he said. “You have no idea who I am, do you.”

“Gary Whitlock,” you said.

“I’m declining your deal. Dean will get in with the group and that’ll be that. You’re done,” he said. You furrowed your brow, Gary pushing back his hair. “Listen chipmunk. It’s the way it’s got to be.”

You stared at him, Gary slowly blinking.

“You’re-”

“Moose. Yeah. I’m going around orders because squirrel over there asked me to. You’re not in. Dean will use the connections and you held up your end of the deal.”

“Why-”

“He loves you. He wants you safe. Sorry for being such a dick before in case I never see you again,” he said, starting to head back.

“You’re Sam. You’re-”

“If it makes you feel any better, he regrets choosing the case over you,” he said. “Now looked pissed off. You hate me, remember?”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[lovelylogans]

where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter / chapter ten / next chapter 

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism, sickness (coughing, fever)

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 21,282

notes: me writng the second to last section / me writing the last section

logan can’t focus.

it’s not because of the bowler-capped head in the corner that’s smirking at him. it’s not because he’s lost in the source material that they’re supposed to be silently reading, a series of pages in the poetry anthology that weighed, approximately, the same amount that a concrete block would. it’s not because of the slightly too-noisy tick-tick-ticking of the clock behind him that he’s been trying to limit himself from twisting around to read. he knows the reason he can’t focus fully, but even knowing the reason doesn’t fix anything.

he just. he can’t focus.

this is absolutely not a typical event, for him, especially when they’re talking about poetry in english class. studying poetry is his favorite part of any english class, and the chilton syllabus has actually branched out from the “The-Same-Ten-Old-Straight-White-Men” list that sideshire high had stubbornly stuck to, which had directly led to him and roman founding the least popular club in school, the poetry appreciation club.

logan glances surreptitiously at the watch that his grandmother had gotten him for his birthday and resists the urge to faceplant directly into his poetry anthology. how has it only been thirty-five seconds?!

only five more minutes, logan tells himself, and at most ten. and then a car ride. 

“...and as brock-broido herself once said, she said that her theory is ‘that a poem is troubled into its making. it’s not a thing that blooms; it’s a thing that wounds.’ how can we apply this quote to her poem father, in drawer... sanders?”

logan curses to himself, mentally, and quickly skims an eye over the poem in question. 

“the poem itself is clearly a demonstration of the speaker’s grief for her father,” logan says, fingernails biting briefly into his palms before he forcibly relaxes his hands. “so affected by the grief that she and her sister—“ he quickly skims for the line he’s looking for— “his daughters’ scales came off in every brittle tinsel color, washing to the next slow-yellowed river and the next, toward west, ohio-bound. this is the extent of that. i still have plenty heart. this poem is, in itself, troubled—troubled by grief, the act of burying her father, of how that grief in and of itself changed her and her sister forever, in an action so massive that brock-broido ventures into the mythical, the grandiose—that its emotional capacity is so large that though the details of it may be particular to the point that only brock-broido, or the speaker herself, could understand them, the emotion is clearly present throughout anyway. it wounds—not just brock-broido, but the reader, as well.”

he sits back in his chair. that will have to suffice. you know what’s happening, he tries to telegraph to the teacher, call on someone else.

“close, but not quite,” floats from the back corner of the room, a bowler tipping up, and forget it, logan’s sticking around to defend his point if necessary.

“why do you say that, slange?”

“well, there’s some soundness in your analysis, but you’re entirely too focused on the parental grief, not on the effect it has on the people surrounding him. i suppose i can’t blame you for being distracted, considering everything that’s going on with you.”

logan grits his teeth. “i’m not distracted.”

“oh, of course you’re not,” dee simpers. “i mean, i can’t blame you, if my father was in the hospital, i’d be too focused on the whole grief of losing a parent thing, too.”

there’s an outbreak of murmurs across the room. angie, whose two bleached-blonde braids swing and settle on her shoulders when she turns in her seat to stare at logan outright, asks, “is your dad dying?”

“he’s fine,” logan says. “he’s coming home today, actually.”

“can we get back to the poem, please,” mr. medina tries to break in wearily.

“what happened to him?” asks dermot, a round-cheeked boy entirely too kind to have been stuck with a name like dermot.

“pneumonia,” logan says brusquely. “anyway, he’s fine. i’m leaving to accompany him home in—” he checks his watch. “approximately three minutes.”

“not to mention anything else,” dee says, settling his chin on his hand and, logan swears, batting his eyelashes for a brief moment. “do you want to share with the class, logan?”

“i have nothing to share except for more extensive poetry anaylsis.”

“yes, thank you,” mr. medina says. “now, about brock-broido—”

the classroom phone rings. angie leans wildly to answer it.

“yeah? he’s right here. okay, i’ll tell him.” angie looks to logan expectantly. “ambroise for signout.” 

logan nods, putting away the anthology in his backpack.

“if your dad’s in the hospital, who’s picking you up?” angie continues.

“a family friend,” logan says curtly. 

“maybe it’s good that you’re leaving early,” dee says, and his eyes glint. “i mean, i’d hate for any distraction of yours to mess with your grades, considering we’re just a couple weeks away from finals.”

a noise of complaint rings throughout the room. there’s a completely different ringing noise in logan’s ears.

finals. his first set of finals at chilton. he hasn’t even remotely begun to prepare. he’d forgotten. in all the chaos of his thanksgiving break, he’s lost a valuable week of prep time, and he forgot about finals week.

(”failure is a part of life, but not a part of chilton. understand?" charleston’s voice rings in his ears, and "i'm also top of the class. i intend to be valedictorian when i graduate. you'll never catch up,” and suddenly logan has to remind himself to breathe.)

“don’t want to fail and ruin those perfect straight a’s,” dee tuts, and logan zips his backpack shut perhaps a touch too quickly, zippers clacking together.

“you’ll hardly find that i’m the one who’s distracted,” he says, and nods to mr. medina before he leaves the classroom, heading for the ambroise building.

the hallways are empty, the only noise his shoes against the marble and the distant drift of lecturing professors or discussion from students or brief breaks of laughter or the orchestra rehearsing for the winter concert that’s coming up, the occasional stray student on a bathroom break passing him with a nod or wave if he knows them, and the occasional stray student who edges out of their hiding place as soon as they register that logan’s in the chilton blue-and-navy, not a teacher. 

he enters the receptionist office, and virgil looks distinctly out of place and distinctly uncomfortable from where he’s sitting on the fine leather couches just outside of charleston’s office, in an old purple-and-black flannel that has his characteristic thick white stitching placing an entirely different purple-and-black plaid pattern over where the original shirt had worn through his elbows and a spot on his stomach, his torn-up black jeans, his puffy winter coat sitting beside him. virgil gets up, mouthing save me at logan, who presses his lips together to keep from smiling.

“sign here,” the receptionist says, and logan does. the receptionist sweeps a disapproving eye over virgil, and says, “you may go.”

as soon as they exit, virgil mutters to logan, “jesus, i didn’t realize you went to school in a castle.”

“falsehood,” logan rebuts, “i know for a fact you’ve seen photographs of chilton.”

“roman would be right at home here,” virgil says, glancing at logan with a glint in his eye, and logan gives him a you’re not as subtle as you think you are look.

“terrifying women and everything,” virgil continues in a mutter, rubbing the back of his neck. “i swear i could feel her plotting my murder when she realized i was besmirching the hallowed halls of chilton because i, god forbid, wasn’t wearing a tie.”

“mrs. fischer’s not murderous.”

“show up without a tie and see how long that stays true,” virgil says, as they exit the building. “i parked over there, so.”

logan heads over to virgil’s trustworthy, top-safety-rated sedan, and drops his backpack off in the backseat before he hops into the front seat as virgil settles in the driver’s seat. he drums his fingers against the wheel.

“how’s dad?” logan asks, refusing to acknowledge that it’s been less than seven hours since he saw him last—virgil drove him to school, too, and they’d visited the hospital then. where he’s stayed, since then.

“good,” virgil says. the drumming picks up the pace. “or, you know, good considering the circumstances. excited to get home.”

logan nods, absorbing this. his dad’s displeasure with his extended hospital stay has been made more and more clear the more and more he’s recovered. he’s officially cleared to go home and take all of his antibiotics and go back for a check-up once those are done, just to be sure his lungs are clear, but checking out of the hospital meant that they were in the last stretch of his illness. 

“i wanted to ask you something, actually,” virgil begins, fingers tapping frenetically, and logan’s first thought is he’s asking permission to propose.

but no, logan dismisses. his father would want to be present to inform him of any romantic change to his and virgil’s relationship. a change would make sense, though, the only person who’s spent more time at the hospital than logan for the past few days is virgil, and his father and virgil have yet to have an emotionally-charged (ick) conversation about virgil finding his dad passed out on the ground, which might lead to other emotions being brought to the forefront, but—no. virgil’s no christopher. virgil wouldn’t rashly propose, he’s not one to go from nothing to everything. he’s one to cautiously, slowly warm up to an idea after percolating on it for months or possibly years at a time.

so something else, then.

“ask,” logan says, keeping his guesses close to the chest.

virgil takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and says, “and if you’re not cool with it, consider it forgotten, i never even brought it up, but—”

“virgil. ask.”

“i was thinking about staying over at your house to keep an eye on your dad just to be sure he doesn’t backslide,” virgil blurts out. “i mean. you know how he is with remembering things, so i’ll just—i dunno, help handle things around the house and remind him to take his meds and—stuff, and i won’t stay very long, just until the winter fest on friday, so.”

(logan remembers, distantly, plotting with roman, back when they were both young enough to daydream together, talking about how obviously his dad and virgil should get married, so that way virgil and patton could live together and logan would move out of the pool house and that way logan could have two dads, so maybe roman could borrow one sometimes since he didn’t have any, or maybe they could get married too so they could share parents, right, that’s a thing that married couples did, and when they were married they would have a library like belle in beauty and the beast and a big pretty dance pavilion like in barbie and the twelve dancing princesses and they’d eat nothing but crofter’s sandwiches all day and—)

“that’s a good idea,” logan says, redirecting his gaze to virgil’s face. “to stay over. you should.”

virgil blows out a slow breath. “yeah?”

“yes,” logan confirms. “finals are coming up. i’ll be at school most of the day, and studying a lot besides.”

“oh, yeah, finals, huh,” virgil says. “i nearly forgot about those.”

logan directs his gaze out of the window.

“yes,” he says tightly. “me too.”

...

logan walks into the room to see a nurse obscuring the view of his father, having removed the much-complained-about iv from his arm at long last.

“finally,” his dad says gleefully. “well, that seems like that’s just about that, mei. it was nice to pneu-know-ya.”

mei giggles. logan turns around to walk out, deciding to wait in the car. virgil, a laugh in his throat, catches logan by the shoulder and nudges him back into the room.

“patton,” virgil says. “your son’s been here for less than five seconds and you’ve already infuriated him.”

“dad,” logan says, anguished. “seriously. pneu-know-ya?”

patton’s grin widens. “not humerus enough for you?”

“i’m disowning myself,” logan decides.

“no, you’re not,” patton says cheerfully, as mei the nurse binds a cotton ball in place over the injection site with medical tape. he waves them over with his free hand. “c’mon, sit down.”

“actually, i’m just gonna make sure the paperwork’s all filled out right,” virgil says, and once again nudges logan forward a little. from the look on patton’s face, it becomes clear to logan that this is a “don’t-let-logan-see-how-much-medical-care-costs” plan, which makes a knot of worry grow in his throat. the last thing they need is for logan to come down with something, too.

logan sits in the chair at patton’s bedside, the same chair he’s been sitting in since friday morning. now it’s monday. he’ll be happy to never sit in this chair ever again. patton looks a little better, but he looks far from his default—he’s still pallid, and the almost-always present sheen of sweat doesn’t help, and his under-eye bags actually might be bigger than virgil’s, and he’s lost a few pounds from being in the hospital, and he just doesn’t look...

well, he just doesn’t look healthy.

it doesn’t help that patton coughs a few times before he speaks.

“okay, v,” patton says, and, with a sly glance out of the corner of his eyes, “suture self.”

mei giggles louder. logan buries his face in his hands and utters a little scream. virgil exits, with his cackles echoing down the hall.

a hand pats his hair. “okay, okay, that’s it. all pun-ned out.”

“for now,” logan mutters, but resurfaces, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“yeah, for now,” patton says, and shrugs on virgil’s hoodie, which has been somewhere on patton’s person since logan and roman came to the hospital on friday morning, glancing at mei. “is this it, then?”

“once he checks out your paperwork, we’ll be back with a wheelchair,” mei says, and adds, apologetically, at the long-suffering look patton gives, “just policy, i know. you excited to go home?”

patton smiles at logan. “very.”

against logan’s will, his lips twitch up to smile back.

“i’ll go check on that paperwork,” mei says, and leaves the room, and then it’s just the sanders’.

“so,” patton says. “home.”

“yeah,” logan says. “lots of people are excited for you to come home.”

“lots of people, huh?” patton asks teasingly, but logan refuses to be goaded into a potentially emotional moment. 

“i’ve had to rearrange the contents of the fridge three times because so many people have dropped off casseroles,” logan informs him, and patton looks startled at that, the way he always looks a little startled whenever people show up to support him.

“really?”

“really,” logan confirms. “sookie dropped off three, just by herself. plus dr. picani, and remy, and babette and morey, and taylor, and larry and dot, and elliott’s mom, and jackson, and kai, and corbin and sloane, and a few people from the inn apparently grouped up to drop some off, but i didn’t open the cards, so i couldn’t tell you exactly who made which. ms. prince even made one.”

patton looks even more startled. “ms. prince?”

“roman delivered it,” logan says.

“roman, huh?” patton asks, settling against the pillows. “how’s, um. how’s he doing?”

this isn’t exactly an atypical question, patton asking after one of his friends. if it’s roman, patton usually does it with a teasing little tilt of his lips, but the way patton’s asking now is... unusual. logan can’t pinpoint why. 

“fine,” logan says. “busy with the nutcracker and everything.”

recital times are usually the busiest times of year for roman; with friday, saturday, and sunday night performances, plus matinees on the weekends, and special exhibitions, in addition to rehearsals and his usual schedule of teaching and school and extracurriculars, his and roman’s hang-out times usually turn into roman curling up on logan’s lap or leaning against logan’s shoulder, having fallen asleep, even and especially when he tries not to, just because of the amount of effort he’s putting in on a daily basis. this year, as sugar plum cavalier—essentially the male lead role, with the most complex technical performance aspects to go with that—it’s surged to a nearly absurd level.

“yeah?” patton says. “nothing... else?”

logan frowns at him. “no? should there be?”

“i dunno, should there?” patton tries to volley back, and logan narrows his eyes at him.

“why are you being weird?”

“huh, i’m being weird?” patton says. “must be the pneumonia.”

“you’re going to use that excuse for as long as you can, aren’t you?” logan asks, resigned. but logan knows full well that him using that excuse is a good thing—his dad never actually complains when he’s sick, so if he’s using being sick as an excuse, he must be feeling better.

“i have pneumonia, so that probably means you’re going to have to pick up on the chores,” patton says, and logan scowls at him.

“finals, dad.”

“huh, already?” patton asks, looking surprised.

“it’s after thanksgiving break,” logan says, refusing to acknowledge that he also almost forgot about finals.

“so the house will be in a shambles, got it,” patton says. 

“actually,” logan says slowly, “not necessarily.”

patton blinks at him.

“virgil asked me if i would be okay with him staying over to make sure you stay healthy and that you recover okay,” logan says, and patton looks the most startled he’s looked since logan walked into the hospital room.

“oh,” patton says, and then he repeats, “oh,” slightly squeakier. he fidgets with the sleeves of virgil’s hoodie, seems to remember that it’s virgil’s, and abruptly stops.

“i think you should say yes,” logan says. 

“i—oh,” patton says. “really?”

“really,” logan confirms. “i’m going to be at school, and you’re still sick, and virgil always looks after you when you’re sick, anyway. it follows that with a more serious illness, he’d watch you more closely.”

“but, like,” patton says, and his cheeks go pink. “stay over stay over?”

logan rolls his eyes. “i’m sure he’ll insist on sleeping on the couch to prevent yourselves from falling into the bed-sharing cliché, but yes, dad, stay over stay over.”

patton swats him.

“you’re terrible at remembering to take any medicine,” logan continues with his reasoning, “and it’s—well, like i said, finals. the first set of finals at chilton.”

“you’re gonna do great,” patton says firmly, but logan shakes that off.

“because i’ll be studying for them,” he says. “and i’ll be at school for most of the day anyway, so—”

“you could just say that you’re worried,” patton says, and logan says, “virgil is,” and patton sombers.

“he—you know, found you,” logan says. “you realize that’s, like, his worst nightmare.”

“i know,” patton says, and nibbles at his lip. “i actually have a good excuse for not calling.”

“i know, i saw,” logan says dryly. “it’s in your room, in case you need proof.”

“oh, good, i guess,” patton says. he bites his lip more. “i should talk to him about that, huh?”

“you really should,” logan says. “while he stays over.”

“all right, all right, i’m convinced,” patton says. “if it’ll make you both feel better.”

“it’ll make virgil feel better,” he says, avoiding that.

“what’ll make me feel better?” virgil asks, from the doorway. logan turns so he can see his face.

“dad just agreed to your plan of staying over,” he says.

“oh,” virgil says, strangled. he’s gone red. “um. great. mei’s on her way with the wheelchair, she was just behind me, i’ve got—” he lifts a little white paper bag and shakes it, so the sound of pills clacking against plastic is clear. 

“good,” patton says.

“so,” virgil says. “i, um. i packed a bag, it’s in my trunk, so. we’ll just... go to your house, i guess.”

“right,” patton says. “um. good.”

“beep beep,” mei chirps from behind virgil, breaking through the awkwardness in the air, and virgil hastily steps aside so that mei can wheel the wheelchair by patton’s bedside.

“right, then, i’ll pull up the car,” virgil says. “the main front loop okay?”

“that’s the one,” mei says, and virgil departs as mei offers her hands for patton. patton, smiling but clearly trying not fidget, takes them and settles in the wheelchair uncomfortably.

it’ll be for less than five minutes, logan wants to say, but—he gets it. patton can clearly walk under his own power. the extent of the fussing patton’s undergone in the past few days must feel stifling by now.

logan falls into step beside mei as she slowly wheels patton down the hall, out of the hospital room, and out of the hospital, and logan watches as patton takes a deep lungful of fresh, wintry air, and he doesn’t cough, because he can do that now, because he can breathe, because he’s recovering and he’s okay.

virgil pulls up right as mei wheels patton onto the sidewalk, and logan steps forward to open the door. patton stands up before mei can help him, and slides into the front seat.

“get well soon,” mei says warmly.

patton smiles at her as logan opens his own car door. 

“i’m going tibia okay.”

“actually, i’m getting a cab home,” logan says, and virgil laughs.

“get in the car, kid,” he says, and logan is sure to heave his biggest sigh before he slides into the car, too.

...

as soon as they’re home, logan makes an excuse to go to the courant—probably to pull overtime before all his priorities are taken over by finals studying mode—and patton gives him a hug before he goes, and it’s kind of a sign of how much the hospital stay upset him that he permits it with minimal squirming.

virgil, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, waits as patton unlocks the door to his house, and opens it.

someone’s cleaned the living room—they’ve actually vacuumed, so it’s not logan, because that’s his least favorite chore—and patton inhales the scent of the lavender air freshener he’s got stashed in various cupboards around the house and lets it out in a big sigh, happy that he can, one, breathe through his nose, and two, breathe deeply without erupting into coughs as often anymore.

“good to be home?” virgil asks softly, and patton turns to him, smiling.

“yeah,” he says. “yeah, it really is.”

virgil smiles, too. just a little, just around the edges, and it worries patton that he still looks worried, now, even when he’s home. virgil’s looked worried the whole time patton’s been in the hospital, which patton guesses is fair, but. he was hoping it would decrease a little now.

“good.”

and now it’s just them. well, it’s been just them a number of times over the past few days, but now it’s just them without a risk of a nurse or a doctor or, god forbid, his mother walking into the room in the middle of an emotional moment. now it’s truly just them.

patton bites his lip, just a little, and says softly, “we should probably talk, huh?”

“uh,” virgil says, and turns to the couch, dropping his duffle bag. “sure. i, um, figured i could sleep on the couch, but i wasn’t sure if you wanted to set up shop here during the day, we could figure out something with the loveseat so—”

“that’s not what i meant,” patton says softly. virgil’s back is still to him, so it’s all the easier to see the way he tenses up. and how much more he tenses up when patton can’t quite stifle an inconvenient cough.

“virge,” patton says, quiet, and walks a little closer. virgil’s still so tense. “i know that must have been really scary, hon.”

he tentatively wraps an arm over virgil’s shoulders and puts the other on virgil’s chest, stepping his way between virgil and the couch, so that he can see half of virgil’s face, the tightness of his jaw, the bags under his eyes, the way his eyes close, as if patton’s done something that’s pained him.

“i’m really sorry,” patton whispers, looking up at him.

“god, patton,” virgil exhales, and his eyes open. “you don’t have to apologize for being sick.”

“that’s not what i’m apologizing for,” patton starts.

“yes, you are,” virgil says wearily. “at least a little. you were sick, patton. really, seriously sick. i should have—”

virgil chokes up, which means that now patton is choking up, and patton’s already shaking his head when virgil says, voice thick, “i should have known better. i never should have left you like that.”

“virgil,” patton murmurs, “virgil—”

because virgil’s squeezing his eyes shut and bowing his head and he breathes in a shaky little gasp, and oh god, patton thinks, virgil’s about to cry. not his virgil, not his gruff mother hen of a diner owner, if virgil starts crying it’ll be because of patton, and he doesn’t want virgil to hurt because of him, not ever.

“virgil,” he whispers, and something delicate inside of him cracks open at seeing virgil like this. “oh, virgil, darling, please don’t—”

patton slowly worms his way into virgil’s space, gently pushes virgil sit on the couch before he sits, too, and he hugs virgil close, and curls his fingers into the the hairs near the nape of virgil’s neck. 

“don’t cry, virge, please,” patton murmurs. 

“i left,” virgil repeats, voice quiet, and heartbroken, and patton feels him bury his face into patton’s shoulder, at the purple patch of plaid that virgil himself stitched.

“i told you to go,” patton whispers, strokes through his hair once, twice. “virgil, sweetheart—”

“patton,” he whispers back. “your fever was so high that you didn’t know who i was, for a few seconds.”

“v,” patton murmurs, and presses his lips against virgil’s hair, just for a moment. that delicate something’s opened even wider, making him vulnerable, and wanting to keep virgil close until it seals right back up again.

“if i didn’t go—“

“i told you to go,” patton repeats. “i wanted you to go, virgil, i wanted you to see your family. there was no way to tell that i would have gotten that bad that fast.”

“i should have insisted you go to a doctor,” virgil mumbles. patton smiles.

“when’s that worked in the past sixteen years of seeing me when i’m sick?” he chides virgil. 

a pause. then, sulky: “never.”

“that’s right,” patton agrees. “never. neither of us had any way of knowing i’d get that bad. i’m really sorry that you had to—”

“don’t you dare finish that sentence with i’m really sorry you had to see that,” virgil says, pulling his face from patton’s shoulder. patton falls obediently silent.

“it’s just,” virgil says, and takes a breath in before letting it out in a short stream, directed at his bangs. “i dunno. like you said. sixteen years of seeing you when you’re sick, and the one time i leave—”

“virgil,” patton cuts in, fond and exasperated and still hurting for virgil who’s hurting for him, like some kind of weird cycle of hurting that patton would like to stop now, “please don’t tell me you’ve been convincing yourself that somehow, the pneumonia bacteria sensed that you were gone for less than twenty-four hours and set in because you left.”

“no,” virgil says unconvincingly, and patton leans back even further to direct that fondly exasperated look at him, and virgil smiles, just a little, but it’s enough to make patton want to cheer.

“no,” virgil repeats, firmer. “it’s just—” he sighs, and says, softer, “if i hadn’t left, i’d have been able to see how bad you were getting and gotten you some kind of medical care before four days in the hospital was necessary.”

“it was really more like three and a half, since i got there thursday night and left monday morning-ish,” patton muses, and now it’s virgil’s turn to look fondly exasperated right back at him.

“patton,” virgil says, and takes a deep breath in, before he says, “you promised you’d call.”

patton chews his lip, and offers timidly, “would you believe me if i told you there was a really good reason i didn’t call?”

virgil sighs. “what reason would that be?”

patton rolls off the couch, goes to his room, where logan said it was, and sheepishly comes back with his phone in his hands.

his two separate halves of his cellphone, in his two separate hands. virgil closes his eyes at the sight of them, and presses his lips together.

“patton,” he says, measured, and patton could swear it’s the tone he uses when he doesn’t want to laugh. “what. did you do.”

“so,” patton says, setting the phone halves in virgil’s hands, “turns out phones really aren’t any help when you trip over your own blankets you discarded from your blanket nest because they got too sweaty. who knew?”

“you have a heavy-duty case,” virgil says mournfully, weighing the halves of what was once patton’s cellphone in his hands, “for this exact reason.”

“—i know, i know, but i really wanted to clean it because i’d sneezed all kinds of mucus on it and it was getting super levels of germy-gross,” patton says. “so of course, right as i left the case by the sink and went to get a dish towel from the laundry to dry it off—”

“you tripped, fell, and broke your phone in half?!”

“yep,” patton says. “and i know your next question is about the—“

“your landline.”

“—yeah, the landline,” patton continues, “and to be fair, if you go to your apartment and check your voicemail on your landline, you will have a message from me, feverishly mumbling about how i’m not feeling that great, but theeen—”

patton grabs his (truly ancient and dusty) address book, and flips it open.

“—i realized i’ve only got your old number before you had to change it because you switched services, so—”

“you don’t have my cellphone number written down anywhere else?” virgil asks, pained.

patton helpfully picks up the halves of his phone and shakes them at virgil. “i didn’t think i had to, don’t you know what year it is?”

virgil pinches the bridge of his nose, before picks up a pen, scrawls on the corner in circular scribbles to get the ink flowing again, before striking out his old number and writing down his new one in his spiky, slashy print.

“thanks,” patton chirps, snapping the address book shut with a puff of dust and setting it aside.

“okay,” virgil says grudgingly. “okay. those are pretty good reasons.”

patton looks at him hopefully. “so you’re not mad at me anymore?”

virgil looks confused. “i was never mad at you.”

“oh,” patton says, and smiles. “good.”

a beat of silence, before patton adds, “and you’re not upset at yourself anymore either, right?”

there’s another beat of silence. a too-long beat of silence. patton draws back to stare at him, with his best Dad Look.

“virgil,” he says, “you’re not upset at yourself anymore either, right?”

“n...no...?” virgil tries, before he wavers and slumps. 

patton sighs, and decides screw it, and says, “is it okay if i sit a bit closer?”

“um, sure?” virgil says.

“here okay?” patton asks, patting virgil’s thigh, and virgil flushes.

“um? sure?” virgil says, higher-pitched.

so patton squirms into virgil’s lap, and wraps his arms around virgil’s neck, so that virgil’s looking right at him, staring directly into his face.

“okay, think about it like this,” he begins pragmatically. “aren’t you upset with logan, too?”

virgil frowns. “why would i be upset with logan?”

“well, if logan was home, he would have been able to see that i was getting sicker,” patton says innocently. 

"that’s not his fault,” he says indignantly. patton arches his eyebrows at him. virgil immediately looks sheepish. 

“oh.”

“right,” patton says patiently, and runs his fingers through virgil’s hair. “so. if it’s not his fault, then...?”

“it’s not mine either,” virgil mutters, and patton boops virgil’s nose, because it makes him smile grudgingly. his mouth opens, just for a moment (virgil thinks, wildly, i’m happy you’re here, or i’m happy you’re okay, or you’re better now and i thought i might lose you you can’t do that to me before i tell you i’m in love with you) and patton wraps his arm back around virgil’s neck, and snuggles into his chest with a yawn.

“wanna watch a movie or something?” he murmurs.

virgil, hesitantly, leans his cheek against patton’s hair, and patton smiles.

“yeah,” virgil murmurs. “yeah, let’s watch a movie.”

when logan comes home from the courant, it’s to virgil getting up from the couch carefully, with patton cradled in his arms, and logan must make some kind of smug face at him because virgil mutters “not a fucking word” out of the corner of his mouth as he climbs the stairs to tuck his dad into bed.

(Logan Sanders: Roman, Virgil has been staying at my house for less than five hours and I already have one instance of me seeing evidence of them cuddling, complete with my dad falling asleep on Virgil and Virgil carrying him to bed. 

Roman Prince: omg they’re so gay and so dumb

Logan Sanders: I bet you $5 that they’ll get their act together by the winter festival.

Roman Prince: u know what i’ll take that bet!!! but i’m upping it to milkshakes at lucy’s not just $5

Logan Sanders: Deal.)

...

“okay, so. tissues, check, trash can, check, you’ve taken your antibiotics...”

“check,” patton agrees sleepily, the only light in the room the lamp on his bedside table, shedding soft light onto virgil’s face, which is thrown into shadows because of the way he’s standing now, checking to make sure that the bottle of water on his bedside table is full.

“i’m good, v,” he insists quietly, and virgil nods, setting the water bottle back down.

“if you start feeling gross, you’ll come downstairs and wake me up, yeah?” virgil asks.

patton frowns. “you really don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

virgil shrugs. “it’s a comfy couch.”

“you could,” patton says, and takes a breath, before he suggests, “we could share?”

“i—oh,” virgil says. “um. you really don’t have to if you don’t—”

“i’m offering, aren’t i?” patton says, and pats the other side of the bed. “it’s a pretty big mattress, and pretty comfy, if i do say so myself.”

virgil hesitates. patton does, too, before he goes in with something that he knows will make virgil want to stay.

“it’d probably be easier to keep a closer eye on me if you’re, you know,” he says, and pats the other pillows again. “close.”

“i,” virgil says, wavering, and then, “i mean—“

“virgil,” patton says, soft, and leans forward, making his eyes and his voice soft and beseeching. “i want you to stay.”

virgil bites his lip, before he says, “are you sure?”

“i’m asking,” patton repeats, but lies down and tugs the blankets up over himself anyway. “you don’t have to sleep on my couch to respect my virtue, or whatever, i don’t have any of that left, i’m an unmarried single trans father.”

"it’s not about virtue, what is this, the 1800s?” virgil says with a shake of his head. 

“why, mistah danes, i do declare,” patton murmurs in his best southern belle impression, and virgil laughs, just a little.

“not about virtue,” virgil repeats. “it’s about—”

patton waits, staring at him, and virgil falters, shuts his mouth.

”you know what, forget it.” he says, and patton brightens.

“so you’ll stay?”

“well, in a bit,” virgil says, plucking at the denim of his jeans. “don’t wait up, i’m gonna change into my pajamas, and, you know. get ready for bed.”

“no staying on the couch because you think i’ve fallen asleep,” patton calls after him, as he retreats.

virgil doesn’t.

patton’s eyes are closed, about to drift into sleep, when he hears the door open, footsteps plod closer, a soft sigh, and then the click of his lamp shutting off.

“sleep well, patton,” virgil murmurs, and patton nearly jolts out of bed in surprise when dry lips touch his forehead.

“oh, god,” virgil says, and patton opens his eyes. “oh, god, you weren’t asleep. oh my god it makes it so much creepier that i did that when i thought you were sleeping—”

patton reaches out and catches virgil’s wrist in his hand before he can panic himself right down to the couch.

“come to bed,” he says, a laugh in his voice. 

“but i—”

“v, it was sweet,” patton says, and, rolling his eyes, tugs at virgil’s wrist. “c’mere.”

virgil, grudgingly, steps closer. patton’s eyes are adjusting to the dark, not, so he can see that virgil’s more red than usual.

patton sits up, and presses his lips against virgil’s cheek. it’s very warm, and virgil’s skin is very soft. patton lingers for a moment before flopping back against the pillows and letting go of virgil’s wrist.

“there,” he says. “we’re even. you can get in without freaking out, now.”

“what,” virgil says, voice strained. “what—”

“well, i gave you a surprise kiss, you gave me a surprise kiss,” patton says, and wiggles under the covers, getting comfy again. “now we can sleep together.”

patton can feel the embarrassment coming off of virgil, which confuses him, at first, until he mentally rewinds what he just said.

“not like that!” he squeaks, feeling himself go pink. “oh, my gosh, you know what i mean, just—just get in the bed before either of us makes a bigger fool of ourselves, okay?”

“okay,” virgil says, “okay, fine,” and then he walks to the other side and patton feels the mattress dip, and some cool air rush under the covers, and then virgil squirms a little to get comfortable too.

“good night, virgil,” patton murmurs.

“yeah,” virgil murmurs back. “yeah, good night, pat.”

patton wakes up and immediately decides that he does not want to be awake. he makes a noise of complaint, trying to hide his face from the morning light, pressing his face closer into his pillow.

the pillow moves. that’s weird, patton’s pillow doesn’t usually oh that’s not his pillow.

“hey,” virgil’s voice rumbles, which he can feel from where he’s pressed all against virgil’s back, and patton makes some kind of noise that makes it sound like he’s dying.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you up,” virgil continues, and patton shivers, because virgil’s already-deep voice is somehow even deeper from sleep. “i was just gonna make some hot cocoa/coffee and stop in at the diner for a shift, i figured you’d probably sleep through it.”

“oh,” patton murmurs. “yeah, okay, that sounds good. you should do that.”

there’s a long pause.

“you kind of have to let go of me so i can do that, though.”

“oh,” patton murmurs, and does, scowling a little as virgil and thereby virgil’s warmth leaves, before he claims virgil’s abandoned blankets, wrapping them around himself.

“i’ll be back later, okay?” virgil says. "if you wanna go back to sleep.”

“no, no,” patton sighs, and cracks open his eyes. “i should eat breakfast.”

“yeah, you should,” virgil says, and patton squints at him. he doesn’t have his glasses, so he’s a bit blurry, but patton can see virgil, smiling down at him all soft around the edges, ignited by the morning sun, hair falling into his eyes, and he’s so gosh darn pretty that patton feels a little faint.

“i’ll make pancakes,” virgil says, soft. “welcome-home breakfast.”

patton smiles up at him. “you’re amazing.”

“i think you even have the ingredients for me to make your favorite,” virgil says. 

patton actually sits up, so excited by the reintroduction of hot cocoa/coffee back into his life after a week of no caffeine that he doesn’t think he could fall back asleep now if he tried. “really?!”

“one cup,” virgil says. “that is it. you are having one cup.”

“virgil, you’re the best,” patton declares, beaming, and virgil ducks his head, all aw shucks about it.

“i’ll get ready,” virgil mutters, and excuses himself, and patton flops back onto his pillows for a second, smiling.

the smile doesn’t go away by the time he sits down at the kitchen table to a stack of pancakes so tall that wavers a little, threatening to topple because of its height. it doesn’t go away when logan, nose in his history notes, sits down at the breakfast table.

he does, however, have to fight his flush when logan looks at him knowingly over the rim of his coffee mug, and he has to whisper, “do not say a word, or i swear,” as virgil’s flipping pancakes onto a plate for logan. logan only takes a long sip of hot cocoa/coffee that doesn’t quite hide the smirk on his face.

(Logan Sanders: The couch has not been slept on and Dad’s blushing a lot at his hot cocoa/coffee this morning.

Roman Prince: NO FUCKING WAY THEY SHARED A BED????

Logan Sanders: I’m beginning to regret a bet that involves my father’s love life.

Roman Prince: too late u have to keep me updated

Logan Sanders: Obviously.)

...

“i’m bored, and it’s your job to entertain me,” patton says into his brand-spanking-new cellphone, to answer the question of not that it’s not nice to hear from you, but, umm...?

a familiar sigh, before, “well, you’re pulling me away from the thrilling job of trying to find a paycheck, so by all means.”

patton grimaces in sympathy, flopping to lie down on the floor, and chancing a glance at the still-sleeping virgil on the couch above him of the corner of his eye, keeping his grip on virgil’s hand. virgil had fallen asleep holding hands with him, which put all kinds of butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and—

okay, sure, he’s definitely glad that virgil’s getting some (much needed!) rest, after his morning shift at the diner and patton’s first real Public Outing since he got in the hospital to get a new cellphone, which was mostly virgil driving him to the store, buying it, and bringing him in to activate it but driving him home before patton can really stretch his legs, and he’s just. he’s really, really bored. he’s been on some level of bedrest for the past week, almost, if you count the day he got worse before he got admitted to the hospital, and he’s very ready to be done with it all.

“i’m really sorry, c,” patton says gently, tucking his phone between his shoulder and his ear so that he’s got a free hand. “i know you thought that you had the one when you came up to visit.”

“the one to be gone by thanksgiving, sure,” christopher says, and huffs out a sigh. “anyway. you’re all home now, back from the hospital?”

patton’s grimace deepens. “which parent of mine ratted me out?”

“which child, actually,” christopher corrects. “logan and i were texting on friday.”

patton’s grimace is entirely erased. “texting, huh?”

“i led in with the strong opener of how was thanksgiving? did you beat our food stealing record? and logan hit back with the even stronger response of dad is in the hospital with pneumonia, so by all accounts, it was a substandard holiday.”

patton stifles his snort against his hand. 

“but you’re okay now?” christopher asks.

patton shrugs, even though chris can’t see it. “on the mend, i guess. way better than i was,” he adds, “but i’m still taking antibiotics and stuff.”

a pause, and then, “do you want me to come up there to help you out?”

patton presses his hand against his smile. “that’s sweet, chris, but no. especially if you’re, well. searching for a paycheck. airfare or gas money or however you’d be getting here is expensive.”

“true,” christopher mutters.

“just,” patton says. “oh, i don’t know, save up for a christmas visit, maybe, or easter. or we could come to you, it’s been a while since logan’s been to california. we could brainstorm a list of things to do.”

“or you could,” christopher says. “later, though, to help save you from boredom.”

patton nods, mentally adding it to a list of things he’s able to do on bedrest, which thus far consists mostly of “watching things” and “playing games on his phone,” so. planning a potential future trip wouldn’t be too bad.

“bedrest,” patton informs christopher, who has been fortunate enough to never have a medical procedure more invasive than a pulled tooth, “is the worst.”

“ahhh, bedrest,” christopher says, Getting It. “now i see why you’re so bored.”

patton breathes a sigh of relief. it’s true, he likes a lazy day as much as anyone else. it’s just really different to have a lazy day because you choose to have a lazy day, rather than have a lazy day be forced upon you because your stupid lungs decided to get infected, somehow.

“yeahh,” patton says. “and virgil’s staying over, but he’s asleep, and—”

“the diner man?” christopher teases.

patton rolls his eyes. “yes, the diner man, he’s over and he’s been entertaining me for most of the day and for yesterday and for most of the time in the hospital, too, but he’s sleeping and i’m dying of boredom, biscuit, dying.”

“all right, well,” christopher says. “how can i help?”

“i dunno, just talk,” patton says. “things you’ve been doing lately, stuff you’ve been watching, the latest weird craze that’s taken over that i’m sure will trickle back to sideshire in a few months.”

"oh, hey, i actually did wanna ask,” christopher begins, and adds, tentative, “you know the stuff logan’s read and the books he’s got, right?”

“i can take a look on at his bookshelves and the various stacks he keeps around his room, because our son is a hoarder but he hoards one very specific thing,” patton tells him. “why?”

“uh,” christopher says. “well, i’ve been—okay, i, um. i know you’d hinted at it before, so it wasn’t, like, an out-of-the-blue surprise, but i didn’t know logan was gay for sure for sure until he said something when i visited, so i just—i don’t wanna be my dad to him, you know, and i think i’m pretty okay with being nice about that kind of thing, but i wanna be there for him, like i said, and i wanna be here for him with all of this too, so i’ve been reading some stuff, and watching things, and—d’you know if logan’s seen love, simon?”

patton presses his lips together, and then he has to press his hand against his chest for a moment, suddenly and absurdly tearing up.

of course logan’s seen love, simon. he’s read simon vs. the homo sapiens agenda, and the upside of unrequited, and leah on the offbeat. logan’s devoured just about every book directed at gay teens, or gay people, generally, and he’s branched out to media directed at gay people accordingly. love, simon is one of roman’s rom-com picks for a sleepover movie that logan’s actually agreed with him picking. he and roman had a simon vs. the homo sapiens agenda book club when they first realized its existence. logan’s reread the book often enough that patton kind of suspects it might be becoming a comfort book, for him, the way his agatha christie boxset is. 

and i think i’m pretty okay with being nice about that kind of thing, but i wanna be there for him, like i said, and i wanna be here for him with all of this too, rings in his ears, and god, patton is so so happy that chris is stepping up to being a dad like this, by trying to figure out something logan likes so that he can talk about it with him and bond over it. patton’s so happy.

patton swallows and squeezes virgil’s hand, just a little, feels a little spasm that’s like virgil’s squeezing back in his sleep. his heart feels like it’s three thousand times too big.

“yeah,” he says softly. “yeah, logan’s seen love, simon. he really likes that movie. i think it’s one of the only rom-coms he actually likes.”

“oh,” christopher exhales. “cool. good. um, i was wondering if he—i know it’s based on a book, originally, right? i was wondering if i could send it to him. just as a little, you know, thinking about you, i hope you like it present, because—because he likes books, right, and, you know, he’s gay, so i figured that would be good, but i don’t wanna send it if he already has it.”

nope, there go patton’s emotions. christopher wants to send logan a present. an actually very thoughtful, sweet present, based on things that logan identifies with, and things that logan likes, and so patton might be crying a little, but it’s in addition to the week he’s had, so leave him alone, okay?

“he has it,” patton admits.

“oh,” chris says.

“but you should, um. you should definitely tell him that you watched the movie, and maybe you could read it too? logan really likes rambling about the books he likes. and hey, he’s got tons of books on his to-read list, like, um, aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe, or ash by malinda lo, or the star host. those all have gay teens, too, so maybe you could send one of those instead?”

“oh,” chris says, sounding a bit brighter, a bit relieved. “okay, cool, um—could you say all those again?”

patton does, and chris repeats them back to make sure he’s got them right, before he says, “guess i’ve got a to-read list now too, huh?”

patton thinks abruptly of chris at sixteen, loudly complaining about reading and disdainfully pitching books across the room and finding some version of sparknotes for every book they were assigned in english and looking forward to the day he’d graduate and never be forced to read again, but since his son is passionate about reading he’s giving it another try, and nope, patton’s crying again, here we go—

a pause.

“are you crying?!” chris asks, baffled.

“shut up!” patton blubbers into the phone. 

“i just said i was going to read something, roo, are you seriously—?”

“i said shut up!” patton sniffles, and darts a glance over to virgil to make sure he hasn’t woken up, running a thumb over his knuckles when he sees that he hasn’t. “it’s been a long week, okay, and it—it means so much that you’re doing all this to be here for logan, to be a good dad to him, and to show him that you support him, it just—”

“um,” christopher says. “about that.”

“yeah?” patton asks, wiping off his face.

christopher takes a deep breath, and then he takes on a weirdly formal tone. 

“so, i know that, um, as a... straight cis white man, with a lot of privilege considering, you know, the fact that i was born into a pretty wealthy family, i recognize that, um, when we were teenagers, i was kind of, you know. an asshole. and i know that i haven’t, um. been as good a friend as i could have been, or boyfriend, back then, i guess, or whatever we were—”

yeah, they’d never quite figured out what they were in the few months they were together, the vast majority of them overtaken by the “oh fuck oh god oh shit we’re having a baby, we’re sixteen, whaT ARE WE GONNA DO” panic that had been the vast majority of patton’s first trimester (and honestly, the first year of logan’s life, but most of that had been a solo endeavor.)

“—and i, um. i really haven’t been over the past few years? i know being a teenager and not getting it is, like, only kind of an excuse, but i just, um. i wanted to apologize for not being as good of a friend to you back then as you were to me—”

“chris,” patton says, choking up again.

“—which i’m, um. i’m working to understand that—to understand you—a little more, patton, i swear i am. so. i just wanted you to know that i’m sorry for being, well. kind of a dick.”

is it apologize-to-patton-week or something? patton thinks, dazed, and he swallows hard so he’ll be able to talk.

“i really appreciate you saying that, c,” patton says softly. “and you weren’t a—well, you weren’t a butt, okay? we were young, and it wasn’t as well-known then as it is now, and better late than never—”

“i’m supposed to be the one making excuses for me, so stop,” christopher says, amused. “and, um. okay, so, i looked on the internet, and let me tell you i’ve never felt quite as old as i did when i was digging into stuff there—”

“oh, god,” patton chokes out, somehow both laughing and crying, only imagining what christopher could have found.

“but, um, apparently there’s something i’m supposed to say to, you know, communicate support or whatever, so here we go,” christopher says, and then, with the distinct tone of someone reading off a flashcard, “trans rights?”

patton laughs so hard that he wakes virgil up.

(Logan Sanders: Apparently, my other father called dad today to apologize for not being as good of an LGBTQIA+ ally as he could have been.

Roman Prince: yeah??? how’d it go??

Logan Sanders: He said, and I quote, “trans rights.”

Roman Prince: TRANS RIGHTS BABEY!!!!!!!!)

...

“aren’t you gonna come up?”

“oh. i thought it, um. i thought it was more of a one-night kind of thing.”

“well, i mean, it can if you want it to be. but i did offer my bed to you, and i mean. you said you were planning on staying until winter fest, right?”

“right.”

“and that’s... counting tonight, two whole night’s worth of sleep away. you can’t seriously tell me that you sleep better on my couch than you did in the bed.”

“well, no.”

“okay. so. you could stay down here, if you want, but. i mean. i’d go for the better night of sleep, if i were you.”

“i just—are you sure?”

“yeah, v, i’m sure. i’m really, really sure. unless it made you uncomfortable?”

“no! no, it’s not—“

“—because if it made you uncomfortable, of course you can stay on the couch, i don’t mean to guilt you into it or anything, it’s just—“

“no. no, no, no. no. patton, i wasn’t, um. i wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“oh. good! um, good. i was just—i dunno. i was worried i made you uncomfortable. i kind of get close and attach myself to the nearest warm thing in my sleep, i guess.”

“no, no, that—um, that happens. i get it. i didn’t—it was—well, i mean, it was, y’know. nice.”

“oh. i... i thought so too.”

“i just—you know.”

“...what?”

“you know. it’s because we’re...”

“...yeah?”

“we—um. actually, i, um. ahem. it’s, uh. i wasn’t sure about waking you up again. i figured i’d go to the diner in the morning to make sure that everything’s, you know. going okay.”

“...oh.”

“so i figured i’d just. you know. stay down here.”

“you don’t have to stay down here. i’d really be okay if we—um. if we took the extra step and we... went upstairs. together.”

“it’s just that, um. it’s just that i’m nervous about—about waking you up, or messing up your sleep schedule. somehow.”

“but you sleep better, when you’re with me. and i sleep better when i’m with you.”

“well, i mean. we experienced that, sure, but i just—”

“virgil.”

“yeah?”

“do you trust me?”

“of course. god, of course i do, patton, i just—”

“okay, so, trust me. what’s the worst that can happen? i drool on you and steal your blankets? you snore a bit too loud and oversleep?”

“...yeah, okay. i, um. i guess you’re right.”

“i know i’m right.”

“yeah, yeah, okay. don’t be too smug, i’m coming.”

(in the morning, patton will wake up to a snore directly into his ear, and try his hardest not to giggle loud enough that he’ll wake virgil. virgil wakes up to a back-to-sleep patton, and, fresh from the shower, will hesitate before he drops a kiss on patton’s head, thinking he was asleep that time and he wouldn’t notice (patton noticed.))

(Logan Sanders: I cannot believe that, ostensibly, my dad has for the second night in a row convinced Virgil to come upstairs and sleep in the same bed.

Roman Prince: 1. you are the only nerd who’d use the word “ostensibly” in a text Roman Prince: 2. why are you up this late you better not be studying for finals already we pull an all-nighter the night before and die like men Roman Prince: 3. i cannot fucking believe them

Logan Sanders: I hope you’ve saved up enough of your allowance for my victory milkshakes.

Roman Prince: wait milkshakeS????? Roman Prince: we never specified PLURAL milkshakes, cable news nerdwork

Logan Sanders: Getting nervous, are you?

Roman Prince: i can’t believe u just tried to “scared, potter?” me u absolute dweeb

Logan Prince: So, you aren’t?

Roman Prince: ...you wish)

...

patton’s getting better, which relieves virgil more than anything in the world.

he coughs a little, sure, but it’s nowhere near the horrible, wheezing things he did the night virgil found him. he doesn’t have a fever anymore. he’s only a little achy, or so he tells virgil.

he’s just. he’s doing good. he’s taking medicine, he’s out of the hospital, he’s doing better.

honestly, finding patton in the hospital was the last unpleasant surprise he needed for the rest of his life. as far as he’s concerned, nothing else should change, thanks. he does well when things stay the same. when things are normal.

and things are getting back to normal.

sure, it’s a little weird that virgil’s sleeping over at patton’s house for so long. and sure, it’s a lot weird, the sleeping-in-patton’s-bed thing, but it’s not—bad. it is the exact opposite of bad. but that’s it, in terms of changes. nothing else. that was a big enough step for him, and now he just—he just can settle back into work, and so can patton, and everything will be normal again.

or so virgil hopes.

change isn’t exactly good for him. when he knows what to expect, he knows what to worry about—he knows how to channel his anxiety into something productive, he knows what’s ludicrous to worry about, he knows what might be a thing to keep his eye on. it’s routine. basically one of the first mental health tips anyone gives anyone is establish a routine. he’s maybe taken that a bit too much to heart, but sue him, it helps, okay? he likes routines. it’s normal. 

for instance:

virgil’s back to working at least morning shifts at the diner. he’d taken off abruptly to keep patton company at his bedside, and it’s good to see his workers, his regulars, to deal with the trials and tribulations of the kitchen that he’s been dealing with for sixteen years as owner, as long as he can remember staffing the family diner since he was a kid.

virgil’s back to, occasionally, taking breaks in his apartment. sure, the first night in the hospital was the only night virgil spent in the hospital, without the threat of the wrath of emily gilmore hanging over the nurse’s heads, plus the whole near-scare thing, so essentially he’d stumble back to his apartment and not do much else than collapse into his bed. now, his workers force him up there, occasionally, to take a shower or grab a book and it’s—nice. to be back in his own space again. not that patton’s house isn’t nice, it’s just—well, it’s just not his, that’s all.

virgil’s back to hanging out with patton in sideshire. it’s almost easy to convince himself everything is okay when they settle in for a movie marathon or patton attempts to wheedle a hot cocoa/coffee out of him via text at the diner. it makes the night that virgil found him seem more and more distant, like a shockingly vivid bad dream.

virgil’s back to attempting to feed the princes—ms. prince always gets riled up and distracted around recital time, and they’re technically neighbors, so he usually kind of takes it upon himself to do the neighborly thing and cal them in the mornings to see if they want something healthy saved in the back that they can pick up after showtime. most of the time, they take him up on it, even if ms. prince squints suspiciously at her meal sometimes like he’s somehow managed to sneak something greasy and unhealthy into her salad and roman’s chicken-and-rice under her nose.

(okay, he got caught sneaking the kid a jam tart, once, seven years ago, isn’t it time to let that go?)

virgil’s back to translating grunts to mean more coffee and eavesdropping on the tables of gossipers that frequent his diner and managing his teenage waitstaff who think it might be fun to see who can balance the most plates on their arms without dropping things and ignoring taylor doose’s pleas to put up more lights for the winter festival, he’s got one strand, thanks, that’s all he’s doing and taylor can deal with it.

he’s missed his diner. he’s missed his apartment. he’s missed routine.

it’s good. everything getting back to normal is so, so good.

(Roman Prince: virgil was whistling when he gave us dinner???

Logan Prince: That’s... unusual.

Roman Prince: yeah i can see why he fucken sucks at whistling lmao)

...

patton turns his nose to the air and takes in a deep inhale. again.

virgil laughs. “you’re acting like a puppy out on a walk, pat.”

“i can’t help it,” patton says gleefully. “fresh air! the outdoors! snow under my boots!” he helpfully hops into it to emphasize the crunch, a little, though the snow’s been rather packed down, due to everyone trodding all over it in the past week, so it’s not quite as satisfying a crunch as it would be in fresh snow. 

“a walk that’s longer than your car to the phone store place!” he adds. “the prospect of hot cocoa/coffee with my lunch!”

“it would be one cup of hot cocoa/coffee, you know that,” virgil huffs, but he’s smiling a little bit, too.

“mm, that’s what you say now,” patton says. “but alas, you are a week out of practice in facing the puppy dog eyes, virgil, and i’ve brought my a game. plus!” he adds eagerly. “plus, you’re eating lunch with me, so you aren’t responsible for giving me my food slash beverages.”

he maybe overemphasizes the plural on beverages.

“yeah, but i’m responsible for their paycheck,” virgil grumbles.

“be nice,” patton scolds, as if he doesn’t know that the inn and the diner are neck-and-neck on online ratings about ‘best local businesses to work at in sideshire,’ as according to logan’s research. 

virgil grumbles a little more, but opens the door to the diner for patton anyway, and he practically skips inside, happily inhaling the scent of fried food, of hot cocoa/coffee, of spices and sweets and all the good things in the world—of virgil’s diner.

patton’s heart feels like a balloon filling with helium, and he turns to virgil, beaming, and virgil’s face is—

virgil’s face is doing a thing. patton’s caught his face doing the thing semi-frequently over the past ten or so years, sure, but since the whole Hospital Fiasco it’s been appearing with enough frequency to make patton feel a little faint, because—because the thing virgil’s face is doing is so soft, and so unbearably tender, and so fond that it kind of makes patton’s insides feel like they’re melting into slush like the snow outside, except much nicer than the grayish, polluted snow—it’s more it’s rainbow-colored snow, and it feels like it’s melting in the same way that really good chocolate melts in your mouth, except with the addition of butterflies, and—

and look, patton’s torso is feeling all kinds of ways, so the thing that virgil’s face is doing should stop, but also not stop ever please??? it’s very confusing, is what’s patton’s saying. 

patton is saved from asking “so what’s the deal with your face, all of a sudden, and will you just stand still so i can take a picture and set it as my homescreen for every electronic device i have and possibly print it out to frame and keep by my bed, please?” by someone calling out his name eagerly.

“derek!” patton says, working to keep his voice sounding just as eager as his part-time worker’s, turning in time to give him a friendly little one-armed hug.

“are you doing better?” derek asks anxiously.

“much, thank you,” patton says graciously. “i should be back to running everything on monday—”

“—from your office, and not running around like you usually do—”

“—sure, but how have things been, up there?” patton asks, unaccountably anxious. it’s the longest he’s gone without going up to the inn in about sixteen years, if he’s remembering all his vacation times right. 

derek looks around, as if to make sure that there are no eavesdroppers (impossible in this town, really) and lowers his voice. “michel’s scary.”

well, that is kind of what patton hired him for, but he’d kind of hoped that he’d toned it down in the past week or so.

“but otherwise,” derek continues, “things have been... well, holiday-hectic, sookie says that’s normal.”

“it is,” patton sighs longingly, already anticipating the paperwork and customer issues that he’ll have waiting for him, and he’s surprised to find that he’s excited for it. kind of unreasonably excited. to get back into the routine of things, to get back to normal. plus holiday guests always provide the best stories.

“i’ll, um, i’ll let you eat lunch,” derek says, and laughs. “my lunch break’s nearly over, anyway.”

“oh, right, school!” patton says, remembering. derek’s a senior, which means he can sign out for lunches at home or, more popularly, at virgil’s. “right, right, get back to it. i’ll see you on monday!”

“bye, mr. sanders!”

patton turns back to virgil, who’s moved to lean over the counter to chat with jean, one of his part-time workers, and his face is back to normal, so. moment broken there, he guesses. he sidles up to virgil’s side, and jean grins, tossing a towel over her shoulder.

“tune out of work mode for once, virgil,” she advises him. “do you need me to drop by menus, or—?”

“you know, it’s been a while since i actually looked at one of those,” virgil says contemplatively. “why not.”

patton tugs him over to a booth, and slides in himself, propping his chin in his hand.

“how is it that, after sixteen years, this is only our second time sitting down to have a meal in the diner properly?”

“huh,” virgil says, oddly contemplative. “yeah, i guess the last time we ate in the diner together when i wasn’t working or back in the kitchen was—”

“the night we met, yeah,” patton says, smiling reminiscently. he reaches over to swat virgil when he flinches.

“you were not that bad,” he admonishes. “how many times have i forgiven you for it?”

“i lost count by logan’s first birthday,” virgil mutters back. “i still—i mean, can you at least let me cringe about what a dick i was?”

patton tilts his head, like he’s thinking about it. “as long as it’s just cringing.”

“yeah, okay, i’m gonna keep apologizing,” virgil says, “expecting me not to is just unrealistic.”

“i’ll wear you down eventually,” patton says, and smiles at jean as she brings by the menus, setting his aside basically immediately.

“you know what you’re getting?” virgil says, curious.

“yeah,” patton says. “a hot cocoa/coffee to start, but for lunch i want lasagna and a water too, please?”

virgil looks at him, softening, and his face is starting to do that thing again.

“you know what,” virgil says decisively, after little more than a cursory look at the menu. “me too. plus a slice of double chocolate fudge layer cake to split.”

patton beams at him. “you remember,” he says, sappy.

“of course i remember,” virgil says. “i have to keep apologizing for it, don’t i?”

“i told you not to,” patton says, mockingly threatening.

“i’ll be right back with that hot cocoa/coffee,” jean says with a little laugh.

they both thank her, and turn back to each other when she goes.

“virge?”

“yeah?” he asks, and patton bites his lip.

“can i ask you something?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “yeah, ‘course. ask away.”

patton bites his lip, again and again, before he cautions, “it’s going to be really out of the blue.”

“well, now i’m nervous,” virgil tries.

“aren’t you always?” patton tries right back, and virgil lets out a laugh that’s more polite than anything.

“that night,” patton says, quiet. “when we met.”

virgil waits. jean drops off their hot cocoa/coffees and wisely withdraws without a word.

when she’s gone, patton says, “i know this isn’t the—the best way to phrase it, just as, you know. as a disclaimer.”

virgil waits.

patton takes a deep breath. “i thought i was making the biggest mistake of my life.”

“i remember,” virgil says. “you said.”

“what did you think of me?” patton asks, soft. “i mean—virgil, i felt like the biggest idiot on earth—“

“hey,” virgil says, quiet but sharp. “c’mon, hey. no, you weren’t.”

“i was a teenager with a screaming baby and i told you i’d just run away from home,” patton says, “where i had rich parents to support me and my son, and—”

“—and classmates who bullied you mercilessly, and a semi-boyfriend who was at best an absent co-parent, and his homophobic and transphobic parents, and parents who told you to your face that they were ashamed of you, and picked at every little decision you made, and who would have overruled you when it came to parenting logan at every turn, you knew that,” virgil says. “patton, you were hurting, of course i didn’t think you were an idiot. i thought you were brave.”

patton feels his face going soft, going touched, and virgil reaches over to cover patton’s hand with his own.

“i did add a disclaimer,” patton tries, but virgil still looks all—concerned.

“what brought this on?” he asks softly. “you haven’t said something like that about yourself in a while.”

patton shrugs, and says, “we missed the usual coming-to-sideshire-anniversary celebration because i was sick, and—and i dunno. i’m thirty-two, it just—i’ve known you for half my life now, you know?”

“oh, god,” virgil says. “half your life, that’s—don’t make me feel old.”

“i know,” patton agrees. “but i just—i dunno. i was thinking, i guess.”

“about what?” virgil prompts gently, and patton isn’t sure who initiates it, but their grip on their hands shift so they’re holding hands, so it’s not just virgil’s hand on top of his.

this is a new development, too, the holding-hands thing. patton likes it. he likes it probably a bit too much. okay, a lot too much. he just squeezes virgil’s hand instead of try to say any of that, though. too much emotion would probably scare virgil off, or at least prod him into overthinking everything he’s ever done with patton.

“everything?” patton says, and tries to articulate it. “i dunno, it’s just—i’m seeing my parents more frequently than i’ve seen them since i was sixteen, and logan’s sixteen, now, and i just got out of the hospital in the most extended stay i’ve had since i had logan, plus the anniversary, so i just—” he huffs a breath. “i dunno. history repeats, i guess, in one way or the other. i’m getting sentimental. nostalgic. one of the two, or some word that’s better for it that logan definitely knows but i don’t, so.”

“that makes sense, i guess,” virgil says, and swipes a thumb over patton’s knuckles. “similar circumstances, same time of year, same people, even if logan’s gained nearly six feet—”

“he needs to stop growing,” patton grumbles, taking on virgil’s usual line. “eating us out of house and home.”

“—and a vocabulary and an attitude to match,” virgil continues, with a wry twist of his mouth. 

patton smiles, fond.

“i knew you weren’t an idiot,” virgil says, and takes patton’s other hand, so he’s holding both of patton’s hands clasped between both of his. “because you were hurting. i knew you weren’t an idiot because you sat me down and told me the whole story. i knew you weren’t an idiot because you seemed surprised that someone wanted to help you. i knew you weren’t an idiot because you seemed even more surprised that i was trying to comfort you, even if i was fucking it up, like, majorly.” 

“you weren’t,” patton murmurs, but virgil continues anyway.

“i knew you weren’t an idiot because when i was being nice to you you seemed like you were waiting for me to start judging you and you got so startled when i didn’t. i knew you weren’t an idiot because it was so clear from the moment i took a few seconds to watch the pair of you together that you adored logan, you loved him with everything you had—still do—and because you were warring so much with a decision that would hurt you and your parents, but you did it because you thought it would be best for him, and best for you, but that was so clearly second to his well-being, for you. i knew you weren’t an idiot because you were somehow saw all the potential logan had when he was a baby, and you knew he needed a clean slate to be able to access it, whatever kind of potential that turned out to be. i knew you weren’t an idiot because you were being an amazing dad, even when logan had barely been in the world for three weeks. so, you know. i was worried about you, yeah. i called maria to make sure someone was waiting up at the inn as soon as you left, yeah. but i never, not for a second, thought you were stupid for running away, patton. never ever ever. okay? and you shouldn’t either.”

“i never knew you called maria,” patton says past the lump in his throat, because—because he doesn’t know what else to say to all that. what on earth can he possibly say to all that?

virgil shrugs a little, embarrassed. 

patton brings his hands—and virgil’s hands which are still cupping his hands, by extension—up to his mouth. he presses his mouth against virgil’s fingers—not a kiss, not quite, but close.

virgil squeezes his hands harder, and leans forward, eyes wide and standing out starkly from the midst of his under-eye bags and his dark makeup.

“i am so proud of you,” he says thickly, and patton squeezes what little hold he has on virgil’s hands in return.

“v,” he manages, choked up.

“i’m serious,” virgil insists. “look at you, pat. you got your ged, and you’re a year away from getting your degree. you have an amazing job. you own a house. your son’s gonna be the valedictorian of the best school in the state. you’ve managed to patch up your relationship with chris, plus your parents at least a little. you’re the nicest, gentlest, sweetest guy, and everyone in town at least respects you if they don’t outright love you.”

patton sniffles, and tries to joke, as if he is not five seconds away from bursting into really embarrassing tears in the middle of the diner because he’s so touched, “not bad for a dropout teen dad, huh?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “not bad at all.”

patton bites his lip, and says, very suddenly, “you made me a promise, that night.”

virgil’s brow creases, and patton can practically see him trying to run through the memory of a conversation sixteen years prior.

“well,” patton amends, “you never actually said the words i promise, but i kind of, um. i kind of took it as one.”

virgil’s confusion clears, and patton smiles.

“did you ever think we’d be—well, i mean, look at us now, right?” patton says, gesturing with all four of their hands. “sixteen years later, same old diner—well, with a fresh coat of paint,” he amends, and virgil snorts.

“same two guys,” patton continues. “but, i mean. did you think we’d be... like this? even now?”

“we’re even better than i ever thought we’d be,” virgil says, and patton smiles back.

“yeah, me too.” he pauses, before he says, “kinda makes you think about the next sixteen years.”

virgil physically shudders, and patton giggles.

“ugh, i’ll be in my fifties, patton,” he says, sounding horrified. “i thought you said you’d stop making me feel old!”

“i mean, you’re already pushing forty,” patton points out, and falls into even more giggles at the offended look on virgil’s face.

“i’m thirty-eight!”

“thirty-nine, nearly,” patton says, a little gleeful. “you’re so old, virgil, gosh.”

virgil bites his lip, before he says, “you’re really up for another sixteen years with me, huh?”

patton smiles. “logan and roman and you are the parts i’m looking forward to the most,” he says. “and—yeah. yeah, i am.”

“and you’re—staying?”

“of course i’m staying,” he says, soft. “i’m staying with you for as long as you’re gonna keep me, virgil.”

“be careful with that,” virgil cautions him softly. “i might just keep you forever.”

“promise?” patton whispers, and untangles one of his hands from virgil’s to offer a pinky.

the corner of virgil’s lip quirks up, and he hooks his pinky with patton’s. 

“promise,” he whispers back. “i’ll be with you any way you’ll have me, pat.”

“be careful with that,” patton repeats, in the barest whisper. “i might just have you.”

virgil’s face starts doing the thing, again, but his eyes are different, this time, and it’s charging the air around them. they’re full of heat, eyes dark and full of promise and wanting, and virgil looks at him through his lashes, serious and soft and—

and not flirty, patton tells himself firmly, flustered despite himself, because virgil certainly wouldn’t be flirting with him like this, right?? right?

but god, it feels like—it feels like a Moment. it feels like something they’ve been building toward. it feels like the last cresting wave before some kind of tension was released, patton feels like a champagne bottle about to pop the cork—

“i trust you to be careful with me more than anyone else,” virgil says. “i’ll keep taking my chances on you.”

patton’s about to say—something. he doesn’t know what. but he’s so full of the Moment, of the way the air itself seems to have changed around them, of the way virgil’s looking at him, one pair of hands held and the other pair with hooked pinkies, and patton has to say something about—the Something. he has to. he doesn’t know what, but here he goes, he’s gonna say it, he’s gonna—

“hot plates coming in, gentlemen,” a voice rings out, and patton could scream, because virgil startles, and the Moment breaks, and all of the building tension recedes away quick as it surged and their hands break apart and patton looks away, clearing his throat, trying for his best polite smile at jean as she sets down their plates of lasagna.

“um, thanks, jean,” virgil says gruffly. “looks great.”

“you two enjoy,” she says, and flits away, and patton picks up his fork with a barely-suppressed sigh.

(Roman Prince: [one image attached] Roman Prince: LOOK AT WHAT MRS. TORRES JUST SENT ME FROM VIRGIL’S WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK Roman Prince: I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT VIRGIL IS LOOKING AT YOUR DAD LIKE HE’S HIS WHOLE WORLD AND PATTON’S LOOKING AT HIM LIKE HE HUNG THE MOON AND THEY’RE  H O L D I N G  H A N D S

Roman Prince: LOGAN STOP BEING AN UPSTANDING STUDENT I HAVE TO YELL AT YOU ABOUT HOW YOUR DADS ARE SO SO GAY

Logan Sanders: Mrs. Torres?

Roman Prince: she’s the worst gossip of the over-55s LOGAN ARE YOU SEEING THIS OH MY GOD

Logan Sanders: Of course I am seeing it, this optometry prescription is in date and I have sufficient wifi to load photos.

Roman Prince: I CANNOT TELL IF YOU ARE FUCKING WITH ME Roman Prince: IF SO LOGAN THOMAS SANDERS I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU Roman Prince: TODAY OF ALL DAYS!!!!! Roman Prince: I ONLY CARE A LITTLE WHO WINS NOW I JUST WANT IT TO H A P P E N  OKAY)

...

“got your coat?”

logan, without looking up from his notebook, where he’s jotting some last-minute notes, plucks at the collar of the coat he’s wearing—the space one that virgil made for his birthday.

“heavier winter one, too?” patton presses, and logan points with his free hand to where it’s laid over a chair, still not looking up. 

“spare pens?” he checks. “phone all charged up?”

“yes, yes,” logan says absently. 

“you’re sure you don’t wanna walk around with virgil and me?”

“i have reporting to do, dad,” logan says, long-suffering. granted, he’s got the vast majority of the story written, based off pre-event interviews with vendors and people with city hall. he mostly needs quotes and a bit of description, to experience it in order to write a properly captivating lead, and he’ll head back to the press to finish the story after the event’s over.

“i know you usually spend the festival with roman.”

logan shrugs, at last snaps his notebook shut. “roman has his performance in the nutcracker, i have reporting to do. it intersects neatly. besides, he said we’d meet up after the show and once i’ve submitted the story. i’ll text you when i think i’ll be home.”

one of the bonuses of having a cool parent—logan didn’t have a formal curfew. he could count on two fingers the amount of times patton had told him to be home by a certain time when he was hanging out with roman, and both times it was because they had something to do in the morning. as long as logan keeps him updated, he’s free to roam.

“hang on, hang on,” patton says, digging around in his pockets before he passes over a twenty. “get yourself dinner and something else—a souvenir, or a knicknack, or whatever catches your eye, okay? just because you’ve got a job to do doesn’t mean you can’t have fun!”

logan accepts the money, tucks it into his pocket, and taps his pen against the cover of his notebook, before absentmindedly tucking it behind his ear as he stands to get his coat. well, his other coat. it had snowed again last night—an inch or two, really, nowhere close to the foot and a half that had stranded him at his grandparents—and it was forecasted to be a cold evening.

“all right,” patton says, and reaches over to squeeze logan’s shoulder briefly. “i’m looking forward to reading the article!”

“i’m going to the press,” he says, and adds, because he knows patton will ask, “i’ll probably get dinner from one of the stalls, or something.”

“virgil’s running one, this year, but not virgil-virgil,” patton says. “just the diner.”

“um,” logan says, and adds, casually, “speaking of virgil?”

patton blinks at him. “yeah?”

logan lifts his eyebrows, and says, “i couldn’t help but notice that the couch—”

patton turns bright red, and says, “can we not talk about it?”

“is there something to talk about?” logan presses.

“what?!” patton squeaks. “no!”

“you’re sure?” logan says. “i’d be okay if there was, you know.”

“of—of course i’m sure!” he exclaims. “i—why would you even—we’re not—there’s nothing! happening!”

“okay,” logan says simply, and heads for the front door.

“there isn’t!” patton squawks.

“i mean, if you say so,” logan says, opening the door.

“i’m—i—you!”

logan glances back over his shoulder to see his dad actually stamp his foot, looking embarrassed and flustered and much more like logan is the parent questioning their child about their potential significant other, and logan can’t help but smirk at him.

“you’re grounded!” patton manages to splutter.

“no, i’m not,” logan says, a laugh in his voice, and shuts the door behind him, walking the familiar route to the press. and sending a text on the way.

Logan Sanders: Dad insists there’s “nothing to talk about” and there is “nothing happening,” but he also grounded me when I said “if you say so.”

he tucks his phone in his pocket, not expecting a response for a while—roman’s performing, after all—and instead starts to focus on the story at hand, mentally sorting through people to find for a quote, potential photos to take if rudy lets him take the sole newsroom camera, trying to mentally review what he had written and wondering if he should rearrange the story.

the winter festival is a sideshire tradition—booths, food, games, music, and the lighting of christmas tree in the middle of the town, and everything surrounding it: the gazebo, the prince studio, virgil’s diner, among others. it’s the kind of thing that would get featured in a magazine as a sweet, small-town tradition, something the locals do that you should be sure not to miss, and be sure to try lucy’s peppermint or gingerbread ice cream and warm up with a festive coffee from remy’s, or hot cocoa/coffee from virgil’s!

(it’s also pretty well known for having a wedding right after more years than not, and proposals in the midst of the tree lighting, and first dates spent snacking on fresh cookies, which roman is very aware of and therefore has made logan very aware of, as much as he doesn’t particularly want to be aware of the more saccharine aspects of it, thank you very much.)

(well. except for the time they tried to parent trap virgil and roman when they were ten, but that was for science and it didn’t work anyway.)

rudy isn’t at the press when he gets there (logan has his own key) and logan sighs a little, having expected that. but that means he can definitely take the camera, so he does.

he takes shots of set-up. he gets quotes about the set-up from various volunteers and city hall workers. he trawls the booths to take more shots and get more quotes. lucy gives him free samples of caramel-covered apples, insisting he give her his opinion on the variances of each, as she talks about the almost-fifty years worth of winter festivals she’s seen as a business owner in sideshire, and logan makes a note in his phone to pitch a fifty-year profile on lucy next year, as one of the first female black business owners in sideshire who had been in business for so long.

“go on, take this,” she insists, holding out a mini cup of ice cream as he thanks her for her time. “you need to keep your energy up if you keep runnin’ ‘round reporting like this, baby.”

“what flavor is it?” logan asks, juggling his notebook and his pen to be able to accept it, because he has learned over the past sixteen years what happens if he tries to decline lucy’s efforts to feed him. he has never succeeded. besides, it’s only a little more than a sample—he’ll probably finish it in five minutes.

she smiles at him. “caramel chocolate. i can put a cherry on top, since your usual thief isn’t here and you’ll actually get to eat it, for once.”

logan clears his throat, dropping his gaze to the cup, and says, “thank you again for your time—”

she laughs, pats him on the cheek, and says, “give your boy a hug from me. he seemed like he needed it the last time i saw him.”

before logan can ask her what she means, she turns to continue setting up, and logan frowns but keeps moving—he has a job to do, after all. 

he gets a quote from jean, at virgil’s stall (it would likely be a conflict of interest to get a quote from virgil, and he’s already toeing the line a bit with lucy, but, well. it’s a small town. he’d be hard-pressed to say anyone that he doesn’t have some kind of relationship with in this town, even if it’s just in passing.)

he gets quotes from remy, who’s got an arm slung over dr. picani’s shoulders, and emile interjects cheerfully with quotes about how excited he is, and how the festival means that christmas is coming, and it gets him in a mood to celebrate every year. he even manages to get a quote from the mayor, a fluffy, pr-tinged statement that logan’s sure he’ll have to include anyway.

the sun sets, and logan allows the camera to settle around his neck—he’s fairly average at photography, and he won’t be able to really start to photograph the surroundings very well until the lighting ignites his surroundings again—and reviews his notes, jotting down the quotes and the timestamps of the recordings he’s taken of his interviews. 

logan stays to take notes of the ebb and flow of the crowd. logan records the tree lighting for an online feature. logan takes photos of the prince studio lit up with red and gold, of the gazebo strung in pretty fairy lights, of the grudging single string of purple lights strung about the eaves of virgil’s diner. 

as the crowd is growing at its thickest, logan slips away, and tries to focus on his job instead of the person he’s usually here with.

the press isn’t technically a press. they don’t print the paper here, but it really is a bit more thematically appropriate to term this building either the courant or the press, so it maintained the name mostly due to the fact that it houses reporters. (rudy only makes the count on a technicality.)

it’s a tiny, cozy room on top of remy aserinsky’s café, with four tables pushed together and sufficiently ancient computers sitting on top of each. there’s tiny secondhand couches rescued from the sides of the road dotting the edges of the room. there are old, framed editions lined nearly along the walls. 

logan takes in a breath—the scent of ink and paper and coffee—drops off the camera, removing the sd card, and takes a seat at his favorite computer, the one in the corner with his back to the wall and his eyes to the door of the room. he boots up the computer and settles in for writing and editing and photo selection.

it’s a comfortable routine, writing a story. he knows ap style, he knows the common structures, he knows what makes a good quote and what to cut. he ends up rearranging the story to focus more on the booths and the businesses that took them over, rather than the historical aspect, and he’s scanning it word-by-word to ensure that it’s print-ready when he hears someone coming up the stairs.

“knock-knock,” a familiar voice calls, and logan smiles before he lowers his head a little so the smile’s hidden behind the computer screen.

“how was the show?” he asks, glancing up to see roman, in a thick red sweater and jeans, hair a little wet, and holding two to-go mugs. logan holds out a hand for one immediately, grasping at the air as if he will be able to grasp the mug if he opens and closes his hand enough times, and roman laughs, crossing the room and offering the bigger one to him.

“good,” he says. “belle’s a sweetie and i adore her.”

“she’s one of the claras, isn’t she?” logan asks, taking in appreciative inhale of hot cocoa/coffee. 

“she is,” roman says, and digs around in his pocket before proudly presenting logan with a folded-up piece of paper. “look!”

logan takes it and unfolds it, and can’t help but smile, just a little. it’s a card, homemade, dotted over with what must be an entire sheet’s worth of stickers, with good luck! and i love you! and you’re the best! and a drawing of what must be roman lifting up serena, the ballerina playing the sugar plum fairy this year, who is a genuinely professional ballerina. she’s had her doubts about dancing alongside a fifteen-year-old, or so logan had heard, but, well. someone only had to watch roman dance for five seconds before they were corrected of any assumptions due to age. they get along better now, he’s heard.

“you have an admirer,” logan teases, handing back the card, which roman carefully folds and sticks into his pocket.

“i do,” roman says, and frowns. “i feel like i’m forgetting something, now that i’m seeing you, but i can’t remember what it is.”

“well, we’re still coming to the show tomorrow,” logan offers. “my dad, my grandparents, and i. the matinee showing. i’ll text you exactly where we’re sitting, if you’d like. is that it?”

"i would like it, but that’s not it,” roman says, and hooks his chin over logan’s shoulder. logan’s very aware that their cheeks are just a centimeter away from pressing against each other. “eh, whatever, i’ll remember eventually. how’s the fest?”

logan smiles, a little, resists the urge to tilt his head just that extra bit. boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, is a refrain in his mind. he has a boyfriend, he has a boyfriend. 

“good,” logan says. “the crowds should be thinning out by the time we go, and i’m just doing last-minute edits to make sure everything’s accurate. can i show you the pictures? i want your opinion on the ones i pick.”

“yeah, ‘course,” roman says, and he’s the one to tilt his head, and logan’s hyper-aware of the scent of him—the distant scent of floral body wash, deodorant, the more present scent of cologne, (in his most embarrassing private thoughts, he thinks about burying his nose into roman’s neck and inhaling over and over and over until the scent’s in his nose for forever, he loves the smell of the cologne roman uses)—and logan tries to not. react.

“okay,” logan says, forcing his voice not to come out too high-pitched. “so, i’ve got one of the town square as a whole, all lit up—”

“oh, it’s so pretty,” roman breathes.

“—and a closer one of the tree, and a few detail shots of the booths, but that’s what i want your opinion on.”

“okay, show me my choices.”

so logan does, showing the various shots he has, discussing them with roman, flipping through them when roman requests a repeat view, and then roman makes logan scoot over so they’re sharing a chair, slinging an arm over logan’s shoulder.

“okay,” roman says. “ i think you should do the one of the booths being set up, because it’s just a nice picture and i like it a lot. i think you should do the one with lucy serving a customer, because you’ve got her in the article and everyone knows lucy. and i think you should include the one of remy leaning over to kiss dr. picani, because it’s cute and it kinda ties into the whole sentimentalism end quote you’ve got going on. do you want more?”

logan considers, shuffling the gallery so that roman’s choices are included with the other ones logan’s had picked, and flips through them all at once.

“i think that’s it,” logan says, and turns to smile at roman. “thank you.”

“i have an artist’s eye,” roman sniffs, attempting to take on an air of pretentiousness, before he grins back at logan. “you’re welcome. now do whatever you need to do to publish it and get your coat on, c’mon, let’s go let’s go let’s go, we’ve got carnival games to play and ice cream to eat and lights to go ooh and ahh at and pictures to take for social media, c’mon!”

logan smiles a little wider, before ensures that it’s saved and in the process of being published. as soon as he logs off the computer, roman’s tugging at logan’s hand, urging him out of the press, and logan can’t help but laugh as he follows.

“okay, food first, i’m starving,” roman announces. “you’ve probably had dinner, though.”

logan bites his lip. and then he hides his face by taking a long gulp of hot cocoa/coffee.

“logan,” he says, exasperated. 

“virgil’s booth, then?” he says, avoiding the question.

“you can’t keep forgetting to eat,” roman scolds him, “aren’t you the one who always lectures me on the importance of keeping a routine?”

he starts tugging logan toward the stall—the crowd has thinned, true, but there’s still enough of a crowd that roman apparently sees it to be prudent to keep holding logan’s hand, to ensure they don’t lose each other. logan isn’t complaining, but he does notice—

“roman, your hand’s so cold,” logan says, frowning, and then he frowns even more as he examines the fabric of his sweater. it’s thick, true, but it’s hardly suitable for it to be the sole outer layer during winter. “did you not wear a coat? that must be what you forgot.”

roman’s the one looking guilty now, and logan sighs, handing over his drink from virgil’s for him to hold.

“hang on,” he says, and sheds his heavier winter coat in order to take off the coat that virgil made him for his birthday, before he drapes the jacket over roman’s shoulders.

“there,” he says, and takes back his drink. roman rubs the collar between his finger and thumb, before looking up at logan as if logan has done something extraordinary, as if logan has made some kind of grand romantic gesture. roman shrugs it on, smiling, and strikes a pose with the jacket, as if he was james dean.

“do i look good?” he asks.

“always,” logan says absently, and immediately feels his cheeks heat as roman laughs at him—kindly, but still. 

“kind of a mix of aesthetics, but it works,” roman says musingly—which is true, logan supposes. roman’s bright red sweater and his light blue, slightly torn, high-waisted jeans didn’t look exactly matched with the black leather jacket with space patches all over it, but—but roman was right. it did work.

“okay,” roman says, “okay. dinnertime, c’mon, let’s go!”

he takes logan’s hand again, and logan’s heart does that familiar squeezing thing again, and they’re off at a sedate pace.

roman sighs lovingly over the decorations, the lighting, and though logan has been reporting on it for most of the evening, it’s like roman’s admiration makes it gleam even brighter, as if logan had been distracted by reporting to even look up and take in his surroundings (entirely possible.)

the town square’s been transformed—usually, it’s the gazebo in the midst of a grassy little area, ringed by the quaint, charming businesses of sideshire. but now, the roads have wooden booths strung with string lights and garland arranged along the main road.  the lights reflect onto the fresh snow, making everything glitter. 

logan catches sight of two familiar people—their arms linked, their heads bent together to talk. his dad brightens as he sees logan, and waves to the pair of them wildly with his free arm, virgil offering a tiny little salute. logan nudges roman, and they both wave back as best as they can, as they’re holding hands plus their drinks.

“so,” roman comments, “nothing going on there, huh?”

“according to dad,” logan says, and sighs. “so i suppose i owe you lucy’s, then.”

“that you do,” roman says happily. “we’ll swing by her stall later, i wanna eat first and then we can cross through the gazebo to get to her stall—it’s right in front of the parlor, isn’t it?”

“it is,” logan confirms. “as it is every year.”

roman grins, and says, “ah, yes, the citizens of sideshire, known widely for our ability to change.”

“dad and virgil would agree,” logan grumbles, still stung that he’s lost the bet. he’d thought for sure something would happen this week. 

“aw, l,” roman says, and tugs his arm. “c’mon, cheer up. we’ll eat junk and i’ll win you a teddy bear at ring toss, or something.”

“you don’t need to win me a prize,” logan says.

“um, i definitely need to win you a prize, are you kidding?” roman says, as they slide up to the stall. “hi, jean, what’ve you got?”

they end up both getting greasy slices of pizza (not a virgil’s regular dish, but for the various festivals and events in town, virgil will cave—easy to keep warm and easy to make for crowds) and, even better, end up claiming a bench right next to the gazebo, all the better to gaze at the decorations (roman) and people watch (logan.) 

except logan spends most of his time watching one specific person. roman manages to stretch out the cheese on his pizza, and gets smears of tomato sauce on his cheek. his eyes brighten whenever someone wins a prize at the carnival games, and he cheers, he encourages, he heckles. he eagerly points out the stalls he wants to visit with logan. he chats with those who stop to bid them both hello.

and logan is... logan is happy. he hasn’t been able to spend as much time with roman over the past two weeks—with the snow, and the hospital—and likely won’t until the holidays—with the ballet, and finals—so it is a brief moment, true. but it’s a night where it can be just him, and just roman. the pair of them. the way it’s always been. the way it’s supposed to be. 

“you’re smiling,” roman notes, tapping his fingers gently on logan’s cheek. 

“you have tomato sauce on your face,” logan retorts, handing roman a napkin, and roman flushes, taking the napkin and scrubbing at his face, tilting his head so that logan can look at him full-on.

“better?”

“no, you missed some,” logan says, gesturing to where it would be on his own cheek. roman swipes, and manages to smear it more, and logan laughs at him.

“stop embarrassing me,” roman whines.

“i’m not embarrassing you,” logan retorts, still smiling, and takes the napkin back to lean in and gently dab the tomato sauce off roman’s face, focusing on his unfairly clear skin, ensuring that he gets all of it off. he surveys roman’s cheek, then crumples the napkin in his hand.

“there,” he says, satisfied. 

“thanks,” roman murmurs, and oh, logan’s leaned close enough that he can feel the warmth of roman’s breath. he hastily leans back, clearing his throat, and fiddles with his empty plate. 

“done?” he asks, glancing at the bit of crust that roman’s got. roman pops it into his mouth, and stands. they throw away their trash.

“do you want another hot chocolate?” logan asks, and roman takes his hand again. logan looks at him, but roman’s eyes are bright and excited—and fixed on the ring-toss booth ten feet away.

“c’mon,” he says, eager, “c’mon, c’mon, i gotta win you a prize!”

“you don’t have to win me a prize,” logan tries, and roman scoffs as he drags logan in front of the stand.

“hi kirk—of course i have to win you a prize, i wanna win you a prize, let me win you a prize!”

“ticket,” kirk says.

“oh, we didn’t—” logan begins, but roman’s digging around in his jeans pocket and handing over a ticket. 

“logan, you amateur,” roman tsks, “you didn’t get tickets?”

“i was busy reporting,” logan huffs, but roman ignores him as he accepts the rings from kirk. 

this is familiar too—roman’s unfairly good at carnival games, which logan always thinks are rigged. and yet, somehow, every year roman manages to win at least one prize.

one toss—two—three—

roman whoops, throwing his arms up in celebration, and then throwing them around logan’s neck.

“i won you something!” he says enthusiastically.

“you did,” logan says, squeezing him back, just a little, before separating and turning to kirk.

“what would you like?” kirk asks roman, and roman bumps hips with logan.

“yeah, logan, what would you like?”

logan heaves a put-upon sigh, as if it is a burden, but eyes stray toward the prizes. well, one very specific prize. 

it’s a dragon, a stuffed animal—actually, it seems to large to be qualified as a stuffed animal, and he believes it’s the kind that can fold out into a pillow—that’s navy blue, as dark as the night sky, as if stars could erupt over its scales.

like cecil the pirate’s best friend, apollo the knight, and his trusty dragon astria, he remembers suddenly, with a nostalgic jolt, and he’s pointing to it before he can second-guess himself.

he accepts it when it’s handed to him, and runs his hand down its flank—it’s still a little fuzzy, and it doesn’t have the unpleasant texture that scaled stuffed animals could sometimes have—and then holds it up to show roman.

“there,” he says. “you’ve won me a prize.”

roman smiles, rubs a hand over the dragon’s head. “i did,” he says smugly, and takes logan’s hand again.

logan’s about to say something else—what would you like to do next, maybe, or is there anything that you really want to do that we haven’t discussed?—when two people pass by them. one familiar, and one unfamiliar.

they’re holding hands. the unfamiliar one is wearing the familiar one’s riding jacket. 

it’s jess.

jess seems to catch roman’s eye when they’re just about to pass where logan and roman are standing, and logan looks to roman to see what his reaction is—sure, roman’s holding his hand and wearing his jacket, but this is his boyfriend, isn’t it?—and roman stares.

and then he smiles, tilting up his chin at jess. he and jess stare at each other. neither of them speak, neither of them make any gestures that logan can see. yet some kind of understanding passes between them—some kind of conversation, some kind of acknowledgement. something that neither of the people they’re holding hands with will be able to understand.

in unison, they both offer little dips of their chin. jess tugs the stranger along and they disappear into the crowd, and they’re gone as suddenly as they came.

“c’mon,” roman says, and logan shakes himself, trying to unparse what just happened, but obligingly follows along as roman tugs him toward the gazebo.

(in the crowd, as patton and virgil wait in line for some hot cocoa/coffee, virgil says, “oh, there’s roman and logan again,” and patton coos softly at them and how cute they are—roman wearing logan’s jacket, the pair of them crowd-watching, all lit up by the christmas lights. it’s enough to make patton want to go get his camera.)

“um,” logan says, distracted, twisting his head to try and see jess again. “did you want to go to talk to him?”

“what?” roman says, similarly distracted. “no, why? he’s with dean, he’s having fun.”

“dean?” logan asks uncertainly.

“the friend i told you about?” roman prompts. “the one jess has known since kindergarten? the one that makes me think of me and you? i guess he came to visit?”

“oh,” logan says, remembering. right. his decidedly-platonic friend. “sure, but—i mean, it’s jess.”

roman stares at him, confused.

“i’d think you’d want to spend time with him?”

roman tilts his head. he does not look any more enlightened.

“since he’s your boyfriend,” logan prompts, equally confused.

roman’s eyes go huge, and he blurts out, “holy shit.” 

“what?” logan says, even more confused.

“that’s what i forgot!”

logan frowns. “you forgot jess is your boyfriend?”

“no! no,” roman says, and laughs, leaning against the railing. “oh, my god, i forgot to tell you why i was at your dad’s a couple weeks ago! i forgot to tell you anything!”

"i—oh,” logan says, and now he’s the one tilting his head. “what does that have to do with your boyfriend?”

“well, that’s just it,” roman says, and he leans back against the railing. he offers a soft little smile up at logan, a quirk of his lip that doesn’t quite hide the—something in his eyes. “jess and i broke up, actually.”

there is something exceedingly strange happening in logan’s chest right now. mutually, he feels as if there are fireworks exploding in his chest, and yet he feels—sad. sorry for roman, he supposes, might be the closest statement. roman’s wanted a boyfriend, he’s always been a romantic, and roman’s never been well-suited toward heartbreak, or breakups—

“oh,” logan says, when he realizes he’s perhaps waited too long to give a response than is socially acceptable. “roman, i’m—i’m sorry.”

“eh,” roman says, with an apathetic shrug.

“no, truly,” logan insists. “roman. i’m sorry. i should have been there, and—”

“oh, hey, that wasn’t your fault,” roman says. “you were stranded, and besides, your dad’s got the break-up protocol down pat—um, no pun intended. but virgil brought me snacks, and it was—i was okay, logan, seriously.”

“you could have called,” logan says, a little hurt, despite himself. he and roman have shared everything together. everything. and roman’s first breakup—when roman really liked jess, and he doesn’t know what could have happened to break them apart, even as he’s thinking he doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore, he doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore, he doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore, and it feels like he’s something carbonated, emotions so close to fizzing over.

“i’m your best friend,” logan says. “i—i mean, i could have been there.”

"i know,” roman says, and reaches out to put a hand on logan’s wrist. “hey, i know, it was just—i dunno. i needed to think—that was your dad’s advice, actually, that i take some time and space to think for once—and i did. after all that, it was bad timing, i guess. with your dad in the hospital and the nutcracker and everything. i really did mean to tell you, i just—”

“forgot,” logan fills in.

“yeah,” roman says. “but i am okay, logan, really. i appreciate it.”

“okay,” logan says.

“i did, um,” roman says. “that thinking that your dad mentioned?”

“yes?” logan says.

“i just—“ roman waves a hand. “at the risk of sounding like a reality show, i think i got into a relationship with jess for all the wrong reasons.”

logan waits, patiently, because he’s been friends with roman for years, and he knows when roman’s in monologue mode.

“because i was trying to avoid my own emotions,” roman says. “i kept waiting for someone to make a move on me, and when jess did, i just—i just jumped in, even though i was wanting something else. someone else.”

logan tilts his head at roman.

“and, i mean, i learned a lot of things, with jess,” roman adds. “don’t get me wrong, he was a pretty good boyfriend. i think he and dean are gonna be really happy together. but through the whole relationship, i was still... wanting. you know?”

logan does, but—but roman can’t be saying what logan is wanting it to mean. he can’t be. right?

“sort of,” he manages, which is the most non-committal answer he can think of.

“because i was waiting for that someone else,” roman says. “and i just—i dunno. i was still pining, even when i had this person here who was willing to pursue me, but i guess i didn’t really—i mean, i can chase what i want too. right?”

“of course,” logan says, confused. “you can do anything you want, roman.”

roman lifts his eyebrows at him. it’s the same face he makes when he’s waiting for logan to understand a joke.

“okay, so,” roman says. “patton told me to think about what i want. and i know what i want. so i’m gonna just—go for it.”

roman waits. logan can’t find words.

roman prompts, “because jess and i both knew that we wanted someone else, and we ended up together because we were in denial. and we knew that. and we worked it out, and honestly, we had a very mature, very adult breakup, aren’t you impressed with me?”  

logan nods, mostly on auto-pilot. yes, of course he’s impressed with roman. he’s impressed with anything roman does. not that he’d say that outright, of course.

“so now jess and dean are together. because they’re best friends. and they’ve always been together, and they want to always be together, because—because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

he cannot be saying what i want him to be saying. right? he cannot be saying what i think he means. i’m misunderstanding this, like i do when he tries to make a pop culture reference. 

“i mean—” roman sighs, before he grins up at logan, and logan’s heart does that squeezing thing again.

“to be completely honest, jess isn’t really my type. you know?”

logan manages a nod. roman takes a step closer. logan can smell his cologne again. he’s actually feeling rather light-headed, actually. 

“so, um,” and logan’s voice cracks mortifyingly. “what—what, um. what is your type, then?”

roman rolls his eyes, says, “oh, for god’s sake,” and before logan knows what’s happening, roman grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, hauls him close, and presses his lips against his.

it’s over in an instant—there’s an embarrassing smacking noise as they part—and logan can only gape at roman, blinking down at him.

roman looks shocked—like even he didn’t expect to do that.

“oh, my god, i’m so—“ he says, and abruptly lets go of logan’s lapels. “i’m so sorry, logan, oh my god, i thought—i thought we were on the same page but i guess not and i didn’t even wait for you to consent and i—”

roman moves to step back, but logan reaches out and catches roman’s wrist before he can. 

logan scrambles to find words, to explain himself, but what comes out is “i love you.”

roman looks like logan’s hit him over the head with something very heavy.

“oh,” roman says breathlessly, and then he can’t say anything else, because logan pulls his wrist and then he cups roman’s beautiful face in his hands and then he’s the one kissing someone who makes a squeaking noise of surprise. 

(in the distance, patton is making the quietest high-pitched shrieking noise he can, repeatedly hitting virgil’s arm before pointing desperately at the gazebo when virgil asks him what’s going on, where his son is kissing the boy he’s been in love with for nearly all his life and oh my god oh my god oh my god oH MY GOD—)

logan doesn’t really know what he’s doing, in terms of kissing, so he just presses closer against roman, and roman lets out a shaky sigh, wrapping his arms around logan’s neck, and tilting his head up, and parting his lips, and—

oh. oh. oh, roman’s kissing him somehow both so fiercely and so sweetly that it makes logan’s heart do the squeezing thing over and over and over again, and logan feels his cheeks burn, and they part.

roman giggles, and ducks his head, hugging logan closer. logan wraps his arms around roman, too, and buries his nose into roman’s hair.

“i love you too,” roman whispers, and when he draws back to look at logan’s face, logan’s cheeks hurt.

roman’s smile is blinding.

...

“so,” virgil comments. their footsteps crunch-crunch-crunching through the snow, but patton doesn’t feel cold—he’s arm-in-arm with virgil, and all pressed up against his side. 

they’re on the way home, which, with most of the town either at home or at the festival, means that they’re the only ones on the road.

“yeah,” patton says, and lets out a breathy laugh, a little overwhelmed. “wow.”

“i’m almost tempted to tag along to see how your parents are gonna react to it being logan’s boyfriend they’re watching in the nutcracker.”

“logan has a boyfriend,” patton repeats, trying to wrap his brain around it. “my baby has a boyfriend.”

“you’re okay with it, right?” virgil checks.

“are you kidding?” patton demands. “of course i’m okay with it! i think i’ve been rooting for them to get together ever since the birthday kisses tradition started! roman asked me for my approval to propose to logan when he was seven! granted, it was with a ring pop, but—”

virgil laughs.

patton shakes his head wonderingly. “i mean, they’ve been best friends for eleven years. eleven years of the pair of them being adorable together. and now—”

patton makes the mistake of looking up at virgil, then. and it is a mistake, because virgil’s fluffy hair is haloed by the warm orangey glow of a street-lamp, his breath leaving his mouth in a little cloud in the cold, and his face—

his face is doing the Thing again.

“and now?” virgil prompts, and patton swallows.

“well,” he says, and then, softer, “it’s just a long time to love someone, is all. ten or eleven or so years.”

virgil’s lip quirks up—but patton can tell it’s really just a smile for the sake of a smile, not because he actually feels like smiling.

“yeah,” he says, softly. “i guess it is.”

patton should be thinking about logan and roman. he should be thinking about the day that he ran to the elementary school from the inn and stood, waiting anxiously for his son, before the final bell of the day rang. he’d scooped logan up in his arms, and he’d expecting to hear all about the books he’d seen and the things he’d learned and the teacher he had, and he did, a little, but he’d been so full of stories, babbling excitedly about the boy who’d drawn all over his nametag and told him the second-bestest-story-ever-after-cecil-obviously and traded his strawberries for jam cookies, and how nice and funny and clever he was.

patton should be thinking about the day that he’d brought logan to a prince studio recital because roman had asked him to come and how logan had sat, staring, mouth agape as roman leapt and twirled on the stage amidst his classmates, and patton had asked him what he thought, thinking that maybe logan had wanted to join ballet lessons too, and he’d just sighed, stars in his eyes, “he’s perfect, daddy,” and had refused to miss a show since.

patton should be thinking about countless sleepovers and lucy’s milkshakes and hisses of “dad!” when patton made sly comments about roman and he’d always relent, because patton’s never really wanted to be the kind of dad who embarrassed his son to the point of logan wanting to hide things from him (fine patton’s using personal experience from here) and logan backstage in shows and roman’s birthday stories and roman keeping his newspaper clips and logan tolerating the occasional rom-com because they made roman happy, and all of this, eleven years in the making, the development and the way they had grown closer and closer and the trust that had grown there.

patton should be thinking about all that. but he isn’t.

he’s thinking about the day after he met virgil for the first time, coming in with a practiced “everything’s-okay” smile fixed on his face and logan in a sling on his chest (a favorite of his which meant holding his baby close and having free hands and hiding his chest from anyone who looked) and virgil had gotten so startled when patton poked his head in the kitchen that he burned his wrist on the stove, which left a scar along his wrist that’s still visible to this day.

he’s thinking about countless feuds over hot-cocoa coffee at all times of the day, patton trying valiantly to get more caffeine into his system and virgil trying to wean him off it, and the various endeavors patton’s undertaken in order to procure more and more of it behind his back.

he’s thinking about mango-pineapple smoothies hiding the taste of vegetables that he knows he doesn’t make enough of, and that virgil makes sure he and logan maintain a healthy diet. he thinks about hidden protein powder in pastries, and all the tactics that virgil employs on everyone he deems who needs it, from five-year-olds to full-grown adults.

he’s thinking about the person he trusts logan with most—more than his own parents, more than logan’s other biological parent—which is honestly the biggest sign of emotional anything he’s ever given to anyone.

he’s thinking about the development and the way they’d grown closer and closer and the trust that had grown there, and—

and they’ve just been stagnant. there’s been moments heaped on moments between them, times when patton thought this is it, we’re going to say it. there’s been so many almosts. 

now they’re standing here, sixteen years after they’ve met and only a little less than that patton’s had at least a crush on him, if not being in love with him, and—

"what are we doing, virgil?” patton asks wearily.

virgil blinks at him, awkward, and gestures down the road. “i’m walking you home?”

“no,” patton says, and pushes both of his hands through his hair. “i mean—yes, but i just—i mean. us. you and me. what are we doing? i mean, it’s just—it’s been you and me. it’s always been you and me. right?”

virgil opens his mouth to respond, but the words are flooding out of patton before he can stop himself—he can’t stop the tide, he can’t stop the champagne after it’s uncorked, and he can’t stop him. 

“right,” he pushes on, “and i mean—i mean, i could get it, when i was eighteen and a disaster and barely an adult, for goodness sake’s, and i could get it when i was nineteen and i tried dating other people to get past—“

he makes an emphatic gesture between himself and virgil.

“—this, and i could get it when i was twenty-one and still careening, but i just—i mean, virgil, it’s been sixteen years. sixteen! half of my life, i’ve known you, and i mean—that’s not nothing, you know?”

“i know,” virgil barely manages to say, and patton keeps going, not really taking in the way virgil’s eyes are getting wider and wider and his face is getting paler and paler.

“and i just—you’ve been such an amazing best friend to me, my first best friend ever, and i’d say my only best friend ever except i think logan’s my best friend too, and i get that, and i cherish that, virgil, our relationship is so good, but i just—i see the look in your eyes sometimes, and there’ll be a Moment, and i think maybe this’ll be it, this is when we say it, except it’s never actually when we say it, and i’m just—i’m tired, virgil, can’t we just say it already? can’t we just acknowledge that this—what we are—isn’t lifelong platonic best friends?”

there’s a long silence. patton looks up at virgil—virgil, whose face is unscrutable, at this moment, and patton’s never hated being unable to read anyone more than he does at this very moment.

and for a split second, patton thinks he’s miscalculated. he thinks he’s gotten it wrong. that those Moments really are just him being desperate for attention, and that he thinks everyone thinks like he does, and he’s trying to get virgil to give him this, like he thinks he should get everything he wants, and he—but he was so sure—but what if he’s wrong?

patton’s voice cracks, and he barely manages to say, “virgil, please. this isn’t—i mean. it isn’t just me, is it?”

“no,” virgil manages to say. his voice is barely above a whisper. “no, patton. it’s not just you.”

patton nearly collapses in relief. what he does do, instead, is suck in a big, deep breath, and stare up at vigril with wide eyes.

“okay,” he says. “okay. so—so what do we do?”

sixteen years (except not really, but sixteen years of knowing him, at least) and now that it’s all laid out there, patton doesn’t know what to do. it’s almost funny.

it’s almost funny, except when he takes a step closer, virgil flinches. patton’s stomach drops like a stone, and he immediately takes a step back.

“virgil,” he manages in a tiny voice. 

“i—“ virgil rasps, and clears his throat. “sorry—i—i mean. patton, i—it’s always—you—”

virgil’s breathing, but he’s starting to take in harsh, desperate pants, like he can’t get in enough air, and patton takes another step back.

he’s panicking. virgil’s panicking because of him.

“virgil,” he says. “virgil, can you breathe in for four, honey?”

all that relief’s turned into awful, stomach-curdling guilt. of course patton shouldn’t have sprung this on him—he has anxiety, for crying out loud, and he knows that virgil can’t handle change well, he could barely handle the walls of the diner being painted without a month’s advance suggestion and two week’s worth of arguing, he knows that virgil needs to be prepared for it, and this is just about the biggest change he could have possibly introduced, and patton’s so stupid, why on earth would he do this—

virgil sucks in a hard, sharp breath, and holds it when patton counts, and lets it out in a big whoosh.

“i’m sorry—“

“no, don’t be—“

“patton, please,” he says, his voice thin and reedy, and patton shuts up. he’s run his mouth off enough tonight, he thinks.

“i—i’m so sorry,” virgil fumbles, and takes a step forward, cupping the back of patton’s head in his hand and giving him a nearly bruising kiss on the forehead. “i—i mean, it’s not just you, patton, i—i mean, i just—it’s you for me too, but i just—i need a bit of time. okay?”

“okay,” patton whispers into his sternum, and, when virgil lets him go and takes a step back, a practiced, fixed “everything’s-okay” smile that virgil hasn’t seen in years has taken over his face. patton’s not sure how convincing it is, considering his lower lip is already trembling. “sure, virgil. that’s okay.”

“patton—” virgil manages, but his arms are wrapped around himself, and he doesn’t reach for him when patton takes another step back.

“if you need time, you can have it,” patton says. “just—just tell me when you’re ready. okay? and it’s okay if you never are.”

“patton—”

“it’s okay,” patton says, except it comes out as a sob, and he shuts up before he can do something even stupider, like cry all over him when he might be in the middle of a panic attack and he’s requested time and space.

“i, um. i think i’m gonna go home now. you don’t have to walk me the rest of the way.” patton says. he tries to make a “haha, wouldn’t that be awkward” face. he’s not sure how well it holds up.

“okay,” virgil manages. “i—you sure?”

“i’m sure,” patton says. “i’m really, really sure, honey. you find a quiet place and calm down, okay? are you sure you don’t want me—”

“no,” virgil says quickly, and patton’s heart drops along with his stomach. of course. of course virgil doesn’t want you here. he just said he needed space, he scolds himself. god, patton, how much worse can you conduct yourself?

he quickly turns his back on virgil, and he walks away. he wraps his arms around his stomach, and bites his lip to keep himself from sobbing audibly.

he doesn’t hear virgil move at all.

[ysc004-blog]

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