#sorry . i usually try to take the high road re such situations but this is killing meeeee

[mamawasatesttube]

ok i know its pointless to try to debate people who refuse to actually read comics but the guy in the replies of that last post (about tim cloning kon) vaguing me for being an "uwu soft boi wet cat tim drake stan" because i said tim isn't a supervillain is so Fucking FUNNY. you can either think tim is on the cusp of becoming evil or youre a fanon meow meow stan. theres no other options. new two genders just dropped: uwu softboi wet cat and unhinged supervillain

[aggravatetheaxe]

Sorry to be a bother, but I was wondering if you'd make a hurt/comfort headcanon for Bo, Vincent, and Lester with a S/O that's paralyzed from the waist down who get's knocked out of their wheelchair by some victims? It happened to me recently and it's not fun...

sorry about adding onto your already stuffed work load...

Hey friend, don't worry about the work load. I wouldn't be here if I didn't like having stuff in my inbox! It means there's always something for me to do. So don't hesitate to add, just know it takes me a little bit to get to stuff.

I hope this is to your satisfaction! I'm really sorry that happened to you, people can be such fucking pieces of shit.

CW: assault of a wheelchair user, police violence (kinda), use of the word "crippled" by Lester (non pejorative), canon typical violence

Gender neutral reader!

SINCLAIRS WITH A PARALYZED S/O IN TROUBLE

First, some background:

The brothers have done everything they can to make the town more accessible for you, especially those areas where you're more likely to go with whichever brother is your S/O. Bo's installed ramps and an electric lift for the stairs in the house to make things easier, Vincent's made his atelier less of a death trap (for you and him; it's still plenty dangerous for people who don't know their way around), Lester's re-paved some of the roads, etc.

The only place in the town that's not accessible to your wheelchair is the house of wax itself, to maintain its original integrity. But the only issue there is stairs, so you're probably able to see the first floor fine with a little help.

When victims come by, Bo and Vincent usually have you stay in the house, upstairs if they can manage it. It's just safer for you that way. "You're a real wonder on that chair," Bo says, chewing the filter of his cigarette, "but you ain't gonna stand a chance against some a' the assholes come through here."

He's right, the odds are against you, but Ambrose is pretty isolated, so like hell you're going to hide yourself away in that house when there are people besides the Sinclairs around.

Bo

You'd be most likely to encounter the victims outside of Bo's garage or somewhere on Main Street: a small group of bikers and their girlfriends. You've met bikers coming through before, and they're generally nice, so you feel comfortable greeting them.

The vibe of these people is off from the get-go, though. They seem almost disgusted with you, and you're pretty sure the majority if not all of them are high on something.

Their behavior starts to rub you the wrong way, so you try to disentangle yourself from the situation and get Bo. He'll either decide he wants them for the town or he'll ask them to leave, and people don't generally fuck with Bo.

The bikers get real antsy when you try to leave, like they're looking to pick a fight. It starts with verbal assaults, but once you sass them back, it gets physical. Them getting up in your face is bad enough, but it's not long before one of them grabs your wheelchair and dumps you out of it.

Bo can sense tension and anger in the air like a shark senses blood in water; it's something he learned to do as a kid. It comes in handy now as he turns down the music blaring in the garage, listening. When he hears you're in distress, he wastes no time coming out.

He keeps a Colt MK IV in a drawer in the garage, and he exits with it casually hidden in his waistband. The second he sees you and them, he's calculating his strikes, doing all the gory math in his head.

"What's goin' on here, folks?"

For just a few seconds, it ain't about you ... but just for a few seconds. He gets them calmed down enough for him to help you back into your chair, and by that time, they're headed to their bikes, making to leave.

Bo waits until they're mounted before drawing the gun, and there isn't an ounce of hesitation in his movements as he shoots each rider once. Their passengers scream and scramble, but they're easy prey. That's not like Bo; usually, killing ain't worth doing unless it's fun, and he thinks the chase is fun. This wasn't that.

Bo tucks his gun in his waistband again and checks you over. Given you're pretty much okay, just shaken up or with a couple scrapes, he lights up a cigarette. You'll get a lecture about how you shouldn't be speaking to any of the victims, you should be safe in the house. "What'd you think you were doin'? Jesus Christ, what'd I tell ya?"

But even he can see how shaken up you are, so he doesn't go too far. Plus, there's a ... situation he's got to take care of bleeding out on the pavement. His voice is still terse, though: "You head on up to the house, understand? I gotta go get Vincent to clean this shit up."

Not too long after that, once you're safe and sound up at the house, he shows up, speaking real soft and being gentle with you. This is probably the most gentle you've seen Bo so far ... it's weird. He's quiet. Almost like he thinks he might spook you.

He'll clean himself and you up and mostly act like that didn't just happen ... or hold you silently if you're having a breakdown or panic attack. But overall, it seems like he wants to forget that happened to you at all.

At the end of the night, though, he'll finally hold you close to him and say, "Ain't no one ever gonna hurt you, not in Ambrose. Not with me."

Vincent

You'd be most likely to encounter the victims at night, up at the house. A van of college footballers on their way to New Orleans pulls into town, obviously lost, and makes a beeline for the house on the hill to ask for directions. Bo's still at the sugar mill working on some scrap, Vincent is downstairs ... Lester must have missed these guys on their way in ... so you answer the door.

Right off the bat, these guys are rude. They're hungry and way beyond late and stressed from their road trip, but they are beyond rude to you when you tell them you don't really know the area and can't help. "Don't you, like, live here?" and stuff like that; insinuating you're stupid.

So naturally, you're rude as hell back. It wouldn't be the first time your smart mouth got you into trouble, but never with so many built guys before.

It gets way out of hand pretty fast. Soon, it becomes physical, and one of them grabs the footrest of your chair and drags you out onto the porch, then down the ramp. You're surrounded on the gravel.

Not all the guys think this is a good idea. Some of them are freaking out, trying to get their buddies to stop, but the aggressive ones are unrestrained for just long enough to push you down the hill. You take the tumble of your life out of your chair and down the gravel path.

Everything's a little woozy for a few seconds, and it takes a moment for you to reorient yourself. You hear the screaming first. Then, you look up at the porch, which is visible in the light spilling from the house. You can see thick blood flying, the flash of a knife; you can hear choking and the thud of bodies hitting the ground. Finally, you recognize a figure: Vincent.

A couple of the guys escape, but you know they won't get far: there are traps all over the woods, not to mention Bo isn't too far out there, and Lester if he's needed in a pinch.

Vincent comes to you, wiping the blood off his hands. He picks you up and carries you in his arms, silent as ever, setting you on the couch inside before retrieving your wheelchair, too, and putting it next to you. He goes into the kitchen briefly to place a call to, you assume, Bo and/or Lester.

He comes back as soon as he can and assesses you for injuries, then patches you up as need be. Jonesy creeps into the living room and joins you, sitting on your feet and staring watchfully at the still-open front door.

Once you're patched up, Vincent rubs your hands, your shoulders, your feet, your legs. He wants to calm you and make you relaxed, so he'll do everything in his power. Inevitably, his brothers will need him, and at that point, he'll shut you and Jonesy up in your room, where you're safe.

Don't think you've dodged a lecture, though. The next day, he's going to give you hell for answering the door. You know better than that. He'll go over all the rules and make you repeat them back, then reiterate that this is for your safety.

Lester

You're most likely to meet the victims at one of the gas stations a ways out of town. Les knows you hate waiting in the car - he tends to shoot the breeze with the clerk for a while - so he sets you up on the curb where you can get some fresh air and chat with the owner's wife or kids when they're around.

Today you're alone, though, when an old sedan pulls up. A guy gets out of it and starts asking you questions ... about a couple who came through the area and went missing. He seems kind of addled, and when you ask to see ID, he says he hasn't got any on him. Used to be a cop but was never able to solve this specific missing persons case.

You don't like his erratic behavior and you don't care for cops, so you tell him to take a long walk off a short pier. You're a little sassy, sure, but his reaction isn't proportionate. He starts yelling and pushes you into one of the wooden planters outside the station, essentially tipping your wheelchair, all the while insisting you tell him what you know.

Lester and the owner of the station come out when they hear the yelling. Lester's on the guy in a second, pulling him off of you. He lets him have it: "What the hell right you got comin' here, some gahddamn outsider, 'n' pushin' people around? That how you get yer kicks, hasslin' crippled folk? Fuck outta here, big man."

The guy has enough shame and good sense to apologize, not to you but to Lester. He repeats what he said to you, that he's looking for a couple.

Lester obviously remembers this couple right away and sees his opportunity. "Yea, y'know what, Bo up in Ambrose might know somethin' about that. He's a mechanic ... gets people passin' through time to time." The guy apologizes again and thanks him for his help, says he's real lucky Lester's so forgiving. "Yeah, you are," Lester replies.

He tells the guy to follow him to Ambrose, but pauses to take care of you. He gives you kisses, makes sure you're not too hurt, and packs you into the truck (his truck isn't wheelchair accessible, but he helps you in and carries your chair in the back or wherever else it'll fit).

On the way into Ambrose, he keeps the windows up. His reaction during the drive depends on how you're feeling. If you're not too upset, he'll be ranting, barely holding back tears of fury. If you're in a bad way and crying, he'll put a hand on your knee and stroke you, saying real nice things in that sweet way of his.

Ultimately, he drops the guy off at Ambrose and radios Bo to tell him someone's on their way in. As he watches the guy drive around the bend, he sneers and nods and spits. "Serves him right. We don't need to worry about that sonnuva bitch anymore, do we, sweetpea? Damn bastard."

The rest of the night, he'll pamper you, on the verge of treating you like glass. At the same time though, he's angry as hell. You can tell the situation is really bothering him, and knowing the guy is dead doesn't seem to be a balm for his anger. He can't seem to drop it, keeps bringing it up. "How c'n people act like that? T'ain't right, not at all. I ain't no saint, but my momma raised me proper."

[fallenfurther]

Homecoming - Together

Chapter 4 - The boys visit their father

Chapters 1 , 2 and 3.

A short one from Jeff's point of view. Enjoy!

*******

His whole family was relaxing in his private garden. Scott and Virgil sat beside him at the table, a pack of old playing cards between them with a game of rummy pretty much abandoned. It was a good thing they weren't keeping score as almost all their attention was on Alan. It was Alan's turn to share what had happened over the past eight years and he was currently standing before them, full of enthusiasm, as he recounted his mission to Europa. Gordon was perched on a cushion with his legs crossed, occasionally butting in with his own comments. His youngest still radiated energy, just as he’d done as a child, and Jeff could see the joy in Gordon's eyes when talking about the Pendergasts. He was going to have to look them up later to see what all the fuss was about, just as he'd done with Cavern Quest. Alan started to build up as he reached the climax of the rescue. Jeff had yet read the report for this rescue so wasn’t sure how much was being exaggerated, and although he knew they would be okay, his heart still raced at the drama. The sense of relief that washed over him when Alan informed them of their safe landing was immense. Alan really did remind him of himself, and brought back the memories and thrill of his own first trips into space. It hadn’t helped that Alan threw his arm into the air to show off their trajectory as they’d burst through the ice, face full of excitement. He'd hoped the young man would go to college, but with his eyes set on space and with access to a rocket, it might be hard to convince the boy otherwise. There was a round of applause and a bow at the end of the story, before Alan settled into the floor next to Gordon.

"So, Gordon, did you ever get to join WASP or did you go straight into the family business?"

Gordon had once had his eyes set on WASP after finishing his Olympic career. Jeff regretted that he wasn't there to see Gordon take gold, but they had shown him the footage. Gordon had been pulled into a hug as tears of pride fell from Jeff’s eyes. He'd re-watched the footage multiple times since, as well as the other home footage they had supplied over and over when he felt alone in his room. The boys had been his motivation to survive and they were still his biggest motivation now. They had all turned into respectable men despite his disappearance and he was so proud of them all.

"Actually, I did. Only for the training year though. They did say they would welcome me back if I ever got bored of International Rescue. It was definitely the right thing to do. WASP taught me so much when it came to the sea, currents and challenges of being in an underwater craft. That training set me right up for piloting Thunderbird Four, helping me work as a team and focus on learning the best ways to rescue people. They're a really cool bunch of people and I'm still in contact with them."

"That's good to hear, son."

Jeff wanted to place a hand on Gordon's shoulder, but he was on the wrong side of the table. He'd always worried about Gordon, who'd struggled with paying attention at school. Jeff had spent hours trying to convince him to study and do homework. If it didn't line up with his interests, Gordon never wanted to do it. The school teachers always compared him to his brothers, who had all been good studiers and never needed prompting, yet Gordon would always surprise them when given free rein on the topic. If he could make it about the sea, he would, and that was when Gordon would shine. The diorama of the coral reef and pollution levels had surprised his teachers, especially when Jeff had confirmed that Virgil had only helped by giving Gordon verbal painting suggestions. Knowing Gordon had still pursued WASP meant everything to Jeff. He'd only wanted the boys involved with International Rescue out of their own desire, and not pressured by a feeling of duty. Gordon had joined WASP, seen what it would have been like to work for the organisation and decided he wanted to be part of the family business. The man had still stayed true to his own hopes and dreams.

"Hey, Dad, I was…" Scott started before a beep came from John's wrist, who was sitting quietly on the bench in the shade next to their grandmother. The familiar voice of EOS filled the garden.

"Sorry to interrupt, John, but there is an emergency that requires International Rescue for the greatest chance of success."

"What's the situation?"

"A building site explosion has caused some steel framework to collapse against the skyscraper across the road. There is a high probability people are trapped and there is a risk of further explosions as the cause of the first is currently unknown. Further explosions could lead to more damage to the surrounding buildings. I believe Thunderbird One and Two are both required."

"FAB, EOS." John turned to the group, determination on his face. "Ready to go?"

"What are we waiting for?" Alan jumped to his feet, fist in the air. "Thunderbirds are go!"

The scraping of chair legs filled the air and Scott placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Duty calls, Dad. See you soon."

Jeff’s boys were running back into the facility with a wave goodbye over their shoulders. The pounding of their feet slipped away leaving the air still and the garden eerily quiet. Neither occupant spoke, waiting for the rumble that they knew would follow. It did just that. The roar of those great engines had faded in Jeff’s memory over the years, just as various other sounds of Earth had slipped from his mind. They were things he was experiencing again. This was Jeff’s chance to live again. Yet his boys couldn't stand down International Rescue when they visited as a family, so they always landed the craft in the field beside the facility. The downdrafts created by Thunderbird Two swept over the facility and his wind chimes clattered as the ship came into view. The quieter Thunderbird One was beside the green giant. Thunderbird Two picked up speed while Thunderbird One turned and sped away with a bang in the opposite direction. The green craft was soon out of sight, her roar fading away to nothing, and the slowing chimes and empty chairs the only evidence that they had ever been there. The rough scratching of a chair moving closer to him made him turn away from the sky before the space elevator came into view.

"They'll be back, don't you worry."

The smile on his mother's face was warm, familiar and filled him with comfort, even if it didn't chase away his worries. His boys were gone again, barely recovered from their last rescue. They had all been here. It still felt like such a rare treat, just as it had ever since Scott had left for the Air Force.

"It was never meant to be this way." Jeff sighed. His mother placed her hand on his and her cool blue eyes met his.

"This is your dream. Your boys are flying the Thunderbirds and saving people."

"Not like this though. I never planned for International Rescue to be needed as much as it is."

"Well, you couldn't have predicted just how successful and necessary International Rescue would be. They've risen to the challenge amazingly, Jeff."

"I know, Mum, but at what cost?"

Jeff ran his hand through his hair as he leant back and gazed at the sky. There was a small black dot that he believed was the elevator whisking John away. That's what the world did now. They called on International Rescue and snatched his boys away. Before, the rescues had been a few a month, leaving them plenty of time for relaxing and being together, especially when Alan and Gordon were home from school. He could see the exhaustion in his sons, the fact that there never seemed to be enough hours in the day for them to sleep. Alan seemed the least affected and appeared to have the most spare time, but Jeff had heard the yawns when they played Cavern Quest together.

"A cost they are willing to pay. Now, let's see if you've still got it in you to beat the master at Blackjack."

A bag of tokens landed on the table as his mother slid the discarded cards into a pile up and started to shuffle. Jeff smiled, though not entirely happy at the obvious distraction tactics, as he tipped the familiar coloured tokens on the table.

"If I remember correctly, you're in my debt at the moment, sure you want to deepen it further?"

There was a glint in his mother's eye as she met his own and her lip curled up.

"Just put the usual million on the table and we'll end the day with you owing me."

Jeff started stacking the counters into the required piles, happy to accept the challenge though he did wish his mother would let him listen in on the rescue. Hearing their voices would settle him a little, though Mum probably thought their daredevil antics would be too much for his old ticker. His heart worked fine. He'd just wanted his boys.

[emachinescat]

Wind + Water - Tree in the Road

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 12 / alt. 5 - hostage situation

Summary: AU of 2x21.  The bank robbers make their escape with Mac, but this time there isn’t a tree in the road to slow them down.  The rest of the team arrive at the marina just in time to see the robbers procuring a boat - and they have every intention of taking their hostage with them.

Characters: Mac, Jack, Riley, Bozer, Matty, the robbers from 2x21 (apparently their names are Booth, Pike, Dean and Ash)

Words: 4,129

Note: The Spanish is a mixture of my own adventure learning the language (I’m getting there) and a more advanced translator than Google.  Hopefully there aren’t any mistakes, if so - I apologize to any Spanish speakers.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

“So, for the record, this wasn’t part of the deal,” Angus MacGyver informed his captors testily as he carefully steered the stolen Chevrolet down the narrow, debris strewn backroad toward San Juan Marina and Boat Rentals.  Even though his eyes were on the road, he kept the gun pointed at him in his peripheral vision.  He felt the eyes of the four bank robbers on him, so he continued, very aware that no appeal to logic or conscience that he made at this point would have any effect, largely because these men had depleted stores of both.  Plus, they were desperate.  “I said I’d get you out with the money if you left all the hostages behind,” he continued, then added pointedly, “All including me.”  

One of the three robbers in the backseat, Pike, leaned forward to give their hostage a hearty slap on the back, which sent waves of agony shooting through his battered body.  Mac’s sides, stomach, and back felt every kick and weighted punch, and his mouth tasted like blood.  “Guess you shoulda been more specific,” he taunted, and Mac glanced back long enough to see the amusement on the man’s face.

“Honestly,” said the leader – his followers had called him Booth – “After giving us a glimpse of what you’re capable of, you really think we’d just let you go?”  His tone made it clear that it wouldn’t have mattered if Mac had drawn out and made them sign an extensive contract expressly stating that he was to be left behind with the other hostages, nothing about his predicament would have changed.  He’d gotten them out of a seemingly impossible situation, he’d made himself a valuable asset, and if there was one thing Mac understood about desperate people, it was that once they had something they saw as an advantage, they would never let it go.

The realization left a distinctly sour feeling in Mac’s stomach. He’d been seen and used as a tool before – in the army, he was a bomb defuser; for Phoenix, he was a kind of real-life troubleshooter.  But even in the army, he’d still been a person whose life mattered.  And now, he knew he was valued for so much more than just his skill set by his friends.  

Here, though, with these four men who looked at him with a kind of contemptuous greed in their eyes, he was nothing but a tool, something to be used to their advantage, over and over, until his usefulness had run out, and then he would be discarded like a broken drill bit.  To Booth, Pike, and the others, Mac was less than human, and it made him feel dirty and used and caused his chest to tighten anxiously despite his cool demeanor.  He knew he had to find a way to get away, and soon.  Otherwise, one of two equally unfortunate things was going to happen to him: Either he would be used to bargain their way off the island and then, as soon as they were safely away, he’d be shot and tossed overboard, or they would decide to keep and use him, and his life would become a living hell.  Neither option was a possibility that Mac was willing to entertain, so he would keep his eyes out for the first chance of escape.  

Noting once again the scattering of wreckage in and lining the road, Mac found himself hoping for a large piece of debris – perhaps a fallen tree or power line – would end up in their path.  If they ended up having to get out of the car for any reason, that might give him the chance to plan an escape.  Until then, with the five of them in such close quarters, with all but Mac armed, it was too risky to try anything.  He’d wait for his opportunity, and then make his move.

***

Mac’s opportunity for escape never came, and as he reluctantly directed the vehicle into the marina, the knot it his stomach had imploded into a cavernous pit.  Real tendrils of fear radiated through him, and a furious sense of injustice made his knuckles white and his fingers cramp from the grip he maintained on the steering wheel.  Normally when he was out in the field and in a risky situation, he’d end up finding what he needed to make an escape or at the very least to put a significant hitch in the bad guy’s plan.  It was something he’d come to take for granted, he realized, this bit of luck, that he always had something to work with.  This time, he hadn’t been asking for much – just a piece of debris, a block in the road, on an island ravaged by a natural disaster!  Something should have stood in their way.  The statistical probability of the road being blocked at some point in the twenty-minute drive – especially considering the situation in Puerto Rico – was incredibly high.  He’d counted on that blockage.

And while there had been a couple of branches scattered in their path, none were large enough to hold them up for long at all, and at no point had Mac been allowed out of the car.  In the back of his mind, he remembered what Matty had said to him when she had first taken over.  She didn’t want to be there when Mac’s luck ran out.  He’d been quick to assure her that it wasn’t luck, that he was good at what he did, but now he had his doubts.  If he wasn’t given anything to work with at all, how was he supposed to do what he was so good at?

Still, Angus MacGyver had never been one to give up, and he continued to keep his eyes peeled for anything at all he might be able to use to his advantage.  Even if he couldn’t escape here and now, he would find a way to survive and get back to his friends.  He always did.  

“Stop here.”

Mac did as he was told, putting the car in park and waiting for further instructions.  The gun was still trained on him, and he knew that none of his other captors would hesitate to put a bullet in him from behind if he made one move they didn’t like.  “Dean, grab the kid,” Booth snapped, and the youngest of the robbers, the one who had been gearing up to kill all of the hostages and who couldn’t be any older than Mac himself, got out of the car, went around to Mac’s door, pulled the hostage out of the seat and shoved him forward.  Mac forced himself not to fight back, because Dean’s gun was now pressed into the small of his back, and his voice was deadly as he ordered, “Move.”

The marina was fairly deserted, which would have been odd any other time, but it was midday and most people were either already out on the water or further inland, helping with cleanup and rebuilding.  The only person in sight was the young woman working boat rentals.  She had an open, kind face with eyes that had seen their fair share of suffering – it was a look Mac had seen in Carlos’s more vulnerable moments, and in the eyes of everyone he’d met while on the island.

“Hola,” she greeted, a bit flustered at the new arrivals.  “¿Te puedo ayudar?”  Mac thought that she probably didn’t see a lot of business nowadays.  Tourists were the ones who rented boats more often than not – the locals usually had their own – and tourism had plummeted since the hurricane.  Mac noticed that the bank robbers had hidden their weapons, other than the one at Mac’s back, and to the girl it must have looked like Mac and Dean were just walking close together, side by side.  Maybe she thought they were a couple.  Mac made sure his face was neutral, not wanting to give anything away and put this poor girl in danger.  If only the marina had been deserted, with no one else in the crosshairs!  

“Do I look like I speak Spanish?” Booth snapped impatiently.  

The girl blinked, eyes wide, taken aback by the rudeness.  “I – I’m sorry,” she stammered in heavily accented English.  Mac’s heart went out to her even as he felt his revulsion for his captors grow.  It literally would have expended the same amount of energy to treat the girl with an ounce of respect.  These men were assholes just because they could be. 

“We need a boat,” Booth ordered briskly.  “Now.”

“Bien – ah, okay.”  She looked scared that her accidental slip was going to get her yelled at again.  “Our skippers are not on site at the moment, and most of our boats are being repaired.  We do have one –”

“We’ll take it,” Booth growled, and the girl flinched back at the harshness of his tone.  Tears forming in her eyes, she glanced around briefly at the other men in the party, her eyes landing on Mac last.  He offered her a sympathetic half-smile, knowing that the girl – Mia, her name tag said – was probably having her worst day on the job yet.  At least she didn’t know the true colors of the difficult customers she was dealing with.  

As if worried Mac was trying to tip Mia off, Dean tightened his grip on Mac’s arm and rammed the barrel of the gun painfully into his back.  Mac didn’t react other than to break eye contact with their hostess, who abruptly got back to her task.  “Do you have a boating license that I can see?”  Her dark eyes plainly showed she was afraid of the answer – afraid of what would happen if they did not have the proper documentation and she had to tell them no.

“I don’t have a damn license,” Booth answered, impatience rising with his voice.  

“Lo siento – I’m sorry, you can’t rent a boat without a skipper if you don’t have a license.”  At the fury on her tormentors’ faces, her eyes darted desperately to Mac, as if she had sensed he wasn’t like the others and would step out and ask his friends to give it a rest.  Not wanting to risk her life, Mac felt guilt rise in him as he pointedly avoided her gaze.  Her voice thick with emotion, she regrouped and offered, “But I can call and have someone here within the hour to take you out.”

Booth lost his temper completely.  Slamming his fist down on the counter, he leaned over the cowering girl and hissed in a deadly tone that brooked no argument, “You will get us a boat now.”  Mia stood frozen in shock, and Booth glanced back over his shoulder at his three men and their hostage.  Collectively, they came to a silent agreement – obviously, the subtle approach wasn’t working, and they were running out of time.  With deft movement, so seamless it could have been rehearsed, Dean let go of Mac’s arm and shoved him into Booth, who twisted his greedy, filthy hand in Mac’s hair for the second time that day.  Mac grunted in pain as his head was yanked back and stilled his instinctive struggling as the sun-warmed barrel of Booth’s gun found the left carotid artery in Mac’s neck.  “If you don’t,” Booth added grimly, “I’m going to kill him right before your eyes.”  

Mia’s eyes darted to Mac’s once more and he saw the barely controlled terror just beneath the surface.  She hesitated, and the gun jabbed deeper into Mac’s neck as the safety clicked off, and Mac fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut as his heart jumped into overdrive.  “You’ll be scrubbing his blood off this dock for the next year,” Booth promised, “and you’ll never get it off your pretty little hands.”

Mac thought for a terrifying moment that Mia was going to pass out or break down, as she swayed slightly on the spot, but then she steeled herself, an inner strength that Mac was proud to see flowing into her.  She straightened her spine, offered a small, scared smile that was probably meant to be reassuring at Mac, and nodded curtly.  “Okay,” she said in a thin voice, and it barely shook, though her hand did as she reached for a set of keys hanging on the wall behind her.  “Just… don’t hurt him, please.”

As she slowly moved away from the wooden counter and motioned for the men to follow her along the dock to their new vessel, Booth yanked Mac’s head back fiercely and whispered, “I knew you would come in handy in some way,” and then shoved Mac forward, finally releasing his hair – Mac’s scalp ached and his neck had already developed a painful stiffness from being twisted back in such an uncomfortable position. The gun moved to the back of Mac’s head.  The safety remained off.

Everything moved far too quickly after that.  It seemed that no time had passed until Mac was being forced onto the deck of a small craft barely big enough for the five of them.  Mac graciously offered to stay behind, and received a crack to the back of the head with the pistol butt in response.  At some point, one of the robbers – Ash, Mac thought his name was – had stepped in and tied Mac’s hands behind his back with sturdy nautical rope.  Mac hadn’t had a single opportunity to attempt escape throughout the whole process, as not only was Booth’s gun still at the base of his neck, but Pike’s own weapon was on the helpless Mia who stood on the dock, tears streaming down her face as she watched the men prepare to leave with their hostage.  Mac knew that if he even thought about doing something stupid, she would be killed without a second thought.

And then many things happened at once – a battered orange car swerved into the parking lot, the sound of screaming sirens not far behind.  Mac couldn’t help but grin when he saw who jumped out: his team, Riley, Bozer, and Jack – who had death in his eyes.  Mac had seen that look many times before.  Someone had threatened his partner.  Mac didn’t envy Booth and his goons once Jack Wyatt Dalton got his hands on them.

Jack already had his own gun drawn as he raced onto the dock.  His boots thunked hollowly against the boards as he sprinted for the boat, keen sights already on the bastard who had his paws on his kid.

But Booth had all the power here, with Mac in his clutches, and he knew it. And with the innocent civilian being held at gunpoint, he’d doubly covered his ass.  Mac’s hope at seeing his team faltered when he realized that Jack’s being here really didn’t change a thing.  It would just make this so much worse, because Jack would be forced to watch as Mac was taken, and when he could finally chase after them, it would probably be too late.  As if to solidify this knowledge, Mac felt Booth’s hand twine in his hair, again – what was it with this guy and Mac’s hair, anyway? – and the gun was back beneath his jaw, Mac could feel the artery rapidly pulsing against the unyielding metal.

“You make one more step, and Boy Wonder here dies,” Booth shouted right in Mac’s ear.  Mac locked eyes with Jack, who stuttered obediently to a stop, Riley and Bozer following suit.  Even now, Mac knew that his partner was desperately searching for any opening, any shot he could take to save his friend.

“I’d put that gun down, if I were you,” Ash called out.

Jack glared at him, unrelenting.  “Who invited Papa Smurf to the party?” he joked, but Mac clearly saw the anxiety in every line on his face.  

A shot rang out.  Mia screamed.  A smoking hole had appeared inches from her feet: The bullet had buried itself into the planks.  “He said,” Booth repeated, “put down your gun.”  He punctuated his words with a brutal yank of Mac’s hair.  “Next time, I put a bullet in your friend. No more warnings.”

Loathing poured off of Jack in waves, but he did as he was told and lowered the weapon, though he didn’t put it down.  The sirens drew nearer, and Mac knew his captors were going to have to make their move before the police arrived, or things would get even messier.  “Ash, start the damn boat,” Booth ordered.  

The man did as he was told, inserting the key, and the engine spluttered, coughed, and fell silent.  He tried again.  Nothing.

“What the hell, man?” Dean barked, an edge of panic creeping into his voice.  

“I’m trying!” Ash shot back, making another attempt to start the motor.  

For a split second, Mac felt Booth twist behind him, trying to get a look at what was going on, and in that moment, Pike was distracted as well.  Just one look away from their hostages was all that Mac and Jack needed – maybe the universe was looking out for them, after all.  While Booth was distracted, both his grip on Mac and on the gun momentarily slackened, and Mac inched over and made himself as small as possible to give Jack a better shot at the man behind him.  The gun was far too close to his face for Mac to lash out himself; now was a time to stand aside and let Jack do what he did best.

In the span of five seconds, Jack brought his gun back up and shot both Pike and Booth in quick succession.  He hit Pike first in the gun hand, and the man toppled over the side of the boat, howling in agony.  Booth’s bullet too had been perfectly timed and aimed – it hit him in the side of the head as he turned back around to deal with his hostage.  He dropped, the gun clattering from his hand, dead before he hit the ground.  It had been a tight shot, and quite the gamble considering the gun that had still been at Mac’s throat, but Jack had timed it perfectly, and Mac never doubted him once. 

***

The next half hour was a blur of police sirens – “‘Bout time you got here,” Jack griped testily – painful but welcome hugs from his friends, and a collective promise of painkillers, a four-way lecture, a hasty debrief, and much-needed rest, in that exact order, on their flight to their next op.  

Jack had been livid, insisting that Mac needed more than on-the-go treatment, but Matty was firm – this op couldn’t wait.  Her fierce eyes did soften when she got a good look at the state that her agent was in, though, and assured him that he was getting a thorough check by medical the second they got home.  Until then, she ordered, with no room for argument, he was to rest and recuperate, and so help her God, if he purposefully threw himself into this kind of mess again.... She didn’t actually finish her threat, which made it all the scarier, and Mac had promised to be good on the next mission.  (Nobody really believed him, though.)

Secretly, though, he was glad that he would get a chance to rest on the flight, because every single bruise, cut, ache, and pain called out, vying for his attention.  A cursory check by Jack and a frazzled EMT revealed that though no ribs were broken, he had severe bruising along his back, sides, and torso.  Booth had chipped a tooth when he’d kicked Mac in the mouth, and Mac did not look forward to spending some quality time with the dentist when he got home.  And there was a nasty, bloody welt on the back of his head from where he’d been pistol-whipped.  

Added to that, his entire body, from his scalp to the tips of his toes ached with a bone-deep weariness that came from the physical abuse and stress of his time as a hostage.  As Jack had reminded him on more than one occasion when Mac had tried to brush similar experiences off, just because it wasn’t his first rodeo, it didn’t make it any less traumatic for his mind or his body – he was still human, after all.  Now, Mac found himself reluctantly agreeing – emotionally, mentally, and physically, he felt in that moment every single thing that had been done to him from the second he’d snuck into that bank.

As usual, though, Mac filed away everything he was feeling to deal with – or even more appealingly, to not deal with – later.  

While Matty finalized the details of their flight, Mac tied up a few loose ends of his own.  First, he called Carlos and spoke to him for a few moments, reassuring his friend that he was really okay and getting the same reassurances in return.  Mac wanted to see Carlos and his family one more time before they took off, but Carlos was just now being released from the hospital, and the Phoenix team was on a very tight schedule.  He did promise to come back and visit soon, and was able to reveal the exciting news that Matty was sending another team in their place, to continue to help with rebuilding.

Next, Mac made his way over to Mia, who was sitting on the edge of an ambulance, her sandaled feet dangling off the side and a bottle of water cradled in her hands.  “Hola,” Mac greeted, and she offered him a small smile.  Mac realized that she was even younger than he’d thought – she couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen years old.  “I’m, uh, really sorry about everything,” he stammered, feeling that his words were thoroughly inadequate.

“You have nothing to apologize for!” she exclaimed, dark eyebrows furrowing over kind hazel eyes.  

Mac didn’t agree – as always, that incessant feeling that he could have done more reared its ugly head – but he changed the subject anyway, because Riley and Bozer were approaching, and he knew his time was running short.  “Quiero darte las gracias.” It was important to him that he thanked her in her own language, after the way Booth had treated it.  She deserved better.

She tilted her head, dark brown ponytail swinging with the motion, but a soft smile touched her lips at his fluent but accented Spanish.  “¿Para qué?”

Unable to call the exact words to mind in Spanish, courtesy, he knew, of the light concussion he almost certainly had, he switched back to English apologetically, but Mia didn’t seem to mind at all.  “That was a risky play,” he admitted, “giving them the keys to a boat that didn’t work.  But it was brilliant – and it bought my friend enough time to take control of the situation.  Great job thinking ahead.  You saved my life.”

A brilliant blush colored her cheeks at Mac’s praise.

***

Twenty minutes and a couple of painkillers later, Mac found himself curled up in his seat on the Phoenix jet waiting for the inevitable lecture to start.  He know it had been a stupid and dangerous risk, sneaking into the bank and making himself a hostage.  But he knew that his actions had saved lives, and he would make the same choice if anything like it happened again. 

Jack dropped down into the seat beside him.  “You look like hell, brother,” he observed.  Jack Dalton didn’t sugar coat anything.

“Yeah, well,” Mac admitted, too tired to put up his normal unaffected front.  “Feel like it too.”

The lines around Jack’s eyes deepened.  “The kids are already settling in for the flight,” he said.  “Get some sleep?”

“I thought you guys had a lecture all primed and ready,” Mac muttered, already feeling his eyelids dragging themselves down.  He was exhausted, from everything he’d been through, the pain, and the drugs.  

“Aaah,” Jack waved his hand dismissively.  “What’s the point of lecturin’ you if you’re too strung out to actually hear what we’re trying to drill into that big brain of yours?”

Mac quirked a half-smile.  “Or you could just skip the lecture all together.  You know that you would’ve done the exact same thing in my shoes.”

Jack shrugged.  “Maybe, but tryin’ to get you to look after yourself has become a kind of bonding thing for the rest of us.  And it’s fun seeing you squirm.”

Mac groaned.  “You know I never listen.”

A long-suffering sigh.  “And that’s why my hair’s going gray, hoss.”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Mac couldn’t help but squeeze in one last, murmured jab.  “No, it’s definitely an age thing.”

Mac didn’t hear Jack’s indigent retort, or the quiet cackling of Riley and Bozer from the seats behind.  

He was already asleep.

[oikawa-tuwu]

Study (gn!Reader x Akaashi)

Rated G, 1.4k words

Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist

“I can’t find my leather briefcase.”

You were dusting in the study when he approached you, one of your new guests, with the polite manner and glasses.

“Excuse me,” he said, softly. “Is there someplace where I can work? Just a desk and some quiet would be perfect.”

“Actually,” you say, and set down the feather duster you were using. “Right here you can.”

It had been a difficult decision to keep the study, a little room with dark wood and packed full of bookshelves. After all, keeping it meant there would be one less bedroom, and that meant less income for the business. But, in the end, you kept it as it is, citing that it would be a good escape for doing the more monotonous business aspects of your job, or for instances like this.

There’s a desk in the corner, tucked between two bookshelves, and you gesture to it. Your guest sighs, and thanks you, and hauls his luggage over to it, so you take that as your cue to leave and continue dusting in another room.

A few minutes later, dusting done, you pass by the study once more. However, you hesitate by the open doorway. There’s a sound coming from the room, like the sound of someone mumbling and muttering to himself. It’s hushed, frantic, so you decide to check on your guest to make sure he hasn’t worked himself into an early grave. You’ve seen too many young professionals check in for some peace and quiet and an escape from their work life, only to be knee-deep in papers and emails a few hours later. Best to check on him now, you figure, rather than finding a limp body to drag to dinner in a few hours, so you lean against the doorframe and take in the scene: your guest, holding his head in his hands, muttering something to himself over and over again, his luggage, open to the world, clearly rummaged through, pens and highlighters and laptop accessories scattered about.

“Everything alright in here?”

He jumps at the sound of your voice. He turns to face you, and, having taken off his glasses at some point during his obvious breakdown, you can see the bags under his eyes and his frantic expression unhindered.

“I can’t find my leather briefcase,” he says.

“And this briefcase is important?”

“I’m an editor and everything I was supposed to edit while on this vacation was in that briefcase. So yeah. Important.”

Anxiety, apparently, is contagious, because now you’re also worried for this man, that familiar unease settling in your gut. “Where was the last place you saw it?”

Your guest fiddles his fingers, anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot. It’s strange seeing this juxtaposition, seeing him go from a man that looked so well put together before with his neat sweater, polite words, well-styled hair, to him now. His hair, sticking a little strangely to one side, probably from running a hand through it, the top button on his collared shirt under his sweater undone.

“I was carrying it in my luggage, but I took it out on the train to start on some paperwork… I might have left it on the train or I might have left it at the coffeeshop I went to after the train or in the taxi I took to get here from the coffeeshop-”

“Let’s go, then.”

The man blinks, pausing for a brief second, before saying, quite flatly, “What?”

“I have a car,” you say. “If these papers are so important, let’s go track them down. Or I have a fax machine-”

He shakes his head vehemently. “I’m supposed to be the one keeping Tenma on track, and if I have to ask him to re-fax everything, he’ll hold that over me for weeks.”

“Then let’s go.”

Your guest blinks again, but this time, you can see a decision being made somewhere in that brain of his.

“Let’s go,” he repeats, sliding his glasses back on his face. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And that’s how you ended up in your car, driving down the road in silence, with Akaashi Keiji in your passenger seat.

He introduced himself, somewhere in between finding your keys and scraping a layer of snow off your windshield, so at least now you know his name. Unfortunately, his name is the only thing you know about him.

Hopefully he doesn’t try to murder you.

You glance over at Akaashi again. He’s looking out of the window, not at you, only the tight frown on his lips and impatient finger-fidgeting giving away how worried he really is.

Feeling your gaze, Akaashi glances over at you. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing. Just wondering if you’re about to murder me.”

Akaashi’s lips quirk into a little smile. “If I did, I wouldn’t have a ride back to the inn. Consider yourself safe.”

“That’s a relief,” you say, half as a joke, half not. “So, you said you’re an editor? What do you edit? Anything I might have heard of?”

“Maybe. Zombie Night Zom’bish?”

The name rings a bell, but no plot or characters come to mind, so it's safe to assume that's probably one manga you decided to pass on.

“Sounds familiar, I haven’t read it though.”

“That’s probably for the better,” Akaashi mutters, and for some reason that makes you snort. “Tenma is a good mangaka, don’t get me wrong, it’s just…”

“Not exactly highbrow?”

Akaashi nods, albeit a little hesitantly. “Let’s just say I’m glad that it’s ending soon.”

And just like Zombie Night Zom’bish, it looks like your trip might be ending soon, because just a second later you pull into the parking lot of the taxi service, putting the car in park outside the entrance. Akaashi, in his usual polite nature, thanks you, before sliding out of his seat and heading towards the entrance to check if they happened to have his briefcase.

Apparently it’s not there, because Akaashi gets back into the car empty-handed and frowning.

The coffee shop is next, a slightly longer trip, so you debate where to turn on some music to help with any awkward silences. Thankfully, your worries are unfounded, because you aren’t short on conversation. While you wouldn’t describe Akaashi Keiji as talkative, necessarily, he doesn’t seem to be not not talkative, either. He answers your questions politely, maybe in less words than you might have, but he also asks a few of his own, too, and as you approach your destination, it feels less like a weird Uber situation and more like two friends sharing a ride together.

“So after the zombies is volleyball? Why volleyball? I feel like that’s a bit of a tone shift.”

Next to you, Akaashi smiles, and you start to think that maybe his smile should be labelled as a driving hazard, because you’d much rather be staring at it than the road in front of you. “Tenma and I both played in high school,” he says, unaware of your plight. “So we both have our reasons for caring about the sport.”

“Were you any good?”

Akaashi makes a noise that can’t exactly be categorized as words so much as a fluctuating tone. A sound, in your personal experience, that is made when someone wants to say yes, but doesn’t want to sound cocky about it. “My team was good at least. We made it nationals somewhat consistently. My best friend actually ended up going professional and is on the national team now.”

“Damn, I didn’t know I had a celebrity in my car.”

Akaashi laughs. It sounds different than his earlier laughs. A little less contained, a little more surprised. A little less… polite.

A hint that there’s something more there, something underneath that layer of professional courtesy and courteous greetings.

What else, you wonder, is lurking just below that surface.

The coffee shop doesn’t have the papers either, and your last destination takes a disappointingly short time to get to, just down the street. Akaashi returns from the train station with empty hands as well, as slides into the passenger seat with a disappointed sigh, muttering something about blackmail and faxes.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find your briefcase,” you say, as you turn the car engine over to head back home. “We made a trip out for nothing.”

Akaashi makes a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a hum. He starts to say something, but hesitates. A second later, he tries again, a cautious, “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing.”

You look over at him, and you see he’s already looking at you, a little smile on the corner of his lips. Not his polite smile. Something truer, more comfortable.

“After all,” he continues. “I got to talk with you.”

Hi hi hi sorry this is two days late. Fun headache/earache things making it hard to get writing done, blah blah blah. Thanks for reading, I’ll see you on Christmas day for Oikawa’s!

[buirbaby]

The Wardens: Death Is A Cruel Mistress

Summary:  Tabitha's time had run out on Earth, consumed by flames. When she wakes up in her new hell, she discovers that not only is it cold, but it's a hell of an entirely different meaning. She is in Westeros, with the knowledge to change the tides of future, but without the ability to speak it aloud. Tabitha must carve her path without fame, fortune, or noble titles in order to save characters from their deaths. All she has is a sword in her hand and the ability to warg.

Rating: M+ Mature themes, language, and violence

Masterlist | Next

The end of the work day was like any other. Tabitha was misting a few plants in the lowlight of the fading afternoon as evening encroached on her small storefront. Jingling jovially, the door tinkled open with just five minutes to spare on the clock before she'd lock it. Lifting her head, her fingers listed up toward her glasses to see who had entered. Originally, she had believed it to be a customer in search of a last minute plant or clippings she sometimes arranged into floral bouquets. However, rather than a customer, her stomach dropped to the floor at the cursed visage of a man in a finely pressed suit.

He wasn't there for a plant, she knew this. Just as she knew many others that had been harassing her and a few other remaining shops on Main Street. A new development wanted to take control of this block and turn it into an impressive condo complex on the rustic street that garnered attention from tourists and locals alike. Wiping her hands off on her apron, which was dusted with dirt and pearlite, Tabitha cleared her throat and approached. If he thought there'd be a mousy garden shop owner, he was sorely mistaken. Tabitha's family had own this storefront for generations and she wasn't about to hand it over, not when she'd fixed it up with her own blood, sweat, and tears. She was a successful business woman, the shop was in stellar condition and thriving despite the pause in society due to COVID.

"Can I help you?" she asked sharply, coming around the polished wooden counter to assert her place.

"Yes, is the owner or manager in?"

The fated question, one that made her blood boil each time the casual, yet scathing glance was set over her, as if a woman in her late twenties couldn't be said person. It happened yet again and Tabitha forced herself not to snort in indignation. "I am her," she replied evenly.

"Wonderful," the man drawled, withdrawing a manila folder from underneath his arm. "As you're likely aware, my company is purchasing property in the vicinity. There are a few stores, this one included, that are refusing to sell. I've come with an offer-" he opened the folder, images of the supposed development and work ushered beneath a contract and a hefty sum with quite a few zeroes.

"Then you would be aware that I, like the other few businesses, are still refusing to sell. Listen, this street prides itself on historical shops and architecture. I know that we're prime water view property, but I'm not selling, and I know for certain that my fellow business owners are just as adamant in our position. I don't need the money," Tabitha didn't touch the paper. He could have added more zeroes and she wouldn't have cared. This was principle, her family's lineage, and she wouldn't be a sell out.

"Please, these prices are negotiable. My company is really eager to develop here and keep to the charming architecture on the street. Won't you consider it? You could always reopen in a much larger shop down the road," the man suggested.

"It wouldn't be on Main Street," Tabitha pointed out. "Look, sir, I've got nothing against you, but I don't appreciate being badgered to sell. I will never sell. Your company should either take what they've got or look elsewhere. Now please, I'm just about to close."

"Nothing is going to change your mind, miss?"

"Nothing," Tabitha assured him, closing the folder and sliding it back over toward him.

Escorting the man to the door, he paused to glance at the fire alarm posted near the entrance. It was a bit old, but the pipes had been updated within the last decade. "Old system here," he commented.

"The shop is as humid as a rainforest, I'm not too worried," Tabitha shrugged, opening the door. Perhaps she should have thought about the oddness of the comment more, but she didn't. A lot of things in the shop were old, considering how long the building had been standing. She had put a lot of money into reinforcing the structure and replacing the old with new so that the beautiful piece of history could be continuously preserved. Shutting the door behind him, she locked the glass door and flipped the sign over to ‘closed’.

There were a few chores to finish up around the shop, to include changing out bug sticky tape and sweeping up dirt. After balancing the register, she locked up the cash, and shut the lights off. Through the back of the store, there was a locked door that led to a staircase, revealing a set of stairs that ascended into her apartment that was situated above the shop.

Her head ached, them pestering at least twice a week to sell her home and livelihood just to relocate. That wasn't it. Aside from the principle of it all, she would also have to find a house and a new store. Who knew if she'd be able to buy it outright or what she'd be getting. Then the stress of moving alongside of wondering if her typical clients would follow her elsewhere. No, it was too much and she wouldn't do it, even if she was the last one on the frontier against this condo company. Maybe if she had some family to help her she would've grudgingly considered it, but already she was spread thin between all her work.

A loud meow greeted her as she pushed open the door to her flat and she smiled, the tension of the day slipping away as a fluffy black cat stood on the arm of her couch and beckoned with his tail to be given attention. Letting out another shouting protest, Tabitha chuckled and brushed her palm over the feline's head, the long hair cat pressing into her hand as she raked down his spine. "I know, I know, I kept you up here all day. I'm sorry Balerion. Bad cat mommy," she hung her smock up and bent down to pick the fluffy monster up, the baby curling into her arms like a babe as he mewed in content. "But you know I'm going to make it up to you. Tomorrow we're going on another trip, aren't we? Hollis is gonna take care of the shop while we're gone."

The plan was to head up to Iceland for the hike and climbing trip that Tabitha had been saving for for years. Balerion was her partner on all escapades, a willing participant in hikes and her little buddy even in rockclimbing as he'd be situated in a special backpack where he'd be fully strapped in. Already the feline had been with her to the Amazon, Alaska and Denali, Scotland, the Azores, and Hawaii. He seemed to love the adventure, which was uncommon for cats, especially given the strenuous conditions they were sometimes subjected to. However, even if Tabitha was miserable, Balerion was always kept warm, dry, and safe. She had friends, but Balerion was her soul mate.

"Let's go through our packing list one more time, we don't want to forget anything," she said, reminding herself more than him as she brought him into the bedroom and plopped him down onto the bed. Balerion flopped down, hanging his meaty paws over the edge as she opened her suitcase and hiking pack to double check the supplies. "Now it'll be summer there, so lots of hours of sunlight, but still quite mild. Want to make certain we're warm enough at night. Shouldn't be as bad as Denali though."

After checking the list thrice more and comparing it to what she had laid out, Tabitha decided that the two of them were ready for the journey tomorrow. Dinner was simple to prevent much to clean before the two of them settled in for the evening, a book on her lap as she re-read through one of her favorite series: A Song of Ice and Fire . The place where she'd gotten Balerion's name from. She barely managed more than a chapter, too excited to board the plane at the crack of dawn to Iceland with her furry companion.

Tugging the blanket up, Balerion curled up by her side, Tabitha set her alarm on her phone and tried to get some shut eye. It was difficult at first, the anticipation clawing at her, but eventually she slipped away from reality. Cascading into a dreamless sleep, she was awoken by the worried yowl of her cat, which roused her. Eyes burning, Tabitha turned over in an attempt to grab her phone to check the time. It wasn't often that Balerion made such an awful noise. Usually when he wasn't feeling well and was going to vomit. However, as she turned on the night lamp, she noticed a thick haze permeating the room. Balerion was no longer beside her, but she could hear his crying, loud and insistent.

Smoke. It was smoke.

"Balerion?" The moment she opened her mouth, she drew in a copious amount of smoke and choked on it. Sputtering, she rolled off the bed and crawled, looking for her pet. "Bale, come here baby. Come here!"

She didn't hear the fire alarms going off. If there was any sort of fire, the alarms should have been ringing. Ducking underneath the bed, she found him cowering in the corner, reaching beneath to drag him out toward her. Fire escape. There wasn't time to think about what had caused the fire, nor where it had originated. Her mind was fully in survival mode. This was the second floor and the ceilings were quite high, her best hope would be utilizing the escape to get as close to the ground as she could before dropping down.

Tabitha made it to the window where the escape was, standing up enough to try and glimpse outside, but was horrified by what she found. There was a glass pane to look through, but a curtain of fire as the flames had consumed the exterior of the structure first. She had replaced a good portion of the interior, but the outside was still the same old shingles. Wherever the fire might have started, it had lanced up around the outside, beginning to eat in through the roof before billeting up through the flooring of her apartment. It was possible that the wet atmosphere of her shop cocooned the apartment temporarily, but in the meanwhile the rest of the older parts of the structure went alight.

Panic consumed her as Tabitha dropped back down to the ground and hoped that maybe the nearby fire department would get inside before either of them perished. Keep low to the ground, try not to breathe in the smoke.

Crawling away from the window and doorway, Tabitha slid next to her bookcase, glancing over at the picture frames and the years of her early twenties depicted in photos of her when she'd left the confines of her small town home to embark on a journey in the military. Those years, while she'd complained a lot about them, had helped put a backbone in her and set up a foundation for schooling and regiment. She still enjoyed rucking-or backpacking as the civilians called it, never quite trading in her boots in.

Her eyes fluttered, a soft hoarse cough parting her lips again as Balerion's yowling quieted and she felt exhausted. Perhaps she could hear the fire trucks in the distance, perhaps she couldn't. Tabitha's eyes shut to the sound of a formation marching and a cadence being called.

[dabisrightnipple]

REDAMANCY

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

!!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST AND/OR ADD ONTO!!

Word Count: 3.4k

links

re·da·man·cy /reh-dah-man-cee/ noun An act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

a/n: As some of y’all can hopefully tell, I just read Deciphered and am having a serious street racing/car phase hehehehe. Also make sure to support my other platforms!!!!

"Ow, what was that for?" you whined looking up at Kuroo, who had just rudely interrupted your daydream by throwing a little punch to your shoulder. You rubbed the affected area before looking up at Kuroo, giving him a pouty face. He rolled his eyes while grabbing onto the tassel on your graduation cap and moving it from the right side to the left.  

"Stupid, you weren't paying attention." He softly scolded, throwing you a look of disapproval while making sure to keep his voice as low as possible to not interrupt the ceremony.

"Oops!" You smiled cheekily spewing out a soft light-hearted chuckle. You turned your head to listen to the announcer as he started to count down the second you have left before completing the ceremony.

"Three..."

"Ready?" Kuroo asked while nudging your elbow slightly before grabbing onto your right hand, the other slowly rising to his cap, grabbing onto a corner getting ready to toss it.

"Two..."

"No, hehe."

The crowd went wild, all your senses became heightened as you heard deafening screams of joy, while you looked into the sky seeing a hundred caps, along with yours, being thrown into the air like small fireworks. All those caps carrying the stress school has brought you and many others, you felt the relief shoot through your fingers reaching down to your toes. You stood in your spot for a while, feeling relieved as chaos broke out all around you. Looking over at Kuroo, you cracked a large genuine smile towards him in which Kuroo returned.

Your pent-up excitement decided to finally come out of you causing a scream to erupt out of your throat, Your voice filling your ears, as well as Kuroos' and other bystanders. A wave of adrenaline washed over you as your screaming ceased, causing your throat to burn due to the extensive use of your vocal cords. With the adrenaline coursing through your veins you couldn't help but shake with anticipation of what your future will bring to you.

After all, You finally felt-

Free.

__________________

After the ceremony ended, the crowds started to venture out causing you to lose grip of Kuroos hand resulting in you getting separated and lost in the crowds of people, occasionally bumping into passer-Byers before finally weaving your way out to the parking lot. The moon shined down on you as you walked through the parking lot, dodging cars left and right trying to figure out where Kuroo parked before you felt a considerably large hand grab onto your wrist, pulling your figure back in the process only for your back to land on the mystery person chest.

"YOU IDIOT!" You yelled meeting Kuroos cat-like eyes, still shaking from the adrenaline high and you're now frightened conscious.

"Hey, I was just teaching you a lesson to be more alert." He matter-of-factly said, while making quick hand gestures to accommodate his point.

"Yea yea," You rolled your eyes stomping your feet against the concrete while following Kuroo to the parking spot where his car resided in. "Just open this stupid-ass car so we can go get ramen."

"Yes, Ma'am," Kuroo said, doing a little salute before unlocking the car, showing off his signature shit-eating smirk. You rolled your eyes again in acknowledgment before slipping off your graduation gown and cap, tossing it in the back as Kuroo did the same.

Finally arranging your stuff on the car floor and putting on your seatbelt you turned to look at Kuroo.   'Dayum'   You thought, ' He looks like one of those ugly fish things.'  You snickered to yourself while Kuroo plugged in his phone to the AUX, glancing up at you before unlocking his phone.

"What so funny?" He asked in a monotonous voice, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled through Spotify trying to find a suitable playlist for the current mood.

"Ohhh, nothing." You smiled to yourself while looking out the passenger window watching other people slowly filter out of the parking lot.

Kuroo shrugged as a response before pressing play on his 'Bad Bitch' playlist and tossing his phone into the cupholder. Immediately after, his right foot pressed down on the clutch, using his left hand to switch the gear into 'R' before placing the same hand on the back of your chair to get a better view while backing out. You watched him shift into first gear as he slowly exited the parking lot, the purr of his car staying steady. After sorting through the mess of cars, he merged onto the main road continuously shifting up and down passing all sorts of cars in order to get to your guys' destination quickly.  

You looked out the side window, watching Kuroo drive through the city, flashing neon lights blurring past you. As if the moment wasn't already perfect, 'Boss Bitch' by Doja Cat came on. You and Kuroo shared a small knowing glance as he turned the volume all the way up, bass booming through the busy streets of Tokyo as you both began to scream the lyrics at the top of your lungs. Kuroo started to accelerate even faster, adrenaline pulsating through you guys' veins. You looked over at Kuroo, his eyes fixated onto the road, still singing while he pressed down on the clutch once more, shifting into second gear while turning into a little parking garage located across the street from your destination. Finding the nearest available spot you two hastily jumped out, stomachs taking control of both of your bodies as you two raced across the street trying to get to the little shop as fast as you could, and lucky for you two, there was no one inside.

"Yes!" You breathlessly cheered, taking a moment to crouch down and catch your breath.

"Pfttt, you good?" Kuroo spazzed out laughing at your hunched-over figure, clutching his hands over his stomach in the process.

"Why-huh- quite your - laughing." You panted, breathe coming down your throat cold as ice, burning your esophagus. while your face burned with heat, your cheeks flushing a red color.

"I GOT ASTHMA ASSHOLE!" you shouted, as you weakly punched his shoulder, still trying to get the air into your lungs. Unlike you, Kuroo was the captain of the volleyball team, constantly running laps across the gym, moving back and forth, and jumping. Of course, he didn't trip over his breath or break a sweat. 'GGHrrrR' your stomach decided to wail out as you meekly looked up at him, cheeks reddening even more. Kuroo looked down at you, face laced with amusement at your little tantrum, causing you to playfully punch his shoulder.

"Don't look at me like that! You're hungry too!" You exclaimed, patting down your cheeks to get the redness to go away. Kuroo opened the door for you, but before you could even enter the smell of fresh pork and miso filled your senses, as you entered the warm atmosphere of the small ramen shop you and Kuroo frequented.

"Ah! My favorite regulars, how are you guys?" A sweet middle-aged woman came out from the kitchen. A blob of brown hair sat on top of her head wrinkles pulling at her cheeks, giving you and Kuroo a bright smile.

"Ahh hi, Ms. Sato!" You greeted, Kuroo following with a little wave.

"So what are you two doing out this late at night." She said suggestively wiggling her eyebrows. Ms. Sato has always been under the impression you and Kuroo are dating, based on how close you guys are. No matter how many times you assure her you guys aren't, she still doesn't believe you.

"We actually just graduated, so we came here to celebrate," Kuroo replied.

"Awwww, how fun! Your foods on me tonight, you guys want the usual?"

"Yes, please! Thank you!"

"Of course, you two just sit tight, it'll be ready in a bit." She said, a little jump in her voice as she skipped into the kitchen.

_________________

"Ahh, I'm stuffed!" You exclaimed, sitting back on the bench and holding your stomach as if you had a baby.

"Yeah, I can tell." Kuroo teased, glancing up at you through half-lidded eyes.

"OH SHUT UP!" you exclaimed turning around and hiding your stomach from his view.

"Oh, Kuroo" Ms. Sato cooed, as she made her way over to the table you two were bickering at. "Don't treat your girlfriend like that." You gave her a mini glare, your eyes telling her ' Why would you do that  '

"You're right Ms. Sato, I shouldn't be treating my girlfriend like this. Sorry Y/n," Kuroo said, his cat-like eyes starring into your soul as his smile curled up even more.

"See Y/n you can't keep lying to me about your secret relationship forever." Ms. Sato said, eyes also starring at your soul.

"I-But, - Well-I, wait-"

"Aw I think she's getting tired Ms. Sato, I'm gonna take her home," Kuroo said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Ok sweetie, make sure she gets there safe, don't drive too fast." She said, her momma-bear side kicking in.

"Yes, I will" Kuroo reassured as he stacked up your dirty plates while grabbing onto your waist and hoisting you onto his hips. Your brain did stop working, as Kuroo had said. Your words failed you earlier so you decided just to keep your mouth shut and let the embarrassment eat you away.

"Bye, my little love birds!" Ms. Sato

"Bye, Thank you for the meal," Kuroo replied before jumping a bit to re-adjust you further upon his hips.

"I hate you." You murmured in his shirt, as your senses were filled with his cologne and his button-up shirt. You started to fondle with his tie as he walked across the street and entering the parking garage. He carefully set you down on the concrete floor before opening the passenger door to his 2015 re Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution. As soon as you sank into the seat, Kuroo shut the door before striding over to the driver's side. You lazily yanked your seatbelt out of the holder and plugged it into the buckle as Kuroo jumped in, the following suit. You watched as he got situated, plugging his phone into the AUX and scrolling through his Spotify. He finally selected a song but instead of tossing his phone into the cup holder, he handed it to you.

"Huh?"

"Put on some music you want, only after this song though," Kuroo said with a genuine smile curling at his lips.

"This is new, You never let me have AUX."

"Consider it a congratulations on graduating." He said.

"But you graduated to- Y'know what nevermind." You said with the most perplexed look dancing across your face. Kuroo let out a deep chuckle while pressing down on the clutch, turning off the E-brake and shifting into reverse. You felt the rumble of the car underneath your feet as he pulled out of the parking spot, quickly slamming onto the clutch once again and shifting into first gear while exiting the parking garage.

"Remember what Ms. Sato said!" You teased, referring to Ms. Satos' request for him to drive slowly.

"Yea yea." His gravelly voice came out slightly exasperated. Kuroo  hated  driving slow, just like he  hated  losing volleyball matches. He's one of those guys that has to win at everything, whether it be in the classroom, on the court, or in the street. Instead of looking out the window, you decided to watch Kuroo, how his hands grabbed onto the gear shift, how he revved the car at every stoplight to 'assert' his dominance (at least that's what he thinks of it). Lil Uzi's   XO Tour Life  came on as he sped through the streets of Tokyo, entering Narima city, where both your houses resided.

"My house tonight?" Kuroo asked, turning down the radio.

"Sure."

"Ya need anything?"

"Nah I think I have stuff over there from last time." Kuroo hummed in response, as he downshifted again, turning into his neighborhood. He stayed in first gear while slowly creeping through the quiet neighborhood, trying to keep his car as quiet as he could. The soft rumble of the car was almost like a lullaby, as it was slowly pulling you to sleep. He parked in the street next to his house, pushing down the E-brake and untwisting his keys from the ignitions, unplugging his phone before looking over at you. Your head was leaning back on the leather headrest, your whole body relaxed. Kuroos' lips pulled into a soft smile as he stared at you ' so beautiful...'  he thought before unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car, careful to not slam the door.

He walked with a little hop in his step as he came to open your door, he carefully bent over you to unbuckle your seatbelt. Slowly, he picked you up out of the seat, now holding you bridal style as he walked around the door, closing it with his back and locking it. Now walking towards his front door, he inserted a different key and nudged it open. Using the same technique he did with his car, Kuroo shut the door with his back then mindfully walked upstairs pushed open his door, and laid you on the bed only to be met with your tired eyes.

"Heh, thanks." You croaked, throat facing the punishment of all the yelling and excitement from the hours prior.

"Of course," Kuroo said, a loving tone laced through his words, eyes softening as he got up to shut his door. It surprised you really, you and Kuroo really weren't dating, or at least haven't made it official.  I've never even kissed the guy, yet we act like a married couple...'   You thought, face scrunching up, as you concentrated on your thoughts ' No wonder Ms. Sato thinks were dating-'

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Kuroo asked

"us." You answered plainly, still half zoned out in thought. Kuroo walked into the closet, picking up two pairs of sweatpants and two shirts.

"What about us?" His voice muffled from the distance.

"Just what Mrs. Sato said, y'know about us dating. I mean we kind of act like we do." You said, watching him walk out of the closet and to one of his dressers.

"Would you wanna date?" His voice sounded a bit guarded as if he were scared of what the next words would be. There was a short pause while he shuffled through his dresser, find a pair of panties you left here.

"Here, my mom washed these from last week."

"Oh, sweet thanks." There's the issue, you two were comfortable with each other. If it was some other guy and girl I'm sure the girl would be screaming right now, but no you two were different, in a good way. You slipped off your dress, completely fine with Kuroo looking, yet he still turned away.

"Haha, why do you still turn away when I get dressed, I told you it was fine remember?" You asked, slipping your bra off and grabbing the black D.A.R.E. shirt Kuroo gave you.

"It just feels wrong I guess." He spoke, voice strained.  'Is he nervous?'  You quickly changed your underwear and pulled up the grey sweats.

"Why? oh, also I'm done." Kuroo opened one eye, quickly glancing behind to see you dressed. He let out a small sigh as he turned around.

"Because I love you and it would just feel weird y'know" You looked at him. Hair even messier than usual, the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, as well as his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

"To answer your question from earlier Kuroo, I would date you!" Honey laced your words as you walked towards him. Slowly reaching your arm out towards his tie, you grabbed onto it making his head come down to your level. Kuroo gazed into your eyes, a genuine smile playing at his lips, eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

"Fuck you Tetsurou, making me feel shit." You whispered, flicking his forehead and yanking his tie forward causing your lips to meet. Secretly this is your first kiss, so although you looked cool and composed to Kuroo your mind was on the brink of jumping off a cliff. The kiss was sweet? No, it made you feel happy? Like you wanted to run a mile. ' Stupid hormones.'  You pulled away, due to lack of air only to be met with one of Kuroos' shittiest grins.

"Mmm," Kuroo hummed. "You like that?"

"Oh stop being a dick." You rolled your eyes in a teasing way before giving Kuroo a little push and waltzing over to his bed. He took off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and looked over at you, like a little puppy waiting for its owner to throw a ball.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You giggled, hand covering your mouth.

"can I change?" You started laughing, even more, your other hand flying over your mouth trying your best to contain your laughter.

"Whattttt?" Kuroo whined out, folding his arms and turning his head. "I just wanted to make sure your fine with it."

"I- hahaha- It-It's fine." You spat out, trying your best to breathe.

"y'know what, I'm just gonna change in the bathroom." He smirked walking his petty ass out the door.

"w-wait Kuroo!" You gasped out, crawling on the bed and reaching your arm out. "p-pl-please! I can't!" Your breaths became shaky as you struggled to suck in the air. Legs giving out as you curled up on the bed, shaking grom your suppressed laughs. Kuroo slyly sneaked back into the room, unbeknownst to you and...

"BOO!" Kuroo's deep voice boomed in your ears as he touched your waist.

"AH!" You screamed falling off his bed and onto the floor, still writhing from your continuous laughs.

"STAHP! STAHP! YOUR TORTURING ME I-I- CAN'T!"

"HAHAHA!" Kuroo laughed beside you, finding your reaction so adorable. As you calmed down, finally controlling your breathing again you looked off to see Kuroo, still half-dressed on the floor next to you with half-lidded eyes, staring into yours.

"You like what ya see?" You breathed out, letting a little giggle pass your lips.

"Yea, I fuckin' love it." Now it was Kuroos turn to be bold. He grabbed onto your shirt pulling you on top of him and held your cheek in his hand before grabbing your jaw and pulling you down to meet his lips. This time though, the kiss was different, it was filled with love and something else, yet you couldn't quite put your finger on it. 'Stupid hormones...'   Your hands traveled up his chest, meeting the expensive fabric of his button-down shirt.

As your hands continued to move up, your fingertips met his soft skin, before wrapping your hands around his neck and combing your finger through his dark locks. Kuroo slowly moved his hand from your jaw to the back of your head as well, only he tugged at it a bit, causing you to squeak out of surprise which was the perfect time for Kuroo to slip his tongue in. So he did, tongue entwining with yours, claiming you for the second time that night. The heat of the kiss spread through your body, fast like electricity quickly filling all your senses until you heard the door squeak... You jumped up, heart beating out of your chest as you looked over at the door, ' Shit I thought Kuroos parents were out...'

"Fukuuu~?" Kuroo spoke in a baby voice underneath you. A loud sigh escaped your mouth.

"What? did she scare you~?" Kuroo teased as Fuku, Kuroos black cat walked over to you, placing her two vanilla bean paws on Kuroos check before climbing onto his chest.

"Damn what's up with you guys all up on me, am I comfy or somethin'?"

"Very." You giggled out before shifting and laying your head on Kuroos stomach since the cat currently occupied his chest. You let out a content sigh, snuggling closer into his stomach. Kuroos' hands crawling up your back before combing through your hair once again.

"I love you Kuroo."

"I love you more Y/n."

______________

"Oh my fuck that hurts," Kuroo whined. You two eventually fell asleep on the floor, accompanied by his cat. Evidently, you and the cat slept great, but Kuroos neck, on the other hand, was suffering greatly from sleeping without the support of a pillow.

"Aweee I'm sorryyy~" You cooed, slowly massaging his neck, trying your best to relieve the pain. "- if it makes ya feel any better, I haven't slept better in years."

Kuroo looked at you with an are-you-serious face, before his features became washed out with love, eyes softening as his lips curled. He pulled you into a quick kiss, before pulling away and replying,

"I'm glad.

[vagrantblvrd]

Do you have any ideas for the most angsty path to the Battle Buddies getting to finally be happy together?

Oh my God, this, okay, this.

So, idk if this is the most angsty path for these idiots, but it’s up there for me.

I mean, we all know by now what a terrific liar Jeremy is by now. He’s proven time and time again to be absolutely gifted, one might say.

SO.

Let’s say Ryan’s been working for whatever agency for a while now. Seen it go from something close to noble to something as far from that as you can get. (Not that there’s anything like noble in their line of work though, so there’s that.)

It’s nothing like the movies where there’s a clear-cut knowing right from wrong and all that, no.

Just comprise after compromise and sometimes you gotta look the other way and you can’t save everyone. (Trying to just gets you dead, or worse and you don’t want to know what that worse is, so yeah.)

Anyway, Ryan’s been at it for a while and he’s a jaded bastard, cynical as hell but the part of him that signed up for this life once upon a time is still in there somewhere. (Wants to do good, and he does when he can, but he’s been slapped down for it more than once and plays things smart(ish) - for the most part - now.)

And in comes Jeremy with that shine of someone just out of an academy somewhere or whatever training stage that churns out bright-eyed and bushy-tailed do-gooders like him, right?Ryan is like SIGH when he finds out Jeremy’s going to be his rookie because he won’t be the first, you know?

Ryan’s had other rookies placed in his care, and one way or another they don’t last long.

Not like he’s hard on them or anything, pushes them to quit, he’s just.

It takes a particular mindset to deal with Ryan’s…quirks. (Eccentricities.)

Part of the reason they stick the rookies with him, because God knows if they can’t handle him they won’t last long anyway. (Gotta be able to handle the weird and unexpected and all-around disturbing among other things, and Ryan’s pretty great at those things.)

So in comes Jeremy, this bright spot, and Ryan is SIGH because he knows how this goes. Kid comes in wanting to do good in the world and then reality sets in and it ruins them. (One way or another.)

Only.

Turns out under that bright smile and friendliness Jeremy’s a weird fuck too. Doesn’t bat an eye when Ryan goes about being Ryan, will, in fact, upstage him in certain areas. (Has that smirk and look on his face and instead of being annoyed Ryan’s impressed and amused and a little intrigued by this little shit that’s been dumped on him.)

Takes a little while before they really get along, but the seeds for it are there (pretty much) from the beginning.

A few bumps in the road here and there, because for all that Ryan’s starting to like Jeremy he’s still this kid, right. Young and really kind of dumb to be in this line of work and it’s just easier to think of him like that in his head. That line of reasoning behind people not naming strays they find so they don’t get attached. (Ryan pretends that actually works, like he doesn’t have some crotchety cats sharing space with him at home, or that old mutt he picked up a few years ago.)

Anyway.

They get along swimmingly, cause a lot of chaos and responsible for a hell of a lot of property damage (in the field for the most part, but their HQ and training facilities should invest in sturdier equipment - if it can’t take one little explosion and resulting fire not their fault).

They become a headache for the agency in a way that doesn’t involve conspiracy theories and the whatnot because sheer chaos and destruction and general mayhem.

Then Ryan makes the mistake of getting a little too close to Jeremy because they get sent on highly stressful missions with the death-defying shit they do and high-stakes everything. Close calls and moment to contemplate their mortality in the aftermath. Hours spent waiting for a target to arrive and the hurry up and wait.

Time spent recuperating from injuries and just.

Thinking.

A lot of it, and anyway, sometimes shit happens.

They’re on a mission somewhere and stuck in an alley with enemies searching for a couple of assholes and no cover, if they fuck up they blow the mission and get dead and all that fun and exciting shit?

Ryan’s the one to back Jeremy up against the alley wall, but Jeremy’s the one to huff in fond exasperation when Ryan doesn’t follow up with that tried and true making out to throw their pursuers off act everyone knows and uses at some point.

Gives Ryan this crooked little smile and then there’s kiss? Holy shit, there’s kissing.

Not like.

Romantically driven or anything like that, just the sure would be nice to not die in a dirty alley tonight kind of way, but, uh. Ryan’s kind of losing the thread here because even though it’s not supposed to be that kind of kiss, Jeremy’s still really fucking good at the general kissing thing.

And Ryan, with the hands that didn’t know what they were supposed to do so they settled on Jeremy’s hips, he kind of goes off-script. Takes those hands and cradles Jeremy’s face because this is Jeremy he’s kissing and it’s nice and he’s kind of fucked here, but hey. Kissing.

Also, also, maybe this tiny part of him that’s always been a little -lol- competitive because he’s not too bad with the kissing either. (And, okay, it’s Jeremy and Ryan can’t not make this good for him too and wow, wow, that’s not a conscious thought but he won’t realize it until later, so)

The guys chasing them fall for the assholes making out in a an alley ploy and the moment the two of them are clear Jeremy pulls back - looks a little dazed, which Ryan feels a touch smug about. (Or would, if he, too, wasn’t feeling the same.)

But then, okay, then they have that okay, now what? moment post-emergency situation kiss where Ryan’s hands are being awkward again.

Just. Suddenly super aware of their location. (Either side of Jeremy’s face with the wide eyes and :O expression, which, admittedly is less :O! and more :O? as time passes, but whatever.)

Still awkward and also shortness of breath from the extended emergency kiss and just.

Wow, never though that would work, but movies, huh? Ha-ha-ha???

Jeremy snorting beause Jesus Christ, Ryan, why are you like this?

But also, “We should, uh. Pick that up later?” and !!! “TALK. Talk about it later. Yes. Totally what I meant.”

But Jeremy’s kind of avoiding eye contact and blushing and Ryan goes from !!! to *eyebrow raise* and mm~hmm the way he does when he’s being a smug bastard. So naturally Jeremy elbows him in the ribs because mission! Must mission then li - talk. Yes. “Talk”.

(Spoiler: They do talk? But mostly it’s like. Kissing and other such things that usually end with a fade to black for television rating’s sake and such.)

Anyway.

These idiots get their shit together and sometimes there’s a smooch or two of these Fond Looks™ on missions. The whole making out in an alley ploy gets used a hell of a lot more, and sometimes it’s even mission related, so that’s always a bonus. :D

But.

In the meantime the corrupt bastards running the agency have gotten worse, and get some of Ryan’s and Jeremy’s buddies killed. Fellow agents and long-time contacts - people Ryan’s known and trusted for years and it’s not like Ryan was turning a blind eye to what his agency became, just.

What the hell could he do about it? (Bitter and cynical and no idea how bad it was until Jeremy came along and that was the beginning of the end because he started to give a shit again, didn’t he.)

Looked into things and caught the attention of the wrong people and he knew it. Warned Jeremy best he could without giving too much away - eyes and ears everywhere and of course his place is bugged to hell and back. (Smarter to leave ‘em in place than tip whoever planted them there off.)

Sure bet the same is true for Jeremy’s place and just.

Paranoia ramped up like whoa and then there’s this mission, right.

Bitch of a thing that should require months of prep and planning and lead-up time. Best intel they can get and maybe Ryan asking his contacts to look into things on the side for him, all hush-hush and the like.

But they don’t get that.

What they get is a skimpy batch of intel - no telling how good any of it is, or sources or anything. Super short time-frame because supposedly this situation popped up overnight without anyone anticipating it and it just.

The whole thing reeks of a trap and Ryan’s just like fuck, because before the whole Jeremy Situation he would have been - not fine with it because wow no, just. A little less angry about it.

Because definitely a scheme by the baddies to get them (him) killed and never mind the collateral damage.

So.

Ryan tells Jeremy he’s got a bad feeling about it after the briefing and Jeremy’s like. He’s got the same feeling because he’s not an idiot, but he also doesn’t know their agency the way Ryan does.

Thinks Ryan’s just being paranoid or something like that and tells him they’ve been through worse, so no worries, right?

Ryan’s like oh, fuck again because now is not the time for this optimism bullshit, Jeremy, but he can’t exactly say that, so.

They go off on their mission and Ryan tries, he really does, to tell Jeremy about what he’s been doing RE conspiracy shit and baddies and all that, but something always interrupts.

It’s Jeremy being all “Sorry, what, I wasn’t listening,” because he was going over their intel one more time on the flight out and distracted and then someone sat next to them and not a great time talk about it.

They’re waiting for a contact to arrive and Jeremy notices what he thinks is someone following them so they have to deal with that instead, and so on until they get to the heart of the mission.

Stealth until it’s not, and then shooting and yelling and the requisite explostions —-> fire and just as Ryan thinks they’ve managed to survive the hell mission?

Shit’s on fire all around them and the target (along with a large chunk of their people) are dead and it’s just the two of them in what used to be a lavish home built on the backs of others and so forth.

Ryan turns to Jeremy, some stupid joke - a quip or a one-liner or something stupid like that on his lips - and Jeremy pulls a gun on him.

Aims it at Ryan’s chest and blank expression and, “You should have left things alone, Ryan,” and “I’ve got my orders,” and “Don’t” when Ryan takes a step towards him. (To ask why, or talk him down or reason with him, it doesn’t matter because Jeremy and Ryan and God, he should have known better. He did, but then Jeremy happened and Ryan fucked up.)

Ryan is like ??? and kind of hoping this is some terrible joke, but it’s not and Jeremy’s not smiling or laughing and just when he’s about to pull the trigger one of the baddies goons (late to the party and all) stumbles in and draws Jeremy’s attention - and a bullet - which gives Ryan the chance to blindside Jeremy.

Only not so much and there’s this knockdown no-holds barred fight. Ryan’s on the defensive at first because he doesn’t want to hurt Jeremy, doesn’t know what’s going on, but Jeremy’s clearly out for blood.

Wants to kill him, hurt him, and eventually that gets through to Ryan, sinks in that this isn’t some fucked up joke or like all the times they’ve sparred in the past, and he gets angry when he realizes it, fights back.

Because Jeremy’s being a bastard, letting loose with these comments and remarks, throwing everything Ryan thought they had in his face. Telling him he’s stupid for trusting Jeremy, should have known better.

Wasn’t he the one to tell Jeremy not to trust anyone in their line of work? That it would just get him a knife in the back sooner or later? That there are go good people left anymore? And so on, right on into things Ryan told him he hadn’t told anyone else and it stings, burns.

Plays dirty, to win, and this isn’t like all the times they’ve sparred in the past. Impersonal at first, because they didn’t know one another and Ryan was testing him and then it became fun, because they were friends (and then more) and sometimes there was totally unfair cheating with stolen kisses as distraction and getting pinned to the mat or a wall for more kisses and then the whole sparring thing got sidelined, but yeah, this is not one of those times.

This is Jeremy aiming for Ryan’s knees, his kidneys. Going for his fucking throat and this look in his eyes Ryan’s never seen and he reacts in kind.

They draw blood, break bones, go vicious and underhanded and Ryan gets the upper hand at some point. Stares into Jeremy’s eyes and how easy would it be to kill him right now?

So easy, just fucking kill him and walk away and lesson learned, but -

Jeremy’s just looking back, all battered and bruised and this thing like resignation in the back of his eyes and Ryan hesitates.

Just enough for Jeremy to turn the tables, grab his gun that Ryan knocked away at the beginning of the fight and comes back up with it leveled at Ryan’s chest.

Only this time Ryan’s got his gun out too and it’s a stalemate.

Ryan staring at Jeremy because what else can he do? He’s got his gun in his hand and no way he could miss at this range (the same is true for Jeremy too, but not the point) but he knows he can’t kill Jeremy.

(Too soft, weak. Stupid as hell.)

“Why?” he asks, but he never gets an answer because Jeremy shoots him.

Always a hell of a shot and, again, no chance he could miss at that range and Ryan goes down.

Not a killing shot, because body armor and Jeremy knows it, but it knocks the wind out of Ryan and he’s pretty sure he’s got fractured if not fully broken ribs and everything’s gone all…fucky. (Getting shot will do that to you, even if you’re wearing body armor. Also the fight beforehand isn’t helping because tired as hell and hurting and it’s been a really shitty day, hasn’t it.)

Jeremy walks over to him, looms, and Ryan’s just trying to breathe without blacking out. (Not doing a great job of it because ow, but hey. He’d rather go out looking Jeremy in the eye than not, you know?)

Jeremy clenches his jaw and Ryan dredges up a smirk, little, do it, you bastard to it because he doesn’t have the air to say it? But wow is he thinking it.

Just as Jeremy’s about to put another bullet in Ryan, make this one count, there’s a commotion.

The baddie’s backup, their backup, or local law enforcement (the place has been on fire for a while AND the whole things blowing up shit beforehand) who knows.

Whoever it is, Jeremy has to make his escape before they catch him and such.

(Throws one last look at Ryan before he does, though, and even though Ryan’s on his way to passing the fuck out he could almost swear there’s something like regret in it, but that’s probably wishful thinking on his part and the whatnot.)

Ryan ends up in a local hospital as a John Doe (or whatever they’re called now?) and ~sneaks out before the authorities can question him about recent events or Jeremy or someone else comes around to finish the job.

Learns he’s been declared dead, killed in the line of duty and what a shame, you know? He was a hell of an agent and a good man and they’re really laying it on thick.

Hides out for a while while his ribs heal and hesitant to reach out to his contacts because so many of them became Jeremy’s contacts too, and it’s just.

Not even paranoia at that point so much as playing it safe, or smart, or whatever.

Dreams up all these elaborate plans of Revenge and the whatnot against the agency and the baddies (Jeremy lumped in there too, although Ryan never really has a plan for him, just. You know. General revenge plans.)

Anyway.

Once his ribs heal and he’s had time to think about it and not just reacting, Ryan realizes he’s done with all that shit, you know?

Tired, broken, whatever and he takes what he had before the hell mission and Jeremy’s betrayal and dumps it on some journalist or whoever somewhere he knows will jump at the chance to get to the bottom of things.

Maybe it’s someone at an agency that’s still in it’s almost noble stage of life that will Do The Right Thing and break his old agency the way it deserves to be broken.

Not his problem anymore.

Gets his hands on some fake IDs and all that and pulls money from accounts he set up years ago in case he had to fake his death or go on the run because you never know when you’re going to need something like that.

Sets up  new life for himself somewhere.

====

If we’re going with FAHC AU that means the Vagabond rolls into town with the dumb mask - two birds one stone with the Intimidation Factor and hiding his identity.

He Vagabonds about for a while until the Fakes hire him for a job and he’s like. ??? because what even are these assholes? But against his better judgement he finds himself liking them more than he thought he would and just. All kinds of shenanigans all over the place. Also, so, so much regret on Geoff’s part as Ryan and Gavin team up to make his life miserable and Michael enables their shenanigans and Ray is like :D about it all. Jack is very much >:D because Geoff asked for this.

Somewhere in there Ryan keeps tabs on his old agency and feels this hollow sense of petty vindication when he hears it’s been broken wide open thanks to his help and some outside sources - no one can agree on who or how or whatever, but he’s glad to be done with all that. (Doesn’t want to think about it anymore.)

ANYWAY.

Things happen and they pick up this asshole for another job, Ryan’s heard about him from the others, right? This free-lancer they worked with a time or two before. No fashion-sense to speak of, according to Gavin, but always hilarious and the good kind of chaos. (Weird how very not reassuring that is? But okay, whatever.)

Thing is, it’s almost like this guy is avoiding him? Whenever he’s around the penthouse it seems Ryan always “just missed the guy”, or when they’re out on a job he’s sniping because Ray’s off God knows where for a job from a friend of a friend if not working for the Roosters.

(More and more these days and really, they all know he’s going to head off on his own one of these days, just waiting on Ray to come out and say it, and no hard feelings because these things happen, but keep in touch and give them a call if he needs help and so on.)

Ryan is like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Figures the guys just not comfortable working with the Vagabond and doing it on purpose, which. Fine. So long as he’s where they need him to be and he doesn’t do anything to put the others at risk he can deal with that.

But then!

He’s on a job with this asshole as sniper and Gavin and Michael are also there and things fall apart, right? Turn to shit and there’s shooting and yelling and oh my God, Gavin, if you don’t shut up right now about that goddamn coin conversation again he’s going to kill you to save the assholes trying to kill them the trouble, okay? Now is not the time!

(Because they may or may not have been ~discussing coins and odds before things turned to shit and Gavin just rolls right on into the shootout still going on about the damn thing even with people trying to kill them and this isn’t funny, MIchael!!1!)

The sniper is just up there doing his thing, dropping baddies and opening up pathways for them with the killing the assholes in the way and all.

They get the hell out of there and regroup at a car Gavin tells them to head for. (He’s the only one still with his earpiece and a direct line to the sniper and anyway, Gavin seems to know where to go.)

Ryan’s going for the driver side door when Michael hip checks him right the fuck out of the way - “Are you fucking kidding me? The fuck out of here with your shitty driving!” - and shoves him towards the back passenger seat while he hops behind the wheel.

Gavin hops into the back with him and they peel out, Gavin giving MIchael directions to pick up their sniper while Ryan fires potshots at the assholes still chasing them.

A few terrifying moments later and they squeal to a stop a street or so over, and this asshole Ryan’s never met hops in. He gets a flash of color -purple and orange and yellow - and then they’re off again and it’s all chaos and mayhem and shooting some bastards when they make the mistake of getting too close.

Head to a safe house somewhere to hide out until they can figure out what the fuck went wrong, and Ryan finally, finally gets to meet the sniper.

Fucking freezes when he does, the guy slowly turning around after saying something to Gavin and oh, fuck, it’s goddamn Jeremy.

Ryan’s got his gun out and aimed at his his face without thinking about it, feels cold and disconnected and he’ll be damned if he lets Jeremy fuck with his family.

There’s some yellng from Michael and Gavin, and Gavin the little idiot getting between Ryan and Jeremy. Hands up andhey, c’mon, what are you doing Vagabond? We’re all friends here, aren’t we? And so on because Jeremy isn’t supposed to know who he is - no one but inner crew and a few select others know his name at this point - and Ryan’s so fucking on edge he can’t even, is about to yell at Gavin to get out of his way, Michael do something, he doesn’t know -

“Hey, Ryan,” and that’s Jeremy’s crooked little smile he gets sometimes Ryan remembers too damn clearly.

That soft little tone he used to get that’s like a knife in Ryan’s chest (he knows what it’s like, and this is worse because Jeremy and betrayal and what the fuck - )

“Jeremy,” Ryan says, nice and level and this threat behind it that has Gavin standing up straighter, losing that calming, soothing look to his face that has him turning to face Jeremy.

Backing up a step and to the side so he’s not in the line of fire and something eases in Ryan at seeing it. Realizing that whatever Gavin thinks, he’s trusting Ryan’s judgement over Jeremy’s, or.

Something.

(He knows the crew’s worked with the sniper - Jeremy - before, weirdly always when Ryan was out of town for reasons, but they haven’t known him as long as they have Ryan and it’s. He doesn’t know what it is, that Gavin is trusting things to Ryan at this point but it’s important.)

Michael, who’s off to the side in all this makes this irritated noise and drags Gavin back, keeps him behind the two of them and it’s just as reassuring for Ryan to know he’s trusting Ryan’s judgement on this too.

Makes that paranoid part of him that never quite got over the whole Jeremy Situation settle at knowing they’re on his side in this.

And then Jeremy sighs. Tells Ryan he knows he won’t believe him but there was a reason for the betrayal all those years ago.

Ryan’s not falling for it, but Jeremy just shrugs an keeps going. Tells Ryan about some assholes that approached him between missions, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Double agent kind of shit to help expose their agency - told him about the shit they were doing and how it would look if they went ahead without him, you know?

How Ryan and other agents who weren’t involved would be lumped in with the real baddies - following orders isn’t a good defense when it comes down to it - but if Jeremy helped them, maybe they could do something about that?

See to it Ryan didn’t go to jail (or worse), but to do it he’d have to pretend to be working for the baddies.

Let them think he was one of theirs, just as greedy and ambitious and he went along with it to protect Ryan when the “good guys” came along to destroy everything the baddies were working towards.

Did a lot of bad shit to get closer to the baddies and the people in charge, things he regrets even now, but they didn’t really trust him, did they.

Knew all about Jeremy and Ryan and so they decided to test his loyalty.

Arranged that last mission fo theirs and gave him an extra objective to kill Ryan for them if for some reason everything else on that mission didn’t.

And Jeremy, okay.

He goes to the “good guys” and tells them about it and gets no goddamned help from them because they don’t give a shit after all. Tell him not to blow this for them - if he does, Jeremy’s going to end up in jail (or worse) right with Ryan and the rest and he better remember that.

So Jeremy, okay.

No fucking clue what to do, only that if he fucks up here they’re screwed anyway and no way out for them he can see?

(Tries to tell Ryan, but he just. Can’t? Doesn’t know how and by the time he does, it’s too late.)

He never planned to kill Ryan was ready to let Ryan kill him, because Ryan’s always been smart. Would have found a way to survive, get out from under the thumb of their agency and start over somewhere else and just. Fuck, Jeremy was so fucking tired at that point?

Stress of all the secrets he was keeping and the things he’d done and just.

Would have been  relief, you know, if Ryan put a bullet in his head that day, to be honest.

But then the commotion and having to run and he tried to find Ryan afterwards but the fucker turned into a ghost. (Thought he might actually be dead for a while there, until he heard rumors about this guy in Los Santos and got curious enough to go looking, but that’s another story all on its own.)

Jeremy stuck around with the good guys and their Plans to destroy the agency long enough to see it through to the end. Angry and bitter and no satisfaction when it happened, because they’d taken too much from him by then.

(Felt this twinge of amusement when he heard they’d gotten a huge boost/help from some journalist and this pile of secrets someone dumped on them, and that was the start of this bit of hope Ryan might still be alive.)

He dropped off the grid for a while after that, did the whole new identity thing for a while and ended up on the other side of the law. Heard those rumors about the Vagabond and went looking, and somehow always seemed to just miss the guy, you know?

Ran into this sniper somewhere, became a backup sniper to the Fakes and enjoyed working for them more than any of the other assholes who’d hire him on for whatever needed doing.

Coasted along, had a damn good hunch the Vagabond everyone talked about as Ryan - too many coincidences for him not to be, really - and had no idea what to feel about the inevitability of them running into one another again some day.

(Bound to happen in a city like Los Santos, given their shitty luck and the fact they had ties to the same crew and just. Yeah.)

When it did, he kept finding reasons not to come face-to-face with Ryan for a long damn time. Did everything he could not to, because how the fuck could he hope to explain himself?

But then this latest situation and Jeremy providing cover for Ryan (so much like the old days) and the others and then the car chase and now this, and just.

Yeah.

He’s expecting a bullet in his head, or maybe Ryan’s going to draw it out, but.

Ryan’s staring at him - or it seems like he is. Hard to tell with the damn mask, and.

Just.

Ryan, okay.

Staring at Jeremy and that scar along his chin he gave him back in that fight way back when. Barely noticeable with the beard Jerremy’s got now, but there’s this little break in the beard where the scar runs. Wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking for it kind of thing.

A few others, all healed up by no (it’s been years, better hope they would be) and Ryan just feels.

Fuck if he knows, just.

Gavin and Michael, hell, everyone seems(ed) to trust Jeremy before this, but so did Ryan and look how that turned out.

But.

Ryan’s always been an idiot, especially when it comes to Jeremy.

(Too soft, weak. Stupid as hell.) 

“Why?” he asks, even though Jeremy’s just told him, them, because.

He asked way back when, heart cracked right down the middle and bleeding out and Jeremy staring at him like he was a stranger. (A target and nothing personal, but I’ve got my orders.)

Jeremy could take the easy answer here, say it was to protect Ryan, but was it, really? (Yes, but also no, and no easy answer at all.)

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Jeremy says, because Ryan always told him there was no such thing for people like them.

(For anyone, really. There’s always more than one side to a story and someone’s hero is someone’s villain and all of that convoluted shit and just. Yeah, no fun at parties.)

Ryan snorts, because it sounds like Jeremy really thought he was, at the time.

(Younger and stupider and. Something to protect, even if Ryan’s having a hard time believing it after everything. Wants to, though, so fucking bad because after everything he still loves Jeremy in a way.)

“If you hurt them, I’ll kill you,” he says, completely serious and no give to it because Ryan’s stupid and weak, sure, to be giving Jeremy a second chance now but.

There’s Gavin and Michael and the others. There’s Jeremy looking wrecked by everything he’s just told Ryan (them) and letting him make the call on whether or not to kill him like whatever Ryan decides is fine with him, and just.

He can’t bring himself to kill Jeremy on his own behalf, but if he so much as indicates he’s going to put the others at risk he’ll do it.

And then, you know.

Long awkward time of them learning to work together since Ray ends up leaving not long afterward and they need someone to fill his position.

There’s A Talk with Geoff about it, but Ryan is just. He doesn’t mind, so long as Jeremy doesn’t hurt anyone in the crew. (More complicated than that because he’s still all fucked up about it, but can handle working with Jeremy for the crew’s sake and so on.)

It takes a long, long time before they’re anywhere close to being okay again. Ryan slowly learning to trust Jeremy again.

Learning this new Jeremy who’s old and smarter, yeah, but he’s gained this edge the Jeremy he knew never had. Gotten angrier, jaded and bitter and so on and it’s hard reconciling this Jeremy to  past Jeremy and just. (He sees the Jeremy he remembers from time to time, though. Usually around Gavin and Michael and the others, when his guard’s lowered and it’s. Fuck, it’s confusing as hell and he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on in his own head.)

There are all these Situations that happen from time to time, things that leave Ryan running around knowing Jeremy’s up high somewhere with that sniper rifle of his and how easy it would be for him to take Ryan out in the confusion. Blame it on the chaos and all that and know the others would forgive him for it (at some point) and move on and Christ, that’s dark, but it still runs through his mind every goddamn time.

Never happens though, and there are times Jeremy’s not sniping, feet on the ground right next to Ryan and this shove at the last minute that means Jeremy takes a bullet for him.

Bloody and injured but not dying - guy shooting for Ryan was a terrible shot - and loopy on painkillers and this soft, sad smile and “I’m sorry, Ryan,” and “I fucked up,” and “I know you won’t forgive me, but that’s okay, I hate me too,” and other such things that send Ryan the fuck out of there to go shoot shit in the shooting range or driving like a madman through the streets of Los Santos all the way up to Chiliad until the anger and hurt in his chest burns itself out.

(Anger at Jeremy for not just fucking talking to Ryan way back when, tell him what was going on and his ow obliviousness and secrets and how fucking stupid it all was. How they could have avoided the whole mess if they’d just fucking talked, and how fucked up things are now and just. God, he doesn’t know.)

Jeremy doesn’t seem to remember any of what he said while on painkillers and neither does Ryan.

They both do, of course. Jeremy assuming he’s right about Ryan hating him and Ryan coming to terms/making peace with the fuckery that was/is their lives and starting to look at Jeremy from the other side of all that anger and hurt.

Seeing the way he is around the others, how they are around him. How determined to keep them safe Jeremy is, the hits he takes to do so.

And then at some point they just.

Click again. Work together better than ever - were doing fine before, but now? The others take notice, realize something’s shifted but not sure what, and Ryan catches Jeremy giving him these odd, thoughtful (hopeful) glances when he thinks Ryan isn’t looking.

Goes on like that for a long damn time, and then there’s a Situation and the whole making out in an alley ploy comes back into play, only this time it’s Jeremy who’s hesitating.

Jeremy who doesn’t seem to be able to take that last step, seems scare to, and Ryan.

God, he just.

Snorts, fond and exasperated and then there’s kissing.

Careful, careful, his hands don’t dare touch Jeremy this time around because this is such a fraught situation for them, stay on the wall behind Jeremy, fingers digging into the brickwork as his heart races because this brings up all kinds of memories and doubts and insecurities and fears, and it’s such a mistake.

But it saves their lives, has the assholes chasing them moving past without incident and then he’s staring at Jeremy who’s staring back, this heartbreakingly fragile thing in his eyes and it’s just.

“We should talk,” Ryan says, voice rough and heart about to burst from his chest and all this emotion in him he can’t sort out just yet. “Later. We should talk.”

Because feelings and them and their whole fucked up backstories pre-Fakes and yeah.

They do talk, and it’s this godawful painful thing with raw emotions and such but when it’s over there’s. Hope that they can maybe salvage what they had before, piece it together again and patchwork that shit with the things that have made them who they are now and create something stronger because of it, and oh my God, my mcfreaking heart, okay.

But yes.

====

If we’re sticking with the general Battle Buddies AU he finds himself a quaint little town to become the resident weirdo.

(You know the one, right? Lives in a small cabin/house somewhere a few miles outside the town or city or whatever. Seems nice enough, but also some kind of survivalist or something. Comes into town once or twice a week for supplies and such. Will chat with the store clerks or someone striking up a conversation but generally won’t initiate one himself.

Doesn’t cause anyone trouble and maybe - totally - takes in that three-legged stray that’s been a mainstay in town for a while. Got hit by a car or something a year or so back and the vet saved its life at the cost its leg. Someone took it in for a while but it ran away or they moves away and anyway, it’s kind of a weird dog, itself.

Not mean or dangerous, just. Weird.

Then Ryan comes along and the damn thing takes a liking to him (and vice versa) and anyway, they seem pretty happy about the state of things.

Wherever he ends up he’s there for a while, right? A year or two, and then one day this Stranger shows up. Goes out to Ryan’s place and the dumb stray starts barking at this tresspaser and when Ryan goes out to see what’s got it riled up, there’s Jeremy.

There’s a whole hell of a lot less Drama this go around, because reasons.

Just Ryan and Jeremy and this scruffy stray.

A lot of talking and explaining - the same bit about Jeremy forced to work for the “good guys” to protect Ryan and how well that went, what with the whole fight and whatnot that led to Ryan living in this tiny little town somewhere.

Ryan’s kind of.

He’s just.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

If Jeremy’s there to kill him he’s going to find it harder to do than way back when, if hes not?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Jeremy is at a loss, but knows he wants to make amends - or something - with Ryan.

Gets a place of his own out there, rents out a room somewhere in town and goes out to Ryan’s all the fucking time.

Helps him with repairs around the place or with the garden he’s starting to grow some vegetables and the whatnot. Fishes and hunts and is just.

There.

Makes friends with the people in town, and Ryan feels this thing like annoyance/amusement when he realizes they’ve taken a liking to Jeremy. Cannot figure out how the hell he knows someone like Ryan or why they’re friends (are they?) and keeps quiet when they ask him about it.

This goes on for a long damn time, and Ryan’s just like wondering when Jeremy will get tired of it and move on, but he never does.

If Jeremy’s there to kill him, he’s doing a terrible job of it, isn’t he?

They’ve had Talks every now and then, hashing out what happened, what went wrong. Screamed and yelled and lost their tempers and broken down and just.Not all that fun, and yet Jeremy’s still fucking there.

Before he knows it there’s more of Jeremy’s stuff at his place than not, and the stray loves Jeremy and Ryan’s just.

Doesn’t know when that happened or when he stopped feeling wary of Jeremy being around (he does though, he so fucking does) and started feeling.

Not quite happy, but definitely something good to it.

It takes a long damn time for them to get around to realizing they’re going to be okay, all this shit where they have good days and bad ones. Longer still before the good ones outnumber the bad ones and some moment where Ryan kisses Jeremy without thinking.

Some sleepy morning, cold and brisk and winter coming on and the heat hasn’t kicked in yet and they’re shuffling around the kitchen. Moving around one another and Jeremy hands him a diet coke - would be coffee for any normal human, but Ryan still can’t stand coffee unless it’s heavily doctored with sugar and cream and whatever else and he still prefers his damn diet coke and Jeremy knows that.

Soft little smile and a murmured “thanks, Jeremy,” and absent kiss and Jeremy freezing because !!! that has Ryan ??? before he realizes.

And then he does, suddenly more awake as he looks down at Jeremy. Worried about having overstepped - he’s glad to have his friend back but doesn’t know if Jeremy wants them back, and did he fuck things up?

Jeremy snorts - that fond, exasperated thing - and makes a joke about Ryan just loving him for the diet coke, and trying to make light of it, let Ryan off the hook.

Ryan thinks about it for a moment, about letting this slide and pretending it never happened, but.

He’s happy, he realizes. Jeremy back in his life and this fragile trust their building between them again, and.

“I mean,” he says, “that’s one reason,” and is prepared for Jeremy to laugh and then go on with his business like nothing happened, but of course he doesn’t.

Just looks up at Ryan with all these FEELINGS in his eyes and.

“Oh, yeah?”

And Ryan is like, well, yeah.

Some dorks being dorks and then another kiss, helped along by the stray who runs into the room for the food Jeremy set out for him like the disaster it is. Knocks into Ryan in the process who stumbles into Jeremy who steadies him with his hands on his hips and this dumb smile at the stray’s antics, and looks up at Ryan who’s staring at him, and then another kiss happens because heart so full and all this FEELING and just.

Yes.

Much kissing and eventual happily ever after in this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere where they become the town’s old married couple.

Weird as hell and all the animals they end up adopting, because soft touches and neither of them able to tell the other no and mean it?

But also stupid in love and no one better to go to when a Situation crops up, as they’re wont to do a la movies where greedy assholes send thugs in to intimidate the locals and someone has to Take A Stand and just, idk, but pretty much every other episode of the A-Team tv show there ever was, because reasons. :D?

:D?????????????

[enthusiasticsobrietyabuse]

“Enthusiastic Sobriety programs tearing families apart and convincing parents to kick their kids out onto the streets.” Originally posted on OnTheEmmis.com in 2004. ICECAP is the former incorporation and has since dissolved due to the efforts of OnTheEmmis.com

There is a thread on the other message board that I think the parents need to be informed about. This is about the harm that is caused to the children from parents that are still in an ICECAP program. These are true stories (not edited) just copied and pasted for you to read.

What Bob AND Joy teach parents about "tough" love and their version of "unconditional" love are just that "their version".

Does this seem as though families are being brought together and healing to you?

This is a great example of the pain that is caused when one person in the family (the child) wants to leave ICECAP and another person (the parent) believes the lies that they have been taught (that they are or will get high, can't live without being in the program, etc.) They, ICECAP, breed the fear that you as a parent have when you see them making choices that YOU don't like. What is the true meaning of letting go? Or the true meaning of unconditional love?

This is not to make any parent feel guilty for their time in an ICECAP program. I truly believe you thought you were doing the best thing. You were also a victim of the cult and it's way of thinking. That is the very reason I am posting this thread. To show the harm and hopefully save some pain for others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author:

Bailey [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

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Date Posted: 13:27:44 12/22/04 Wed

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Getting kicked out of your house by your once all loving supporting do anything for you family

As most of you know my family is ALL involved in Crossroads and sense I've left its been hell, Thursday night my dad and step mom freaked out on me and my dad started pushing me and threatening to "lay me the fuck out" My dad has never so much as spanked me before we used to get along great until x-roads we got high together went to concerts movies dinner and what not, But now its as tho i don’t exist to them they call me ungrateful bitch and many other names after all that happened he told me to pack a bag and he didn't want to see me anymore, Luckily i see a therapist and he talked to my dad and calmed them down they still want me out of the house tho. I cant leave now because i belong to the state until me 18th birthday which thank god isn't far off but if they kick me out or i move out i have to spend the next month and half in juvenile again, this has happened to many of my friends who have left too they end up homeless because if there not in the group they cant be at there house, i was just wondering if anyone else's parents went crazy after they left and if it does get better?

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[> Subject: It happened to me Part 1

Author:

Hollywood

[Edit]

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Date Posted: 17:59:18 12/22/04 Wed

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I lived threw this every time I left the group, but especially the last time.

The last time I left I bailed the group with a guy, I knew from prior experiences that my parents would not tolerate me living in their house and not be in Pathway. So I did what I knew how to do, and hopped on a bus to California. When we got there we had no money or anything. At that point and many points throughout my time in Pathway I was willing to be a street person rather than be involved in the group. To say it didn't last long was an understatement; he was scared and refused to talk to anyone. His parents agreed to fly us back to AZ. I almost did not go because I knew that upon arriving I would have no place to go. Mind you at this point I had over a year sober. I did not bail because I wanted to get high.

When the plane touched down in PHX he had people from the group waiting to take him back. They shunned me. I had been in the group for about 5 years at that point and they could care less if I had a place to go. I now know it was because my parents would not shell out even more money for me to go into IOP (that would have been the third time).

I truly did not know who to call; I had been in the group since I was 14 years old. Not many people I knew had left and were around or willing to talk to a program drop out.

I finally gathered enough courage to call a friend of mine that had left the group, I knew she was getting high but at that point I didn't care. The streets of Phoenix were a lot more cruel than the streets of Hollywood. Her mother answered the phone, she did not sound very happy to hear my voice, on a previous runaway trip I bailed the group with her daughter and a few other people and we stole her credit cards and over $1000 dollars cash if my memory serves correctly. So this was a lady that I had fucked over to say the least. This kind woman opened her home to me. More than what my own family was capable of at that point. She allowed me to stay at their house and helped me try and find a job. At the same time unknown to me she was in contact with my parents trying to convince them to take me home, that I was actually doing fine and wasn't what the group was telling them about me.

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[> [> Subject: Re: It happened to me Part 2

Author:

Hollywood

[Edit]

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Date Posted: 18:00:08 12/22/04 Wed

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For some reason on Christmas Eve my parents called and told me I could move back in, but I had to live in the garage. They would set up a cot in there. I would not be allowed to use anything in the house, except the bathroom but my parents had to escort me to and from it. I agreed I didn't care; I just wanted to see my father.

When we were driving to my parents house the kind mom who allowed me to stay at her house explained to me that this was all my mothers doing, my father wanted nothing to do with my and had informed her that I was dead to him. It was because of him I would be sleeping in the garage until I could find my own home (mind you I was 18 and had never held down a job, paid bills, etc.) I lost it, this man, my father, my hero wanted nothing to do with me. This was a turning point for me. This is when I decided in my crazy still experiencing the effects of Kool-Aid that I needed to get high in order to get in the house. Because, try and follow this it is way crazy thinking looking back, if I just got high I would have something to cop to, the group would take me back, I could make amends and therefore my father would allow me in his life again. Crazy I know.

Well living in the garage lasted about 2 hours before my parents (read mother) got sick of it. My father sulked in his room and wanted nothing to do with me. Christmas Eve with all the family and Christmas day were rather awkward, to say the least. My father still did not speak to me. I believe that year they even attended the round robin. I sat at home. I soon got a job and almost immediately began getting high, smoking speed, snorting coke, and shooting heroin. This went on for about 2 years. I worked therefore my parents didn't care. They had both left the program (details of that have never been disclosed to me, I do not know why or how). And my father and my relationship finally started to re solidify.

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[> [> [> Subject: Re: It happened to me Part 2

Author:

Hollywood

[Edit]

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Date Posted: 18:01:09 12/22/04 Wed

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Except by this time I was strung out on heroin. Believe it or not I did go back to the group. After my parents discovered my horrible habit and asked me to check myself in to a detox center, I made an appointment with the then OG counselor. He told me to that I was going to die, that I needed to go into some Step something or other. I told him I had no money. He told me to sell my cars, I told him he was on crack my parents would never let me do that. At the same moment I was absolutely terrified they would. I told him to call them and if he could convince them I was willing. From what I understand that counselor did call my father and my father told him he was full of shit. That was the day my father became my hero again and not some brain washed ego maniac. I wound up getting off heroin a few months later. My father and my relationship has been wonderful ever since, for Christ sake we even work together. My mother is still struggling with the fact that I drink . But her and my relationship is better than it ever has been my entire life.

Sorry this was so long and detailed I never knew I would share all of this. I hope this helps you to realize to hear that some else has been threw a similar nightmare.

Good luck and if you ever need anything or need to talk about the ‘rents and the evil things they can do when they are still slugging down the Kool-Aid but you are not, email me. I am more then willing to listen.

Also if a parent reads this who is considering throwing their child out on to the streets because they are no longer in the group, let me tell them from being that child: They have no place to go! The situation that they are in worsens, they feel abandoned, and the people that they turn to are usually using drugs much heavier than they are or ever have!

PLEASE DO NOT BUY INTO ICECAPS TOUGH LOVE- this is what killed Bob’s son, this is what almost killed me, and what almost killed or even did kill many people I knew.

Hollywood

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[> Subject: Re: Did this happen to anyone else

Author:

michele

[Edit]

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Date Posted: 22:27:49 12/22/04 Wed

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ok bailey, i know you've already heard this but there are some who haven't... the first time i left stl i was 16. i lived on the streets and 20 dollar hotels and at my old sponsee's house. it was bad but didn't compare to when i left atl. that time i was 18. my dad had driven a car down for me. i eventually got myself kicked out. i knew it was coming. i packed up my car with at much crap as i could and then i left. i went to stl then kc. stealing gas the entire way, oh yeah and wrote a bunch of bad checks. i had to go back down to atl to pick up more of my stuff. so i took a friend with me. i got there and packed up more crap. i made it all the way back up to nashville, then my car broke down. to anyone who lives in there car it's the most important thing to you. it's your bed, your transportation, your only way to and from work. it makes your whole life work. my friend's parents wired her money and left me 60 miles south of nashville, in manchester. i took what i could from my car and started walking. i hitch hiked from there to kc. it took me 3 days almost. i looked like complete shit when i got home. think the garage is bad? my mom made me sleep on the back deck for 3 weeks. like a dog. i woke up went to work (walked my happy ass) came home and then when my mom got home from work she would let me in to go to the bathroom and shower, then i got kicked back out. when i finally proved my self she let me in the house. well that's the most important parts i guess. there's more but i wanna go to sleep. point is that things did get better. i just had to fight so hard for it. i've never had to fight for anything harder then to survive. but i'm still here. and to everyone who will ask, i never touched a truck driver, and they never asked. actually the fed me and let me sleep.

[> Subject: Re: Did this happen to anyone else

Author:

Jen from AZ

[Edit]

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Date Posted: 02:27:25 12/23/04 Thu

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It's stuff like this that really gets me riled! It bothers me that the "Family" (talk about dysfunctional families!) pushes parents to treat their own flesh and blood like animals! I'm sorry - but tough love is bullshit! As parents, we are to care for our kids - whether we love them or not - they are a gift from God and these parents ought to be damn grateful that they have children! Do these parents not realize that there are LAWS about this?! As long as their kid is under 18 they are required BY LAW to give their kids food, clothing and shelter. Parents, if you are kicking your kids out of your house - YOU DON'T DESERVE TO HAVE THEM!

I will NEVER turn my back on my child! I don't understand how any parent can do that! How can a parent look Their child in the eye - no matter how old they are - and turn their back on them? How can they sleep at night not knowing if their child is dead or alive? How can Bob and "friends" push this kind of treatment?! This is just totally beyond my comprehension! My blood is boiling right now!

I would give ANYTHING to have more kids at home! I cry almost every night because I want a houseful of children! Yes, I love my son with all my heart - but yes! I also want a houseful of laughing - hell, even screaming - children running around! And quite frankly it fucking pisses me off that parents treat their children like this! Sleeping in the fucking garage? On the damn patio!? Wake up you parents who are in ICECAP! I don't care if you believe the Bible or not - I do and I believe it with all my heart and it says in there that "whatever you do to the least of these, you have done to me". Guess what parents! When you treat your kids like this, you are treating God like that! I pity you! I pity the fact that one day you will have to answer for the way you have treated your kids! And I pray that you get the justice you deserve!

Sorry webmasters for going off and for using the language I used. I haven't talked like this in years, but this is a hot button for me. I get into a lot of trouble when I'm out and about in stores and see a parent yelling and/or cursing at their child. One of these days I'm probably going to get punched - but I will not keep silent! The treatment that ICECrAP pushes parents to do to their kids is abuse - pure and simple! And I refuse to hold my tongue when I see it going on!

To those of you who are experiencing this treatment or have in the past - please know that I am thinking of you and praying for things to change. Especially that your parents wake up and seek your forgiveness for the treatment they have given you! NOTHING a child does - NOTHING - warrants throwing your kids out on the streets! The atrocities that are out there... it just makes me shudder! And want to scream and rip out Bob's eyes with my bare hands. Not much gets me this worked up.

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

The Mistakes We Made - Chapter Twelve

Summary:  When her high school girlfriend comes back to town after two years with a baby and a terrible story she won’t tell, the Librarian has to deal with the feelings she had worked so hard to keep at bay.

Notes: Trigger warning for description of an emotionally abusive relationship

Read it on ao3: (chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6) (chpt7) (chpt8) (chpt9) (chpt10) (chpt11) (chpt12)

Her hands shook as she held the test in her hands. She hadn’t known what answer she even wanted it to show, either would come with a measure of disappointment. But this surely was the most shocking result.

The two blue lines stared back at her, her breathing labored. She had always wanted to be a mother, but she had always assumed it would come later, when she wasn’t in college and had a job of her own. This was too fast.

She sat at the university’s bathroom stall for long minutes, her mind a turmoil of worries. But she told herself it would be fine. She had a good house and a loving husband, and even if she did take longer to complete her studies, he would still finish his in few years. In the meantime, their parents would continue to help them.

It would be okay. This baby was a blessing, a little fruit of their love, which they would adore so much.

“Hey, baby.” Johanna put a hand on her stomach, whispering gently not only not to be heard, but also to calm herself down. “I’m- I’m your mother. And I can’t wait to meet you.”

She still took longer to leave the bathroom, but eventually she figured that staying in there would achieve nothing. She left the college’s main building, walking to a less crowded area, where she wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard, and picked her phone from her backpack.

It rang three times before he answered. Torrin didn’t have any lectures to attend on that afternoon, which had allowed him to leave town and spend some hours in Trolberg; his father apparently wanted his input on some decisions.

“Babe?”

“Torrin, I need to tell you something.” She said, her voice wavering. There was a nervous feeling coiling in the pit of her stomach, making it hard to get the words out.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is wonderful.” She took a deep breath, looking at all the other people around her going about their days. How odd, that this was such a normal day for everyone else when for her it was the most life changing moment she would ever experienced. “I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

It was the first time she said the words out loud. It began feeling more real, and even though it was daunting, she couldn’t help the smile spreading over her face. However, it began to wilt as the silence on the other end of the line extended itself.

“Torrin?”

“That’s…” He found his voice, sounding like he had been startled, which he probably had. “That’s amazing, Jo. Truly.”

There was more silence, and she could hear him breathing heavily in the other end of the line. “I’ll be home by six. We can talk more about it, okay? I love you.”

Johanna sighed, a small part of her that was afraid he wouldn’t take the news well being silenced. “I love you too.”

_#_#_#_

Everything was not wonderful. How had he been so stupid? He knew better than this. And the time couldn’t be worse. With his father on the town hall and the plans for his re-election going, they could not afford any wearing down to the family’s reputation, certainly not the type that would come with the baby. Best case scenario, he would be expected to turn his full attention to the child, and maybe even move back to town where everyone could control his life. Worst case scenario, the city would frown on a pregnancy when neither of them had stable jobs and question the mayor’s support of two irresponsible young adults.

No, no. That couldn’t happen.

As soon as he turned off his phone, he looked at his father, who was staring at him from across the table with a raised eyebrow. He explained the situation, earning a wearing sigh from his father.

“Oh, Torrin, of all the irresponsible…”

They both agreed that this child should remain a secret, at least until his second mandate was over and his party chose someone else to compete for the town hall. By then, he would be older and have a job, and a child would only help his image. They could make something up about “raising the child in a bigger city to expand its horizons”. This could work if they were careful.

There was only one little thing he needed to be careful about before anything else.

_#_#_#_

He made sure to look both weary and happy when Johanna opened the door. She practically leapt at him with one of her too tight hugs, and dragged him inside to the living room, where she’d already made them tea.

They talked and eventually decided that she’d put college on hold when the due date approached. He asked that she made her doctor appointments at Ericsonberg, seeing as the doctors there were usually more qualified (“no offense to your mother, of course”) and she readily agreed.

The point in the conversation that he had been waiting for came when she put her cup down, tea all gone. She said she’d like to tell her parents about this face to face.

He froze in his seat, made his eyes widen. She noticed, of course, and furrowed her brow.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, innocent as always.

“I’m sorry, Jo. I… hadn’t realized you’d want to tell them yourself. You know, since I was already at Trolberg...”

“Oh!” There was disappointment on her face, but no sadness. “Well, they didn’t call me. That’s weird.”

He looked down, his leg bouncing up and down as it did when he was anxious. He cleared his throat. “They weren’t happy, babe. At all.”

He flickered his gaze to her when he heard her draw in breath, and then brought it back down. “They didn’t like that it happened so soon. They said you’re too young and that we were irresponsible. I’m so sorry, Johanna, I don’t think they want to see you anymore.”

“W-what?” There were tears in her eyes as she stuttered. He hadn’t meant to make her miserable, of course. He was not a cruel man, to make his wife be estranged from her family because he liked the idea. But it was what was necessary, and by the time she learned the truth, she’d surely forgive him.

He kept on looking at her, all sad eyes and furrowed brow, as she got up from the sofa and her gaze bounced around, looking like a caged animal even though there was no sort of threat nearby. She reached for her cellphone, which had been lying on the coffee table.

“I need to call them.” She muttered, still trying to keep her tears at bay.

“No.” He said firmly, extending his arm to grab her wrist. “Don’t, Jo. It will achieve nothing more than making you sad. The stress isn’t good for neither you or the baby. please.”

She drew her hand back slowly, and he let go of her. She swallowed, looking directly at his eyes, and sat back, looking resigned before the tears finally came in full strength a moment later.

Torrin took the seat closest to her, and held her while she wept, making cooing noises. But despite his wife’s state, a scandal had been avoided that night. He couldn’t bring himself to regret anything.

_#_#_#_

Torrin had been acting strange.

It had began a few days before. He’d been receiving many calls to the landline, and he always insisted on picking up. More often than not, after these calls he’d leave in a hurry, saying his father needed him for something. Johanna knew he was trying to get experience in order to join the world of politics when he was old enough, but still, something must be happening for him to be leaving so often. It didn’t help matters that he seemed to be constantly tense, either.

It was making her anxious. She had a hard time focusing on the motherhood books she’d bought in Ericsonberg, and she couldn’t even gather the concentration to draw. Most of the time, she’d simply stare out of the window, her mind working hard to try and make sense of what could be going on.

So one day, when he received the call, the temptation was too hard to ignore. While he picked it up in the living room, she tip toed to their bedroom, which had a second landline. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, and she stared the phone for long seconds before picking it up, biting her lip while her hand opened and closed around the phone.

But regardless of what was right, she had to know where she stood. His actions led her to believe something terrible, that she didn’t want to think him capable of. They made her believe that she was not the only woman in his life, and with their child so close to arriving, that was a doubt she couldn’t afford.

When she did bring it to her ear, the voice on the other side wasn’t of anyone she knew, and the terms used were confusing to her. But at least it wasn’t feminine. They were too technical, too veiled. They gave her the impression that anyone who shouldn’t be listening to that conversation wouldn’t understand it. But she had read a thing or two about politics, as she had figured she should before joining a family of them, and came to the startling realization that this is what they were talking about. As her hearing adjusted itself to the call, her brain began to catch up, leaving her horrified.

How selfish had it been if her to think an affair was the worst that could happen.

The strange voice, the one that didn’t belong to her husband, seethed with a veiled kind of anger, and Torrin’s words spit venom right back. All this behind polite phrasing and friendly façade, like two snakes circling each other, hissing at one another over a helpless mouse.

She sat on the bed, hand over her nose and mouth to muffle the sound of her heavy breathing. She truly hoped, in that moment, that she didn’t understand any of what they said, but she did: they spoke of corruptions and schemes and things that no honorable person should talk about.

Torrin had mentioned the new road that was being built to connect Trolberg to Sandefjord more easily, and she realized that this is what they were discussing. The voice she didn’t recognize was that of the head of the construction company that was in charge of the job, she figured after a minute or two of listening to them.

There was dirt involved in the job. Even from the little she knew, she understood that there was money laundering, that the contractors were using more of the people’s money to build the road than was needed. And she understood that her husband was fighting for his part of it.

Most of the call, they tried to discuss the percentages that would remain with the contractor and those that would go to the Avens. She could practically hear Torrin grind his teeth in anger. She heard the call for a few more minutes, and the man she didn’t know seemed to be winning. He had a very useful card to play, after all.

“Remember who helped you on important times, Mr. Aven. And that your father may need help again very soon.”

That seemed to make Torrin remember his place, and Johanna put the phone down, not bearing to listen to it any longer. As if it wasn’t bad enough already, there were also kickbacks involved.

The ran her hands through her hair, lifting her legs to put her feet on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees as best as she could with her round belly. This wasn’t right. This was not her husband, it couldn’t be. He had changed for her, had said so himself many times, so he couldn’t possibly be involved in things so terrible that not even the person he had been before would do.

She had to confront him about it. She had to say she could not stand by this, living knowing that maybe the money they used to buy their daughter toys had come from the taxes of a family that could need it more. But what could she do? Jobless, without parents to stand by her, and with his child on the way, she had no leverage.

And hell, she shouldn’t need leverage! He was her husband, her best friend, her prince, should he not do what she asked out of love? That’s what she’d been doing, what he’d asked her to do, saying that he would always do the same. But she wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

_#_#_#_

She hadn’t had any choice about whether or not a confrontation would happen, in the end. Torrin had noticed her constant shifting in her chair when they had dinner, and how she wouldn’t meet his gaze, and asked her about it. She could have lied, of course, but it felt terrible to lie to him.

When she told him, he got up from the table abruptly, making the glasses and cutlery rattle on the table. He looked at her with such intense anger that she drew in on herself, trying to make herself as small as possible. He shouted at her, saying that she should never, ever try to put her nose on his business, saying that she had completely broken his trust, that she wasn’t who he thought she was.

Tears stinging at her eyes, she tried to make an objection, begging him to understand that what he was doing was wrong. His chest still heaving, he interrupted her with an angry voice.

“All I’m doing, I’m doing for you! For our daughter! How can you be so selfish as not to see that?!”

This shut her up. She wished she could argue, could raise her chin and speak her mind, but that never went well with him. It always made him angrier, and she hated it when he was angry at her. She just wanted him to stop shouting and forget she had said anything.

Before he calmed down, though, he went on about how it felt like he didn’t know her anymore. The tense atmosphere continued all through dinner and extended itself through their evening, still lingering while they readied themselves for bed.

“I’ll sleep in the spare room.” He said coldly while he gathered a blanket in his arms. The spare room had been turned into a nursery, but there was still a bed in it for when someone needed to sleep in the same room as the baby.

“No! I mean, you really don’t have to.” She creased her brows, looking at him while her heart felt heavy inside her chest. She would truly loathe to see him go away from his own room because of something she did.

“No, no. I’ll spare you from having to sleep near me.” His tone was sarcastic as he walked to the door without looking back. “Since I’m such a horrible person.”

Johanna stifled back a sob, watching the door close behind him. She was left feeling guiltier than she ever had in her life.

_#_#_#_

She was standing in front of the sink as she texted Lucy.

The bathroom was the only place where she felt like she wasn’t being watched these days. Ever since she had discovered those things about her husband, he began to look at her the wrong way every time she picked up her phone, no doubt worried that she’d tell someone about it, even after he’d made her assure she wouldn’t. He wasn’t in the house at that moment, but she wasn’t alone either.

His father had hired a nurse to stay with her in those last few weeks of the pregnancy, to help in case Torrin wasn’t home to drive her to the hospital when her water broke. But Johanna knew there was another reason why she was here. She knew that she was here to tell her father in law of anything she did that could be considered a threat to the Aven family. And it was driving her mad. What did they think she’d do? Pull a Lady Diana on them?

She had nowhere to go, no one to help her beside them, so why even bother to have her watched over? It made her feel nauseous, and most of all it made her remember when she was eighteen and her parents wouldn’t stop following her around or prohibiting her from going places, but that phase was over. She’d rid herself of who they claimed was the problem, she became friends with people they approved, she dated the guy they wanted her to date. But now it was happening again and she hated it.

So now she was texting her friend locked inside the bathroom. Lucy was one of the only friends she had left. After she’d walked away from her friends at Ericsonberg, she’d had a hard time finding people she got along with as well as them.

Not to say she really got along with Lucy. They had practically nothing in common, but she was someone Johanna knew for a very long time. She was simple, easy to understand. Easy to talk to.

And she desperately needed to talk to someone. The things she now knew were bubbling up inside her, and she was afraid she burst without someone to counsel her. She hadn’t told Lucy exactly what happened, of course, just that she had found out something terrible about Torrin. After being assured that he hadn’t hit her or cheated, Lucy texted:

“Well, than he didn’t really do anything against you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She admitted reluctantly.

“Come on, Jo! Stop fussing over it, then. It must be exiting, knowing that he’s capable of something bad but treats you well. Give him another chance.”

She stared at the phone screen for a long time. She didn’t know what she had wanted Lucy to answer, but she had expected her friend to side with her, to not brush her concern off like it was nothing.

She put her phone in her pocket and and left the bathroom, but not before flushing the toilet to make it more believable in case the nurse was listening. She tried to convince herself that Lucy was right. That’s what she had first seen in him, wasn’t it? The thrill of being adored by someone who had done questionable things in the past, of reforming a monster.

She tried to convince herself, over and over and over, that the monster hadn’t turned on her.

[linrinsstuff]

Yukie Tanaka - IT1

On the roads near Ishikawa, there was a motorcycle gliding its way along the road with no halt. Yukie held on tight-fisted to the handle as she swivelled from left to right in case of cars coming her way. She never noticed any cars for quite some time. She did not once find it odd. The storm has been arguing for quite some time. There has not for once been a single pause before back to fighting again. The Raindrops fell as swiftly as her motorcycle. Driving at seventy kilometres per/hour. You can almost imagine them as hailstone with its rapid speed, although, they do not pinch at your skin.

Yukie had become tedious from the long journey. She turned on the radio to listen to, thanks to her wireless system. No one was nearby to be eavesdropping on what she was listening to. She could not see why not. She just hoped the sound of the engine and raindrops will not wash out the man's serene voice. There were pieces of news on the radio, new events occurring around the outskirts of Tokyo. 

• • •

At around 8:00 pm, the police found a man in his house dead. He was a seventy-one-year-old named Kenzou Hibiki. The police suggest that it was an act of suicide with his addiction to the pills. The reporter also reported that there was an accident near the scene of the death took place. Two male victims. One of the men confirmed to have died a few hours ago while the other was currently hospitalised. After that, they moved onto a news article, 'Why kids should buy dogs as pets'. Yukie did not wish to hear an absurd forged article; she turns the radio off.

Yukie could not even fantasize the idea of that happening to her. It would honestly be horrifying... or it was. She shakes her head in displeasure.

No... do not think about that. It was all just a nightmare. Mei is safe. She is no longer in harm's way...

Her relocation to a town called Kanazawa was a shock to her and the intention of actually doing it was never the plan, to say the least. Her caretaker stated that she was going somewhere one time, but she never realised where and how far it was going to take. The trip from Kyoto to Kanazawa was a lengthy distance. She had the choice to take a train, then another, then another and then a bus. However, she did not want to be scurrying from left to right trying to find the right train every minute. And so, she took her motorcycle instead. It required her to get a motorcycle permit, which involved completing a driver's education course, including traffic laws and signs exam since she was under the age of eighteen. She personally felt homesick being away from Kyoto. It was her hometown. Today, she had to live in a town with new people to judge and a new school to attend to and hope THEY do not judge her.

• • •

As she was driving closer to the town, she had a gullible urge to jump off the motorcycle and make a run for it as she was getting even more impatient the longer it took just to reach that tiny kilometre. She stops close to a small entrance with a jumbled stone path leading the way to a row of shops from the north and two-storey houses from the west and east. She never once spotted a single piece of rubbish. Beautifully carved, decorated stones along the path, meticulously placed in the order of the architect's mind; varying from small to large shapes. In the form of an abstract. Not once did she notice a pattern.

She finally leaps off her motorcycle, lifting the helmet off her head. Placing it on the handle of the leaned motorcycle, she swings her head left to right to allow her silver-white hair to breath freely in the wind and drenching rain.

Silver-white hair...

An odd piece of colour to have. Her hair is usually the thing that people recognise first. Not her smile, not her greeting, her hair. Nevertheless, her skin is another thing people grow great concern of. Her skin is pale white like snow-white from a grim fairy-tale. It is virtually identical to the colour of her hair. However, in her situation, it was no fantasy or tale made up. Many imply she is not taking in her vitamin D or is not eating enough "appropriate" food. In all honesty, she does, she has a healthy immune system, but no one ever takes her word for it because, in the end, she still looks like a haunted ghost with green devoid eyes gradually washing away as she aged.

She swings her hair back to tie it into a neat high ponytail, hair drenched from the commotion of the storm. Sweeping her fringe along the back of her ear, she grabs hold of the handles of her motorcycle as she walks her way through the rows of buildings, beginning with the east. East is right, and right is always right, right?

Her new caretakers lived near here with their last name templated right next to their door. Tanaka. Just like hers.

Yukie seems to be having a lot of difficulties trying to find the house. All the houses just appeared as identical twins to her. She wandered along the first side of the east of town a little longer searching for her last name; starting with 'T'.

No luck so far.

Her clothing began to stick to her cold thighs and her hair formed into wet strands of dreads from the rain. Her body encourages her tenacious mind to give up the search and head back to where she started; around the entrance and shops up north. The shops and stands were nonetheless open, continuing to do their business as usual, even around the night of twilight. She questioned if they might know anything about the Tanaka's. Who knows what they may know; perhaps even where they live? She suggested how weird that question could come out. There are vast ways to clarify this question.

She walks up to a stand that seems to be selling cooked food. The smell made her stomach churn for a second and mouth water. She has not had anything since she last left her hometown. She waits for the man to come around the counter. And fortunately, there was shade from the dousing rain. The man wearing an apron came along, rubbing his hands with a striped towel. He remained watching his hands as he greets her. "Hello, what can I do for-" When he looked up to see his customer, a yelp escaped from the man's mouth as his greeting, who could not even finish his sentence and was virtually close to dropping his towel. His eyes almost bulge out by how petrified he was. A woman as pale as a sheet? Is this possible?

Yukie could only smile and wave, but it only seemed to make the situation more awkward than she wanted it to be. The man apprehensively smiled and rubbed a hand against his neck. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't see you there!"

That is one of the biggest lies someone has ever said to me...

"W-What can I do for you?"

Her mind got straight to the point. "Do you know where I can find the Tanaka's?"

The man only continued to stutter. "T-They usually live around the corner of the houses to your right. It's detached and really quirky compared to the rest."

Yukie formed a fake smile. "Thank you, Sir."

She thought it was a bit irreverent of him to act in such a matter in front of her. Sometimes she asks herself, why are you still bothered by that? Strangers act that way towards you all the time, especially the children; their the worst when it comes to gossiping. She does let them off the hook since they are young. They need to learn eventually what is wrong and what is right. She walks all the way to the end of the path as directed by the storeman with her backpack on her shoulders whilst holding onto the bars of her motorcycle. A long ride and a long walk.

The storm continues to cry, and the shower did not stop once. The day felt miserable and dismal, along with the death and accident that occurred according to the radio. She stops around the building she first spots before it led off to the next row on the other side of the corner...

This must be the house I am looking for! She hoped to herself.

She checks the name. She thought she was imagining when she saw the one name she was dying to see. Her own last name, Tanaka. This was it; this was the house. She placed the motorcycle next to the side gate of their home. She hopes they do not mind her doing that. With elated thoughts and nervous fluttering butterflies in her queasy stomach, she knocks on the door with an unintentional rhythm.

No answer...

Perhaps, they were not home. She checks windows and surprisingly enough, the light was shining in the room next door to this... door. She knocks again. Still no answer. She sighs out of desperation. Out of luck, she presses onto the handle of the door. It opened. Yukie was taken aback; it almost made her hair stand on end. I-It's open? Maybe they 're inside after all.

Please excuse me...

Yukie enters the house, greeted by a lovely interior. The dinner table looked appealing. Smooth wood oak walls, table, cushioned chairs, and tatami mats as flooring. But other than the appearance, no one was around. Yukie plonks her bag near the doorway and searches around the house. She checks upstairs first. There were two rooms. One had a double bed with a delightful scent of roses. The interior in the bedroom felt very nostalgic to her liking. The next door was an empty and bland room. The blandest out of the entire house. There was an old bed, a white stained vanity, a wardrobe attached together with two drawers on each side of the wardrobe filled with nothing but hangers and just one dreamcatcher above the bed. The only colourful thing. Yukie came to the realisation that this could potentially be her new room. Lovely...

She hops down the stairs to see the last room of the house. The kitchen. When she enters the kitchen, A mess introduced her to the setting of the kitchen. Plates, forks, bowls, knives, every piece of cutlery all scattered and stacked up near the sink with a few on the side. How can anyone live with such a mess? She wonders. She cheekily checks the fridge to see what was currently stored. There was barely anything in there except for a humongous bottle of ice water, a pot of "nutritional" noodles and rice. That is it. She found post-it notes stuck to the front of the fridge once she shut the frigid air from the fridge. It said, "Things to get. Tuna, salmon, eggs, noodles, nori sheets, milk and bread."

Yukie had an idea. What if she were to buy the groceries for them? It would save them time, money and make a first good impression. She has plentiful of yen to waste and could not spend time and money during her breaks while on her trip. She takes the note with her and sets off on her self-errand to gather up the groceries on the list. The shops should not be too far. If she can make it in time, they may give her the last few minutes to get the things she needs. If they are not impatient to just close the stand and go home.

As she was leaving, she noticed the wet droplets stopped falling. The storm has finally taken its time to rest for a while. Yukie's guts were telling her something. A feeling. A feeling the storm would come back if she does not hurry along to the small store.

She made it in time for the shops. They mentioned they were going to close shop in under ten minutes. Yukie had to act fast and get as much as she could from the list, relying on what she can remember. She tries to snatch everything required. The Tuna, salmon, eggs, and noodles so far. Missing a few more. She spots the bread and grabs the wheat loaf, stuffing it in her hands with the rest of the groceries she was juggling. Maybe I should have brought a bag.

The lady working at the store was much more respectful in contrast to that man. It may be the case of her rarely looking at Yukie while she was stuffing the food in a scantily made bag. The lady was generous enough to give the bag away for free. Yukie could not decide whenever she should hold the bag by the grip or carry it with both hands to ensure the bag does not rip apart midway walking back. In the end, she went with using both hands. Yukie was grateful. She turns towards the same direction with a handful of groceries in her hands. Unfortunately, there was no sign of nori sheets or milk, but getting this much is better than getting nothing. She could have left empty-handed.

As she was walking her way back to the house, she hears a bang among the clouds. Just as she thought, the storm was coming back. She attempts to walk a little more briskly. However, something was slowing her down. The burden of her decline was not the groceries, but the looks she was getting from the people around the town. They glance at her; the thought of them with their abrasive gazes only made her sick with warped thoughts.

Why do people tend to stare at others? Aren't they adults? shouldn't they know better but to not stare?

She never craved this kind of attention or being this way in general, she never chose this life. It just happened naturally as he grew older each day. Someday, she hopes to just casually walk into the doctor's office and hear good news for once. 'Like music to my ears'. Perhaps she may walk in and they may suddenly announce there is a cure to her pale hair and skin!

But as she looks at it realistically,

It's never going to happen...

"Once we find a way to cure your distorted appearance, you'll be normal in no time, don't worry!"

"Normal, huh? Don't worry? I've waited long enough. Five years of cruelty, five years of judgement, five years of death."

• • •

"Now, if you don't mind me asking. Can you tell me your name, date of birth and age? I apologise for asking you for your personal information again, but one of our nurses seemed to have messed up a few of our files of our patients and we'd like to make sure the profiles are exact to what they were previously."

"Okay... My name is Yukie Tanaka, I was born on the 10th of July and I am sixteen."

"Thank you, Tanaka-san. I will be sure to fill in the misconceptions later..."

"Mind if I ask a question?"

"No, I don't mind, ask away..."

"Why am I here? Isn't my appointment in a few weeks?"

"Ah, yes. Well, the reason I called you here today is that I have a piece of news I need to tell you. And... you might not take it very lightly either."

"W-What is it...?"

[vixxiedust]

The Scholar’s Love Ch. 3

Genre: Romance, Drama, Alternate universe

Pairing: KenxOC

Warning: blood, death

Summary:    

He held onto my hand even tighter.

“I will beg Father. I’ve never wanted anything from him my entire life so I believe that he will grant me this marriage.”

It sounded beautiful, almost easy. We could get married and since we already liked each other – something not many young couples could afford – we could have our happily ever after.

  part one| part two

Three.

Prince Jaehwan came running to me with a bunch of flowers in his hands. His cheeks were beautifully flushed and his lips rosier than usual. All that running around the garden did him good.

“For you, my dear lady,” he said giving the flowers to me.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I curtsied and took them.

Throughout our walk he`d see new flowers and he`d run to pick them for me, adding more and more to my bouquet. I`ve never seen a grown man as happy as a child just because he was given the chance to play in the garden. Maybe it was because his own mother, consort Lee, who loved the freshness of spring, so he`d bring her hyacinths every time he visited her. Or at least he told me so.

I saw him dashing through a narrow stone path, servants frantically bowing because he popped out of nowhere and they were caught unprepared. I giggled.

“What is so funny?” he panted dropping more flowers into my already full hands.

“Nothing, Your Highness.”

“I think the amount of flowers is sufficient for now,” he examined my bouquet thoughtfully, “We can now resume our walk.”

These days he came to me a lot. Even if only to pass by when there were too many scholars in the library and it was inconvenient for us to talk.

But sometimes we had chances like this one when royals and concubines would take their afternoon nap, so we could be undisturbed in the garden. In these rare moments I felt like there was no difference in rank or expectations for both of us. We were just two young people courting each other before marriage.

Prince Jaehwan was now walking with his eyes closed basking in the sunlight and I used the chance to study his features. My eyes also trailed on his broad chest. I couldn`t help but wonder what it looked like underneath his robes. Sadly only his wife would discover one day.

“Am I beautiful, Miss Nala,” he asked with eyes still closed, “I can feel you staring at me.”

I blushed furiously.

“Of course, Your Majesty, you are a prime example of what a prince should look like,” I replied trying to keep my cool.

He peeked with one eye. We reached an artificial mountain and we stopped there. The place was shady and chilly but otherwise it gave us some privacy.

The prince reached out and took my hand in his.

“I am serious about the marriage, you know?” he said in low tone.

And I could see that he was. His eyes bore into mine and there was so much intensity in them that they could swallow me whole. But neither his feelings for me, nor mine for him could change reality.

“My rank is too low for you,” I chose my words carefully, “I could be your concubine at most but not an official wife. I don`t want to be someone`s concubine.”

He held onto my hand even tighter.

“I will beg Father. I’ve never wanted anything from him my entire life so I believe that he will grant me this marriage.”

It sounded beautiful, almost easy. We could get married and since we already liked each other – something not many young couples could afford – we could have our happily ever after.

“Once I become a prince consort, I can`t be an official anymore.”

“Yes, you can`t be both,” he nodded slowly, “I was just hoping that… that…”

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words but I knew what he wanted to say. He was hoping that I could make the sacrifice for us. I never wanted to be part of someone`s harem though. I never wanted to deal with household duties and embroidery and gossip. What I wanted was a career, a chance to bring change to the government and possibly a tiny place in the history books.

My father had assured me that when the time came for my marriage, he`d negotiate with my future husband that I continue with my duties as a scholar. But for that to happen my future spouse had be lower rank than ours, someone who`d gladly welcome a wife from a family far more influential than his. One could say that we were preparing to twist someone`s arms but I was thankful to my father for securing my future.

That could never happen with a Prince. I was going to be the one in disadvantageous position. I had to live my entire life just to prove that I was worthy of this marriage.

“My biggest dream is to be an official,” I said hoping that he`d understand.

His full lips twitched and he let go of my hand.

“You will attend the celebration on Friday, right?” he asked instead.

Consort De had just given birth to a healthy boy and our King was overjoyed, so he not only raised our salaries but arranged for a special celebration for his newborn son.

“Well, it`s obligatory,” I smiled.

“I hope to see you there then.”

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I wanted to tell him so badly that I wished us to be together but it wasn`t possible in this life.

“You will.”

---  

It was pouring outside. I picked my brushes and stared through the window. The branches of the nearest tree were swaying chaotically creaking like old bones. The candle on the desk flickered dangerously and I felt a cold gush of wind. It was going to be a bad storm.

“Scholar Ae, I am sorry for keeping you here for longer than intended,” Minister Ha said, “The weather is too bad for you to go out right now. My servants can prepare a guest room for you.”

I stirred uncomfortably at the thought. I knew that Minister Ha was concerned but I was taught not to disturb the elders.

“Please, don`t apologize. It was my honor to serve you,” I bowed, “I have to decline your offer and thank you for your kindness.”

“Are you sure?” he asked look and I nodded, “Well, in this case allow me to prepare a carriage for you.”

That I couldn`t refuse and honestly I was thankful that I didn`t have trudge through the river the main road has now become.

“And one more thing,” the Minister added, “Since the doctor said that I`m much better now and I don`t have to stay at home anymore, you could come twice a week to my ministry to watch me work and assist me whenever needed.”

I drew a sharp breath. I must have looked ridiculous because he laughed.

“You have good knowledge of the classics and your ideas are fresh. You could gain some knowledge from me as well, not only from that old fox Chu.”

“That would be fantastic,” I almost chocked on my saliva, “Thank you, Minister Ha.”

“You`re welcome, scholar Ae. Now hurry up and go home because the storm outside is getting worse and worse.”

I came out jumping merrily almost falling on my ass twice. I felt so happy that I could throw the umbrella on the ground and start dancing in the rain. Even catching the worst cold couldn`t scare me because the gods were smiling upon me. Who said that storms were bad omens? Who said that the sky was crying? I couldn`t wait to come home and tell Adra about it.

I crossed through the courtyard and found myself at the front gate but something didn`t feel right. The sound of the rain mercilessly hitting the pavement wasn`t the only thing that reached my ears. There was a thunder, as powerful as someone`s giant invisible hand was punching through heaven`s doors, but it wasn`t that also. It was the clinking of metal and men yelling right outside. It was the unmistakable sound of sword fighting.

I knew I had to turn back and run to the manor but instead I slowly peeked through the threshold. There were indeed men fighting and I saw bodies on the ground and blood spilled on the pavement trickling into the poodles of water. I dropped the umbrella unable to move.

The carriage which was supposed to take me home was blocked at least 30 feet away from the main entrance and I was positive that I saw a body curled next to it, possibly that of an innocent servant. It was difficult to make out the details in the thick curtain of rain.

Who`d throw such ruckus in front of the home of important official? Who`d cause bloodshed in such obvious manner? There was another thunder and I shuddered. Were they trying to assassinate him? I felt bile rising in my throat and I gagged. But none of them wore the clothes of his servants, so the second group of men wasn`t protecting their master. It seemed like they were totally unrelated to Minister Ha`s people.

Still, no matter who they were  I had to come back and warn  everyone inside. But then the first lightening struck across the sky and I saw a man lying in a pool of blood at the base of the stairs. And he was looking at me. His lips were moving but I couldn`t hear anything from where I was standing. He had one hand over the wound on his stomach and the other reaching for me. He was holding something in it, something that looked like a leather tube containing a message.  He seemed to be pleading to me to come and take it.

I threw a quick glance around assessing the situation. I was no warrior and I didn`t know how to fight. Stepping outside would be dangerous. But from what I saw two people were trying to protect the lying man so desperately. The others were probably after the contents of the tube. Whatever it was, I was sure that it was so important that it was worth dying over and I was a subject of the state who vowed to work for her king and fellow citizen.

I ran from my cover to the man and the minute I found myself outside the raindrops hit me as hard as a hammer. I slipped and rolled down the stairs landing right next to the wounded man. I could feel no pain, only the blood thumping madly through my eardrums and my whole body shaking when I tried to rise on my knees.

The man clasped my hand tightly and I felt the weight of the tube on my palm.

“To the King,” he groaned in pain, “It must reach the King.”

My eyes met his and I could see the dying light in them. Suddenly I felt weaker but I nodded because it`d pain me to let him down.

A body dropped on the ground right next to me with its empty dead eyes staring at me. I tried to scream but the sound was muffled by all that rainwater filling my mouth. I scrambled away from it and then I realized that my way back to the manor was now cut off. There were too many people between me and the gate and I could never push through. I could only run towards the Palace now, even if I knew that my chances were slim.

I rose to my feet right when the second man protecting the wounded got stabbed and fell down. I backed away and I had a good look at the warrior who killed him. He stepped forward noticing me and I quickly took a few steps back.

A lightning struck the sky once again and illuminated everything on the street. I saw the stranger`s face properly and something twisted in my stomach, something that had nothing to do with the bloodshed and the bodies lying around. I had seen this face on a couple of portrait replicas at the library before. I personally took care of them and I dusted them off. It was the face of the Crown Prince. A chill ran down my spine. There was no mistake; I had this face imprinted in my memory too clearly despite never meeting the man before.

He started walking towards me with determination which meant that I was doomed. The last thing I saw before I started running clumsily down the street was the man who gave me the message catching him by the leg and making him stumble. I risked only one glance behind just to see where my pursuer was.

I saw him driving his sword through the body of the messenger. I stumbled and felt backwards. For the first time a sound escaped my lips and I cried out but it came out distorted through the rain. My chest hurt, my limbs felt heavy and I wanted to give up. I was going to die anyway. Crown Prince was a famous warrior and I was less than a fallen leaf he could easily crush with the sole of his boot.

After killing the man, he returned his attention to me. I could probably still try to escape. There was some distance between me and him. I tried to convince myself that not everything was lost but my heart had lost all hope.

And just then, a giant beam of light fell from the sky and hit the roof of the house on the other side of street from Minister Ha`s. There was an explosion and everything went painfully bight. I curled on the ground hugging the tube tightly. Luckily I was away from where the lightning struck so I quickly came to my senses.

I opened my eyes and there was no man left standing. Some of them were crawling slowly like crabs missing a leg. For a second it all went still. I didn`t know whether it was divine intervention but I muttered a silent prayer before steadying myself on my feet again.

And then I ran, I ran with everything I had towards the Palace.

[justheretobreakthings]

Welcome to the Family - Chapter 6

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Word Count: 3,049 (Total Word Count: 15,010) Read on AO3

Story Summary: Lance had been excited about his family taking in a foster kid, eager to get to meet his brand new little brother or sister, who would surely adore and idolize their super cool Big Brother Lance. What he got instead was a sullen, quiet, temperamental teenage housemate with a criminal record and a disastrous haircut.

The days leading up to the beginning of the school year were both too long and not long enough. Too long because there wasn’t a whole lot for Keith to occupy his time with. That was, admittedly, at least a little his own fault, as he spent the vast majority of his time in his room rather than downstairs where things were actually happening.

But it was easier on him this way. The TV in the front room was usually taken, and he didn’t want to interfere with anyone else’s use. Even when it wasn’t, the room was right there adjacent to the stairs and the basement entrance and the front door, all which were constantly trafficked. No way would he be able to relax amidst all that. And there was a family computer in the basement, but it faced outward into the room at large, and Keith hated the feeling of people looking over his shoulder while he was online, no matter how innocuous his browsing may be. Besides, Rachel had brought her trumpet home from summer band on Friday to practice it over the weekend, and the basement was her prefered practice space, so that was.

Tania, after noticing just how much time Keith spent hibernating in his room, had ordered a small used television for it online - despite Keith’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, and hadn’t she already blown enough money on him over the past few days anyway - but they still had to wait for the delivery.

So the meantime was whiled away by re-reading his books and cautiously trying out the art supplies Tania had bought him for school. He didn’t think much of his artistic abilities, but it was one of the only creative outlets suggested by past therapists and social workers that actually clicked with him. He wouldn’t normally have asked his foster family for supplies, but Altea High required every student to take at least one year of a fine arts elective, so registering for art class had actually been a reason to need them.

The days were not long enough, though, in that, in spite of the way time had dragged, Keith still hadn’t managed to properly make himself feel ready to return to school by the time Monday morning rolled around. He woke early in the morning to a knocking at his door and Manuel’s voice telling him it was time to get up, and went downstairs to an unusually elaborate first-day-of-school breakfast, which Lance and Rachel both ate rather robotically, still adjusting to the waking world after a summer of sleeping in.

He threw on his clothes for the day - some dark gray jeans and a short-sleeved flannel that had formerly been Marco’s and which, to Keith’s surprise, had actually fit him pretty much perfectly, and were in better shape than most of Keith’s own clothes anyhow - and managed to get to the bathroom to finish his morning routine before Lance got to it. He had already managed to learn just how elaborate Lance’s ablutions were, and true to form, he kept Keith and Rachel waiting impatiently downstairs for twenty minutes in order to get his hair and face ‘perfect’. Even though when he finally was satisfied and came to join them, Keith could swear Lance looked exactly the same as he always did.

Rachel led the way out the door, slipping into the driver’s seat of an old scratched-up LeSabre parked at the curb. “You can take shotgun if you want,” she said to Lance as he opened the door of the seat behind her.

“God, no thanks,” Lance said. “I’ve seen you drive. I’m sitting where I’m most likely to survive when you inevitably crash us headlong into the auditorium.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Oh, whatever. Keith will sit up front with me, right, Keith?”

“Uh, sure,” Keith said, opening the door and carefully sliding into the seat.

“Do what you want,” Lance said. “But don’t be surprised if you’re the first to go.”

“Shut up, Lance,” Rachel said as she turned the key in the ignition. She shifted the car into drive and started down the road.

“Tell Keith how many tries it took you to pass your driving test.”

“I passed it eventually, it doesn’t matter.”

“Five tries. And on the third try she ran over a - ”

Rachel cut him off by speeding up and then braking hard at the stop sign on the corner, sending Keith lurching forward and Lance’s face knocking into her headrest. “Oops,” she said flatly. “Sorry, Lance, guess I’m just a bad driver.”

“Vete a la mierda,” Lance muttered, rubbing his forehead with a scowl.

“I’m telling Mamá you’re teaching Keith bad words,” said Rachel.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Keith managed to tune them out not long into the drive. He pulled his feet onto the seat and his knees up to his chest, letting all his focus drift to the buildings and trees and street signs they passed as he stared out the car window, trying to familiarize himself with the new surroundings, look out for landmarks that would make the route easier to remember if he needed to walk to or from school any time soon. Occasionally certain foster families of the past would forget to take him to school or pick him up. Or maybe do so intentionally. He could never be certain.

Lance and Rachel managed to keep up their light bickering all the way up until they pulled into the student parking lot, where Rachel had to try twice to park between the lines of her selected parking space, to Lance’s amusement. Despite Lance’s elaborate morning routine, it seemed they had still managed to arrive at school earlier than most, since the majority of the parking spaces were still empty. That was good. Keith still needed to stop by the front office to pick up his finalized schedule, and the last thing he needed was for that to make him late on the first day of school.

He parted ways from the McClains at the entrance, where they set off to their lockers and Keith to the front office. It was fairly crowded when he entered, students and a few parents trying to get some last-minute arrangements made before classes began. Keith hovered near the doorway, not wanting to barge past anyone or draw undue attention to himself by going to the receptionist.

In the midst of debating how he was going to go about asking for his schedule, his thoughts were interrupted by his name being called. The door to the guidance counselor’s office, adjacent to the front office, had been flung open, and Mr. Smythe stood in the entryway, waving him over.

Keith let out a breath and hurried over. Mr. Smythe was a recognizable presence, if a rather overwhelming one. He was a difficult person to forget, between the shock of bright orange hair on his head to the elaborate matching mustache, from his shoulderpadded blazer to his distinct accent. He’d certainly left an impression when Keith and Tania had met with him a few days prior.

“Keith, my boy, good to see you again!” Mr. Smythe said, beckoning him toward the office. “Come in, come in, I was just about to get your schedule printed up for you.” Keith followed him into the little office silently. He wasn’t sure how long this would take, so he opted to keep standing rather than take a seat in one of the chairs along the wall by the door.

“Now,” Mr. Smythe said, plopping himself into his own chair and turning to his computer screen. “I fit you into the art elective you wanted and made room for you in one of the Spanish 1 classes that fit the rest of your schedule. We also managed to get a gym uniform in for you in your size in time for you to be able to participate in your Phys. Ed. class today, so you can let Señora McClain know she needn’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” Keith said.

The printer on Mr. Smythe’s desk whirred as the counselor swiveled his chair to face Keith directly. “Regarding your core classes,” he continued. “For most of them we’ve decided to go ahead and place you in the standard sophomore level courses. I understand that there may be a few concepts from freshman courses that may need to be reviewed for you, but I’ve given your teachers fair warning ahead of time, so they’re aware that you may need a little bit of one-on-one assistance. Don’t be afraid to ask for it. I’ve also gone ahead and gotten you signed up for peer tutoring during your study hall block, so that could be a means to help you catch up.”

“Oh.” Keith’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his gaze. The whole situation was embarrassing, him being as far behind in school as he was. He knew he wasn’t stupid - despite what certain foster family members or classmates had told him in the past - but between constantly switching schools, his discipline record, assignments and books gone missing, the absolute joke of ‘education’ that the juvenile center had stuck him with all through last school year, and a decade of intense stress as the icing on the cake, well… he was probably lucky that his grades weren’t even worse.

“The only class that we couldn’t put you in sophomore level for was your Mathematics requirement,” Mr. Smythe was continuing, and Keith shook himself back into the present. “Seeing as the syllabus is much more linear than your other core classes. We’ve placed you in Algebra 1. However, if you put some elbow grease into your studies, Ms. Ryner has said that she would be happy to work with you to map out an independent study curriculum to get you back on track. If you go that route, you can have Pre-Calculus finished by graduation, same as the majority of your classmates. Of course, only Algebra 2 is a required credit for graduation, but colleges will be looking for - ”

“The regular track is fine, Mr. Smythe,” Keith said, immediately wincing afterward when he realized he had just interrupted.

Mr. Smythe, fortunately, didn’t seem to take offense at the interruption, and instead simply gave him a brief nod before pulling the schedule out of the printer tray and handing it to him. “Well, the option is available all this semester in case you change your mind. We’ll be happy to make accommodations.”

“Thanks,” Keith grunted. He accepted the paper and scanned the schedule.

“And Keith?”

“Mm?”

“That doesn’t just apply to classes.” Keith looked back up from the schedule to find Mr. Smythe’s gaze fixed firmly on him, intense and sincere. “If you are having any difficulties adjusting here, any concerns, or if you just need someone to talk to. My job isn’t just schedule planning and test prep, you know.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Why… are you telling me that?”

Mr. Smythe shrugged. “Thought I’d make the offer. It’s never easy for a new student to transition, and I know you have a bit of a, ah, colorful history in school settings - ”

“Who told you that?” Keith snapped.

“Your transcripts,” Mr. Smythe replied simply.

“... Oh.”

“Of course, it’s entirely up to you if you want to meet with me or not,” Mr. Smythe continued. “Señora McClain did inquire about it, but doesn’t want to force anything. Just be aware, my door is always open.” He leaned back in his chair and swiveled his gaze to his computer. “Feel free to run along, now, Keith. Wouldn’t want to make you late for your first class.”

“Um, right,” Keith said, hesitating only a moment before backing out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

His next stop was his locker, and thankfully he remembered where that was from the school tour he’d been given last week, and it was close, only two halls down from the administrative wing. The hallway was crowded when he got there, and he clung to the straps of his backpack tightly as he wove his way through the mass of students and to his locker.

He hung his backpack onto the hook and grabbed some supplies for his morning classes. Biology was the first listed on the sheet that Mr. Smythe had given him, located in room 224, which was… he wasn’t sure where. It was a lot to remember after only a single tour.

Biting his lip, he looked around the crowd of students. Lockers were grouped by year, so this hallway should be full of sophomores, which hopefully meant that a familiar face was nearby. After a few moments of scanning, he spotted an orange headband poking up from the crowd, taller than most of the other students around, and he set off in that direction. He recognized that headband, he was pretty sure, and the odds of another student in the same school having that same particular taste in hair accessories seemed slim.

Sure enough, the boy with the headband was the same as the one who had been visiting the house the other day, and Lance was with him, chatting idly while leaning up against a nearby locker, the girl who’d been with them there as well, standing with her arms wrapped around a bright green trapper keeper.

The boy - Keith couldn’t quite recall his name; Hank, maybe? - noticed his approach, and greeted him with a smile and a wave, that got the others’ attention and had them turning to him as well. “Hey Keith!” he said brightly.

“Hey...” Keith said in return.

“Hunk,” the boy supplied. Oh, well, he had been close.

“Right.” He cleared his throat and held up his schedule to the others. “Do, um, do you guys know - could one of you show me - um, room 224?”

“Here, lemme see that,” Lance said, snatching the schedule out of Keith’s hand to examine. “Huh, same bio class as me, so you can just follow me there. Same lunch blocks too, looks like. And English, and computer science… and gym…” He raised a brow at Keith. “You stalking me, man? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but - ”

“I’m not stalking you,” Keith said, glaring as he grabbed his schedule back from him. “I didn’t pick the schedule.”

“Relax, I’m joking. Just making sure you’re aware how blessed you are to have me in so many of your classes.”

“I see we’re playing fast and loose with the definition of the word ‘blessed’ this morning,” the girl remarked, and for the life of him Keith couldn’t remember what her name was.

“Pidge here is just jealous of you,” Lance said to Keith. Pidge, then. Keith repeated it in his head a few times to commit it to memory.

“I am jealous of no one,” Pidge said. “I’ve got most of my classes with Hunk, so if anyone should be jealous, it’s you.”

“Aww, Pidge,” Hunk said with a smile. “That’s sweet of you to - wait, what do you want?”

“Your cookie at lunch.”

“No.”

“Then I take back my compliment.”

“All right, well,” Lance straightened up from the row of lockers and stretched. “Come on Keith, I’ll show you where Biology. Let’s give these two some privacy to get their flirt on.”

He made a gesture to follow as he stepped away, as Hunk let out an indignant squawk and Pidge stuck her tongue out at him. Keith hurried to fall into place next to him. “Wait, those two are dating?” he asked.

Lance smirked. “Heh, nah, they just get annoyed when I say they are. So, of course, I say it all the time. Why, you looking to get together with one of them? Because I gotta tell you, I don’t think you’re either of their type - for a number of reasons.”

Keith grimaced and shook his head. “No, I don’t date.”

“Huh,” said Lance. “Guess I’ll have to tell Pidge she was right.”

“What?”

“Here we are,” Lance said, dropping the subject abruptly and gesturing grandly into the doorway of a classroom. “Welcome to the Joy of Biology.”

He moved toward the back to plop into an empty desk, and Keith followed along behind him, staring straight ahead and watching the other students in the corners of his vision. Cautiously he edged toward the desk beside Lance’s. “So, do we just sit anywhere, or - ?”

He paused when he realized that Lance was already striking up a conversation with the occupant of his other desk neighbor, a girl with wire-frame glasses and a thick black ponytail. Deciding not to disturb them, Keith slid silently into the open desk, setting his notebook and folder on the desk’s surface and opting to simply remain quiet until class began.

The teacher, Mrs. Montgomery, arrived right before the bell rang and the students who were still standing as they chatted amongst themselves, presumably catching up after the summer break, hastened into the empty desks that remained. She thankfully didn’t try any sort of first day of school look-what-a-cool-teacher-I-am opening stunt, and instead opened the class fairly dully, dropping a stack of syllabi onto one of the desks in the front row for the students to pass around and returning to the front podium to read out the roll call.

It wasn’t exactly a big social occasion or anything worse being nervous over, but he still rehearsed saying ‘here’ in his head a dozen times over so that he was prepared when she called his name. “Kogane, Keith.”

“Here,” he replied.

He may have messed it up somehow anyway, though, because a kid sitting two desks away jumped in his seat and whipped his head around at the sound of Keith’s voice to look him up and down. He had floppy brown bangs and a sharply angled face, and the moment his gaze met Keith’s, his eyes widened and he quickly turned away again.

Keith narrowed his eyes at the back of the kid’s head. Something about his face struck him as vaguely familiar, just a twinge of recognition in his gut. He wracked his mind, but he couldn’t place it, and he reluctantly let the matter drop from his thoughts when the teacher finished with roll call and started passing out the textbooks.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 23)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV.2, 21 , 22

Part 24: here

VIVI POV

“Something’s not right,” Vivi mumbles, examining the mess she’s made. Strewn across the ugly motel carpet is a mix of clothing items and assorted techy stuff. Important techy stuff. The stuff Arthur lunged around wherever he went. She’d never seen a person more attached to their computer, and yet he’d left it behind.

Don’t even get her started on the more concerning discoveries. Anxiety medication? A Psych referral? To her knowledge, Arthur hadn’t needed either since high school. Obviously, she can’t count on her compressive Arthur-related understanding anymore. Not with her recent track record. Arthur’s not really a talky-feely person, but that’s never mattered because he’s always been bad at hiding things from her. Until now.  Something’s changed, and she hadn’t noticed. Or hadn’t noticed its severity at any rate. 

Frustrated, she dumps what remains of Arthur’s bag out. There is nothing else of note. It’s not like she's expecting a convenient list of ‘reason why Arthur’s acting weird’ but something tangible would have been nice. Damn it.

Behind her, Lewis steps in closer, and she shoots a glance over her shoulder. His eyes are shaded by his hair puff, so she can’t make out his expression, but he’s slumped. Lost in his own head. Probably, overthinking things and blaming himself. Lewis takes everything personally, so this whole situation is undoubtedly hitting him hard.

Unfortunately, Vivi’s at a loss on how to comfort him. She’s never seen Lewis and Arthur fight or yell. They’re both pretty passive guys, preferring to talk through any disagreement. Not that they’ve had many of those or anything even remotely like …whatever that had been. She’d never seen either argue like that, all pain and raw emotion. Arthur panicking and defensive. Lewis pushing when he should be waiting, visibly hurting.  

She had had a choice, stay and talk to Lewis or go outside with Arthur. She’d chosen Lewis because Arthur wanted to be alone and he had obviously needed space to collect himself. Had it been the wrong move? Should she have insisted on following Arthur? She doesn’t know. Vivi doesn’t know how to convince Lewis that none of this is his fault or what to do without the van. She doesn’t know where Arthur went or why.

When had not knowing something ever stopped her from ploughing ahead! Nothing ever got done through sitting around thinking about ‘what ifs.’ She wants answers? Well, to get answers, she needs Arthur. To find Arthur they need transport and some method of locating him. With a new goal, she pulls out her phone, trying to check their location. None of her maps work, and she scowls, cursing the poor internet connection.

Vivi stands abruptly, startling Lewis. Technology isn’t the only source of information. She marches straight out the still open door, ignoring the taller man for the moment, intent on pulling aside the first stranger she sees. It just so happens that a man in a faded, 'route 66' shirt is packing up a car two steps from her room.

“Hey you,” She yells, powerwalking up, “Where are you heading?"

“Ah,” The man stalls, staring at her like she’s grown an additional head. Vivi realises she’s still in her pyjamas. Powder blue, long-sleeved, dotted in fluffy clouds, it’s not normal person clothing.  Coupled with her crazy bed hair, she’s probably giving off some strong crazy-person vibes.

“Sorry. Madam. I’m afraid I can’t help right now....” The dude slams the back door and practically leaps into the front seat in his effort to escape her.

“It was just a question!” She calls after him, irritated.

Okay. So maybe accosting the first person she saw wasn’t the best idea. Vivi frowns, trying to approach the problem more logically. There are no other people the immediate vicinity, and her focus jumps between the road and gas station sporadically. She takes a deep breath, re-centring herself. All this pent-up energy needs to go somewhere productive, or she’ll just spin in circles. Maybe, she should start by changing her clothes and wrangling Lewis. He’s missed her faux pas, but she’s sure he would have found it funny on a good day. A frustrated breath.

Lewis is standing exactly where she left him, lost in thought, Arthur’s referral loose in his hand.

“Lewis! Get dressed,” She orders loudly, re-entering, beelining to her bag. Lewis blinks, losing his deep contemplative frown, focusing back on her.

“We’re finding a way out of this town, van or no van, even if we have to walk. Are you with me?”  She needs him to focus on their current mission and not on Arthur, or the possibility that Arthur really does fear him for legitimate reasons. Nothing scares her more than that.  

“Right.” Lewis answers slowly, seeming to shake off part of his funk, “You’re right…You have a plan?” He sounds so pathetically hopeful. Energetically, she spins and points a finger right at his nose. No more angsting until they know what’s really going on.

“Get dressed. Get packed. Get gone.”  

A small smile flickers briefly across his face, “Detailed. I like it.”

“Well, we also need to find a person who knows a way out of this place, and maybe some way of actually locating Arthur. Wasn’t as catchy to say though,” She elaborates.

The smile fades into something more neutral and contemplative, “How about we start with the reception desk.”  

That was…logical.

“Right. Let’s do that,” Vivi agrees, then mutters, “Why didn’t I think of that?” It would have saved that poor guy a bit of a fight.

Now there is a bit of forwarding momentum, Lewis seems lighter. While she changes into a blue shirt and matching skirt, Lewis tries calling Arthur again, is unsuccessful, then pulls on his own set of clothes. Neither of them looks particularly well put together, but it’s better than nothing. Lewis even forgoes his usual routine, giving him a rugged, frazzled appearance.

Never before have the two of them ever left anywhere in under half an hour. Lewis has an overly long prep ritual and she leaves everything to the last second, so they always take longer than is probably reasonable.

Today they’re ready in ten minutes.

“Mystery,” She calls over her dog who’s been patiently watching Lewis and her rush around, “Who’s a good boy,” she whispers, scratching under his ear. Petting Mystery never fails to calm her nerves.

“I think that’s everything,” Lewis comments holding an arm out towards the door. Their bags are now stacked neatly in the corner, and the poorly decorated room is back to being sparse and empty.  

“To the reception?”

“Mission: Find Arthur is a go,” She agrees, grabbing Lewis’s hand, tucking it under her arm. Lewis, being a lot taller, must lean in a bit, especially when she’s walking slightly ahead, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Mystery trots along behind them without prompting. They cross the car pack and enter the small reception area.

Vivi doesn’t bother waiting for the lady to acknowledge their presence, pulling Lewis right up to the counter, and slamming down a hand, It makes a loud snapping sound. The woman jumps.  

“You know how we can get out of this town without a car?” Vivi goes right for the question she wants to be answered. There is no way she was wasting time with pleasantries. Not right now.

The woman glances between them, raising a brow, “Room 11? That was fast.”

“We’ve been staying in room 11. Is there a problem?” Lewis answers with a bit more restraint, leaving a deliberate question hanging in the air.

“Saw your buddy drive off. Thought it was odd. He left you a note,” A gesture towards a folded piece of paper, sitting isolated near the edge of the desk. Vivi stanches it up, ignoring the continuing exchange. She spins, freeing her arm from Lewis so she can unfold it.

“Arthur was here?” Lewis asks, eyes tracking Vivi’s quick movements before refocusing briefly on the reception-woman, “What did he look like? Was he okay?”

“Bit twitchy. Wasn’t really paying attention.”

The note is a collection of short sentences in Arthur’s messy cursive. Short on content. Short on detail. Short on anything useful.

“Had to leave.

Uncle Lance is in hospital.

I promise I’ll explain later.

Sorry.”

Her mind buzzes with its implications, throwing fuel on the worry-fire slowly growing in her stomach. Lance was in the hospital? How? Why would Arthur leave without mentioning it? She’s known Lance since she was five! Sure, the old man was standoffish, but she still cares about the guy. Did Arthur think she didn’t? Vivi tries to picture Arthur, getting bad news about his Uncle, and panicking. AND, instead of coming to them, his friends, for help, he had driven off alone. Surely, the distance between them wasn’t so great that Arthur felt he couldn’t come to them for support even when things were a bit rocky.  It lent a little credence to her ‘something bad is stopping Arthur from telling them the truth’ theory.  

She turns to say something to Lewis but hesitates. It’s not often that Vivi finds herself at a loss for words, but damn it if this whole situation isn’t dumping her right out of her comfort zone. Lewis, who is now leaning over her shoulder tracing the note with his eyes, looks like he’s swallowed a lemon.

Vivi hands the note over- Lewis takes the piece of paper gingerly-refocusing on the receptionist. At least now they know where Arthur is going. There is only one hospital anywhere near Kingsman Mechanics.

“Is there a way to get out of this town for people without a vehicle,” She repeats her earlier question more calmly. She’ll find Arthur and give him emotional support whether he wants it or not, dammit.

“Only the Interstate Bus Line. It stops here around 6am every day. This isn't a great place to get stranded in let me tell you.” The women’s attention is now shifting away and back to a magazine, losing interest.  Vivi glances back to Lewis, but he’s still staring at the note. Aggressively, a bit more than strictly necessary, she pulls him away from the desk into a cramped corner.

“Lewis,” Vivi pokes him in the side to get his attention, murmuring softly, “We’ll worry about it later.”

Before he can object or respond, she continues, whispering, “How much money do we have saved for this trip again?”

Lewis frowns, tucking the note away in his top breast pocket, perplexed, “$2000?”

Good. Not a huge amount but, including Vivi's personal saving, she has $2300. Hopefully, I’ll get someone interested. The town didn’t seem particularly affluent, so she likes the odds. She nods once, twisting back to the desk.

“Hey. Lady.”

She waits for the women’s begrudging attention.

“I’ll give $2300 to the next person to get us to Tempo, Milton or somewhere nearby. It’s eight hours from here.”

“Not really any taxi’s around,” Is the increasingly bored response.

“Did I say taxi?” Vivi interrupts, “I’m asking if you know anyone who’ll drive us to Tempo for $2300.”

A flash of renewed attention ignites before fading, the woman-maybe they should have asked her name- sighs.  “Just my luck that I’m stuck in this shit hole for the next week. I’d take you up on that offer. Hold on,” Irritated, unnamed-lady pulls out a mobile, “I know someone who needs the cash.”

While the lady dials out and talks briefly to a man on the other end, Vivi looks back at Lewis not quite sure how he’ll take her blowing their entire savings on this endeavour. She needn't have worried because he’s giving her that proud, gooey-warm smile that never fails to make her blush. Blood rushes to her face, and she turns away. Stay on task. Lewis is in a slightly better mood, check that off, now she needs to reach Arthur.

“So, my cousins’ got a small pick-up you can probably buy for around $2500,” The woman turns, having finished a half-muttered conversation, “It’ll get you where you want, he guarantees it. You interested?”

The price is a little high, but before she can start trying to haggle Lewis steps forward.

“That sounds fine, ah, Ms???”

Right. Lewis had savings as well. She shoots him a grateful smile.    

“The name’s Claire. You can finalise stuff with Jamie when he gets here,” Claire waves them away, glancing over at Lewis now.

“How long until your cousin gets here, Claire?” He asks deliberately.

“Since you’re obviously in a rush? I can probably have him here in half an hour.”

So, all going well, they’d be about two-three hours behind Arthur. Vivi could go out and make her offer to more people, but she doesn’t like the uncertainty when this one seems decent enough. This is probably their surest course.

“Sounds good,” She agrees, nodding.

Claire sighs, making a dismissive motion, “Suppose I should wish you luck in finding your twitchy friend. You want to check out now or after you see the pick-up?”

They check out, Claire tells them to leave whenever because there isn't anyone booked in till tomorrow. They relocate outside to sit together on the small step next to their motel door, waiting. Waiting. Time ticks by, made unbearably slow by the consent checking of her watch. Gradually, the word around them brightens, the morning progressing. Vivi leans into Lewis, bouncing her leg to rig herself of excess energy. She would be up and pacing back and forth, but Lewis has an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Mystery positions himself on her opposite side, shoving his face into her lap for pats.  If the circumstances were different, she’d probably enjoy sitting like this.

Another attempt at calling Arthur goes through to voice mail. Internally, she reaffirms her mission. Find Arthur. Find out what’s going on. Help in any way she could. That’s what friends did.

Note: Vivi’s got her work cut out for her. Also, seriously enjoyed writing her POV because she’s so different from Lewis and Arthur. This part’s slightly longer than usual to make up for the wait time.

Part 24: here

[fencheto]

Forbidden - Part 3 (Dimon Romantic)

The story can also be found on Wattpad You can find the previous chapters here Feedback is greatly appreciated. I went to the bathroom and finally took the much needed shower from the night before. The whole dorm was still densely filled with the smoky-alcoholic scent so I also made sure to open all the windows and doors to get some fresh air in there. “Got any suggestions where to go?” – I yelled through the bathroom door before starting the shower. “How does Starbucks sound?” – Chelle replied from her room. “Works for me.” – I said back and proceeded to wash my body Starbucks was both Chelle and I’s favorite spot for a morning coffee, the café was located in a very nice area, quite close to the centre and was easy to get there on foot from the dorm. The smell there was also blissful, nothing better than a banana cake to match the strong coffee aroma. It was the best time to go out and sit there, especially on such sunny days when the tables outside were available. On the not so bright side though, we could only go there like 2 times per week without going bankrupt. I love those guys but man, are they an expensive place. At the end of the day, I am a student and that meant being on a strict budget and having zero freedom. I put my hair in a high ponytail, and quickly put on a pair of jeans and my favorite oversized t-shirt saying “I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry”, a present from my sister Dallas, the second biggest weirdo on this planet after me. I noticed I also had dark circles under my eyes, so now the choice was either for some make up or for the big sunglasses. “Demi, are you ready?” – I hear Chelle asking, meaning she was done with her preparations. Well, it will be the sunglasses, then. “Yup, a second” – I replied, putting the last few pins on my hair and spraying a bit of perfume around my neck. “Okay, let’s go” – I told her, letting go of my door handle and going to the front door. The way to the café was a short 10-minute long walk, but we could still notice some leftovers from the few parties that were hosted yesterday. The most common type of garbage was the occasional McDonalds’ huge paper bag or Subway’s sandwich wraps and napkins. It looked as if the rubbish bags were out of stock in this country, a horrible mess. We reached the coffee shop and picked a nice cozy table in the corner on the right. Thankfully not too many people had come yet so the tables outside were still not all taken. Our seats weren’t in the middle of the hustle and bustle if I may call it like that, yet they were also close to the inner part of the café so we wouldn’t need to walk too much with the purchases in our hands. Chelle and I sat on the table and we both started flipping the pages of the menus, as if we didn’t know it all by heart by now. I was certainly gonna be having a frappe today, it was hot AF and the alcohol was still running in my system, so I was sweating like a mine worker. Not the biggest fan of ice coffee, but the situation was of a pressing matter. I turned a few pages further, the breakfast items didn’t look too bad either, the question was if I was actually hungry or just wanted to have a snack though. I thought about having a coffee cake, but that usually bloated me up a lot, so I would rather have the white chocolate chip cookie. It was not too heavy and it usually did cover me well when the sweet tooth hit me with cravings, so I was good with it. “Alright, I can go in there and get the stuff, can you stay here and keep the table?” – Chelle asked a few minutes later. “Yeah that’s cool. Can you get me a frappe and a chocolate chip cookie, with white chocolate chunks though?” “Sure, be right back. Watch my stuff there.” “Here, take 10, should be just enough” – I handed her the bill. Chelle went inside and I plopped myself back on my chair. The day was beautiful; lots of the students from our uni or the few others in town were out as well. Sunday was the day of procrastination and it did hold a very truthful rule for students: If you put it off for Sunday, it won’t happen, dude. At some point a pretty loud noise for my still hangover head came from the road. I turned around to see a black car pull over on the other side of the street. It was a type of car that was pretty rare to notice in Boston or in the states in general, quite low over the road and with a foreign registration plate. It did resemble a very familiar car that I had definitely paid attention to before. If you’d ever watched “Gone in 60 seconds”, then you would know it too – a British Jaguar. How did I know? That was Marissa’s favorite movie and therefore my least favorite one, because we’d watched it like a billion times. The only difference here was that this car was a lot newer – a model I couldn’t name for sure. I kept my gaze on and saw the person on the driving seat fidgeting with something and then opening the door. The driver stepped out, but kept his head towards the car. It seemed as if he was looking for something, until he finally found it and grabbed it from inside. I wondered what it was like to have that much money and to be able to afford such comfort. Surely I was now in a position where finances were not the greatest developing aspect of my life, but that would change later on hopefully. I would love to buy stuff without having to look at the price tag and not worry about it. Just to be impulsive, like: a Jaguar? Yes, please. That car was worth about a million dollars last time I checked. I re-focused my look over to the driver and realized I had seen this man before. Not only that, I had actually known him and already spoken to him. That was Mr. Cowell, my Music Production lecturer. And also the man whose car - probably one of his many, I kicked. And if that wasn’t awkward enough, the man I had the audacity to call ‘a fool’. He was very casually dressed this time – in just a white t-shirt and some jeans, no trace of the formal black blazer he was wearing at the university. He was also wearing a pair of dark ray-bans and was puffing on a cigarette, whilst slowly making his way to internal part of the café. At this point I actually wondered what the best thing to do was: hide from him behind my bag, bury my face in my phone and pretend I never saw him, greet him with a simple nod or step into the dangerous zone of another possible embarrassment and talk to him. In case you wondered why would I talk to him – because I wanted to apologize!? If my math was right, he would be my lecturer for quite some time, and feeling this awkward for so long was something I’d rather pass. Anyway, the problem here was that instead of actually following one of the scenarios I thought of, I was doing probably the worst I could have right now – I was looking, actually I was staring at him as if I was bewitched, with my mouth slightly opened and my chin propped onto the fingers of my hand. Good thing was I was still wearing my sunglasses and so was he, so there was still a chance he didn’t just catch me watching him like some weirdo. He reached the entrance of the café, took the cigarette off his mouth and dogged it in an ashtray on a nearby table on the porch. Once he pinched it off, he carefully lifted his gaze and for a moment looked into my direction. My immediate reaction was to look down for good 3-4 seconds, only to make my sunglasses fall down and hear the cracking sound of them hitting the ground. So much for your strategies, Demetria. I clumsily moved the table to pick them up and saw he was getting inside once I did. My face went deep red; could this have gone any more wrong? I silently hoped there was someone else his eyes were on, but when I looked around, there was no one neither behind me nor closer than 2 tables away. So chances were somewhere between very small and absolute zero. “Sorry I took so long, but there is such a long line, and oh they wrote my name wrong on the cup, so they had to change it…” – Chelle said coming to me, almost out of breath, putting the purchases on our table and taking her seat. “There you go with your drink and the cookie” – She said again, handing me my items. “Thanks Chelle.” - I said kind of distracted. “Since when are you a fan of frappes?” – She asked me. “Yeah I’m not but now it is a bit hot so I will try it out.” – I said, taking my sunglasses off and waving my hand to bring some wind to my still heated face. “Are you alright? You look nervous.” – Chelle asked. “No, nothing” – I replied, mixing my drink with the straw. A few minutes later I saw Mr. Cowell coming out on the porch from the inside part of the café, carrying two cups of coffee, only this time it was not just him, now he was accompanied by a tall blond female. She was wearing a short grey skirt and a top that was outlining her boobs quite clearly. She looked as if she was taken straight out of a magazine cover. I wondered if this was the type of women he was into. They made their way outside and quickly chose their seats, a single table distance across from us. I was facing her back and his seat was positioned in a way that we both could see each other directly. I now started to regret taking my shades off. “Dems, come on, what is it? You seem kind of lightheaded.” – Chelle asked me once again. “How come?” “You seem to not even be listening to me?” “I am, sorry, it is just…” – I said uncomfortably, looking at Simon’s table and then back at her. “What?” “I will tell you, but promise me you won’t look” – I warned in a very quiet voice. “Not look at what?” “Shhh! Okay, Mr. Cowell is sitting right across our table” “What? Where? ” – Chelle asked a lot louder than I would’ve preferred. A few people from the other tables turned their heads towards us. “Don’t shout, he’s going to hear you! There, right behind you.” - I yell-whispered at her. Chelle slowly turned her head, pretending to be fixing her hair and noticed him along with the woman that was sat on the same table. “Woah, talking about appropriate skirts” – She commented, lifting her eyebrows in amusement. “I know.” – I replied, doing the same grimace. “Are you alright?” – She asked me. “Sure, just surprised, though” – I shrugged my shoulders. “Anyway, so tell me about the guy from yesterday, he texted you in the morning didn’t he?” – I asked her, pointing at her phone. Although I had no interest in the guy she hooked up with yesterday, I knew I had to change the topic. I couldn’t possibly talk about Simon the whole afternoon; I mean who talked about their lecturers all the time? Not even geeks did. I asked Chelle more about him, letting her show me photos of them together from last night and share some unnecessary details for me to know. She was quite caught up onto the subject, and despite the fact I should have probably listened to her, I didn’t. I was barely paying attention to her and was occasionally nodding just to confirm I was a part of the conversation. My mind was busy with the man sitting on the table behind my friend. There were two factors creeping into my head constantly though: One was the common sense, telling “He is your lecturer” and two was the guilt, following with “Why is your lecturer such interest to you?” I mean how should I even define this? In general I have always been quite an impulsive person, so yelling at him on that first day we met was no surprise. Okay, the following actions were a bit too aggressive, I take that. But now what? He was offended, didn’t like me, like any other person also wouldn’t. I, on the other hand, was apparently feeling homesick; having the guy I’m in love with thousands of miles away from me, I was looking for comfort. Man’s comfort. That was the only reason behind my strange thoughts. In the meantime I noticed both Simon and the woman stood up. He pointed at the engine to her and motioned that he was going to join after going inside first. She quickly nodded and walked towards the car, whilst he went for the café bar. I followed him with my eyes before turning to Chelle. “Excuse me for a bit.” – I told her and adjusted my shirt. “Where are you going?” – She questioned surprised. “To the bathroom, be right back”- I said, leaving my seat. I got inside the café bar and saw Simon standing at the counter, placing an order for a take out. I pretended to be looking at the cakes behind the glass, standing a few feet away from him. In my ideal world, he would have turned around; I would have greeted him politely, maybe make some small talk and bring him under a somewhat good impression of me. Actually any impression that was better than the one of being a rude, aggressive bitch I had given. That was my goal right now. In reality though, after receiving his order, he was way too busy fixing the 5 items on his hands to pay any attention to me. He kept his head down the whole time, careful not to drop anything on the floor. He passed by me and did not acknowledge me even one bit, his eyes focused on the drinks. He had two drinks in each hand and a cake, which he supported against his chest. He was also mumbling something to himself while looking down, something I couldn’t fully figure out, but it was along the lines “yeah I can carry the office drinks, don’t help me”. Needless to say, I was quite disappointed of not getting the chance to talk to him. I did try to I don’t know, establish some kind of a contact, but it didn’t go as planned. To be honest, it was probably not only the lack of luck, but also the fact that he most likely didn’t want to talk to me. I couldn’t blame him, though. Perhaps it was for the better. Asking for his attention wasn’t a good idea, regardless. As I was about to make my way out to the table and Chelle, I accidentally noticed something, which looked like a small folder, standing by the edge of the counter. I looked over to the staff members, but neither of the them had noticed it yet. I guessed it was because it was left on the front side of the bar. I slowly approached the counter to see it was an open leather wallet. My first thought was to hand it over to the bartender and say I found a lost belonging. Probably what every normal human being would have done. Probably what I should have done. Instead, I decided to check it out on my own first, without giving it much of a thought. I squinted my eyes to see the beholder's name over the documents, only to confirm the doubts I'd had. On the front side of the wallet there was a driver's license, along with a photo and personal details of the beholder - Simon Philip Cowell. This time the question in my head was judged way less by morality and more by motivation. “What are you going to do about it?”

[sordm5]

Fallout: New Vegas Character Sheet / OC Questionnaire, 5k+ words

This is the part where I pray for consistency with my previous character essays...

The majority of these answers are from a character building perspective. Other perspectives are kept in parentheses. 

Mason Shepherd McCoy

which faction did they side with (NCR, legion, yes-man, or house)?

Unwittingly, he sided with the NCR. But he abandoned the cause shortly before the lead up to the Second Battle for Hoover Dam.

preferred armor?

He favors dusters, but beneath that, he usually dresses in raggedly layers. Cycling between two pairs of majorly distressed and ripped jeans, and collected vintage scarves he finds from abandoned buildings.

(In game, light armor. Specifically the courier fatigues from the Courier’s Cache mod, modded with the standalone Lonesome Road courier duster.  

Screenshots: front / back)

melee, guns, energy weapons, or unarmed?

Most skilled with a ranged bolt or lever action rifle.

After a compromising incident while he lived in Zion, Joshua attempts to teach him unarmed combat. But because Mase is a difficult, stubborn student, the lessons don’t continue on for long, and Joshua’s patience is tested to its limit.

highest skills? secondary skills? lowest skills?

His skill in everything aside from guns and repair are fairly mediocre, but his worst skills are definitely survival and unarmed. It’s pretty transparent that Mase’s priorities are focused on catering to his preference for gunplay.

(It’s hard to avoid having every skill high when level ups are forced on you, so I'm going to ignore in-game stats in favor of character development. Speech is the most notable skill I prefer to max out, but I don’t know if it’s exactly character-fitting for Mase considering he’s not actually a talkative person.)

SPECIAL stats?

3, 9, 6, 4, 7, 8, 3

what are their perks?

Confirmed Bachelor, babey. And Hand Loader. That one’s important.

(I'm not sure if this is asking me to list all perks my character has, but for the sake of not doing that – as it would be lengthy and tedious – I’ll leave it at these two.)

favorite companions? least favorite companions?

Mase adores Arcade more than he cares to admit. However, that adoration doesn’t overpower his own cowardice. He carries the weight of endlessly wondering what fate befell Arcade after Mase left the Mojave. He likes to...imagine he’s happy with the Followers, tending to new researches that could maybe benefit the public. The mental image distracts him from his guilt, at least.

The only other companion Mase was close with was ED-E. He doesn’t actively hate or dislike anyone, though.

any romantic partners? how do these relationships begin and end? are they healthy?

Yeah...Mase kinda...tries to pursue a relationship with Joshua, but it’s majorly onesided, and overwhelmingly unhealthy. Even Mase is aware of the unhealthy aspect, despite his feelings.

-

I’ve thought a lot about how to avoid making this sort of scenario lore-breaking. I can’t realistically picture, given what we see and know of him in-game, that Joshua would ever reciprocate any sort of romantic feelings anyone might have for him.

This might be my own interpretation, but I think by the time the courier meets Joshua, he’s resigned to live his life thinking he can find redemption through his faith. And I think he’s convinced himself to be wholly devoted to it. He even twists the biblical quotes he uses as excuses for his own internal anger. He needs to think that the things he does are justified by God.

Beyond the religious dedication, Joshua tells us that he feels indebted to his family, and the tribes of Zion, for welcoming him back like he had never done anything to shame them. After questioning him about his past, and the defeat he suffered, he ends with, "I will never be able to repay the debt I owe to them, but I must try." The way this is all presented leads me to believe there isn't much room in Joshua's life for anything else.

Also, on another note, one quote by Mr. Sawyer, who wrote the entirety of Joshua Graham’s character, stuck with me:

It's not as simple as being "set on fire". After suffering a terrible failure, he was humiliated by his superior and the people he commanded. He was cast out and left for dead. His entire reason for living was gone. When your entire way of life is completely destroyed, it has a profound impact on how you view yourself and your place in the world. [...]

Read the entire quote here.

There was also a quote, if I am indeed recalling correctly, by Josh Sawyer that expanded upon Joshua’s dialogue in-game that spoke about the love he received upon his return to New Canaan – about how he was in disbelief over it, how he thought he didn’t deserve it. But I can’t find that quote again, so don’t take my word for it.

I know that the developer’s input isn’t the “word of God”, and that Sawyer has said that he strongly dislikes when authors discourage fan interpretations and have an almost authoritarian hold over their stories. However, I still find it useful to reference dev commentary when expanding upon my own ideas.

Returning to the original point, as much as I’d really just like to say ‘they both lived happily ever after’ about my courier and Joshua, it’s not something I can picture happening. Joshua isn’t an ordinary man, and domesticity wasn’t ever an option for him.

-

There are some deeply self-indulgent scenarios I’ve written about for Mase and Joshua, and even in the more intimate pieces it always takes Joshua years to think it’s okay to even let Mase sleep next to him. So, I don’t imagine within the first year of staying in Zion anything even vaguely resembling intimacy would develop between them. Mase would have to come back to Zion after returning from the east coast and put a lot of work, time, and dedication into getting Joshua to open up on that level.

But, because I don’t feel fully confident in discussing my thoughts of how things change within the game post-canon-storyline (both base game and Honest Hearts/all DLC alike), these ideas and scenarios remain strictly self-indulgent. One detail I am comfortable saying that happens post-NV is that Mason does eventually come back to Nevada and end up settling there.

Since this is already a sort of a self-indulgent post about my oc, I will share some jumbled-context thoughts I’ve had. But keep in mind, if I were to keep this confined to my comfort on respecting the canon storyline and not exploiting it for my own purposes, this would have ended with Joshua never reciprocating, Mase leaving the west coast and returning at some indeterminate point, years later. 

With that being said...

Mase and Joshua argue about the feelings between them a lot. With Joshua it’s always “You understand my position, we’ve spoken about it countless times. You’ve said you understood, yet you continue to persist.” / “I know. And, I’m...sorry. I just can’t help but feel like I’m a nuisance to you. That the way I feel disgusts you-” / “You know that isn’t true-” / “You always push me away-” / “I’ve told you why-” etc, etc.

The closer they get, the more doubt Joshua begins to show, the more he pushes Mase away, and the more Mase wants reassurance that Joshua still finds him important, in some way. Joshua does value Mase’s companionship, but what Mase gives is unabashed love, and there’s a huge discrepancy in outward reciprocation. Mase tries his best to adapt and subdue how he feels – to try to understand and match the level at which Joshua keeps him. But it’s hard. A lot of “you don’t care about me like how I care about you” feelings.

Joshua insists the discrepancy isn’t true, and it’s only perceived that way by Mason. He loathes when he’s forced to remind Mason of his situation – of the path he’s chosen to take in his life, his dedication to it, after what happened to him at the Grand Canyon. How large the amount of atonement he owes. How, even if he wanted to break away from this path, there are still things he would never be able to do for Mason.

Of course, Mase tries to keep all of this in mind. But with the lack of communication, and the constant distance from Joshua, it’s hard to know if the boundaries are because of Joshua’s self restraint, or if Mase is truly no longer wanted. He’s just...very troubled and brokenhearted by it all, and the situation isn’t easy.

There’s also the awkward re-acquainting with each other after the years they spend apart. Which is disheartening to Mase because, before, he’d felt Zion was akin to a home due to the time spent there, and, when he comes back, it feels foreign – like there’s no place for him anymore. Everything looks and seems different. It takes a long while to get over that feeling.

Joshua looks different after all that time, as well. He never takes to fully discarding his bandages – it’s too personal for him – and his scarring doesn’t ever necessarily fade, but they do heal, lessen in severity, and subsequently cause him less pain. Because of this, he’s more comfortable exposing his forearms without bandaging, and the areas around his nose, mouth, and jaw. 

It takes Mase a moment to process this upon first seeing him again. In the past, he’d only ever seen Joshua without his bandages but one time, and it was because he’d been gravely injured and in recovery. He thinks it’s a good look for Joshua, though. And, more importantly, he’s overjoyed that he isn’t in as much pain.

Mase also continues travelling even after his return to the west. Especially between his home in northern Nevada and Zion. So it’s not as though he spends his every day with Joshua, although...he does try to persuade Joshua to visit his house and stay for awhile. Which he does eventually succeed at, after some complications on tribal responsibilities.

-

...tfw you set out to write about your own character and end up devoting the most time writing about Joshua Graham. To be fair, I have another huge character post about Mase that establishes way more about him, and I’ve been meaning to write about the dynamics with Joshua for awhile now.

yes, i’ve thought a lot about this. damn.

anyway...

doesn’t it suck when your first love after you get retrograde amnesia is a revenge obsessed warlord with misplaced dedication to a faith that he manipulates to lie to himself that his revenge obsessions are justifiable :(  real sad boi hours

gender / sexuality / ethnicity / species / etc.?

Boy/gay/???

He doesn’t know much about his ancestry, or the roots of his past in general. Doesn’t want to know. He’s pretty sure he’s human, though...maybe. But he’s also considered the possibility of being an alien misplaced on earth. Maybe...

He’s also not particularly attached to his biological sex. He is genetically male, and does predominantly identify as male, but it’s not something he feels is important or necessary to his identity as a whole. On a basic level, this applies to, say, clothing. If he found a dress appealing, he’d wear it without thinking much about what gender a dress was intended for. If that makes sense.

This sentiment is also applicable to sexuality. He doesn’t really label himself in any specific way. He just knows that the majority of people he’s found even somewhat attractive or appealing happen to be men.

where were they born/raised? when/why did they leave?

He doesn’t know.

when, why and how did they become a courier? how long did they remain a courier before benny shot them?

Again: part of a past that he doesn’t remember. Brings him anxiety over the thought of finding an answer to who he was before.

how did the bullet affect them?

Retrograde amnesia. His memories never returned. After awaking at Doc Mitchell’s, it was difficult for him to acquaint himself with who he was. He didn’t recognize his voice, his age, his appearance. Nothing felt familiar. His speaking patterns even sounded foreign to his own ears.

Other than that, recurring migraines that plagued him for weeks after his awakening.

how did they deal with benny?

He spared him. Read more here. 

what’s their reputation with the ncr / the legion?

Liked/Neutral

Mase aided the NCR whenever necessary, especially during the beginning of his travels in the Mojave. He refused to agitate the Legion. He never realized he was weaving himself into becoming a mercenary of war for the NCR, and, had he realized they were going to proposition him for such a task, he never would have helped to begin with.

In retrospect, after abandoning the Mojave, his regrets in assisting the NCR don’t add up to much. After consideration, he realized he would prefer an NCR victory as opposed to a Legion one. He’s aware there might have been a better alternative, had he stayed, had he put himself at the forefront of the decision making. But, he simply isn’t that kind of man.

what’s their reputation with goodsprings / novac / primm? (i know primm reputation was cut from the game but like let’s pretend for a minute sdkfjd)

His reputation with Primm would be the worst of all three, entirely due to his uncaring mistakes in handling finding new authority for the town. The NCR wasn’t the worst of the outcomes, but it still wasn’t favorable with the existing community, and Mase only realizes that after it’s far too late.

Goodsprings and Novac act as the friendliest respites Mase knows, and he is mostly in good standing with both towns’ residents. He assisted Goodsprings during the trouble with the Powder Gangers, and, similarly, assisted Novac’s trouble with feral ghouls.

what is their motive for taking vegas?

He doesn’t. Ideally, freedom for Vegas and Freeside would be what Mase would want, but he’s too prone to fleeing from pressure and stress. He doesn’t want the responsibility of an entire populace on his shoulders, and when presented with fight or flight in regards to the war for the Mojave, Mase chooses flight.

what do they look like? how tall are they? are they attractive? any piercings, tattoos, scars?

Just under 6′. Tanned, freckled complexion. Hair naturally dirty blond/light brown-ish, but frequently bleached lighter. Crooked, gapped teeth. He has multiple scars over his entire body, but half he can’t even remember the causes of. The most prominent ones being the bullet wound in his hairline, and the surgery scars from the Think Tank.

how old are they? do they know their birthday? if so, what’s their sign?

22 around the time of the events of Goodsprings. His birthday is November 22nd, information courtesy of his Mojave Express ID card, and not of his own memory. I suppose that makes him a sagittarius.

The only fitting quote I could find from a sagittarius horoscope was: “You are very critical of those around and of yourself and sometimes will prefer to isolate yourself.”

do they speak any languages other than english?

He doesn’t. He tries to learn the language of the Dead Horses and the Sorrows, but only retains basic phrases.

can they read, write, do math, sing? did they ever receive an education?

He is educated, but only utilizes his intelligence in areas that are practical to him. Like the kilometer calculations while adjusting his rifle scope. Other than that, he frequently writes in a journal that he received from the Mojave Express. Its primary function was to track deliveries, but he re-purposed it for personal use.

Mase is also somewhat of a collector, and, in his home, he has a guitar with rusted metal strings and a piano with many keys that don’t work (don’t ask about the complications of transporting the thing from an abandoned pre-war home to his own safehouse.) He aspires to fix them both and learn how to play them, and maybe write his own music, but he doesn’t often get time to do so.

what were their parents like? are they still on good terms with their parents?

Doesn’t know who his parents are. Doesn’t want to know.

what’s their d&d alignment? 

Starting off as neutral good, but quickly becoming chaotic neutral the longer his travels across the Mojave go.

how’s their karma?

Canonically neutral.

how do they feel about killing people? do they try to avoid it?

He doesn’t actively seek confrontation – he’s no murderer – but he doesn’t have any moral objections to killing if there’s a good purpose for it. Killing the “bad guys”, etc. He’s not a coward either, and he’s confident in his gunplay abilities.

do they take chems? if yes, when and which ones?

Other than admittedly using med-x a couple times in attempts to treat his insomnia, he tries not to dabble in drug use outside of meds for intended purposes. His preferred poison is alcohol.

do they gamble? where? is their luck good?

He doesn’t partake. The atmosphere of the casinos on The Strip gives him a deep sense of discomfort. A piece of the world, frozen in time, sheltered away from the destruction of the wastes that lay just outside the doors. Men in suits, focused on their greed, their only concern how much nicotine they can inhale.

In his tattered duster and ripped blue jeans, face smudged with dust and dirt, Mase feels horribly wrong amid all the leisure and recreation. It’s stifling.

where do they usually sleep? do they have more than one home location? do they live with any other people?

Throughout his campaign in the Mojave, Mase doesn’t ever keep a main base of operations. From his room at Novac, to the Lucky 38, to Zion, to anywhere he’s welcomed to rest his head for the night. He keeps his belongings down to what he can carry, or things he’s isn’t afraid of losing if left behind.

After his return to Nevada from his journey out east, Mase settles in an abandoned, lone ranch somewhere in the mid-north part of the state. It’s there, in his late-20s, that Mase truly finds himself able to call a location a home. He begins to collect more, and his safehouse soon turns into an unorganized, messy museum of sorts.

what are their favorite weapons? where did they get these weapons?

He’s partial to his rifles, both bolt and lever action alike. Namely, the Medicine Stick and Paciencia, courtesy of the Gun Runners. He takes to further customizing both rifles (and altering the customizations already applied).

do they flirt a lot? is it well-received?

Mase and Arcade have a platonically flirtatious relationship. Neither of them desire to take it further than that and are comfortable in their friendship. However...there are nights Mase remembers fondly: bedrolls haphazardly thrown onto the floor of whatever safe place they could find to rest in their travels, Arcade somehow ends up in Mase’s arms in the early hours of dawn, his head tucked into the crook of Mase’s neck, Mase’s fingers carding through Arcade’s hair as the haze of sleep slowly fades.

Though Mase later ends up developing feelings for Joshua while in Zion, he doesn’t dare anything close to flirting. He regards their relationship as too important for empty flirtatious comments, while also knowing it wouldn’t be received well anyway. Between them, it’s more of mutual respect and trust.  

At some point during Mase’s year stay in Zion, Joshua does clue in to the way Mase treats him, and what that alludes to. They speak about it, if very sparingly, and it can be summarized by Joshua vaguely referencing whatever is between them by saying: if Mase is waiting for something from Joshua, he’s waiting in vain.

do they goof around a lot? do other people find it funny or do they just entertain themselves?

Mase has short-lived moments of hyperactivity, but is usually more stoic in nature. He recalls his time spent with Arcade as having some of the more expressive moments in his life. So it’s to be said that he has the ability to be a more humorous or entertaining person as long as he’s comfortable around the company he’s with.

what do their companions think of them? are they close? have they done any companion quests?

He doesn’t stay with anyone long enough to become truly close to them, aside from Arcade.

ED-E is Mase’s first real travelling companion. After repairing the eyebot, Mase decides to keep it and regards it as little more than an extra weapon. The longer the road takes them, the more Mase finds himself talking into the open air about a myriad of things. Sometimes it’s a mess of world salad and scattered thoughts – the product of distant feelings of deja vu and the many migraines the bullet wound had caused.

The more this happens, the more Mase starts feelings like ED-E is listening to him. Maybe the beeps that he gives aren’t indicators that he’s listening and are just coincidence, but all the same, Mase starts to see a personality in ED-E, and starts to think of him as less of a weapon and more as a friend.

On a fittingly drunken night at the NCR Mojave Outpost, Mase crosses paths with Cass. He enjoys her attitude and her humor, and more than delights in sharing a bottle of whiskey or two- or three, or four. Beyond that first night of drinking challenges and hazy blackouts, and a few following encounters, Cass and Mase don’t stay as travelling companions. Fast friends over a bottle of brew, but nothing more.

Later, but still early in his travels, Mase finds himself with his hands full in Novac. It’s here he helps Boone uncover the truth about the person who disposed of his wife. He agrees to arrange the revenge without hesitation. There’s not even a droplet of blood on the red beret atop Mase’s head; he doesn’t flinch when Boone takes the shot.

Unfortunately, Boone’s animosity and hostility towards the Legion prevents them from travelling together. Mase understands, and it’s left at that.

As for Arcade, well...some of Mase’s largest regrets concern Arcade; how he feels he must have let him down after he’d left. He’d known of Arcade’s ideals, about his feelings towards what he’d wanted for the the people of Freeside, and Vegas as a whole. The wayward feelings of hope Arcade found in him. The rare moments of open vulnerability in the secrets Arcade shared of his past. Just how many things were shared between them, and how Mase let it go to waste for nothing – for his own cowardice.

For as much as having someone close to him by his side gave Mase strength, it also added to the weight of expectation from the pressure he already felt. Arcade wasn’t enough to change that. Nothing was.

do they draw, paint, play any instruments?

His main creative outlet is his journal. Writing and doodling little sketches. He doesn’t consider it a “real” art form, though.

how do they deal with injuries? do they use stimpaks, healing powder, med-x? does a companion help them? can they bear a lot of pain, or do they need to attend to injuries immediately? when they do have to see a doctor, do they have a preferred doctor, or do they just see anyone?

Mase has a high threshold for pain. The first time he’d been seriously injured (from memory) was during the shootout in Goodsprings. A bullet had pierced his upper left arm, thankfully missing any arteries, and became deeply lodged without breaking through the other side of the impact site. He remembered noticing he’d been struck was delayed, his arm had felt hot, wet, and uncomfortable, but almost indistinguishable through the adrenaline.

Once he noticed the red stains from the hole in his jacket, he stared wide-eyed and pale at the blood flowing from the open wound, the pain spiking like a blistering heat. He didn’t know what to do with himself; didn’t groan, didn’t cry, just stood with a lost look. He was in good company, though, and Doc Mitchell was there to care for the wounded.

Subsequent injuries have been reacted to with similar disconnect. He understands the importance of tending to wounds through the lecturing on infection from the Doc, and because of this tries to treat injuries as urgently as possible. However, if he can help it, he’d rather take a stimpak and slap a bandage over the wound and call it done. Fortunately, Arcade doesn’t let him get away with that one very often once they start travelling together.

have they ever been irradiated? how did they deal with it? did it have lasting effects?

In contrast to the high pain tolerance, Mase cannot handle radiation. In slight doses, it’s manageable, but when his Pipboy near deafens him with its Geiger clicking, like clockwork, the nausea immediately sets in. It debilitates him, and the contamination to his body never settles until he flushes it.

He recalls an instance of trying to bear with the radiation, barely dragging himself up the road from Novac, forcing himself to try to tough it out. He realized he’d made a mistake when he started profusely vomiting, and immediately checked his Pipboy for the nearest medical help.

Trudging up the slopes to Camp Forlorn Hope, Mase manages to make his way to the medical tent, limbs shaking and fatigued. Of course, Dr. Richards insists on helping him, having already been acquainted with the doctor from previously assisting with missing medical supplies. Mase had been hoping on a return of kindness when he’d chosen Forlorn Hope, while also not averse to being sweet-talked.

It seemed simple enough, let Dr. Richards hook an IV to his upper forearm, relax, and let the Radaway do its job. But...Mase had been shaking and hyperventilating from the nausea, and right as Dr. Richards offered him a reassuring “It’s going to be all right, buttercup”, Mase lurched and vomited on the doctor’s shoes.

Needless to say, one of his top most embarrassing moments.

in conversation, are they kind? gentle? sarcastic? rude? do they speak warmly and openly with people, or are they more guarded? do they talk a lot?

Generally very soft spoken, with little to say, especially in regards to strangers or people he’s just met. A monotone speaking pattern, with tendencies to a blunt manner of speaking his mind.

However this changes the closer he is to someone. He becomes more adaptive to the other person’s speaking patterns, becoming more or less talkative depending on the personality of his partner.

do they like long journeys through the mojave, or do they prefer to travel more quickly? do they prefer using roads or travelling through the deep desert?

It depends. He’ll have bouts of wanting to travel long, deserted stretches of land, leaving time to himself and his thoughts. No companions. And other times he’ll prefer to stay to more populated areas, not wanting to be alone, and dreading the idea of being left with no one but his own thoughts to keep him company.

name a random fact about your courier.

He has hang-ups about his name. For the first few months of his “new” life, he didn’t have a name, and was simply called “Courier” – which doesn’t entirely die out, even after he discovers his real name. The title “Courier” is something he more familiarly associates with his being/existence/person.

A continuous problem that his amnesia left him with was the inability to grasp or understand who he was. As time goes on and Mase becomes more self aware, this effect does diminish, but the conflicting feelings he has about his name remain. Sometimes he feels like his name is an important identity – one that he’s afraid of losing again, and sometimes he wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

When he leaves the Mojave, he throws his first name away completely, and takes to only telling people his middle name. Arcade had called him “Mase” consistently, with fondness; Joshua had only ever called him “Mason”, never the shorthand version. Somehow, that felt important. He didn’t want these memories to resurface – he didn’t want to remember what he’d left behind, or feel that pain – so he abandoned the name completely.

do they watch movie holotapes? what are their favorites? least favorites?

(Say The Man With No Name trilogy exists in the Fallout universe. That would undoubtedly be Mase’s favorite.

I admit I haven’t thought much about this sort of thing. The main kind of entertainment I imagine Mase consuming is mostly the radio. In-game, we have Radio New Vegas and Mojave Music as far as music/entertainment goes, but I like to think there would be other stations where the main focus is storytelling. Reruns from pre-war times, and newer stations featuring people recounting tales from the wasteland.)

what do they do with the lucky 38? do they like being there? do they leave their companions there? if they’re a yes-man courier, do they open it back up as a casino?

Much like how Mase feels towards the rest of The Strip, the Lucky 38 is a stifling, unwelcoming environment. He takes advantage of the shelter and amenities given, but he knows he’s being watched – being kept close like a useful tool, exactly how most factions and people in power treated him. He doesn’t make a habit of using the Lucky 38...but, he does like the convenience of running water.

what do they do after hoover dam?

Wanders out east towards Ronto. It’s possibly the most aimless 4 years of his life. He has no purpose, he falls onto self-destructive behavior, and loses what little sense of self he was able to garner from his time in Nevada and Utah. Ultimately, after confronting many internal fears and doubts, with not a slight bit of soul-searching, Mase makes the decision to go back home to Nevada.

how do they die? how is their death received, by the mojave and by their companions?

... (I haven’t gotten that far. I’ve only just barely decided Mase settles in Nevada, which is dependent on an NCR Hoover Dam victory. Which is extremely important to how things change in west coast territories. And thinking of Mase’s future involves thinking of the future of Nevada and the west as a whole. I don’t know if I’m capable of handling the weight of the aftermath of the NV storyline with my meager ideas.

I do imagine Mase would die from a shot to the head, though. Seems fitting.)

what are their vices? are they an alcoholic, a thief, a hoarder?

Mase has always had a proclivity for alcohol – these habits severely abate during his time in Zion, and then rise to a destructive level of full alcoholism during his time out east.

Hoarding has a negative connotation to it, right? Generally collecting garbage, and other trash? Mase collects items he finds to be interesting in his home in Nevada, but it’s not rubbish. It’s more of a collection similar to the likes of a museum.

can they cook, and if so, what do they cook? what are their favorite & least favorite foods?

Despite having less-than-useful survival skills, Mase is very interested in cooking recipes. The easiest and most satisfying one to follow is the desert salad, with more difficult recipes being mushroom cloud and wasteland omelette. He’s only had the opportunity to cook the latter two once each (thanks Quarry Junction and Bloodborne cave), and he savored every moment of both meals.

Another favorite would be iguana bits – a food he’s tried to replicate, but can’t quite pin the recipe for down. Besides that, he admittedly has a palette for pre-war sweets. Fancy Lads have a specifically...gone off...flavor about them, but he enjoys them all the same.

did they kill caesar? vulpes inculta? what about prominent ncr figures, like kimball and colonel hsu?

He doesn’t kill any prominent figures. Perhaps if he had been a different person, he would have been openly hostile toward the Legion – he disagrees with their values, and despises their leader – but this was not the life he felt he could lead. He already had enough paranoia about the prospect of having enemies coming back to kill him from the life he couldn’t remember, let alone adding to that by agitating any specific faction or group.

/

I deleted some questions I felt were already answered well enough in previous posts about Mason. Namely: this one.

I also just deleted things I didn’t feel like answering because it was too much effort.

The companions question is unfinished because I felt like that bit was getting really unorganized and chunky to read. So, some companions are omitted. May go back to this and edit it / add more to it.