#the soles on my current pair of boots are so fucked I need new ones. fucking hate shoes shopping so much

[communistkenobi]

we need to de-gender all clothing but specifically especially shoes. I have little manlet feet so most of the time my options are either children’s shoes (have lightning mcqueen and paw patrol on them) or women’s shoes (divine feminine fur lining)

[buckys-other-punk]

 Merciless

Pairing: Asshole Ex-Boyfriend!Chris Evans x Reader

Request: Could I have a part 2 to Insensitive were the reader comes back and she’s a bad bleep?

Summary: A couple months after their breakup, Y/N has changed since the last time Chris saw her. 

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: mentions of previous cheating, alcohol, cussing, mentions of sex, and badass reader aka justice lol I don't know 

A/N: Hello! Thank you @vanillabqrnes​ for the request apologies for this taking forever and I hope you like this! Also sorry to those who follow me, I promised to write more and that didn’t happen, but here’s something lol. Whenever I wanna write I open my computer and then bam writers block. Also please don’t mind any minor mistakes this is unedited. Anyways hope you enjoy and I’ll meet with you at the end of the fic ; ) 

Previous Part

It had been six months since your breakup with Chris and honestly you were doing great. I mean at first after all the rage you remembered the good memories from your relationship. While recalling those “good”memories you realized that four months prior to you finding out he cheated that he had been acting strange and distant. But you’ve moved on and could care less about that asshat.

You quickly moved on and actually you’ve completely changed your mentality when it comes to relationships. You have started to become more comfortable with yourself and not let anyone walk over you. Your closest friends have noticed your change in demeanor and they love it. They have literally called you a badass heartbreaker, solely because you have turned down almost every guy who reminded you of your asshole ex-boyfriend.

With your new look and attitude you were able to find the perfect match for you. You met your boyfriend, Henry *cough Henry Cavill cough*, at a party hosted by a mutual friend. The two of you were trying to avoid the crowd which didn’t help since the two of you were seated at the bar. You both had people flock towards you offering to buy drinks, which you both rejected. The two of you noticed one another when a woman asked Henry for his number, he declined, then she started flirting with you. You shook your head and scoffed, turning her down as you stood from your seat. You walked closer to the man taking a seat right next to him. After that the two of you had a pleasant conversation about who had the most people to hit on them, you won, and then the rest is history.

Your new relationship was completely different from your previous one. Henry adores you, treating you way better than you know who ever did. Also lets just say the sex was clearly better and you learned new things about yourself with your boyfriend. You never really got to explore that side of you when you were with Chris. He would be the one to take charge and never let you try something new.

Anyways you and Henry were actually going to lunch at one of your favorite fancy restaurants. Opting to sit near the open glass window you ordered your food. You didn’t give a fuck how these rich people were staring at you because you were wearing. You wore a long leather coat showing the right amount of cleavage and thigh high black boots. Henry wore a white button up shirt that clung to his muscles and dark blue dress pants. You laughed at a joke that Henry made, you glanced out the window and your eyes widened. Henry looked outside and he felt his blood start to boil.

*Chris’ POV*

After the break up the infamous Chris Evans was having a slightly rough time. He still didn’t understand what he did wrong. Then about a few months later Brittany, his second girlfriend while dating you, dumped Chris because she apparently found a better, richer man. Chris had been miserable in his house ever since. He thought about calling you after his break up with Brittany, but then he thought a grand gesture would be better. So he ordered the most expensive bouquet of roses and had them delivered to your house. 

A letter was immediately sent back saying that you had moved out of your small apartment, but the man who lived there kept the expensive flowers. Chris yelled out in frustration which startled his maid. She tried to comfort him telling him what he wanted to hear, that you would eventually come back to him, but deep down she knew that what she said was a lie. She knew about what her boss had been doing, but Chris offered to pay her to keep quiet.

Chris never stopped thinking about you. He would walk by your old apartment, sometimes even drunk. The man who lived there always saw him through his window feeling a bit bad for Chris, but assuming he probably deserved the heartbreak. As more months passed Chris decided that drinking would help numb the pain. It didn’t, drinking honestly made him think about you even more. Thoughts and images of you flooded his head and he didn’t know if he wanted them to stop or continue.

Chris decided that going out with other women would help, the break up messed his game. He would accidentally call his new girlfriends your name and some would stare at him with a blank face and the rest would ignore it. Eventually he found a woman who resembled you to the tee. The two of them were together for a while and Chris was kind for getting tired of her because she wasn’t you. He decided to go to a fancy restaurant to make reservations for their most elegant seating to break her heart. That’s when he saw you through the window with a man.

----------------------------

Henry looks back at you, “Is that?” You nodded your head and stood up from your seat. “Be nice.” he huffed as he remained in his seat unfolding the napkin on the table and placing it on his lap.

You stormed out of the restaurant stopping Chris from entering. Chris was shocked by how you dressed, he never saw you dress like that before. You saw Chris eye your entire body looking from your head to toes stopping at your chest.

“What do you want?” you harshly said crossing your arms over each other.

“Obviously, I’m here to make a reservation.” he snarkily replied. “How was I supposed to know you would be here?” 

“Bitch, I don’t know?!” you exclaimed. “It’s not like this is my favorite restaurant.”

“Again, how was I supposed to know that?” Chris angrily replied.

“Seriously?!” you huffed. “You’re still a dick you know that?”

“So what? You gonna teach me a lesson?” he flirtatiously said.

“God, you’re disgusting.” saying as you turned away from him.

“Wait,” he stopped you, grabbing your arm and pointing to the window, “who’s that you’re with?” 

Snatching your arm back from him. “That is my boyfriend, no begone.” you said shooing him away not caring about the people who were staring.

“Boyfriend? I bet he doesn’t treat you as well as I did.” he says c, crossing his arms. You slapped his face hard and shook your head.

“Oh, you're one to talk.” you yelled back at him. “You never changed, did you? You’re still an asshole prick that just wants a nice woman by his side to make him feel better about himself.”

“That’s not true!” he exclaimed.

“Oh really? Then tell me the real reason why you’re here?” you questioned looking at the man.

“As a matter of fact I’m taking my girlfriend here.” he replied with a smirk.

“Yeah, to break up with her?” you asked, shaking your head.

“How’d you know that?” He placed his hands on his hips.

“Because that’s what you did to the girl you dated before me, asshole.” you exclaimed.

“Well, why not after I break up with my current girl, you and I find a nice place to properly talk.” he smirked at you.

You walked closer to him and he smiled as he felt your chest against his. He looked down at your cleavage and back up to your face smiling even more. You put your hand on his shoulder smiling at him and that’s when you kneed him in the crotch.

“Go find someone else to feed your ego. I’m busy.” you said as you walked back to the restaurant and your boyfriend.

As you sat down on your seat, your boyfriend placed a kiss on your cheek. “Were you nice?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“I tried to be.” you huffed as you looked out the window staring at your ex who laid on the ground in pain.

“Well, looks like I need to teach you some manners then.” he smirked.

“You sure do.” you smiled, winking back at him.

A/N: Ahhh hello!! How was that? I feel like this wasn’t my best but at the same time not bad. lol I literally have no clue how to write a bad bitch reader (because i ain’t one), but hopefully I did this request justice! Thank you for reading and lemme know what you though of this. Feedback is very much appreciated and lemme know if you wanna be tagged in my stuff!

Taglist:  @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​ @sebtheromanianprince​ @aquabrie @who-the-hell-is-sebastianstan​  @anbrax5553​ @wintersoldierissucharide​ @caplanbuckybarnes​ @miraclesoflove​ @kitkatd7​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @fandomsandxfiles​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

^^please lemme know if you wanna be added/removed for future tags or dm me if I forgot you^^

[hauntedsongtaco]

Suptober Day 8: Leather & Lace

If you think I wouldn't write a 700 word story about f*cking boots to avoid writing my first smutty content, you are dead wrong. Please enjoy :)

Some people can be read by the way they run their fingers through their hair, how much effort they put in their makeup or how they fiddle with their hands. And sure enough, the Winchesters have their tells as well. If you knew them well enough you could rate their current emotional despair by the amount of layers of flannels and shirts or how well rested they were by the state of Sam’s bed hair in the morning and the way Dean grunts into his coffee mug.

The easiest way to get an idea of the Winchesters though, is by the state of their boots. Now, this may sound ridiculous, but boots play an important role in the life of a hunter. Try running for your life with a fucked up heel or a sole that’s coming half off. No, the boots have to be in good shape.

So, now you may ask yourself, how many shapes can a boot be in, apart from ‘good’ and ‘bad’?

Well, let’s start with the obvious and previously listed options.

Was the hunt less successful, did they not safe all the people as planned and the defeat weighted heavy in Sam’s chest, his boots would end up in a careless pile next to his door, opened only as much as was necessary for him to wriggle out and kick them off.

Usually, when they’d come home from a hunt, Sam would take his shoes off outside of his bedroom and keep them in the hallway. Dean had always made fun of him for that, but once he had dragged dog shit into the bunker and spread it all over the carpet in his bedroom, he was quick to shut up about it.

If the hunt was successful and they’d managed to save all the people and hunt all the things, Sam would be tired and dirty, but satisfied enough with their work to keep his decency and his boots would be standing neatly next to another in the hallway. Dirty, covered in mud and blood, yes, but still consciously taken off and put next to the wall.

When worst came to worst, his shoes would disappear with him behind his loudly shut bedroom door.

But next to the boot’s whereabouts, their appearances played a role as well. With Sam it was rarely the matter of a successful hunt for his boots to be cleaned at least two days after they arrived home. The intensity of the cleaning process might vary, and they didn’t always get the deep clean they deserved and needed, but he felt like it was part of his job and he got it done.

Dean’s boots seemed to have a mind of their own. They would appear at random in the bunker, depending on where Dean had decided to break down and take his first drink. Was the hunt a disaster, Dean would barely make it to one of the armchairs next to the small bar in the library, before he would kick off his shoes with an angry, but deflated motion and sit there until he fell asleep, no matter how grimy and gooey he was.

On better days, he’d have enough energy to take a shower and exchange his boots for slippers, leaving them at the exact spot wherever the slippers used to be.

If Sam was lucky enough to not stumble over his brother’s shoes for once, it was because Dean was too exhausted to do anything but stumble to his bed and fall asleep fully clothed.

Dean didn’t care that much about how clean his shoes were. Sure, if they were caked with dried mud and god knows what else, he’d give them a scrub but that was about as much effort as he could muster up on normal days. Only if he was obnoxiously happy for whatever reason, he’d give his boots a deep clean, wax and polish them like he’d get ready for prom. On those rare occasions you could find his boots alongside Sam’s on the hall, shining and squeaky clean.

Once or twice, when Sam or Castiel got resurrected and Dean felt like hugging the whole fucking world, he had gotten back home all giddy and smiling like a kid on Christmas. He had bought himself a new pair of boots. The good ones with a brand name on it and twice as expensive for only that reason.

And when he was in an unbeatable, extra good mood, you’d find his boots in the corner of his bedroom, hidden underneath a pile of flannel, trench coat and dress pants.

[hskrealm]

disturbance. (pt. 2!)

request by @taekooklover301​

It is advised that you read part one first. Happy reading!

warnings:  humiliation, degradation, choking, hair pulling, spanking, liiiitle bit of spit play, NAME CALLING, possessive behaviors, cum play (maybe), assertion of dominance, mentions of death, namjoon fucking you quickly because you’re a fucking brat, etc.

word count: 1.9k

“How about we try some role play?” Namjoon offered as he opened the door to his infamous torture room.

He’s mentioned it multiple times to you before today. You were beginning to wonder if it was really what he cracked it up to be.

“That’d be fun.” You shrugged, taking a glance inside of the room when he stepped aside and gestured toward the doorway.

You turned your head to look at him and raised an eyebrow. You couldn’t see a single thing.

It was just... darkness.

Namjoon laughed and playfully rolled his eyes.

“Just take a few steps inside, won’t you? There’s nothing near the door that could hurt you.” You turned your head back toward the doorway. 

What the hell did he mean by that?

You tried squinting and jutting your head forward just a bit, but you still couldn’t make anything out.

“You’re wasting my time.” Joon murmured, while picking up his foot and using the sole of his boots to nudge you into the room.

You stumbled inside, nearly tripping over your feet as you attempted to balance yourself.

He shut the door gently behind himself as he entered. 

You stood awkwardly as you waited for him to direct you to do something, or at least turn a light on or two. The longer you were in the dark, the longer it would take for your eyes to adjust when he finally turned the lights on.

You registered the sound of a few soft footsteps against some sort of material. Your hearing was heightened due to your sight being (nearly) taken away from you.

You jumped as you felt Namjoon’s long fingers tugging away at the robe that sat over the top of your lingerie.

“Here’s what I’m thinking we do, sweetheart.” He pushed your head to the left, using his knuckles to gently caress the skin on the right side of your neck before continuing.

“Why don’t you play as my toy for a little bit?” He wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

“Shouldn’t be a difficult task for you, really. I wanted to give you a simple role for your first experience in this room.” He ran his fingertips over your hips and up to your nipples, relishing in every gasp and moan you let out as he twisted and tugged them.

“Believe it or not, you aren’t the first person to enter this room.” You hadn’t realized you had your eyes closed until you opened them.

Way to kill the mood.

“You will be the first person to make it out alive, though.” He spoke nonchalantly, as he tugged the straps of your bra off of your shoulders.

“What?” You asked immediately. Namjoon chuckled at your obvious confusion.

“I call it a torture room for a reason, honey.” You shivered at his response, as he removed all touch from you and walked toward the entrance of the room to turn on the lights.

“Fuck.” You cursed as you brought your hands up to your eyes to cover them. The light was just as bright as you expected it to be.

Once you grew comfortable, you removed your hands from your eyes and took a look around the room. It certainly wasn’t what you expected-- instead of something out of a Pornhub shoot, you were met with what resembled the setup of all of the other bedrooms in the house.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you walked further into the room.

“This is what you kept up all of that talk about?” You spoke in disbelief as you crossed your arms and turned over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He clenched his jaw angrily at your apparent defiance.

“Yes, it is. Is there a problem with that?” You shook your head, unable to contain the giggles that left your mouth as Namjoon approached you.

“I’m not sure what sort of torturing you could do in this room, Joon.” You turned around again to view the setup of the room, as your boyfriend took that as his opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair a drag you toward the bed.

“OW! JOONIE--”

“The scene starts now.” He growled, as he tossed you onto the bed like a rag doll.

“But I--”

“Toys don’t talk, slut.” You immediately retracted, settling into the sheets of the bed as your panties stuck to your core due to the anticipation of this exact moment.

With practiced ease, Namjoon grabbed some rope and a pair of scissors out of the bedside table in the room.

He grabbed you by your hair once more, a devious smirk on his face as he snipped your brand new bra into pieces.

He yanked you closer to him, and did the same with your panties before tossing the scissors onto the ground in the corner of the room.

Your mouth fell open in shock.

“Are you serious? That was a brand new set!” His eye twitched in frustration, Couldn’t you take the hint and just shut the hell up?

That was fine by him. He could show you what he could do to you better than he could tell you.

He kneeled onto the ground and placed his hand around the back of your neck, before yanking your head down to level with his.

“Speak one more time without being spoken to, and it’ll be your dead body that’ll be dragged out of this room next. Do I make myself clear?” You nodded hastily, although you knew his threat meant nothing.

Or at least you hoped it didn’t.

“Roll over.” He commanded. When you responded too slowly, he quite literally growled at you and forced you onto your back.

He stood up off of the ground and yanked you toward the edge of the bed by your legs.

“I’m going to use you to get myself off.” He spoke harshly, as he quickly undid his belt and pulled his leaking cock out of his boxers.

“Remember what I said? You’re expected to make that commitment.” You moaned at his words. You had gotten him angry, so you knew he about to give you one of the roughest fucks of your life.

You couldn’t wait.

“What a surprise to see that you’re already dripping for me. What a good little toy you are, huh?” Namjoon licked his index and middle fingers before bringing them down to your delicious cunt and spreading your pussy lips apart.

“Oh my God, fuck.” He moaned to himself at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing. You were so desperate for him.

He licked his lips, ready to devour your cunt when his watched dinged on his wrist.

You whined out of frustration. Namjoon smirked as he read the alert.

“I’ve got a meeting in five minutes, babygirl. Do you know what that means?” You slowly shook your head.

“It means that you’ve got to use that cute little pussy of yours to make me cum within those five minutes. Sound good?” You whined once more, not registering the sound of his belt hitting the ground as you began to voice your annoyance.

“I-- FUCK!” You moaned, immediately gripping Namjoon’s arms for support as he slid into you with ease due to how wet you were.

“You’re always so fucking tight.” He grunted, pausing for a moment as he brought his hands up to your hips to grip them in order to stabilize himself.

“Four minutes and counting, Princess. Think you can take a rough pounding for me?” You nodded eagerly, wishing he’d shut up and get to it already.

At your agreeance, Namjoon quickly picked up the pace of his thrusts. He fell into a rapid rhythm, the sounds of his hip bones smacking against your ass only egging him on.

“God, this greedy hole is squeezing me so tight. You’re desperate to cum, aren’t you, whore?” He asked, not giving you the chance to respond as he knocked the air out of your lungs with a quick position change.

He lifted your leg over his shoulder and held it at the ankle, the new angle causing him to brush against your g-spot with every other thrust.

“Oh f-fuck, that feels so goo--” Namjoon snarled at you for speaking. He delivered a harsh slap to your right breast before wrapping his hand around your throat, and tugging you closer to him so you were forced to look into his eyes while he rearranged your guts.

“Shut the fuck up and take it, okay?” You nodded weakly, causing him to crack a smile.

“Good girl.” He praised, his eyes turning to slits as he began to pummel your pussy with his cock. He tightened his grasp around your neck to restrict your breathing, knowing that asphyxiation was the gateway to you spasming around him, which was exactly what he needed at the moment.

“You gonna cum?” He asked, nodding along with you as you struggled to form coherent words.

He laughed sadistically as a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Hold it.” Those two simple words sent you spiralling into madness. You wanted nothing more at the moment than to cum on his dick.

“I can feel you spasming around me. I’m almost there, baby. Almost there....” He cursed under his breath as the current position the two of you were in was struggling to stimulate him.

He stopped fucking you and took a look down at his watch.

“Two minutes.” He mumbled to himself, giving your body a quick once over before grabbing you around the waist with both hands and hoisting you up against the wall.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum.” He warned you, as he forced his cock back into your cunt and quickly regained his speed. He pulled your hips out a bit toward him so he could fuck you deeper.

“H-holy shit,” He barked, making eye contact with you for a moment.

“Pull my hair and spit in my mouth.”

“J-Joon--”

“Do it right fucking now.” Your hands flew to your boyfriend’s head as you submitted to his request. He always loved it when you pulled his hair when he was between your legs, but you were a bit too shy to spit in his mouth.

The two of you had never experimented with anything like that before.

You gathered up a bit of your saliva and let it trickle out of your mouth. Namjoon leaned into you and caught it quickly, sharing your saliva between the both of your mouths in a heated kiss without his hips faltering for a single moment.

“Now?” He asked, the question mumbled because of the kiss. You moaned in response, already knowing what he was referring to.

“Cum.” He ordered. You scraped your fingernails against his scalp as you begged for him to pull out, because you felt like you were going to explode.

He pulled out of you half a dozen thrusts later, using one hand to jerk himself off and the other to hold you up against the wall.

Thankfully for you, you squirted.

Much to Namjoon’s displeasure, though, you squirted all over his clothes that he  was supposed to wear during his meeting.

“FUCK!” He yelled, as he began to shoot rope after rope of his cum against your  face and tits. 

He smiled at the thought of his cum drying on your body, because he knew you weren’t stupid enough to wipe it away.

He dropped you, your legs going numb as you hit the ground.

Namjoon forcefully spread them apart with his knee as he slid his large hand in between your thighs and rubbed at your poor clit, urging every last drop of cum out of you.

“I C-CAN’T! I CAN’T, I CAN’T!” You squirmed around in his hold.

“You don’t get to tell me what you can and can’t do.” He was about to continue, when his watched dinged once more to alert him that he had thirty seconds before his meeting began.

He rolled his eyes and roughly grabbed a fistful of your hair as he began to drag you out of the room with him.

“I-I th-thought that you didn’t like it when I listened during your meetings?” You spoke, although you allowed him to drag you back to his office.

“I don’t. You ruined my clothes though, so to pay for it you’re going to cram your little ass under that desk and suck my dick until I tell you to get the hell up.”

[pressedinthepages]

Wager

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: reader request: [Hello! What about Geralt being smug about his win streak in Gwent and Jaskier- who Geralt doesn’t know plays- decides to do something about it. ] I may have...gone all in on the Gwent here, folks.

also thanks to @sometimesiwrite​ for being a wonderful beta :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: fluff, ~yearning~, Gwent

Two idiots play a game.

    Geralt, with a flick of his wrist and a smirk of the brow, placed his final card on the table. Yrden. Reset the power of all units on a row. Devastating for his opponent, who had their Scoiatel units racking up boosts and vitality throughout the entire final round. No longer did their cards carry values of 30, 35, and 60. Oh no, they were returned to their original powers of 2, 4, and 5. The final score? Geralt had 38, and his opponent hung their head in defeat with 16.

    Geralt took a swig of his ale as his opponent gathered his cards before tossing him a coin from across the table. “You played well.”

    His opponent grimaced, rising to his feet. “Yeah, sure. That Yrden card is broken, it’s too powerful.”

    Geralt squinted, crossing his legs beneath the table. “It’s not broken, you just need to learn to anticipate it. Don’t line up all of your high power cards in a row.”

    The man rolled his eyes as he left, Geralt blinking in surprise. Ah well, he thought, some people just don’t want to learn.

    Geralt motioned to the barkeep for another drink, flicking the coin in the air and catching it repeatedly. But suddenly, instead of the cool metal landing solidly in his hand, it was snatched from the air and held between two slender fingers just out of Geralt’s reach.

    “You win this for me?” Jaskier tilted his head with a smile, toothy and bright. 

    Geralt grunted as his new ale was set before him, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. “Gwent. It’s been a good night.”

    “A glass of red wine for me, sweet thing,” Jaskier crooned at the barkeep, and she blushed her way back to the counter. “You’re quite fond of the game.”

    Geralt hummed, fiddling with a torn edge on one of his cards. It was one of the first that he collected, a Redanian Archer. Fragile, but powerful with the right defense. “It’s...nice,” he murmured, “to just relax for a night.”

    Jaskier didn’t even acknowledge the wine when it was set before him, his eyes trained solely on Geralt. “Would you play me?”

    Geralt actually laughed at that, the bastard. “Do you even have a deck?”

    “I will have you know, dear Witcher,” Jaskier patted the pockets of his doublet and trousers frantically, “that it is damned near impossible to travel across the Continent without amassing a wonderful collection of Gwent cards. I quite like my current deck, it has a lot of...character.”

    Geralt smirked, shuffling all of his cards back into his deck. “What will I get when I win?”

    “How very presumptuous, Ger-Aha!” Jaskier exclaimed, yanking out a vibrant purple pouch from the inner pocket of his doublet. “Terrible form really, dear heart, to assume you would best me so easily.”

    Geralt shrugged, drawing the top ten cards from his deck. He took a generous gulp of his ale as he looked over his hand. Nothing stellar, but he could work with it. 

    Jaskier shuffled his own deck, flicking the cards back and forth in an effort to ensure the most efficient spread. “Alright. IF you win, my Witcher, you may have anything. Whatever first pops into your mind, it is yours. Same for me, if I find myself victorious. Deal?”

    Jaskier’s eyes, so bright and blue and shining with mischief, caught Geralt off guard. He nodded and watched Jaskier deal himself ten cards as well. He traded two out, shuffling them back into the deck before holding Geralt’s hard-earned coin out in the palm of his hand. “Heads or tails?”

    Geralt glanced at his own hand and found that he doesn’t really mind whether he went first or second. “Tails.”

    Jaskier smiled and spun the coin into the air before it clattered back onto the table, heads-up. “Then I suppose I will go first.”

    And this is where, dear reader, things took a turn. 

    Geralt felt like he had whiplash throughout the entire first round. Thanks to the first card that Jaskier played, every subsequent card was near impervious thanks to the additional 2 armor provided. As soon as Geralt realized that he was bound to lose the first round he played a card with Resilience in an effort to secure the second. But then, Jaskier played Queen of the Night, instantly purifying his Vandergrift and rendering him useless. 

    And then, the next card from Jaskier’s hand, was that-

    “Wait, hang on. Eskel has a Gwent card?” Geralt blinked, reaching for the card on the table. 

    “Oh yes, he’s a lovely one. He boosts himself by one every. Single. Turn.” Jaskier polished off the remainder of his wine with a flourish, resting his chin on his hand and waiting for Geralt’s next turn. Geralt sighed and did some mental math before placing a Tridam Infantry. Next turn, he could place a Temerian Drummer, and there would be enough turns left for those two to damage Jaskier’s cards enou-

    “I think I’ll pass now, darling.” Jaskier smiled, folding his three remaining cards into his hand. Jaskier currently had a score of 23, while Geralt had 11. Shit. 

    Geralt sighed, folding his own cards into his hand. “Pass.” He knew that if he tried to outscore Jaskier on this turn, he’d only barely make a higher value, and it would put him an extra card short in the final round. 

    Jaskier smirked, drawing another three cards and motioning for Geralt to do the same. They cleared the board into their respective graveyards, and Jaskier perused his cards. 

    “Pass, dear.”

    Geralt hummed, cursing himself on the spot. It was an easy tactic, one that would leave him with two less cards than Jask in the final round. Well, at least I didn’t push it.

    And then Geralt was faced with another hard decision. His hand now only held valuable cards, and he’d have to waste one to win this round. Fuck. 

    He put down his Roche: Merciless, hating every moment of it. Damn, that’s a good card.

    Jaskier’s smirk only grew as Geralt then slid the card to the graveyard, each of them drawing three cards each once more. 

    Once again, Jaskier’s deck baffled Geralt. He started with Villentretenmerth, which cost Geralt his Donimir of Troy. Somehow, miraculously, as Geralt played his last card, he could see himself pulling away with the win. He had two Kaedweni Revenants, as well as a Vivienne: Oriole that had been boosted to 12. That put him at 18, and Jaskier was only at 10. Geralt couldn’t realistically see him closing that gap with his final card. 

    “Odd deck you have there, Jaskier,” Geralt finished off his own ale. 

    “Yes, it does have a bit of spice, hmm?” Jaskier frowned, scratching at the stubble on his chin. His hair flopped over his forehead and something in Geralt’s gut really wanted to reach out and push it back, to feel his hair between his fingers. Geralt shook the thoughts off, his toes bouncing inside his boot. 

    “You know, I think I may have saved the best card for last.” Jaskier sighed as he set the card in the melee row. Geralt: Professional. Damage an enemy unit by 3. If its power was a multiple of 3, destroy it instead. 

    Geralt’s stomach plummeted as Jaskier took his 12 power Oriole and sent it to the graveyard, his brain spinning with the math. Jaskier: 13, Geralt: 6. 

    “What the hell was that, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, breathless. Jaskier stood and held out his hand, waiting patiently for a final shake. Geralt gave it to him while his mind played catch-up, trying desperately to comprehend how his bard had beaten him so thoroughly at his own game. And, wait a minute, when did I start thinking of him as *my* bard?

    They collected their cards and returned to their shared room, Geralt still silently stunned. 

    “Well,” Jaskier clasped his hands together before shucking off his doublet, “I would like to claim my prize.”

    Geralt looked over at Jaskier, his chemise undone and a blush creeping up the solid line of his chest. His eyes had a nervous air about them, and his fingers flexed at his sides. 

    Jaskier closed the distance between them, standing just shy of Geralt’s grasp. “What would you have asked for if you had won?” 

    Geralt glanced down to Jaskier’s lips, finding them pink and plump and yearning for his own. “I-I would’ve asked...for you.”

    Jaskier bit his lip and slunk his hand up around Geralt’s neck. “Oh, Geralt. You have me. Always have, and always will.”

    Geralt pressed into Jaskier’s hand at the nape of his neck. “And you, Jask? What do you choose for your prize?”

    Jaskier smiled, his eyes watering the smallest bit. “You.”

    Geralt sighed as Jaskier’s lips pressed against his, warm and wet and so perfect that his knees felt close to buckling. He braced himself on Jaskier’s hips, his hands fisting into the delicate fabric of his chemise with fervor. Jaskier’s tongue licked into his mouth and Geralt moaned into him. Jaskier tasted of wine and flowers and summer and Geralt was intoxicated. 

    Jaskier parted first, resting his forehead on Geralt’s as he caught his breath. “Well,” he panted, “if I had known it would be this easy I would’ve taken up Gwent ages ago.”

    Geralt chuckled, pulling Jaskier back in for another kiss. For he feared that he would never be sated, not when Jaskier was right there with Geralt as his prize.

[booatlantis]

Enlightenment (short story)

For a long time I wanted to pack up and leave. Sell my car, quit my job, and travel the world with whatever I could carry on my back. Somehow I would find myself in China where I would shave my head, don the traditional robes and pray in tune with my bald-headed brothers. Or India where I would embrace spirituality and practice yoga, meditating amongst the best gurus. But then there’s Europe, the home of the Age of Enlightenment.

But, was it really enlightenment I was looking for?

Because, as much as the thought crossed my mind, the idea terrified me. The thought of travelling the world alone with limited resources, stepping into the unknown, it made me wonder how people did it. What if I died alone in a hotel room? What if I was found dead on the streets? What if I just disappeared?

Maybe it wasn’t enlightenment I was searching for, maybe it was simply an escape route. An escape from the system. A system which secures us, tight. Yet, despite being trapped we live in fear, fear of falling from the system, of missing a beat and being cut out of the cycle, to be left with nothing. Nothingness is the void where the unknown lies. Where will we sleep? What will we eat? How will we live? We cannot escape the system. Well, people like us at least. Those who are slaves to the system, who work to the bone for the minimum wage in order to scrape by and pay rent at the end of the month. Scanning your barcodes, cleaning your corridors, taking your orders. We are the ones under the thumb of the one percent. Victims of the pay gap, pounders of the glass ceiling, children of technology.

The part of my being that searches this escape, this mad hunt for enlightenment tells me to suck it up. People die every second. People are dying on the streets from starvation brought on by poverty whilst others are necking pills that will send them into eternal slumber, too tired to keep on living. In one part of the world there are those fighting for life, in another there are those fighting to escape it.

The world is fucked up.

So, maybe enlightenment wasn’t what I was looking for. I mean what would enlightenment mean? Would I find the answers to life’s questions? Would I find a way to stop wars and end world poverty? You find enlightenment then what? You discover why the world exists and why we’ve been put on it for what purpose? To die in peace? No, because who knows what’s next? Will we just stop existing, like turning off the TV or is there something more, like switching channels?  

Who knows, man?

I think what humans really want is something other than enlightenment. We want to be free. What of exactly? Well, that varies. In general, however, of the shackles that bind us. The bonds that ground us and keep us bound to this earth. To cut those bonds is to be free, but this comes at a price as we lose the things worth living for. We are left to simply drift into the endless void.

So, where does this leave us?

We want freedom yet fear the uncertainty that comes with it. Uncertainty could lead to death. When we master the fear of death, maybe we can be free.

Right now, I stand at its borders.

A strange rush comes with this.

Effectively, Death is always lurking at our shoulders. His cold fingers trace their way down our spine from time to time, sending shivers through our bodies. His breath cold on our necks making the hairs on our arms stand on end. When our eyes grow heavy with sleep and we suddenly feel ourselves falling, jolting our bodies awake before drifting off again, that is Death testing us. Death likes to check in every now and again.

Normally Death is lurking in the background out of sight, shrouded by the shadows which fall in corners or which lie beneath trees until his hand stretches upwards to touch their green leaves, turning them to deep ambers and reds before letting them fall to the ground, brown and crisp.

However, now I am above Death. I look down on Him. Below, waves crash against rocks, the heavy whoosh is Death cooing, mocking me. The grey skies have turned the waters dark and uninviting. I watch the waves move back and forth in a somewhat gentle motion until rising up high and unfurling in a torrent against the cliff side, white salt spray raining upwards.

When I was a child I never liked the ocean. I found it daunting. I was scared that it would drag me away and I would be lost. It wasn’t the thought of drowning that scared me. The ocean was huge, unending and filled with mystery. The total vastness of the ocean is what terrified me. So vast it almost made me feel claustrophobic, like there was a weight on my chest. I felt so small stood on the ocean’s shore, insignificant.

I take a drag on my cigarette. I breathe in deeply and sigh the smoke out of my mouth and watch it drift away in the breeze. Oh, sweet nicotine, my one vice. I realize I’m smoking outdoors and there are no bins nearby to chuck my butt in. Now, I’m not the type of person to go flicking fag ends into the sea, after all cigarette butts are a huge pollutant and we don’t want to upset Mother Nature unnecessarily. Humans have done enough as it is. Instead, I stub the end out on the sole of my boot and flick the end over my shoulder. Out of sight out of mind.

I dust off my hands and take a step closer towards the cliff edge. As I look over the edge down towards the dark waves I crack my knuckles nonchalantly. Still looking down I remove my denim jacket and drop it to my side. I then unlace my boots and kick them to the other side. I am left standing in a pair of blue skinny jeans and a white tank top. I wonder whether to remove them as well and decide against it. Death could be a perv.

The view is dizzying, but I know it will be over soon. I suck in my breath, close my eyes and taking a step I allow myself to fall from the cliff’s edge. My stomach drops. I slip away, free falling faster than I could have imagined. For a moment I am falling, the air whips my skin and then suddenly my body is consumed. The shock of the cold forces my eyes open.

I float weightlessly in this dark chasm. The waves carry my body as I stare up towards the top of the water which glistens with silver sparkles. The darkness is expanse and I struggle to catch my bearings. Yet, where was there for me to go? Until my body hits something hard and pain shoots through my body and I realise the waves have carried me back towards the bottom of the cliff. My body spirals and the air is knocked out of my chest. Salt water fills my mouth, burning my throat before filling my lungs. I can no longer breathe. A strange sensation flutters through my chest. Not panic, nor fear.

My already darkened vision begins to blur, yet before my eyes close the shadows of the waves appear to blacken and shift in new motions like the shadow of the Reaper’s cape. My body feels cold. Bubbles escape from my mouth and drift upwards, carrying my final breaths with them.

I close my eyes and my world turns to black.

Hello, Death.

  *

  My body is screaming. I groan in pain. Waves wash against my feet and my mouth tastes like the ocean. I cough and water spills from between my lips. I roll onto my left side and spit out the water that is left in my mouth, dribbling onto the wet sand. I open my burning eyes. I watch the excess water soak and bubble into the sand before a wave washes in and then out again, pulling grains of sand in tiny streams. Slowly my thoughts come together and I realise I am lying on the beach with burning insides and what feels like a dislocated shoulder.

I am wet, cold and in pain. I am, however, not dead.

With my left hand I push myself up and grimace as pain shoots through me. My right arm hangs limply at my side. Shit. That shoulder won’t be popping back into place by itself anytime soon. Knowing what’s coming I grit my teeth. Sitting up in the wet sand, with my left arm I clutch my black and bloody right and grit my teeth hard, my neck and jaw straining. I brace myself before forcing my shoulder back into place. The sound of my bones and joints popping against each other makes my eyes roll back and I throw up runny liquid and more salt water to my side which is soon washed away. I cough and splutter before easing myself slowly down flat onto my back. As well as the dislocation it feels like two of my ribs are broken, but there is not much I can do about them.

I stare up at the grey sky. It is still light and the sun is hidden by clouds. I can’t have been out that long. Steadily I turn my head to my right. In the distance I can see the cliff from which I jumped off of. I have been washed some distance down the beach and realise it will take me some time to make it back up to the cliff top to retrieve my belongings, especially in my current state.

My bones continue to crack and pop as they shift back into place, slowly fusing themselves back together. I stretch my arms over head and my body cracks like a glow stick- it’s painful, but it is beginning to slowly subside. I take a couple of moments before sitting up again, legs still spread out in front of me. My hair is soaked and hangs over my face in sandy waves. I pat my pockets and hear a concerning squelch from my soaked though jeans. From my pocket I pull out the remnants of a box of cigarettes. I dangle the soggy mess despairingly before dropping them onto the sand between my legs. I really needed to smoke.

Pressing my palms into the soft sand I push myself up to standing, first bending over, supporting myself with my hands on my thighs and then standing up straight, hands on my hips, breathing heavily. Waves continue to wash in as the tide approaches. I squint and grimace as I look around the beach to see that it is still deserted. Not many people head this far down the coastline, especially in this weather. I look over towards the cliff where my boots and jacket wait for me.

I begin to stumble my way back towards the cliff, carrying my aching body. I feel light, as though I am not truly here- I am still floating somewhere, but the pain weighs by body down, making me clumsy. My repairing arm aches and burns and I clutch it to my side. The sea breeze blows my hair across my face and I try to knock it away but it is no use. I carry on stumbling with my vision obscured by damp curls. As if walking on sand wasn’t hard enough already. I hate sand, the way it moves underfoot making us unsteady, each step needing added force behind it.

When I finally reach the top of the cliff again I’m out of breath, but the pain in my body has dulled to a numb ache. All my belongings are still on the ground where I had left them. I go to my jacket first, searching my pockets I find a second packet of fags and a lighter, immediately pulling a single cigarette out and placing it between my lips. I flick my lighter frantically until a small flame appears and lights up the end. I hold the fag between my fingers and inhale deeply. There’s something so satisfying about that first inhalation and not just because it instantly satiates the nicotine need, but there’s something oddly attractive about it. Before I took up smoking I would huddle close to smokers, slyly breathing in their second hand smoke, watching their hands and their lips. Someone once told me that smoking wasn’t attractive. However, I feel like this only applies to a certain type of person, or at least there exists a certain type of person who can make smoking look attractive. In my mind, I hope I am one of those people.

I let my cigarette hang from my mouth, puffing smoke. The sky has turned a soft candyfloss pink, it’s getting late. Why can’t I just set with the sun over the horizon?

My clothes are still slightly damp but the walk and the air has dried them of slightly. I brush some of the sand off my body before pulling my jacket on. My socks are still covered, so I pull them off with a stretchy squelching and bundle them up into my pocket before pulling on my boots. I check over the rest of my clothes for blood- it’s there, soaked in and salty. Holding my cigarette out I rub my eyes, flick some ash, take a puff. What does it matter? There’s no one around to judge. Well, not yet anyway.

I feel like I should head home, tired from all the excitement.

(This is a short story I wrote. Please do not share elsewhere. Also, hi thank you if you made it this far.)

[bomberqueen17]

shopping

so i am at an intersection of being fucking insane with regards to no longer knowing how to reconcile needs and wants with the spending of money, like a fundamentally broken consumption machine is what i am here, and then you intersect that with the traditional holiday gift-giving season, and my family being generally chill but sort of thoughtlessly so about the concept of gift-giving and obligations in general, and I am currently completely enmeshed in a maybe-i’m-fine stare of paralysis where I keep having Gift Ideas and looking at Gift Idea Websites and putting things maybe into Shopping Carts but also just not actually doing that, and I keep having ideas of things I Ought To Make but that’s tied up in the paralysis of well I have to spend 40 hours a week working plus another ten to twelve hours a week cooking (more?) plus six or seven hours a week working out and people are expected to have leisure but how do you do that and anyway where do I start a project that’s something I haven’t done before? I stand around in my basement and look at the craft materials I have and then I walk away.

Anyhow. I don’t have any executive function of any kind. (I mean, this is fundamentally who I am, as a person; we can blame the fantastic six-month wait I had to be able to get unemployment earlier this year because of a one-digit transposition on a piece of paper six years ago, or we can just accept that this is how God made me, probably, and let the SSA and DOL entirely off the hook.)

But I DID buy my niece a skate helmet. I have purchased one (1) thing so far, for Christmas.

I’m not seeing anyone for the holiday except possibly my mother-not-in-law who as every year has refused to give us a gift list and for whom none of us has any ideas.

Oh I have a stocking stuffer-type gift for Farmsister, who I am also not seeing. (Because Dude found it, because she commented favorably on some thing he owns and he was like “ah! I will buy her one of those as well!” so we did.)

It’s fine, really? Only I don’t know how to be anything else than what I am.

Also I keep seeing things that I want, but the entire concept of wanting things has become completely divorced in my head from the concept of actually acquiring things. I have been wanting a new pair of non-snow-but-winter boots for three years now and have sixteen tabs open in Zappo’s, and the ones I’m wearing have lost all the faux-leather-wrapping from the low heels and are starting to have the soles come detached.

I bought glue, instead, because I got the skate helmet on Amazon (easiest if she needs to return it because I got the wrong one or someone else already bought one) and they have glue there too, so.

Sigh. I finished up the film transfer orders at work early so I don’t have to go in early today and that meant I could take a nap instead of working out yesterday afternoon so when I woke up early this morning I worked out then instead, but now I’m ready to go in and it’s the same time I usually do. I’m forcing myself to sit here and drink coffee and will go in closer to normal time because there is no reason to go on.

OH Non-Responsive Guy is back to work today but we never did hear the results from his covid test. Since he was the only person directly in contact with the infected kid. Who also is coming back, tomorrow, because it’s been three weeks and he’s now tested negative. So i guess really it doesn’t matter?

The NYT has an interactive thing where you can find out how urgently you should be in line for the vaccine and Dude filled it out and got “dead fucking last” which is actually reasonable and he was like yes, that is fine, I have the most work-from-home-able existence of anyone on this earth, I just want to do my part. Which was my point as well. I just want to do my part. I’m afraid of the disease, of course, but what I’m terrified of, what I lose sleep over, is that I would give it to someone. That’s what I most urgently don’t want. Please, vaccinate the healthcare workers, the hospital janitors, the bus drivers, the postal workers, the grocery store clerks-- the people keeping us fed and alive and safe and keeping the infrastructure running and whatnot.

You know they’re going to give it to lawyers and stockbrokers first though. You just know it! And then they’re going to insist restaurants be open, even though you know bartenders will get it last. It’s going to become a pageant of serving the wealthy, just like everything else.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Fourteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of abuse. Stay safe!]

"This would be so much easier if you would just comply , Vega." Maxson sneered.

  "How the fuck else am I supposed to comply? Danse never told me he was a synth, Maxson!" Backhand protested, glaring up at the young man as best as she could with his boot pinning her head to the floor. 

  Across from her in the brig Brandis floundered against his shackles, the older paladin clearly furious but unable to articulate around his gag. 

  Maxson ignored him, leaning down and applying more pressure to the side of Vega's head. "My patience is growing thin , Vega. I refuse to believe that he did not confide in you. You're the only person who's been in and out of the Institute, no doubt keeping that traitor apprised of orders from the masterminds of his true agenda."

  "After everything that Danse has been through, I can't even believe that you would think he's a threat to the Brotherhood! Whether he's a synth or not!" Backhand retorted hotly. "So what if he is one? Synths can be rescued , wiped, reprogrammed with new identities. They aren't all infiltrating units, some of them are-"

  Maxson hauled her to her feet, shoving her back against the wall. The rivets of the brig ground through her Vault suit, making Vega grunt in pain. "You certainly have a lot to say in the defense of synths, Vega." He hissed, taking a fistful of her hair and forcing her to look at him.

  At the tearing sensation on her scalp, two hundred-plus years abruptly melted away for Backhand. She was suddenly in the pristine kitchen of their first apartment and Nate , shouting as loudly as any drill sergeant, throwing his briefcase in frustration, grabbing her neck and dragging her--

  No . She had fought back then and she could fight back now. Backhand jerked her head to the side, not caring whether she lost a handful or two of her hair. "Get your fucking hands off of me!" She snapped, and Maxson's gloved fingers slammed shut around her throat.

  "You would disobey the elder of the Brotherhood?" Maxson asked, a sinister smile twisting his mouth as Vega choked for breath. "I think your insubordination deserves repayment in kind."

  ...

  When Danse awoke, he was incredibly disoriented. His hands clenched tight into the blanket that covered him as he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, feeling his breathing stutter as he tried to remember what the hell had happened.

  Haylen . The message the scribe had given him. Confusion. Terror. Panic . Crushing it all down, I am a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel I have sworn an oath protect sisters brothers skills weapons body -- 

  Finding the munitions. Elizabeth Knight Vega damn it departing to report back to Maxson, the paladin knowing almost definitively that she had no idea about what he was, about the hideous truth of his existence. Her giving him her lucky bandanna, wrapping it around his neck like a scarf, touch light and tender. 

  Fleeing the Sentinel site, abandoning his armor, the deathclaw, the walk of shame that culminated in...God, was he really a synth?   

  M7-97 .

  A synth . With a sinking feeling in his gut, Danse cast his mind back over his first memories yet again, growing up alone in the Capital Wasteland …

  If he wasn't a synth, surely he would have something more concrete than a hazy record of empty locations? Something tangible, maybe an encounter with a friendly trader or a scuffle with some other children, something . But nothing seemed solid until he got to the memories of opening his junk stand in Rivet City. Eerily similar to what Sturges had mentioned. At that point he had been an adult for several years, or at least he believed he was--

  God, his head was pounding . He was so confused. Danse pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying in vain to rub the tension away. 

  "Oh, you're awake! Good." 

  Danse jerked his hands down, shoving himself half-upright on his elbows. His confusion only intensified when he realized that it was Mrs. O'Brian who was currently hovering in the partially-intact doorway, the woman pointedly keeping her distance. 

  "Wasn't sure how fighty you'd be when you woke up." She said by way of explanation, "you looked like you'd been through hell."

  "Where am I?" Danse rasped. 

  "At the O'Brian homestead, just a little ways south of that Oberland settlement. How do you feel?" She queried.

  "I…" Danse paused, taking a mental inventory. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else. His face and shoulders were, admittedly, worse. Bandages pulled at his shoulders, the fabric wrapped over and under his arms. "I'm in pain, but the levels are manageable." He muttered, struggling to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "I have to-"

  "Whoa whoa, hold it! I did a lot of work getting you all fixed up, you're absolutely not movin'!" Mrs. O'Brian scolded him, waving her hands in front of her like Danse was a rampaging brahmin. "You are going to sit and heal, so help me God, if I have to strap you down to do it!"

  "Citizen, you don't understand . Having me here puts you in danger." Danse's brain finally caught up with the rest of him as he remembered, "you have children , a family, innocents--I shouldn't be here." He said in a panic, trying to stand again.

  M7-97 .

  Mrs. O'Brian scoffed, stomping over to the bed and giving Danse a careful shove in the middle of his chest. He was immediately knocked prone, his back hitting the mattress hard enough to make him grunt. "Don't give me that shit, Mr. Paladin. You're all kinds of banged up and you're not goin' anywhere ." She instructed him firmly. "Trouble might have been followin' you before, but you've already been out for two days and we haven't received any visitors."

  Danse blinked dully up at her. Two days . His stomach growled abruptly, hunger pangs digging in on top of everything else.

  "Now, you just sit tight and I'll get you some noodle soup, alright?" She patted his arm calmly, a fair contrast between her previous attitude. "If trouble comes, then trouble comes. Until then, we'll focus on getting you back to your old self."

  He was almost too weak to move, aside from adrenaline-fueled bursts. Danse felt anxious, skittish, frantic . What the hell was he going to do?

  He had to leave. But where could he go? He could return to the Capital Wasteland. Or maybe he should head north instead, run to the untouched expanses of Maine or the mountains of Vermont. 

  He had to leave. He couldn't stay here.

  M7-97 .

  He should be dead.

  "Mrs. O'Brian," He began carefully when she returned with the soup. "You don't grasp the danger of this situation. I'm a s…" His voice hitched. "A...a synth ." Danse finally forced the word out, speaking it aloud and solidifying it as reality. His empty stomach pitched violently.

  "That's nice. You can just call me Katie." The woman replied absently, patting his hand. "Should we get in touch with the Railroad?"

  " What? " Danse asked incredulously. " How can you be so nonchalant about this? I should be dead , I'm a monstrosity -"

  "Mr. Paladin, what you are right now is a hungry and scared man. So hush up and eat your soup." Katie interrupted Danse gearing himself into an elaborate diatribe. "If you were supposed to be dead, you would be." Her eyes were almost as green as Brandis', and she narrowed them at him. "I don't doubt that if you could have done the job yourself, you would have. And since you haven't ," she continued pointedly, "I'm going to assume you won't."

  Danse mulled over her words as he slowly consumed the soup, more water than broth and noodles. She was right, he realized. He was too afraid to end himself, and too cowardly to wait to be destroyed. 

  M7-97 .

  What the hell was he going to do?

  …

  He tried to slip away the following night, but his attempt was foiled by Mr. O'Brian's watchful eye. That and the fact that he was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Hell, just tying his boots up had almost made him pass out. He knew deep down that it was idiotic to attempt to leave while he was in such a sorry state, but he kept imagining the sound of vertibirds drawing near and the fear that the O'Brians could be in danger because of him kept him from getting any meaningful rest.

  The older man startled Danse out of his skin when he cleared his throat from his shadowed spot beside the door. "I had a feelin' you might try somethin' dumb like this." He remarked, shaking his head while Danse cast wildly around for a way to explain his current ambulation. "Have a seat, big fella'."

  "I can't stay, Mr. O'Brian. If the Brotherhood-" the paladin began desperately.

  "Call me Tom, Danse. I'm of the impression that we're in this together now. If trouble finds you, then it finds you." Mr. O'Brian interrupted him, inadvertently echoing his wife's sentiments. "Personally, if it was me in a jam, I'd much rather I was surrounded by people that care about me when trouble comes callin'."

  "I'm trying to leave so that you don't need to get involved-"

  "No, you're tryin' to leave because you're hellbent on runnin' from this problem." Tom's expression was sharp in the warm glow from the lantern. Danse had no idea whether Mrs. O'Brian had told her husband that their unanticipated guest was a synthetic freak . "You wanna' get the hell out of here, maybe go back to the Capital Wasteland and pretend like nothin' happened. But the weight of the truth is heavier than any sin, Mr. Danse. You'll figure that out. I hope for your sake it's sooner rather than later."

  "Mr. O'Brian, I...I don't know what to do ." Danse admitted softly, sinking down into the rickety chair beside the other man in defeat and putting his head in his hands. Everything ached. 

  "I can tell, son. You're all tangled up like Katie's balls of yarn. I don't have the answers for you. All I know is that runnin' away only prolongs the trouble." Mr. O'Brian rose slowly, muttering about his old knees. He clapped a hand on Danse's shoulder in passing. "The O'Brian family doesn't give a flying fuck one way or another about whether you're a synth, got it? And if anyone else in the Commonwealth has any sense left in 'em, they'd be wise to follow suit."

  Tom left him to think beside the door, and Danse was there until sunup the following morning.

  ...

  The O'Brians homestead consisted of an acre or so of land and an old, half-collapsed commercial brick building just outside of Forest Grove Marsh. Danse had apparently crash landed on their proverbial doorstep that fateful morning, though he didn't remember much after he had passed out.

  Tom and Katie had eight children, four sons and four daughters of varying ages. They ranged from the eldest, a boy named Eamon who was nineteen, to the youngest, a tiny girl named Siusan who was almost a year old. Between them was Thomas Junior (known strictly as Teej), then came the triplets of Connor, Matthew and Bridget, and the twins Kathleen and Fionnula.

  Danse had never had such a difficult time remembering names, consistently stumbling over Fionnula while the three-year old patiently coached him. 

  It didn't help that Connor and Matthew looked exactly alike, as did Kathleen and Fionnula. Bridget at least wore her hair longer than her identical brothers, so that gave Danse a fighting chance amongst the triplets. 

  Eamon was tall and lanky like his mother, while 'Teej' was on the stockier side like his father. All of the children were freckled and sported either blue-black or dark brown locks, further adding to Danse's predicament. 

  As the days turned into weeks and the paladin slowly regained his health, he found himself automatically settling into the schedule of the O'Brian family. It was comforting to have a routine. Maybe that was the military in him. Rise before daybreak, milk the brahmin, gather the laundry, weed the crops…

  His nose mercifully healed as good as new. No visible damage remained aside from a small mark at the peak of the bridge, right between his eyes. His shoulders were much the same, functional even though they were now graced with long, jagged lines of scar tissue from where the power armor frame had collapsed. Danse knew he was incredibly lucky to have escaped from a deathclaw so unscathed. 

  Tom managed to find a few old pairs of jeans that would fit Danse somewhat after the paladin expressed his concern at his threadbare jumpsuit. "From my younger days!" The older man claimed, tugging Katie close and planting a kiss on her cheek. "Back when I had to stay in shape so that my beautiful bride wouldn't grow tired of me."

  Katie chuckled, swatting Tom's arm. "If you thought a few extra pounds would scare me off, you don't know me very well." She teased. 

  Clad in blue jeans and a tattered assortment of too-small hand-me-down flannel shirts, Danse almost fit in. Almost. He still held himself a bit too rigid to really get away with assimilation, but Katie assured him he at least looked the part. He was still certain to make himself scarce whenever company came calling, not wanting to bring trouble to the O'Brians.

  He refused to be deadweight to the already-struggling family however, and as he was not exactly gifted in the areas of agriculture and animal husbandry, the paladin quickly fell back on one of the many practical skills he possessed. 

  Hunting.

  Only armed with his service pistol now, the man was up well before dawn on the days he stalked prey. He avoided the roads as much as possible, sticking to the brush. The last thing he wanted was to draw any attention to himself and, in turn, the family fostering him. Occasionally he was accompanied by Teej or Tom, both senior and junior relatively skilled hunters in their own right. Through their combined efforts Danse was able to contribute a bit more protein to the large family's diet, while simultaneously balming the concerns that he had about being a burden.

  Eamon was a quiet, peaceable young man and helped Katie manage the younger children while Tom was away. He was adept at settling squabbles and redistributing toys to keep the peace. Danse couldn't help but picture him becoming a knight and sponsoring countless fledgling initiates. 

  He then felt idiotic for still thinking about young people and children in the Brotherhood way, as if they were all destined to be military assets thrown at the next enemy. Danse slowly forced himself to recalibrate, doing his damnedest to imagine a world where a gentle man could still have a future. Maybe Eamon would be a teacher, or a merchant in tandem with his mother's wares. 

  Matthew and Bridget were all but attached at the hip, the two of them dogging Danse's footsteps and peppering him with questions when he was in the yard or weeding. The paladin had taken over a ramshackle trailer that sat across the road from the homestead as 'his', and the two children were always eager to visit as soon as he sat down on the front step in the mornings with his cup of coffee. Connor was a little more shy, hanging back from his outspoken siblings. 

  Bridget was the first one to demand that Danse show her how to shoot. "Papa won't. He says I have to be twelve." She huffed. "But I'm almost twelve, and that's like being twelve."

  "I'm sorry, little one. I can't go against his orders." Danse tried to soften the blow by asking her to teach him how to do something, which was how the paladin found himself learning how to make a poppet out of dried corn husks. Not exactly a practical skill, but he supposed he could do with a few less conventional lessons. 

  Connor actually approached him while he was being instructed, the normally-timid boy offering him a few pointers to make the task a little less challenging. "I'm not good at braidin' like Brigey, so I gotta' hold the ends real tight." He mumbled, tiny hands miles more deft than Danse's had ever been pushing and pulling his fingers to get the arms of the doll tucked properly.

  Bridget praised Danse just like her mother praised her when she accomplished something, and the paladin got a little misty at the notion that his own tendencies towards praise while he was in the Brotherhood might have made a few of the aspirants more inclined to be encouraging to their fellow soldiers. 

  It was hysterical to be supported by a child for his proverbial 'field work', but the way Bridget's little brow furrowed sternly told Danse that she was deadly serious and he should take her as such. 

  "You are very patient for someone your age." Danse commented, holding up his latest attempt for her inspection. 

  "We gotta' work together, Mr. Danse. Mama says I'm the strong one, Matt's the brave one and Connor's the smart one." She replied, squinting at the length of husk he had tied around the body of his little creation. "Almost! You're getting better and better." The thin girl clapped her hands like she was applauding him and Danse couldn't help his sad smile.

  "Show me again, please?" He requested.

  …

  Vega had no idea how many days it had been. 

  After Rhys had brought Brandis' evening meal (and snuck Vega something in the process), the knight had whispered that Maxson seemed to be waiting for something when it came to dealing with the two 'dissenters' in the brig. 

  "Not sure if he's trying to use her to draw the Institute into attacking us directly? I just don't get it." Rhys swallowed hard, glancing over his shoulder before continuing, "According to our field reports, Danse is dead. They bagged him out in the Sea and incinerated his body."

  Backhand had been expecting this news, but hearing it aloud felt like a kick to the stomach. She sobbed out once before she could help it, drawing Rhys' attention back to her. 

  " Fuck , Vega, I'm so sorry." The knight apologized tremulously. "He sponsored Haylen and I, he was fucking selfless and loyal to the cause. I don't...God, I can't believe he's gone."

  "Rhys, this cannot be allowed to continue." Brandis declared, "we are being held without trial, without evidence! Maxson has no right to-"

  "Anyone who questions his judgement is threatened with the same treatment Vega is getting." Rhys interjected dully. "None of us know what the hell to do , Brandis. The consensus is that we need to forcibly eject him, but no one person seems to have the balls to do it." The knight tipped his head forward in shame. "Not even me. If something happens to me, I don't know what might become of Haylen and I...I can't risk it. I'm sorry, Brandis. And Vega, you don't deserve this shit."

  "Don't apologize, son. I'll...I'll figure out something." Brandis replied sadly, letting the knight re-shackle him as loud footsteps heralded Maxson's approach to the brig.

  "Out of the cell, Knight Rhys." The elder ordered sharply, his voice sending a new frisson of scalding fury through Backhand's battered body. 

  He killed Danse .

  "Maxson, how long do you plan to stand on ceremony like this?" Brandis queried as Rhys obediently departed. "This is not justice! "

  "I see the knight forgot to gag you again." Maxson shrugged. "No matter. Nothing that you say will have any real impact." He tugged open the cell door and sauntered in, standing over Vega's crumpled body. "We slaughtered that abomination out in the Glowing Sea." Maxson chuckled in a self-satisfied manner. "It thought it could run from us."

  Backhand squeezed her eyes shut tight against the hot wave of tears that threatened to spill over, forcing herself to focus on the rage instead. "You're a real prick, Maxson." She rasped.

  Maxson caught her arm and roughly yanked her upright from the spot where she had collapsed previously, gripping her shoulders in a pantomime of a caring embrace. "We incinerated it and cast its ashes to the wind." The young man answered smugly, those cold blue eyes boring into her own when she mustered up the strength to raise her head.

  " You ," Vega seethed through her teeth at the elder of the Brotherhood, "were a fuckin' god to Danse, know that? You could do no wrong in his eyes. And you killed him ." The reality of it hadn't wholly set in for her yet and she clung to the rage she felt, nurturing it into a grudge in her chest. "But you're not a god at all, are you Arthur? You're just a scared little brat who got too much power too soon." She spat.

  Maxson ground his teeth, grabbing her by the throat yet again and slamming her back against the bars of the gate. "Keep testing my patience, Vega, and we'll see who the scared one is!" He roared in threat as she struggled weakly in his grip.

  ...

  The celebration dinner for Siusan's first birthday was surprisingly elaborate. The entire house was decorated with garlands of hubflower and ash blossom, painstakingly woven together by Matt and Connor. Katie had been baking with Eamon and Kathleen for the past two days, stockpiling a variety of sweet treats for the youngest family member's fête. 

  Danse, for his part, had done his best to stay out from underfoot. He helped Tom move several of the old tables together, and obediently smoothed the wrinkles out of the faded purple tablecloth that Katie asked him to cover the tables with. 

  Vega never even got to have this with her son , he thought somberly. No birthdays, no celebrations...nothing. First the divorce and then the war, one right after the other . 

  It was a saddening topic to think about and Danse found himself distracted by it. The fact that she had been so thoroughly robbed of raising her child, despite her oft-voiced trepidation of whether she was a good parent...

  Well, there was nothing he could do about it, was there?

  That night Siusan sat on her mother's lap at the table, staring wide-eyed at the child-sized mutfruit pie that was just out of her reach while everyone in the family sang her Happy Birthday .

  Danse hung back in the doorway, feeling a little awkward until Katie urged him in. Fionnula immediately clamored that Danse had to sit next to her. Sandwiched between Kathleen  and Fionnula, Danse slowly relaxed enough to smile and even laugh once or twice, his own attitude affected by the collective high spirits of the O'Brians. It reminded him of being at Sanctuary and with a melancholic pang, he recalled the simple meal he had shared with Elizabeth and her makeshift 'family'. 

  Not a day passed that he didn't think about her. Her smile, her voice, the pleased flush she got when he praised her performance in the field, her selfless nature... 

  Danse had convinced himself that she was better off without him, though. The Brotherhood would allow her to achieve her future goals of totally breaching the Institute's defenses, hopefully letting her enact that master plan of freeing any synths that wished to be freed. He just prayed that the Brotherhood wouldn't override her and decide to wholly eradicate the Institute instead. 

  Maybe once he got himself far away from the Commonwealth, he could send her a message. Something simple that wouldn't compromise her position. Would she even care, though?

  Danse, lost in thought about Elizabeth once again, didn't notice the young man looming in the front doorway for several minutes. Not until Tom called, "Garvey! You're just in time for pie, pull up a chair!"

  Preston removed his hat politely and Danse felt his heart plummet to his boots. "Evening, Thomas. Katie. I'm afraid this isn't a social call." Lieutenant Garvey said calmly. "I'd like to speak with you outside, Paladin." His eyes were flinty despite his mild tone. Dogmeat was at his heel, the large German shepherd's ears flat against his skull.

  Danse surprised himself by nodding, the paladin rising from the table with a murmured apology. "I'll return shortly." He promised Matthew, the little boy looking like he might pitch a fuss. Danse then followed Preston outside, barely resisting the urge to jam his hands into his pockets and hunch his shoulders like a squire waiting to be scolded.

  What he didn't expect was Preston's next sentence. "Alright, where the hell is she?"

  Danse blinked at the other man, suddenly confused and off-balance. "I don't understand." He said finally.

  Preston huffed angrily, "The general , Danse! She's been missing for weeks now, ever since you and your little tin soldiers were all getting prepped for heading to the Sea!" 

  Danse was sure all the color had drained out of his face. Was he going to pass out? Did something like him even have the ability to pass out? No, no, he had been unconscious before. But did that count as actual unconsciousness-

  He grabbed the side of the building to steady himself, his voice shaking when he pleaded with Preston to explain. Dogmeat whined, licking at Danse's hand.

  "How the hell do you not know?! She went missing on your watch!" Garvey protested. "She hasn't been seen at all, Danse. Not at any settlements, not around the airport... nothing . It's been a big fat radio silence."

  "Oh my God." Danse's voice was frail. 

  "You...you really didn't know, did you?" Preston asked incredulously. "What are you even doing out here anyways? Shouldn't you be at the airport with the rest of your troops? I thought Dogmeat's nose had busted when he led me here ." 

  Danse opened his mouth, then hesitated. The reality of being a synth was something he was still trying to come to terms with, but lying to Garvey would no doubt make everything worse. "Lieutenant Garvey, I must confide in you." He fixed his attention firmly on Preston's boots. "Some information was discovered after the first journey into the Institute. Something pertaining to me. I of course, was not made privy to such information before we had departed for the Glowing Sea, but another individual of the Brotherhood managed to tip me off in time. When last I saw Vega, she was returning to Waypoint Echo on foot per the elder's orders. After we were separated, I...I was fired upon." He said gruffly, the words filling him with a morose sensation.

  "Whoa, wait a minute. Danse are you saying you're a-" Preston lowered his voice, "are you saying you're a synth? " His heart hammering in his throat, the paladin raised his eyes to Garvey's and nodded wordlessly. "So what happened in the Sea, then?"

  "We reached our target and cleared the area without incident. She was under orders directly from Elder Maxson to report back immediately once the area was secured. I was tasked with guarding the munitions. I was attacked by my own troops, so...I fled." Danse confessed. 

  " Damn . That is...that's a lot , Danse. She had to report straight back?"

  Danse nodded. "Correct. Maxson was very firm on that."

  "You don't think your elder guy would have...I dunno', locked her up or something?" Preston suggested, pointing out, "You disappearing probably looked pretty bad. She'd be a suspect."

  The paladin swallowed hard, this new realization crushing down on him. "I had not considered the ramifications my sponsorship would impose upon her." He rasped. " God , Garvey, I didn't think...I didn't...I thought I was doing the right thing. Hell, I should have let myself be slain. I'm an abomination , I'm everything that I signed up to eradicate. Of course they would--God, I'm so sorry, if they suspect her, I..." His thoughts were a tangled mess, loping this way and that.

  "Don't be sorry yet." Preston grumbled. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Danse? She's the only way into the Institute. I can't just let her cool her heels on that fancy balloon, not when we're so close to taking the Institute down!"

  "If I had my armor, I might be able to sneak into the airport. But I don't." Danse said unhappily, burying his fingers in the thick ruff Dogmeat sported. "If I go anywhere near there without some sort of protection, they'll just gun me down. Kill on sight."

  "Now's not the time to consider a sweeping policy reform, unfortunately. If we got you a suit…" Preston trailed off, then changed the subject. "Pack whatever you have. You're coming with me."

  "Right now?" Danse asked. 

  " Yes , right now!" Preston retorted sharply. "The hell is wrong with you, man?"

  "I just...I'll need to say goodbye, that's all." Danse felt immensely awkward, but he pressed on, "The O'Brians have been extremely kind to me during my prolonged stay in their residence."

  "Oh. Oh . Okay, yeah. Go ahead. But make it quick!" Garvey blustered, jamming his hat down a little.

  Danse crept back into the O'Brian family dwelling, his footfalls muffled by a rousing rendition of The Ants Go Marching that Siusan was enthusiastically enjoying. This struck Danse as odd, seeing as how the only ants he had ever seen were the size of stray dogs. And why on earth would ants trouble themselves about the rain? Most of the irradiated insects seemed to love it.

  He managed to catch Tom's attention and pull him off to the side, explaining in low tones what was happening.

  Tom surprised him by punching Danse lightly in the chest. "I'm shocked it took you this long to get your head straight." The older man chuckled. "Go get her, Danse. Paladin Danse."

  ...

  The trek to the Castle, or rather Fort Independence, took almost six hours. Preston avoided a majority of the destroyed roads, the both of them tensing up every time they heard the whirring blades of a vertibird approach. 

  "They shouldn't be able to see us without using the searchlights." Danse informed Preston as Dogmeat flitted behind the supports of a ruined overpass. "They have no methods of thermal detection."

  "I'm still not taking any chances." Preston grumbled. " I've got people counting on me, Danse." Danse fell silent at that, just following after the Minuteman and keeping his mouth shut. 

  I've got people counting on me .

  Once upon a time, that had been Danse. An example to his brothers and sisters, the pride of the Brotherhood. Now, he skulked through the darkness like a fugitive. A traitor to his cause. A liar, by omission or by ignorance. A fraud . 

  Danse wiped at his eyes, frustrated with his own weakness. How the hell was he such an emotional wreck? He was a machine for God's sake. It was hardly fair that everything in him was screaming that he was human when he had already been backhanded with the empirical evidence to the contrary.

  M7-97 .

  He gritted his teeth, exhaling through his nose. He didn't have the luxury of contemplating his humanity at this point in time. Maybe someday, once everything had sunk in, he would be able to examine himself from a critical stance. But for the moment, it needed to be compartmentalized. 

  "If I cannot reacquire the general," he began cautiously, "perhaps I can still be of service. If I am a synth, maybe there's a way for me to…" A lump rose in his throat. "Return, I suppose? Breach their defenses accordingly?" 

  Preston hummed thoughtfully. "Vega did mention a synth reclamation department. And coursers , the guys sent out to reclaim the escapees." He shuddered, his grip tightening on his musket. "She had to put one of those bastards down to get what she needed in the first place. It was brutal. She said he almost killed her. I guess they're made for hunting synths or something?" 

  Danse felt sick to his stomach, remembering Vega talking about the courser mourning the loss of his friend. "Well, we have the option," He muttered, "should the need arise. Proctor Quinlan often said that the best edge is the unexpected one."

  The walls of the Castle solidified against the night sky and Danse caught the scent of the sea on the breeze, the smell refreshing his memory of finding Vega half-dead in the Minutemen's crumbling excuse for a fortress. It appeared that they had done extensive renovations since his last visit, however. 

  "Well well well, look what the lieutenant dragged in!" Sturges chuckled without humor from beside the outermost guard tower, his eyes uncharacteristically narrowed. Danse didn't miss the way his grip on his old rifle tightened. "You've got some explainin' to do, big fella'!" The cheer in his voice was decidedly hostile. 

  "Stand down, Sturges." Preston said wearily. "We need your help. You still got that suit you were working on?" 

  Sturges chewed on his answer for a moment before he finally nodded. "Garvey, you'd better not be suggestin' what I think you are." He gestured up at Danse with the hunting rifle. 

  "We don't have a lot of options, Sturges. He's been kicked out of the Brotherhood." Preston replied curtly. 

  Sturges did a double take. "You uh, wanna' run that by me again sir? The holiest of rollers was kicked out? What the hell did you do? " The mechanic asked Danse incredulously.

  Danse swallowed hard. "It would appear that I am...less human than I had been led to believe." He stated, trying to choose his words with care. 

  "Well, physically anyway." Garvey tacked on grudgingly. 

  Sturges' mouth curved into an 'o' as the truth dawned on him. " Ho then. That uh, explains that. Damn. Damn . But...shit. So where the hell is the general?" He muttered, as if to himself.

  "According to Danse, he's been on the run since their foray into the Glowing Sea. That was also the last contact he had with General Vega." Preston explained. 

  "I've heard about how damn wild the Brotherhood gets over synths. How the hell did you even escape?" Sturges queried, his tone suspicious.

  Danse cleared his throat. "One of the soldiers I sponsored tipped me off right before we set out into the Glowing Sea. Scribe Haylen saved my life. Originally I assumed that Vega was to be my executioner, but it turned out that she had orders from our elder to return as soon as we have verified the location." Danse paused. "We were separated and shortly thereafter, the Brotherhood attempted to end my life."

  "Just like that?" Sturges gawked. "How long you been Brotherhood, Danse? Good ten years? Fifteen? I can't even believe that shit. Pitched to the wayside on account of some fuckin' speculation!"

  "Not speculation, if Scribe Haylen's information was accurate." Danse corrected the other man. "My DNA matched the DNA of an escaped Institute asset known as M7-97."

  " Escaped , though. So you're a Railroad refurb like me, you ain't some shitbag infiltrator unit!" Sturges protested, ushering Preston and Danse further into the courtyard. "How could they just try to snuff you? Brotherhood's gone balls-deep this time."

  Danse hadn't actually thought about it like that, but he supposed it made sense. He wouldn't have been listed as escaped if he was assigned to infiltrate the ranks of the Brotherhood, that wouldn't make any sense. It was almost a relief to realize that maybe, just maybe there hadn't been some ulterior, coded motive behind him joining up with the Brotherhood. That and the fact that there wouldn't have been someone he was replacing.

  So for all intents and purposes, he was the original and only Paladin Danse. A comforting thought.

  Sturges wasn't done though. "If you're here and Vega ain't, that means your boys in armor have her. If she ain't dead, of course." The mechanic mused. "Might be that they thought she was in on your little secret and capped her instead of botherin' with interrogation."

  "I would greatly appreciate if you would not suggest that Vega is dead, Sturges." Danse's palms started to sweat, his breathing rough for a moment. Calm down, calm down .

  "Well I'd greatly fuckin' appreciate if she wasn't dead neither, big fella', but until we know for sure…" Sturges shrugged. "Anyway, to work. Got a real cherry suit here, a little pet project of mine, and if you're goin' to that airport, I imagine you'll want some protection."

  "I'll need it just to get near to the damn place at this point." Danse mumbled.

  Sturges' grin was a little less hostile this time. "I think you'll like your chances."

Part Fifteen

[rosmarinys]

behind, behind; a familiar face

sense8 au | (will reblog with a link to this on ao3 !!)

The concrete is damp and hard beneath her feet, but Dotty forces herself to stand there for a few more seconds. Her tights are soaked at the soles and she knows she’s going to regret it when she goes back inside and has to deal with it squelching on the tiles of her kitchen floor, but she’s throwing them out anyway; there are too many runs up her thighs and holes at her knees to really be considered a fashion statement at this point.

She knows when she moves she’s going to have to take them off and put them in the bin and get a new pair out of the washing basket and put them on and kiss Gran goodbye and head to work and it’s – It’s a lot. It’s too much. Her head feels like an avalanche and her shoulders tremble with the wind and she wonders how everything will look when it all comes crashing down, when her back crumbles and the bills pile up and her Gran looks at her like she doesn’t know who she is.

But right now, there’s the concrete and it sends a chill like a live-wire through her skin. And for a few seconds, she’s grounded and – Inhale.

Exhale.

Back into orbit now, and Dotty moves. Enters her house through the back door, strips her tights and tosses them into the bin, grabs another pair from the washing basket filled with clean clothes that she makes a mental note to put back into their wardrobes and dressers when she gets the chance, pulls them on before she goes into the living room and kisses Gran on the cheek who is having her supper and watching TV, smiles when Gran tells her to wear a scarf when she goes out because it’s almost winter now, grabs her bag and a scarf and leaves.

There’s a thirty-minute walk between the house Dotty and her Gran live and E20, the nightclub she works in. Or, one of the nightclubs she works in, the thought making her limbs feel heavier. There are two other clubs she works in, all so that the only night she doesn’t work is Monday, and that’s only because Dot had frowned after she’d asked about Dotty’s work schedule. Not that she can blame her Gran, really. Hearing that your only granddaughter works in a garage every weekday and works in nightclubs every week-night, including weekends, she supposes she’d frown too. There is a silver-lining though, her weekends are free during the day, so she can sleep the entire day and get up to go on a walk around the park with Gran during the afternoon before hopping back into bed, pretending that this means she’s getting enough sleep.

Tonight feels different, though, and there’s a second where Dotty forgets why. Then remembers that in a few hours it will be Friday and that means in a few hours it will be her birthday. She stares up at the E20 sign, blaring neon into the dark. (Happy birthday, indeed, she thinks. Unbidden, thoughts of tea parties and teddies come forward. Times when her birthday wasn’t celebrated by serving drinks to those already drunk and trying to dodge a sleaze who’s hitting on her, but rather with eating cake until she felt ill and staying up past her bedtime. Now all she wants is to have a bedtime.)

She’s going to turn nineteen in a few hours, and unbidden the thought of her father springs to the forefront of her mind, the thought of where he is. It’s an old box to poke that lurks at the back of her mind, and she doesn’t want to poke it, not right before a long shift when already she feels exhaustion lining her joints. But it’s hard not to when she realises that in a few hours it will be fourteen years since she last saw him.

It’s weird how she doesn’t remember the last time she saw him; it should be the thing that plays on repeat in her mind, maybe him walking out to grab something and never coming back, or him putting her to bed, those few seconds of him standing in her bedroom door, back-lit by the hallway before she never saw him again. But – nothing. She remembers grinning at him over a stack of pancakes and running around after her friends dressed as a witch because Gran said she could have a dress up party for her fifth birthday party, and then she woke up the next morning and never saw him again. (She supposes it doesn’t really matter in the end, considering he’s gone either way, but her eyes sting anyway, unbidden.)

Dotty pinches the bridge of her nose. There’s no point lingering on such things, she had tried for years, foolishly believing that if she just thought about him hard enough then he’d come back, but it never worked and by the time she turned ten she had turned to actively hating him and hoping he was dead wherever he was, never flinching when Gran spanked her for voicing such thoughts.

(The secret is that she never meant it, and would cry herself to sleep with her face buried into the soft teddy he had bought for her once, pretending she didn’t notice how Gran would pack something sweet for her lunch the next day.)

She sighs and between mentally putting a wall up between herself and all thoughts of her father and staring up at that neon sign that she feels everything tilt and before she can panic about her body finally giving out from the constant abuse she puts it through, she blinks and she’s in a ballroom, her feet are stiff in her heels and her dress tucks in at her waist before puffing out so far that she can’t let anyone within a foot of her body and she’s being spun around and around and God, Hunter is looking over, play it cool, play it cool, everything is perfect and so is he and he’s looking and this could be it, everything is -

Dotty stumbles and almost falls, clutching her stomach and feeling terrified that she’d feel tulle but it’s just her ratty, holey t-shirt. She stands, trembling, for a few seconds, wondering if she’s gone insane or having a fucking stroke or something, desperately trying to remember what the symptoms of a stroke actually are.

Someone who’s about to enter the club stops to stare at her. Probably one of her co-workers, she doesn’t mingle enough to really know any of them, not even their names. “You alright?” he calls, frowning in concern at her.

She feels her back stiffen and forces herself to stop shaking, her muscles tensing as she makes herself move and shove past her maybe-co-worker. “I’m fine,” she snaps.

He steps back to avoid being pushed by her. “Woah, just asking!” he shouts after her and she ignores him, speed-walking to her locker and jamming all her belongings into it except her apron that she ties to her waist as she heads to the bar.

Her boss, Ruby, throws her a sharp look. “You’re late,” she says, finishing up a stock take, placing her clipboard on the bar in front of her to fully focus her attention on Dotty. “We open in fifteen, you were meant to be here five minutes ago.”

“I forgot my phone at home and had to run back for it,” Dotty lies, not looking up from where she’s started to wipe down the counter, going faster to try and make up for lost time, already feeling the bitterness of the apology on her tongue but thinking about the gas bill tucked in her dresser at home that she needs to be able to afford and decides to tack on a, “Sorry.”

She hears Ruby sigh but doesn’t look up, not even when Ruby stands right next to her and she can feel her eyes boring into the side of her head. “Dotty, if everything is too much, and you need to take the night off –”

“Everything is fine,” Dotty cuts her off, forcing her voice to be even when all she wants to do is snap because she cannot lose this job, she just can’t, there's too much riding on it, on everything. “I’m fine and I’m able to work tonight and the rest of my shifts.” She still doesn’t look up and watches her hand moving in circles as if someone else is doing it. She still feels too tense but knows she won’t calm down until Ruby stops staring at her.

Ruby sighs again (She does that a lot around Dotty). “Well, happy early birthday.” She leaves before Dotty can respond, which she was not going to anyway because she’s found her throat tight all of a sudden.

After she finishes prepping for customers, they all start to trickle in and then it’s like she blinks and she’s overwhelmed, not daring to take a second to catch a breath amidst the onslaught of drinks being poured and tips accepted and cash shoved haphazardly into the register.

The hours blur along with the music and the bright lighting, until she feels weightless, drifting along, pushed along by a current of people as she spins bottles in her hands. She doesn’t feel like herself here, here is just a bass that thrums in her ribcage and bounces her head.

Then all too soon it’s over and the music cuts off as people start trickling out just how they entered and Dotty wipes down the counters again, dodging Ruby’s eye as she clocks out and steps out into the world again.

It’s four in the morning, Dotty has been nineteen for four hours and barely noticed, and she has work again in five hours.

She feels the concrete through the thin soles of her boots, flexes the tendons of her feet. Breathes.

Exhale.

And Dotty moves.

//

Louise thinks for the amount of shit women get when they like dressing up in dresses and wearing high heels for events because it makes them ‘bimbos’ or whatever, is fucking ridiculous considering how difficult it actually is. She can feel the blisters forming on her heals despite the plasters she’s wearing and the constant vigilance she has to make sure she doesn’t trip over the hem of her dress is impressive, ok, and she makes a mental note to actually just beat up the next man that implies that she’s stupid just because she likes looking pretty.

There’s a hand around her elbow and she twitches, forcing down a gut reaction because the thought of breaking someone’s nose at the ball for her own birthday would probably haunt her for years.

It’s Ben, grinning at her and only looking slightly haggard but still in a suit, like he said he would. “Surprised to see me?” he asks.

She throws her arms around his shoulders and he hugs her back even though she knows how much tulle she’s in, just how puffy it is around her waist. “Well, you said you’d get off work early but I didn’t think you could actually do it, Dad seemed angry when he assigned you whatever you were doing.” She pulls back to brush off his shoulders, marvelling at how quickly he can get a suit dirty.

Ben’s smile almost falls off of his face before he plasters it back on, back to being all charm and easy going grins that are only 60% teeth. “Yeah, well, he didn’t account for me having friends in high places.” He winks but she can tell he doesn’t want her to ask any more questions about what he was doing earlier tonight.

So, she tucks her hand into his arm and starts leisurely strolling around the ballroom, milling through the mass of people all dressed in the best clothes they all own. “So, is Callum here with you tonight?”

Ben shakes his head as he grabs some glasses of champagne, handing her one and sipping the other one himself. “That’s a no, he’s at home with Lola and Jay, and I am just desperate to get home to him – ” here, he gives a weighted look to show her his meaning, “ – so I hope you don’t mind me skipping out on you after midnight and all the appropriate happy birthdays have been said.”

Louise makes a noise of disgust and shoves his shoulder and tries not to smile while he laughs at her. “Fine, fine, you only need to be here and mingle for – ” she grabs his other hand to look at the watch on his wrist, feels his muscles twitch, just like her's, “ – a half hour! Perfectly manageable, I’m sure, you’ll be able to cope, yeah?”

“Anything for you, dear sister,” he smarms and cackles at her disgusted look as he tugs her into the centre of the dance floor with the throng of people dancing. He adjusts his grip until they’re standing in the appropriate stance for a waltz and begins dancing with her, catching her looking at him, impressed. “What? Why is everyone so surprised I know how to dance?”

“Because you’ve told all of us, multiple times, that you’d rather shoot yourself than dance,” she shoots back. “Poor Callum, how is he going to cope when he finds out you’re actually capable of dancing but have pretended you can’t, just so you don’t have to dance at your own wedding?”

“Ha ha,” Ben replies, rolling his eyes as he spins her and catches her when she spins back to him. “Fine, I have decided to change my stance to ‘I can dance, I just have decided that no one should ever do it’.”

“Well, then, why are you dancing with me?”

Ben looks away from her, taking in the glass chandelier and the floor to ceiling windows that show the view of a perfectly cut hedge maze. “Maybe I like enough to put up with it,” he replies, eventually, eyes carefully not looking directly at her.

She smiles and squeezes his hand to let him know that she understands. He looks at her and smiles back and she thinks she loves her brother almost as much as she did when she was five and he put a plaster on her skinned knee after she had fallen off of her bike.

Over Ben’s shoulder, she can see another couple and feels herself tense with anticipation when she make eye contact with the male dancer who spares her a quick smile which she returns without a second thought, feeling herself start to get flushed.

Ben twists around to see what she’s looking at and immediately starts laughing. “Oh, Jesus, do you still have a crush on Hunter Owen?”

“Shut up!” she hisses, interrupting their dance to yank him away, out of ear shot from Hunter and Ben stumbles after her, giggling away as she pushes her way through a crowd of people before they part from her.

As she marches up the stairs to get to the destination she has in mind: the balcony of one of the many bedrooms in this empty hotel (Dad definitely rented out the entire place even though it is massive, just so she could have the whole place for her party and she reminds herself to get him before it turns midnight so she can hug him and thank him by spending the first few minutes of her birthday with him), Ben continues to cackle behind her. “God I thought you got over him years ago, oh wow, this has been the best part of my night by far.”

She shoves him into the bedroom and storms over to the balcony, welcoming the cool air on her skin before she turns to Ben and crosses her arms. He strolls over to her and leans against the balcony, still looking smug. “I’ll have you know, I don’t have a crush on Hunter anymore,” she informs him.

“I see, so you dragged me all the way up here just to tell me that?” he asks, still looking like an asshole. She sniffs and doesn’t respond. “Ok, ok, it’s fine if you still like him,” he ignore her objecting and starts speaking louder, “But are you fine with liking him considering he’s a massive dick?”

“Says you,” Louise snaps.

“So, you admit he’s an asshole?” Ben shoots back.

“He’s not –” Ben raises an eyebrow. “He’s not completely an asshole. He’s nice to me.”

Ben sighs and looks at the view, bracing his forearms on the balcony. “I just think you could do better than him,” he murmurs.

Louise wants to roll her eyes and say something mean, her temper still simmering her blood, feeling like her dad for a second. She opens her mouth to, poison on her tongue but suddenly Ben isn’t there and she’s in a vehicle, looking over at the driver, mouth open to yell when she sees him swear and twist the steering wheel and she feels airborne, looking out the windshield as it comes closer to the back of another vehicle than it should before they’re spinning and her mouth is still open but she’s screaming as the sky becomes the ground becomes the sky goes up then down and her head has slammed into window next to her and he tastes blood and oh fuck –

Ben shakes her and she feels like she’s fallen fifty feet back into her massive dress and high heels and she wants to vomit but she shoves her head onto Ben’s shoulder and he wraps his arms around her for a second time that night as she tries to steady herself.

“Are you ok, what was that?” Ben asks and he sounds as worried as he does when he talks about Lexi and Callum and Jay and Lola, and isn’t that a high place to be placed by Ben, huh?

She just shakes her head and lets herself be held until her phone beeps in the hidden pocket of her dress to let her know that it’s ten minutes until her birthday. She pulls back and shakes her limbs out. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing.” Ben clearly doesn’t believe her with a doubtful look on his face but she waves him away. “Just got shaky for a second there, can you give me a minute? I’ll be right down.”

“Lou, you looked like you were about to start screaming –”

“Ben. Please.”

Ben stares at her for a second and she doesn’t know what he sees but it’s enough because he nods his head and leaves with a final kiss on the top of her head and she decides to forgive him for maybe messing her hair up when he did it.

In the silence of the bedroom, Louise breathes deeply and wonders what her mum would tell her. To put herself back together, brick by brick, and act like nothing had happened.

She opens her eyes, and does just that.

//

Keegan kicks the beer can in front of him and it clatters into the gutter. He waits a few seconds before he sighs, picks it up and chucks it into the bin.

He can imagine Bernie smiling at him for being decent as if he didn't just do the bare minimum and scoffs to no one. Scuffs his shoe on the concrete and can hear his mum chiding him for trying to ruin his shoes.

He figures that he’s misplacing his anger at his thoughts of his family’s reactions to his actions to ignore the fact that he’s actually ashamed that he’s spending his entire birthday in another city without them and can’t stop remembering how their faces fell when he told them, but he doesn’t want to get that introspective right now if he’s completely honest.

He’s waiting for his friend – ‘friend’ being a loose term used here – to drive him to Manchester for a flat viewing he’s got tomorrow that he booked a couple of weeks ago. His friend is only taking him because he’s picking up something that he refused to get specific about – coke probably and Keegan pretends that doesn’t bother him – and would be going anyway.

(His mum hadn’t been happy when he told her he was moving to Manchester and told him so; told him all the risks that come with Manchester and him being alone in a city where he doesn’t know anyone, but most importantly, to Keegan at least, was her pressing him into a hug and patting his cheek. “I love you, eh?” She phrased it like a question and Keegan had nodded in answer and she had smiled like the sun.)

The question his whole family had asked was this: why Manchester?

He couldn’t explain it fully – he had given a variety of answers though, ranging from ‘I just love Manchester United that much, I guess,’ for his dad, and ‘Starting a business in a big city has to be better than starting one here, right? Bigger market and all that,’ for his siblings.

The real reason was this: he didn’t know. It eluded him, but it was this gut feeling he had, a stirring underneath his skin that gave him goose pimples; your life is in Manchester, it said.

So, here he was, a few hours before he turned nineteen, waiting for his friend to pick him up so he could stay in a hotel for the night because he didn’t trust his friend to drive him to his viewing punctually if they did the journey tomorrow.

His mistrust was rightfully given, considering he’s already an hour late.

Finally, after another half an hour in which Keegan googles how much jail time you can get for murder, and then tries to work out if he can get arrested just for googling that, his friend finally pulls up in front of him in his beat-up van.

The friend is called Rocket, the van is also called Rocket. Keegan decides to never talk about it out loud unless directly threatened with bodily harm.

“Alright, mate?” Rocket the Person asks, grinning toothily, several of teeth ironically missing.

Keegan nods his head in greeting and grabs his duffel bag and gets into the passenger seat, immediately setting about falling asleep after the appropriate ‘how are you’s’ are exchanged.

Rocket the Person doesn’t get Keegan’s loud hint of literally setting his feet on the dash and shutting his eyes, and starts talking about some woman he was speaking to last night and what they got up to in his flat, “If you know what I mean?” he adds with a wink that Keegan ignores.

(He can’t stop remembering Bernie’s voice when she whispered, “Did you have to book it for your birthday?” Because the answer is no, he didn’t have to, he chose to after an argument that he can barely remember that he had with his dad and booked it with the thought of how cool it would be to wake up in Manchester on his birthday and not have to see anyone he knew, caught up in the small town feeling that chokes, knowing that everyone knows you and your business. He hadn’t thought much about how the argument would blow over and he would reconsider this plan and actually want to spend his time in that small town he grew up in.)

Rocket the Person continues on, and Keegan tunes him out, watches as they enter the highway, checks his phone and sees that he has a couple hours until its his birthday but Keanu has already texted him a happy birthday and feels himself smile before he tucks his phone away after typing out a response, knowing that Rocket would make a gross comment about his grin that he doesn’t want to hear because it'll spoil his mood.

Rocket the Van rumbles beneath them and Keegan feels it vibrate through the back of his heels laid on the dash and up the back of his legs all while the other Rocket has moved onto how his friend’s bird is a tease; Keegan forces his face not to slip into a scowl and thinks back to his google search and how it hadn’t covered causing car accidents and briefly considers yanking the wheel to try and kill them both to end this conversation.

He snaps when Rocket reaches over to playfully push his shoulder, turning to yell at him to shut up and just leave him alone because they're not actually friends, can he just realise that already, but when he looks over Rocket isn’t there, there’s just a dark field and he’s not sitting in the passenger seat of the van, he’s standing with a shovel in his hands. He stares down at himself, baffled, and sees in the faint moonlight that he’s no longer wearing his t-shirt and soft sweats but rather dark overalls with darker splotches down the front. Before he can figure out what the stains are, he looks at the shape on the ground in front of him and it hits him like a freight train that it's a dead fucking body and he’s standing next to a grave and he’s digging it and god, his face feels sticky with what’s probably blood and he hates herself, she’s awful and she wants to be anything but this -

-and suddenly he’s back in the van but the rumble of the engine is gone and Keegan can barely inhale sharply before he realises that the van is airborne as in flipping over because the trees are upside down and he can see the cars next to them right before he crashes right into them and he thinks he’s going to fly right out of his seat and through the windshield and he’s screaming at the top of his lungs before he hits the glass and that’s it.

//

Ash holds a cigarette between her fingers and wonders if she’s going to pick up smoking. She’s sitting on the edge of a ledge next to a window in a warehouse, a somewhat haunting silence filtering through the open space that Ash finds somewhat comforting. She does this every time she gets a job – consider smoking, that is – and she goes through her mental list of why she shouldn’t like she always does:

Smoking will most likely give her a chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and she doesn’t really want to deal with that and all that comes with it if she’s honest. Also, hacking up her lungs every few minutes seems extremely distasteful.

She doesn’t really want to take smoking breaks with Carl who leers and has yellow teeth and yellow fingers. She suspects that if she was alone with him for a prolonged period of time, he would leave with broken bones.

She doesn’t want to give up anymore of herself, because that’s what this would be: a sacrifice of herself, her willpower. She’d be giving it up and the list of things controlling her would be longer and she doesn’t know if she can take that.

But on the other hand:

She is so fucking tired.

She twists the cigarette and wonders if her entire list of reasons to not smoke will yield to the sheer exhaustion that has settled into her bones. Resisting is killing you, is what Vinny told her the other day. He’s right, but Ash thinks she might be dead before she can admit it, which she supposes is his entire point, which is annoying.

There’s a distant rumbling noise that gets louder until there is a van pulling into the open doors and coming to a stop a few feet in front of her. She focuses on the cigarette between her fingers and doesn’t look up even when two boots appear in front of her.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Ben Mitchell says to her, shifting so that he is standing with his arms crossed, leaning back. It’s too casual, too put on, he’s hiding how he really feels about this assignment. (She hates that her mind works to pick apart body language like that, people's secrets should be their own, not her's to pick apart from their stance.)

She sighs and tucks her cigarette back into the packet and stands up to put it in the back pocket of her overalls. “I don’t,” is all she says as she brushes past Ben and heads to the back of the van and yanks the doors open.

There’s tarp wrapped in a cylinder inside alongside two shovels and Ash wants to cry but beats down the feeling. She hasn’t cried when given clean up duty for three years now. Fuck, she realises. She’s turning nineteen in two hours and she has to bury a dead body for her family. She'll probably still be doing this when it’s tomorrow, when she is meant to be celebrating.

She scrubs a hand down her face, trying to scrape away any traces of emotion even though she knows her poker face will stay firmly in place now matter what because that was how she was raised, but still, the last thing she needs is Ben Mitchell reporting back to his family that one of the Panesars is cracking and the next thing they know, they’re dealing with a coup.

She realises her thought process sounds like her mother, calculating at the head of the table as she orders about the rest of the families. It won’t last, is what Ash always thinks. There are five families joined together for their ‘business’ and eventually they’ll get tired of taking orders from Suki, just like Ash already is.

She glances over at Ben who is staring out of the window, attempting nonchalance. She can read how uncomfortable he is by how tight his shoulders are. She knows he would rather be at his sister's birthday party, who is also turning nineteen tomorrow.

The harsher side of Ash wants to say ‘tough’. It’s not like she wants to either, she didn’t volunteer to do this. This is a punishment for storming off from dinner last night after an argument with her mother about letting her go to medical school. Ash wants to go to Manchester and move out but her mother firmly denied this request and told her she could go to business school here in London, that she would not see her daughter tending to the men like those worked here as if she were below them. It had become a sore point, something Ash brought up at the table every time she wanted to dig her teeth in and bite. Her mother had assigned her this job this morning and Ash could see a glint in her mother’s eyes and knew exactly what it meant. It said: I will tell you to do this, and you will. I am in charge here and you have forgotten. Ash feels bitter; why should Ben Mitchell be allowed pity when Ash is spared none?

But Ash wasn’t all teeth, she wanted to go to medical school to help people. She could feel it in her bones, a bare kindness that she had nursed for years, took cares to make sure that it never disappeared no matter what she had to do for her family. It asked her: what has Ben done to be punished like this, like you? Your punishment is unjust, surely his is as well? She knew vaguely that Ben had a fiancé and a kid and an entire family outside of his other family that operates with her own. What was the point of forcing him here, when he had somewhere to go, unlike her?

“Listen, you take off, alright?” She says, and clambers into the van and tosses one shovel out and starts pushing the body out, feeling vaguely ill at how much it gives underneath her weight through the tarp.

“What?” Ben asks and appears just as the body falls out of the van and he pales at the snap they both hear as the body bends in a way it shouldn’t.

“You take the van and I’ll deal with this,” she repeats, not looking at him as she straps the shovel to her back with a clip on her backpack – not her first rodeo – and shifts the body so its back in a way that gives the person some dignity.

“There’s no need, I’m fine,” Ben snaps, posture shifting again, leaning forward towards Ash. Defensive, her mind supplies.

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” she replies, brushing her hair back from her face as flyaway strands start to stick to the sweat she’s already starting to build up. “Just, I know how to do this and you should go to your family. It's your sister's birthday, right?”

He stares back at her and she thinks he’s going to argue more, but he seems to falter and for a second she can see the yearning on his face. He really loves his family, she thinks to herself, both of them. “Won’t they know I wasn’t here though?” Ben asks.

She shrugs. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she starts to grin and holds up a hand for a fist bump.

He holds her gaze for a few seconds before he grins too and bumps his fist against hers. They’re both wearing gloves but she likes to think that she could feel the heat from his hand touch hers for a second. Her chest feels lighter as he shuts the doors and clambers into the van, waving at her as he drives back out the front door, a ‘Later, Ash!’ floating in the air behind him.

Her smile slowly slides off her face and is gone by the time the silence returns and she doesn’t like it anymore, not now she remembers what it’s like to have someone speaking to you and fill that space.

She turns and starts dragging the tarp out of the warehouse and into the fields surrounding it. She can’t bury it too close to the building, otherwise the chances of it being uncovered are higher as more people will walk over it, she needs a more obscure part of a field, somewhere someone would rarely walk over in order to notice that anything was off about the land.

Ash sets her eyes on a distant spot and starts dragging the body.

She feels the strain of it in her forearms, a pull that runs up and through her whole body until she sweats through her overalls and she reaches up to wipe sweat off her face to stop it from dripping into her eyes but when she does her face feels stickier than before and she looks down and sees the blood is leaking through the tarp where her glove-covered hand is digging in for grip and feels herself gag but refuses to falter.

She digs her feet in and continues and can’t help the spiteful, I can do this because you can’t, you couldn’t handle the pain in my legs right now but I can, that she directs to her mother.

Finally, she reaches the spot she had decided on and starts digging, not allowing herself a break because if she stops to think then she’ll have to confront that this person might have a family who cares about them and she’s got their blood on her face, and she can't cope with that, she can't do it, she can't cope with all of this blood on her hands, literally and metaphorically.

She realises she’s crying, a quiet keening noise coming from the back of her throat, and a cold voice supplies that there’s now DNA of hers at the scene of the crime but she can’t care, she can’t, it’s too much and she wants to throw the shovel down and wait here until someone catches her with a dead fucking body and arrests her and she can tell them about every terrible thing she has ever done for her family and they have done themselves and then they can all go to jail together and she can deal with her mother’s rage behind bars because maybe that’s the only way to win.

(Remember when winning was beating Jags at Monopoly? Or racing Vinny to the end of the garden? Or trying to learn chess to beat Kheerat, and pretending not to notice how pleased he was whenever she made what he thought was a right move?)

She drops the shovel and braces herself on her knees and sucks in a large breath. I’m going to stand up straight, she tells herself, and when I do, I will get back to work.

She inhales again and feels every one of her muscles stretch as she stands up straight but she doesn’t see rolling fields in front of her, rather an entire crowd of people, all not underneath the moon like Ash was a few seconds ago but rather neon lights that flicker and Ash feels dizzy looking at the lights and the constant movement of the crowd. It feels easy to lose herself and let her limbs go loose and easy, let her head fall back as she laughs, the sound lost in the pounding music, her veins on fire as she thinks to herself that she's a bird, she's a bird and she's going to fly up up up, away from everything and everyone and be free -

Ash’s breath snaps in her throat as she falls backwards and doesn’t land into a pile of people who would catch her and laugh with her as she explained her bird theory, but rather, the grass beneath her rushes up to meet her and she gasps and lays still for a moment, blinking up at the dark night and wonders where that came from, where thoughts of nightclubs, and being a bird and dancing had come from.

She sighs and lets the sound of her own breath fills her ears for a few seconds before she pushes herself up and grabs her shovel from where she had dropped it.

She wants to be back in that moment, even if it was temporary insanity, because that moment of freedom, of just laughing for no reason is lingering in her throat. She wants it so badly that she could cry.

She forces the emotion down and keeps digging. No point in lingering on feelings you’ve never had.

(If her hands tremble on the shovel, then it’s a good thing no one is around to see it.)

//

There’s a moment between throwing back another pill and waiting for it to hit her, that Rebecca wonders how her mother is.

It’s a strange thought in this context; this being Becca throwing back drugs like candy in a nightclub's bathroom and this also being that she hadn’t spoken to her mother in years.

Years being two years, precisely; Becca is a fan of technicalities.

She presses her forehead against the wall of her stall and sighs, starting to feel her muscles loosen up, and lets the thought of Sonia sitting alone every night since she left slip from her mind in favour of the thought of the dance floor just outside the bathroom.

(Besides, Sonia lives with Whitney, so she’s not actually alone. Technicality.)

She stands up and brushes herself off, fingers scratching against the sequins that make up her top, her bare back chilly from the air conditioning but she knows she’ll heat up when she starts dancing again.

She exits the stall and smiles at the other women standing at the sinks before she stares at her reflection. The girl looking back at her has glitter running down her cheeks from underneath her eyes like she’s been crying pure glitter and her hair curls around her shoulders, but she can see where the curls are already starting to fall out. The girl grins at her, and Becca grins right back.

It’s her birthday in a couple hours, she realises as she checks her phone on her way out of the bathroom and she wonders if her mother is going to celebrate for her, without her. Probably not, Sonia was never the sentimental type, not one for lighting a candle for those who are gone. (Is Bex gone? She wonders if her mother pretends she’s dead instead of having to confront the truth that is her daughter ran away from her, exchanged parental love for molly. Wonders if her mother pretends she's dead because that hurts less.)

As soon as she opens the door, the sound of music hits her, loud and heady and slamming right into her chest and she feels breathless as she stumbles into the thick of it, feeling like a lightning bolt whenever her arm brushes against someone else’s, thinking that this is how it’s meant to be all of the time.

She spins around, the bass of the music cradling her skull, her arms loose and she can see everyone around her smiling at her and returns the gesture just like she did in the bathroom, and that’s how it’s meant to be; everyone is meant to be friends like they are here.

She tips her head back and laughs and feels light off of it all, like she’s flying, up up up, and she’s bird, they’re all birds and it’s all light and flying and birds and everyone smiling at her would agree but she can’t get her tongue to agree with her which just makes her laugh more and so do they and it’s just all of it, everything.

There’s a moment between tipping backwards with laughter and trying to right herself that she feels like she stands up as someone else and desperately blinks rain out of her eyes, lifting a fruitless hand to wipe the water collected on her face as she shivers. She’s dragging herself through empty streets, feeling her clothes cling to her skin and cursing as she goes, her feet going numb through her shoes and she lost feeling in her fingers minutes ago but it feels like hours and she could cry, she wants to but she shoves the feeling down in her chest, I have to find Habiba, is what replaces it because it’s all that matters and –

Becca gasps, feeling shoved back and falls backwards, feeling hands around the skin of her waist where her jeans don’t cover and it doesn’t feel like before where everyone was her friend, it feels like nails digging in and twisting, it feels like hands yanking on her wrists, like a voice hissing at her to snap out of it, all bared teeth.

The people around her aren’t smiling anymore (were they ever? Becca feels scrambled like she’s lost something, like an arm in the bathroom, or a leg in Sonia’s living room) and she feels like her chest is open when she pulls away from the hands on her waist and tries to run for the exit, and only crashes into a few people before she’s outside gasping for breath. She's standing in the alleyway next the club and she catches the sight of rain falling in the main street just as a few drops manage to get through the fire escapes on the side of the building next to her to land on her head.

She throws herself forward, landing harshly on her knees but the pain feels distant like it’s not her body but the acid climbing her throat burns, and she feels all of it as she heaves, throwing up all of the meagre dinner she had eaten and she’s crying and shaking and she wants to climb out of her body and leave it here because it all hurts and she’s exhausted with it all, she’s done, she wants to crawl back into her bed and have her mum on the other side of it and have her push the hair out of her face and tell her that she loves her.

That doesn’t happen and Becca stays on her knees – which she can now feel throbbing and regrets landing on them the way she did and wishes she had any care for her body – until she stops trembling and forces herself to her feet and pushes her hair out of her face. It’s her birthday soon, it’s basically her birthday, there’s a rule about not throwing up on your birthday right? Or is it about crying? Becca can’t remember but she makes a mental note to look it up, and immediately forgets.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and feels that she’s still grinning, teeth wet, lips dry.

Her mother would cry if she saw her, her daughter shivering in a gutter and smiling while she vomits. She won’t though, Becca thinks, forcing her feet to walk, one foot in front of another, over and over. She won’t because she is back in London. Technicality.

//

Iqra and Habiba created a system when they were kids, crouched together with their pinkies linked underneath a table while they waited for dinner to be ready. Iqra was all about systems and constantly followed her grandfather around, asking a non-stop stream of questions about how everything worked which made him smile until his eyes crinkled. Her newest system was this: if she or Habiba were ever in trouble, they would tell each other, A-ozu billahi mena shataan Arrajeem. Iqra had spent the entire afternoon practising her pronunciation and was finally satisfied that she had nailed it.

Habiba immediately fouled her mood by telling her that it would take too long to say, and what if she was being taken hostage and only had a few seconds to say her parting words and used up all of them on the first word, then what?

Iqra responded by whacking her sister in the face with the cushion she had been sitting on.

(Iqra got a lecture about treating her sister with kindess and the phrase was shortened to the first few syllables for convenience and Iqra, very graciously, sat and helped Habiba practice them until she got them right.)

Which is how Iqra is here, dragging herself through the rain and shivering so badly she thinks she’s about to shatter her teeth, all because Habiba texted her their emergency code.

Iqra hadn’t thought twice before throwing herself out of the door, barely pausing to yank a coat on and shoving on boots before she was out in the rain, pushing herself to run in the direction of the address Habiba had airdropped as her location.

She had briefly considered getting a taxi but the thought of standing around and waiting while Habiba needed her left her feeling wired and the second she had stopped to think about it left her feeling fried and she pushed herself to run faster as a sort of punishment to make up for it.

A-ozu billahi. It could mean anything and Iqra reminds herself that Habs once used in when she didn’t have a tampon at work and looked confused at Iqra, throwing herself into the restaurant where they both worked as waitresses, out of breath and frantically scanning her for injuries. But, Iqra reminds herself that she could actually be injured or hurt the one time she decides to take her time to get there and can only imagine how much self-hatred that would bring.

Iqra herself has never actually used their code, she realises as she skids around a corner and kicks water all up her calves and tells herself that if this actually isn’t an emergency she is going to throttle Habiba and then promptly give her the cold she is definitely going to have when she gets home.

Her feet slamming into the concrete send jolts up her legs and she feels like an exposed wire that’s frying underneath this rain, like she’s electricity that’s sparking as she runs across a road and doesn’t spare a glance backwards for the car that beeps its horn at her.

A-ozu billahi. Iqra ignores the gut feeling that tells her that something terrible has happened even thought her grandmother always told her to listen to it. She can’t give it a voice because if she does then she might be showing up to a scene that’s just – unimaginable. She can’t do it, she can’t, and tells herself instead that she actually hopes it’s just going to be Habs asking for a charger because her phone died and she’s waiting for a text from some guy.

Her hood has fallen down, and she can feel her hair plastered to her scalp and the rain runs down her head and all over her face. Some water drips into her eyes and she reaches up to scrub them, but when she brings them back down the street she was about to cross isn’t there anymore but there’s couches and food on the coffee table in front of her but she hasn’t touched any of it because she feels ill and her gran is telling a story about his dad and he doesn’t want to listen anymore because his dad is dead and he was murdered but no one is talking about it and he feels sick and god he wants to leave –

Iqra inhales sharply and stumbles back onto the pavement as a car races by, the headlights blinding her for a second as she centres herself and reaches out to steady herself on a lamppost as she tells herself that she is actually in the street she thought she was, not some suburban nightmare that has left a knot in her chest.

She wants to sit down because her head feels like it’s about to explode and she feels off balance like the world decided to tip entirely to one side without telling her but worry about Habiba feels like a firework and she’s running again before she can really think about it.

There’s only two blocks now and Iqra forces herself to go faster, her breath snapping in her lungs but it doesn’t matter, Habs does and whatever moment she just had has to be put on the back burner for her.

One final turn and Iqra is skidding to a stop in front of some abandoned house that’s crumbling at the seams and the panic is getting worse because what the fuck is Habs doing here.

She yanks the door open and almost rips it off of its rotted hinges and steps inside and in the low light that is slicing in through the holes in the roof, she can see Habiba standing to turn to her, mascara running down her face and blood on her hands and her temple.

“Iqra,” Habiba whispers, face ghastly and Iqra forces down her hysteria and what’s she’s pretty sure was about to be vomit.

A-ozu billahi, she thinks, and yanks off her jacket.

//

The thing with funerals is this: the ones the day before your birthday are always going to suck. Bobby remembers when he saw his gran realise that he would have to bury his dad and then go to sleep and wake up nineteen, how she looked like she was going to start crying again while he tried to tell her that it was ok, that he didn’t mind.

(He did. Mind, that is. But, he’d rather feel like shit on his birthday, which he was going to anyway, rather than see her burst into tears again because she couldn’t even remember when her grandson’s birthday was. That’s not fair, she has enough on her plate. But – But, don’t they all?)

The service was nice enough. A quiet affair with a red-faced minister who read some passages from the Bible and called his dad a good, honourable man a few times (Not entirely true, Bobby recalls his dad sneering at him several times during his childhood whenever he tried to express an opinion he didn’t agree with. But, Bobby supposes death allows for some of your unsavoury qualities to be brushed over).

He had sat in the front pew with his gran and Peter and Lucy who were crying, stoic and also crying in that order. Bobby also didn’t cry and thought he and Peter were setting a terrible precedent for men being allowed to express emotions everywhere but he couldn’t stop thinking about how Dad never liked church all that much and whenever they did go as a family when they remembered or Gran dragged them, he would grumble and tap his fingers impatiently the entire time.

Bobby had made a note to ask Peter if he remembered the time when Dad bumped into an old colleague of his – what was his name again? – and basically ran out of the church with them in tow, but he had forgotten around the fifth bible verse.

Once the service was done, Bobby had to stand outside with his family and shake hands with everyone else who had came and accept their condolences.

(It was all a sham, most of these people all thought Ian was the worst and now they showed Bobby their swollen eyes and snotty noses as if they had lost a limb. But, Bobby supposes they could have loved him under the annoyance and tried to shove down any frowns he had and passed them all tissues and consoled the best he could. What good would there be to be cruel?)

Then it was home and that’s where Bobby had been for the past few hours. Sitting in silence with a glass of water and a plate of untouched sausage rolls on his lap while his gran and sister let people filter through to grab something to eat and reminisce about their favourite memories of Ian before leaving and being replaced and repeat. Peter had sat next to him the entire time, his side a warm grounding point that Bobby pressed into whenever he felt like he was drowning. He keeps thinking that someone is about to say it, say that Dad was murdered but no one does. They all seem to be ignoring it, pretending that the coroner wasn't completely lying when he said that Ian just fell and hit his head and that it was just a unfortunate accident. But Peter stays silent, and Gran and Lucy are steadfastly only reminiscing and so Bobby is staying quiet about it too.

Now, a few minutes until midnight when Bobby would turn nineteen, Peter finally speaks. “So what do you want for your birthday?”

Bobby almost smiles. “If your asking because you haven’t gotten me anything, then you’ve left it a bit late,” he replies, looking at his watch and seeing it was two minutes until midnight, turning to look at Peter so he doesn’t have to think about how his dad had given him that watch when he was sixteen and told him he had to be a man now.

Peter smiles for the first time that day. “You know, I actually did get you something, I’m just scoping out if I got you the right thing.”

“Terrible detective work,” Bobby replies and they share a grin over the sound of Gran and Lucy talking by the dining table, heads close together.

Peter stands up and pats Bobby on the shoulder. “I’m off to bed, happy birthday, Bobby.” Bobby smiles for the first time that day at him.

Bobby gets up himself and heads towards the door. “Bob?” Lucy calls.

“Just getting some air,” he says, and ducks out into the cold before she can say anything else.

The cold is a shock to his system and the second his sock-clad feet touch the freezing concrete, he feels like he falls out of his body and into a nightclub, the loud music shaking him to his bones as he pours shots and slides them down the counter and bops his head as the bass makes everything feel like it’s floating but also impossibly grounded and it’s so much to get caught up in but underneath it all is this exhaustion that lines her joints and she could sleep forever but she can’t, she can’t, she has to keep moving, there’s too much, there’s too much –

Bobby gasps and almost falls back into his house but braces himself on the door frame, reaching over to yank the door shut before anyone can come see him because he’s struck with the need to be alone right now, and maybe for a while, if he’s honest. He breathes deeply for a few seconds, mind scrambling to figure out what that was, does grief make you hallucinate?

When his hands stop shaking, he pushes himself up (when did he start sitting on his front door step?) and stumbles towards his car. He remembers when he passed his driving test, when his dad smiled at him and showed him the key to this car but had held onto them long enough to give a lengthy lecture about safety and maintenance and responsibility before he actually handed them over.

Bobby unlocks the boot and looks at his hand that are shaking again, tremors starting at his wrist and knows he doesn’t want to look inside, hasn’t wanted to for the past week since they all found his dad with blood all over his face.

(Have to rip the bandage off at one point, right?)

He opens the boot and looks inside.

Right in the middle is Peter’s award for straight A’s in high school, a small statue of his school’s crest, blood staining one side of it.

Bobby stares at the murder weapon that killed his dad. And closes the boot.

[kayteewritessteve]

Fated - 1/8

Description: You’re a rogue werewolf, a bounty hunter. It’s not the most glamourous life, but it keeps you paid well and entertained. But when a long time acquaintance resurfaces with a mission, and a lot of money to throw around, you finally relent and take the job from him. And then things get crazy when you stumble upon your Fated Mate along the way.

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 4,070 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Werewolf!Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Curse words. Sassy comments. Depictions of fight scenes and fighting, the same as canon stuffs. Maybe more to come. Who really knows with me!

Requested: Yes, this was a request from the lovely, @saturngirlz ! She asked for a Steve x Werewolf!Reader one shot, where the reader works with the Avengers. And me, being my long winded self, decided a one shot just wouldn’t be long enough for the idea I had. Soooo instead I’m making it a (semi) Mini Series. Yay me! Hahaha crap. But anywho, here’s part one! Hope you like it girly!!

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

I was going to post this tomorrow, July 30th. But as I just hit 400 followers!!! Eek!! I decided to post it today for you all instead, as my sort of celebration for hitting that milestone! I probably won’t be updating this as quickly as L&W, as I need to focus on that series for now. But I’ll have a new part at least weekly, if not two times a week. So I hope you all enjoy this fun little drama fluff series!

Also, FYI, only the reader can hear her wolf talking in her head. Just so you know moving forward!

You hastily pull your clothes back on, standing alone, hidden in the shadows of the tall trees. It was the middle of the night, and you were near the edge of a dense forested area. A small cabin sat about 100 yards from where you stood, in a small clearing within the woods. You had just used your wolf to track down your current target, or your next ‘payday,’ as you liked to call them.

You zip up your black skinny jeans and then pull on your black leather jacket, yanking your hair out of it and letting it fall down your back. You lace up your combat boots, then put your hair up in a ponytail to keep it out of your face.

You reach down for your specially made backpack, the one that you could put on before a shift and it would stretch to turn into a harness, of sorts, on your wolf's back. It was the only way to keep clothes and other necessities on you while shifted. The bag which now just sat limply, on the ground near your feet, not having your clothes in it anymore to fatten it up.

You pull your gun from the bag now, checking that it is in fact loaded and ready to go, then tuck it into the back waistband of your jeans, pulling the bottom of your leather jacket down to conceal it.

Then lastly, you grab your stun gun and cuffs, tucking them into the deep, specially altered pockets of your jacket, and then you zip up your bag and tuck it behind a large tree, in between some foliage. Concealing it from anyone who may wander by, not that you expected anyone to way out here, but best to be safe instead of sorry. And all that jazz.

You survey the area, honing your amazing heightened senses on the cabin. Listening for any movement or voices. Looking for any shifting of lights or shadows. Smelling for any occupants or guard animals. You are so focused on the cabin that you don’t pay much attention to anything around you, not that you really have anything to fear out here. You are not a weak wolf, not even in the slightest.

You had once been a fearsome warrior in your old pack, you’d been there top defender. You’d basically been the head of any and all military ops—well besides your Alpha that is. He was the true head of it all, but you were basically his second command. Not of the pack though. You weren’t a Beta. You were just his go to on anything rogue related.

You laugh sardonically at that last thought. You used to go up against rogues, kill them mercilessly to protect your pack, your Alpha’s territory.

‘We were the best of the best,’ your wolf adds smugly in your mind.

And you nod, agreeing with her. You were the best of the best. But now, now you were a rogue yourself. A strong, independent, law abiding rogue, but still a rogue nonetheless. You were glared down at, as if you were the scum of the earth. Judged and disrespected by any and all pack affiliated wolves. Solely because you were rogue, solely because you’d left your pack. They all assumed you either betrayed your pack and had been kicked out. Or you’d been a weak misfit and left on your own, due to not being able to handle pack life.

But both of those couldn’t be further from the truth. You weren’t kicked out, and you didn’t just walk away willy nilly from your family, your life, your responsibilities, for nothing. No, you’d left because you had to. You couldn’t just sit there and allow that piece of shit to control you, to boss you around. He wasn’t your Alpha, regardless of if he technically was or not, he didn’t deserve your respect. Not after what he’d done. Not after he’d planned a coo, betrayed your True Alpha and then killed him so he could take his title. So no, he was no Alpha to you, he was just a rogue in disguise.

‘Grrrrr,’ she growls lowly in your head at that last thought.

But you just ignore her and focus back on what you were thinking about. So a week after all that happened, you packed your bags and left. Minding the territory lines as best you could, and sticking to the neutral areas as much as possible. Entering another Alpha’s territory without permission was a death sentence, especially if you smelled like a rogue. So when you absolutely had to enter one’s land, you did so carefully, cautiously and only at night.

The wind shifting directions blows a few strands free from your ponytail, but also sends a new, foreign smell up your nose. You tense up momentarily, taking a deep whiff and instantly you recognize the scent. Without taking your eyes off the cabin you speak to the person, the one you know is now behind you. “Did you enjoy the show?”

‘He better say yes, or I’ll eat him.’

You smirk to yourself at her comment, as a deep chuckle sounds behind you. “I didn’t see the show, actually. Figured you’d want a little privacy, so I hung back till you were dressed.”

“Ah, gotcha,” you nod, then shrug, “wouldn’t have bothered me any. I’m completely accustomed to being naked in front of others, it sort of comes with the territory of being a wolf. Ya know, what with shifting and all. I really only wear clothes because you lot dislike nudity so damn much.”

‘Humans are so weird,’ she mutters, shaking her head.

“That we do,” he agrees. “Do you have a minute to chat?”

“Not exactly,” you sigh, finally turning to face the man. “What do you want, Fury? I’m kinda in the middle of a big payday job here. If you hadn’t noticed.”

“I have an offer for you.”

‘We don’t care,’ she growls and you shush her in your head, telling her to ‘zip it.’

“Of course you do,” you roll your eyes. “I thought I made it pretty clear last time, that I wasn’t interested in joining your little Revengers, or whatever. Not my style. I work alone.”

“Avengers,” he corrects. “And we aren’t looking to recruit you this time. We just need help finding a bad guy, think of yourself like a freelance agent. Paid upon completion.”

“You couldn’t afford me,” you scoff, turning back around. “I’m not interested, Nic. So piss off quietly, would ya? I still got a job to do here, and I’ll be out for blood if you tip off my target, making a bunch of noise leaving. You humans are just so damn loud all the time.”

“I managed to sneak up on you,” he comments smugly.

‘Kill him. Kill him now!’ She urges, wanting to break through and rip him to shreds for his stupid comment. She doesn’t like being one upped by anyone, let alone by a fucking human.

“Lucky break,” you retort, through your clenched teeth. You aren’t exactly a big fan of being one upped either. “I was distracted, but it won’t happen again.”

“Sure, sure,” he says flippantly, and you can just sense the smug look on his face. And now you have to fight the urge to spin around and rip him to shreds. “I’ll leave you be, for now, Y/N. But you’ll be seeing me again very soon.”

‘He better hope the fuck not. We won’t be as friendly the next time around.’

You snicker quietly to yourself at your wolf’s sassiness, but wave Fury off dismissively. Your human focus entirely on the cabin once again, “yeah, yeah, whatever, Emilio Largo. Just go away already.”

‘Who the hell is Emilio Largo?’ She asks, confused, at the exact same time that you hear Fury’s deep chuckle behind you. You choose to ignore him and hope he actually leaves.

‘You know, the James Bond villain. The one with the eye patch, from Thunderball?’ You reply to your wolf in your head, just in case Fury is still lingering.

‘Nope, can’t say I know that one,’ she snarks, shaking her head.

‘We’ve watched it before,’ you point out.

‘Well then it obviously sucked as I clearly slept through it. So pick a more relevant one next time.’

‘Fine, fine,’ you huff. ‘Anything for you, you uncultured swine.’

A snort escapes you when you hear her growl menacingly, in response to what you’d just called her. Like you’d be afraid of the wolf in your mind, anything she does to you, she also does to herself. You hesitantly glance over your shoulder to ensure Fury is actually gone now. Noticing instantly that he is.

‘I really don’t fucking like him.’

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” you chuckle and then turn to face forward again. No more distractions, it’s time to get your head back in the game. You have a job to do here, a target to successfully apprehend. You aren’t the best bounty hunter in America for no reason, after all.

So what if you sort of cheated to get that title. If you used your wolf’s heightened senses. They were technically yours as well. And as most humans had no idea werewolves even existed, most just assumed you were that damn good. Which was also true, you were, you just also had a slight advantage over other bounty hunters. Over the humans.

You step out of the shadows of the large trees and make your way, quietly, towards the cabin. Whelp, here goes another take down.

You slowly trudge up the stairs to your 3rd floor walk up, you’d successfully apprehended your guy. Some idiot who tried to bail on his bond and hide out in the woods. Unbeknownst to him though, you were at your best in the woods. But he figured that out pretty damn quick, when he tried to flee out the back door of the cabin, 2 seconds after you’d knocked on the front door.

So after a short, but exhilarating chase, which is your favourite part of the job might you add, you’d caught and cuffed him. And all while still in your human form, you hadn’t even needed to shift into your wolf. The guy was just that slow.

Once he was fully apprehend, and was hogtied on the ground, you’d called the local police department to come pick him up. And once you’d handed him off to the authorities you walked back into the woods to retrieve your backpack. Telling the cops you didn’t need a ride back to town, as your truck was parked a few hundred feet into the woods, on a service road—one that did actually exist, there was just no truck parked on it currently.

Once the cops were gone, you stripped down, crammed your clothes into your backpack and then shifted. Allowing your wolf a chance to come out and run off all her adrenaline from the earlier chase. She ran you both all the way to the outskirts of the forest, a few miles away, and to where you’d actually parked your truck. Then it was a 3 hour drive home from there.

You reach your apartment door and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Something isn’t right, something is off. You tense up and raise your head a little, sniffing the air around your door. But then the same foreign smell from before hits you and you sigh.

‘Now can we kill him?’ She growls, pacing in your head.

‘No, stop being so damn dramatic,’ you roll your eyes, pulling out your keys to unlock your, clearly useless, padlock. You enter into your dark apartment, as if nothing is amiss. You flick on the hallway light and then head into your kitchen, the dining and living space all part of the same area in your apartment.

You wander over to the fridge, grabbing a beer and removing the cap with your teeth, before spitting the cap towards your garbage can in the corner. Getting it in on the first try, obviously—note the sarcasm. You glare at the cap on the ground for a second—the same cap that very much, did not, just go into the garbage can like you’d attempted.

Then you turn your eyes to your dark living room, seeing Fury sitting in your armchair. A human wouldn’t have been able to see him, but you with your heightened night vision can see him, clear as day.

“Ah, Mad Eye Moody. So good to see you again, it’s been so long.” You take a sip of your beer and make your way towards him. “I’d welcome you to my apartment, but I can see that won’t be necessary,” you shake your head and gesture to him, “as you’ve clearly already made yourself at home.”

‘Better?’ You ask your wolf in your head. Referring to the name you’d just called Fury.

‘Much, much better,’ she nods, happily. You roll your eyes fondly as you take another sip of your beer, how easily amused she always is.

“I did warn you,” he points out, shrugging nonchalantly. “I told you that you’d be seeing me again very soon.”

“I figured you meant in like a week or so,” you shake your head. “Not a couple of hours.”

He stands from the armchair, “this isn’t an ordinary mission. We are on a bit of a time crunch here, and need this to be handled hastily but efficiently. That’s where you come in.”

‘No the fuck we don’t,’ your wolf growls, and you shush her once again.

“Like I’ve said before, you couldn’t afford me.”

“Well, how much do you normally make on a job? I’m sure we can double it.”

“You still got that Stark guy funding your little boy scouts team? What was his name,” you say as you tap a finger on your chin. “Tyler? no. Trevor? mmm, doesn’t sound right.” You snap your fingers in a ‘got it’ kind of way, “no! Tom!”

“Tony,” he corrects flatly, looking supremely unamused. Though he always sort of looks like that, at least from what you’ve seen of the man anyways. “And yes, he is still funding the Avengers,” he also corrects. Again.

“Tony!” you throw your hands up in an ‘argh’ type of way. “Shit, I was so close!”

“Mhmm,” he hums, shaking his head. “So, what will it take to get you on this job? Name a price.”

“I’ll warn you, I don’t come cheap, and my price juuuuust tripled. Ya know, inflation and demand, and all that,” you wave a dismissive hand and shrug. “It’s now 3 million,” you tell him, then put the beer bottle to your lips and finish it off. And once you have, you place the bottle down on your coffee table, a smirk on your lips as you raise a questioning brow at him, “so still interested, Xander Harris?”

“Xander Harris?” He repeats raising his brow in return.

“Ya know, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” You question but his face stays unchanged, no recognition on it whatsoever. You shake your head, muttering to yourself, “wasting all my good material on utter swines.”

‘I am not a swine,” your wolf growls. ‘And I’ll have you know, I actually got that one,’ she says proudly, a wide grin on her snout.

You sigh deeply and wave a dismissive hand, “never mind, not really important. My price is 3 mill, take it or leave it.”

“Pack your bags,” he says moving towards your front door. “We leave in 20.”

“You’re not really in any place to order—“ the sound of your front door closing cuts off your words. You huff, “so fucking rude.”

‘I still say we eat him.’

“I may be slowly getting on board with that idea,” you chuckle and then head towards your room, you’d now take 30 minutes to pack, just to spite him. It’s not like he’d leave without you, not when he is, so clearly, desperate for you to be on this mission. You laugh a little more, shaking your head as you enter your room, and get to packing.

You plop down into the passenger seat, throwing your fully stocked duffle bag into the back seat then slam your door shut.

“34 minutes,” Fury comments as he starts the car, you glance over at him, but don’t say a word. You know exactly what he is referring to, you just don’t care. He sighs, “we’ll have to work on your response times.”

You smirk, “be happy it was only 34 minutes. Had I needed to put together any fancy outfits, it would have taken much, much longer.” You shrug, “you know how it is. Silly women and their desperate need to always pick the right heels for every dress.”

“Mhmm,” he hums disinterestedly, as he pulls out on the main road. “We’ll be at the tower in half an hour.”

“Sounds good, Patchy,” you nod and turn to glance out the window, watching all the buildings and skyscrapers as they wiz by. The reference to Patchy the Pirate from Spongebob instantly puts that damn theme song in your head. But then an idea comes to mind.

‘Do it, do it now! It will totally piss him off!’ Your wolf urges you, always the Devil on your shoulder.

You snicker then begin softly, slowly gaining volume as you continue on, “Who lives in a tower above New York city? Nich-olas Fur-yyyy.

Boorish and cranky and human is he. Nicholas Fur-yyyyy.

If a tactical death be something you wish. Nicholas Fuuuurryyyyy.

Then jump on the mission and try to get hit! Nicholas Fury. Nicholas Fury. NICHOLAS FUUUUUUURYYYYYY. Do-do, da-la-do, da-la-do, do-do.”

‘Encore! Encore!’ She says and you burst out laughing, knowing that if she could clap, she’d totally be doing that right now.

He sighs deeply, shaking his head but doesn’t say a damn thing. You grin and go silent once again, getting on Nick’s nerves has become your new favourite pastime. And you plan to continue on with that, as much as possible, while you still have the chance.

You find yourself standing next to Fury, in an elevator as it quickly rises up the Avengers tower. The rest of the car ride after your little impromptu concert was silent, deathly silent. Then when you arrived at the tower, he still hasn’t said a word. And now, as you stand in the elevator, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder and your visitor’s pass around your neck, he is still silent. He hasn’t uttered a word. Which is both nice, and completely frustrating, all at the same time.

‘Well I think it’s fantastic. I haven’t had the urge to eat him once since we left our house.’

You roll your eyes at her as the doors open and he abruptly exits, walking off down a hallway. Not saying a word or waiting for you at all. You sigh, shaking your head and then follow after him slowly. Not overly worried about losing track of him, as you can just use your nose to track him down again, if need be.

You glance around, taking in everything around you. All the sights, the sounds, the smells—wait, hold up, what’s that smell? You raise your nose in the air, taking a big whiff.

‘Follow it! Follow it now!’ She commands.

“I’m going, I’m going, don’t get your fur in a knot,” you huff, following your nose to the source of the delicious smell. Completely uncaring as to where Fury went. You are on a mission from the Moon Goddess now.

You round a corner, entering into a living space of some kind, you aren’t really sure, you were just following your nose. You see a man standing near an oven cooking something, “what is that delicious smell?”

“Jesus!” He whirls around, his long black hair flapping from the quick motion. “Why would you—“ his words halt once his eyes land on you, and he instantly looks confused. “Ah, who are you?”

“Y/N,” you answer vaguely, taking a few steps towards him. “And whatever you’re cooking smells divine.”

“Ah,” he glances back at the pan, then to you again. “Just steaks.”

‘We should have guessed!’

“I will literally pay you 100k right now, if you tell me there are extras.”

He raises a brow at you, giving you a once over then he just shrugs and turns back around, “you don’t gotta pay me, Doll. I always make extras, as someone usually ends up coming along and wanting some. Today it’s you, so you’re welcome to it.”

“Oh Goddess,” you sigh happily, damn near drooling on yourself now. “You are my new favourite person in this place. And just so you know, I would happily defend you with my life. Should it ever come to that.” You quickly make your way over to a bar stool, sitting on one and somewhat patiently waiting for the steaks.

He chuckles, shaking his head then wipes his hands on his jeans, before offering his right hand to you over the counter. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You shake his hand and smile, “nice to meet you, Bucky.” He nods and then turns back around to focus on cooking again, you both falling into a comfortable silence now.

But after a moment he speaks up. “So, Y/N,” he starts over his shoulder, then glances at you. “How’d you get in here, exactly?”

“Oh,” you giggle, realizing this guy had no idea how you’d have been able to get into a super secure building, undetected. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve actually done just that countless times in the past. Though you’d never actually attempted to break into the Avengers tower before. Note to self, try that soon. “The Governor brought me in. I’m working a mission with you guys, I’m sort of a freelance agent, I guess,” you shrug.

“The Governor?” He gives you an odd look and you smile.

“He’s a character from The Walking Dead, he has an eye patch,” you reply pointing to your eye, hoping he’ll figure out who you’re referring to with that nickname. But he doesn’t seem to piece it together, still looking completely and utterly lost.

‘He’s lucky he’s hot,’ your wolf snickers in your mind. And you snort, nodding your head in agreement.

“Fury. I was making fun of Fury,” you quickly clarify then sigh deeply, frustrated by how noone seems to be getting your pop-culture references lately. Clearly you needed to dumb them down a bit. “He brought me here.”

“Ah, gotcha,” he nods.

“Don’t let him fool you, Kid,” a new voice cuts in. “He has no idea what you are referring to. But I do.”

You turn to see an older man entering the room, a grin on his face as he walks towards you. Once he reaches you he extends his hand, “Tony Shark.”

You shake his hand, “Y/N.”

“Fury is pretty pissed that you’ve only been here 10 minutes and already you’re disappearing on him,” he chuckles, heading for the coffee maker.

“Where is Carl, anyways,” you glance around, “I was positive he’d have found me by now. He’s obviously losing his edge,” you shake your head.

‘If he even had one to begin with,’ your wolf chimes in.

“Carl was always my favourite minion,” Tony replies nonchalantly as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “And he’s with Capsicle.”

“Finally,” you drag the word out, a wolfish grin on your face. “Someone who gets it!” But then your grin promptly falls and is replaced by a frown, as you furrow your brow, “but what the hell is a ‘Capsical’?”

‘Do you smell that?! It smells better than the steaks!’

‘Smell what?’ You raise your nose and sniff the air. Oh Goddess, she’s right. Whatever that smell is, does smell better than the steaks. A million times better.

“That’d be me,” another new voice enters the mix, this one deep and delectable. Perfectly answering both your voiced question and the thoughts currently in your head. Your eyes snap up and lock on to a spellbinding set of cerulean eyes, as the large man attached to said eyes enters the room.

‘Mate,’ your wolf growls happily, bouncing around gleefully in your head.

“Oh, fuck,” you slowly mutter aloud in response, as your eyes go wide—And you assume comically so, at that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@caps-lockdown @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @imdiegohargreeves @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @marvel13princess @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty

[zukofenty]

Day 4: bad decisions

➜  The one where Katara (might) be in love with the campus drug dealer.

“So why won’t you go out with me? Is it because I’m a drug dealer?” Zuko’s mad, twisting the rings on his fingers while impatiently waiting on her answer.

“Not exactly,” Katara quips, averting her eyes from his fiery gaze. “It’s mainly because you don’t tip when we go out to eat.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, teeny bit of angst, DrugDealer!Zuko 

➜ Words: 5.3k

➜ Warnings: I love DrugDealer!Zuko more than I love myself 😩

AO3, Zutara Month Playlist, @zutaramonth​ hi i love u! 

➜ Notes: hehe listen to “Bad Decisions” by Miss Ari! life changing! 

“Zuko’s dead? ” Katara nearly screams into the phone. She pulls on one of his hoodies and is scrambling to find her slides and keys.

Toph sighs. “We all knew this would happen. The sky’s blue, Beyonce needs to stop forcing her boyfriend on us. Basic facts. Get it together , Katara.”

“Toph, how does your disdain for Jay-Z make it into every conversation you have?” Suki wearily states. “All we know is that a dealer got shot near the frats today. So in conclusion, Zuko’s dead.”

“Donezo.”

“Bitch is gone .”

“God bless his beautiful ass.”

“A moment of silence for his fake Chanel blouses.”

Katara does her breathing exercises. “ Enough .” She hears a knock at the door, and immediately grabs her expandable baton. “Oh my god , someone’s at the door.” She whips out the baton to its full length.

Toph gasps. “Bitch, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. Are we getting a two for one deal tonight?”

Suki cheers. “I call dibs on her Fenty highlighters.”

“Oh hell fucking no ! You do not have the range for Trophy Wife, whore!” Toph shouts right into the microphone. Katara winces, and takes out an Airpod. She’s heaving, nervous at who could be at the door. Toph and Suki were trying to negotiate with each other on who was getting Katara’s brand new Hydrating Foundation when she takes an experimental glance out the peephole. Her gasp reverberates through the phone.

“She’s died, Suki! She’s died!” Toph wails, her screams nearly unintelligible.

“ Zuko? ” Katara screeches at the top of her lungs, launching herself at him so violently her other Airpod pops out.

He chuckles when she locks her legs around his waist, his arms coming out to support her from underneath her ass. It’s domestic, and he relishes in the attention. “Hello to you, too.” She’s smiling at him and it’s beautiful and soft and everything he wanted to see after the shitty night he’s had. Dealing in college was an easy route to Balenciaga and bitches. Everyone did it, it was as easy as catching HPV at your school. Yet, Zhao, the Kingpin of dealers, just had to get his side-chick pregnant and then just had to get shot by his girlfriend. Even if he did get shot up because he was a slut (#FreeZhao), the campus dean had called the cops and was in the process of launching an extensive campaign to fuck up any current dealers. Even if you possess the slightest hint of addy for your ADHD, you still had to haul your ass to the campus police station. It wasn’t fair though. Coke is what makes college campuses around the world run as smoothly as they do.

“You promised me you’d stop,” she’s murmuring in his ear, curled up beside him in her cramped twin bed. Her roommates went back home for the weekend, so it makes it just that much easier to pretend you two could be like this. Lost in the sheets, hopelessly in love with her head on his chest.

“If I didn’t, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get you this,” Zuko whispers in her hair. He slides a ring on her finger and she smiles lazily back at him, placing a tender kiss on his cheek. God, is this what love feels like? If she accidentally got pregnant with Zuko’s spawn she wouldn’t immediately reach for Plan B? The ring was a simple thing, just plain silver because she wanted one to be “edgy,” obsessed with rings after playing with the handful that adorn Zuko’s fingers. After making sure she was sound asleep, he lets himself smile. Finally , he’s getting somewhere with her.  

Seemingly a too perfect, impenetrable forest, he’s finding himself finally being let into her world. As corny and lovesick it sounded, Zuko understood how easy it was to love someone when he laid eyes on you. All those damn John Green books were right, he begrudgingly admits ( Eat shit John Green.) She truly could not do one wrong thing in his eyes, her soft giggles as she attempted to explain commas and semicolons and gerunds or whatever the fuck he doesn’t quite remember because he was busy being infatuated and trying to make her laugh. They’d met freshman year, and have remained in this weird limbo ever since. Where he would call her  to remind her to eat when she was stressed, and he could plant kisses in her hair when he’s showing up to her apartment at night, cuddling her without her pulling away because it always felt right. At the same time, Katara felt so unattainable, so out of reach. It’s never progressed past simple, flirtatious touches. Yet, being with her feels different than any other relationship he’s been in, as though his heart was permanently and solely hers.

It was easy to fall in love. Katara was so kind, yet so dead set in her ways. Never detracting her focus from school, she had no time for anything else in her life. Her older brother Sokka had raised her when their parents had disappeared shortly after producing the “accident” child. They handed Katara off to him, who hadn’t spoken to them in years. While Sokka was in college and attempting to care for Katara at the same time, he had struck gold with recording labels interested in his music producing work. Soon, he was making songs you could regularly hear on the radio and not just on Soundcloud, and the royalties were ensuring Katara got the best. The best schools, clothes, life. Even if her brother was obsessed with flexing his regular Bugatti purchases on Instagram, she wasn’t nearly as preoccupied. She was always in oversized hoodies that once upon a time ago belonged to Sokka before he decided on dressing like a 30 year old hypebeast Instagrammer still trying to hold onto their youth. Always volunteering her time and doing things rich people had time to do to make themselves feel good about their tax breaks.

It made Zuko feel jealous in a sense, with his uncle struggling to make ends meet his whole life. He ran a small fried chicken and tea shop (Iroh was convinced about this combo) in his neighborhood, and he hated to admit that he was ashamed. That he dreamed of shoving Chanel anything up his ass. He would take the perfume sample cards from the mall that said Givenchy , pinning it to his wall as inspiration for what he would buy in the future. It didn’t make sense to him, when Katara had all this money and couldn’t care less. She penny pinched when she didn’t need to, wore clothes from Forever 21, as though Sokka wouldn’t drop thousands for the Fendi boots she always talked about.

“Damnit, you’re dick sick, aren’t you?” Toph sends her a look that screamed pity. Katara tried to fix the frown, but her eyes always revealed everything. So she nods in agreement, and Toph wraps her up in her arms. Zuko had invited her and Toph to a quote unquote “exclusive party” thrown by the rich kids whose parents owned the university. The Olivia Jades of the world. Schmoney shmoney . It didn’t help that she felt so out of place, circling all throughout the frat house before settling on the cleanest couch near the one window that wasn’t broken. She wanted to be a part of Zuko’s world for a night, see where he was disappearing to on the weekends.

Although Toph spent the better part of the evening prepping her hoe fit, Katara stuck to an uneventful long t shirt (Zuko’s shirt, of course) paired with thigh high boots. She had planned on only staying half an hour, tops. She didn’t drink, smoke, it just wasn’t her thing. Her worst fear was contracting herpes from a wax pen. Even when she was a college freshman and people were busy coming back upchucking all over the communal dorm bathroom, she instead dutifully held hair back, and changed drunk girls’ clothes. She quickly learned the tricks of the trade after cleaning up Sokka’s messy weekend self during his quarter life crisis phase. Admittedly, she was boring . So, she reasoned 30 minutes gave her enough time to walk around the place and see Zuko schmoozing with rich kids, and then leave to have enough time to do her skincare before bed.  

“More like sick. He deals coke now! Coke! That’s a prison drug, ma’am. The real deal,” she whimpers into her tits. She had caught Zuko in one of the trust fund babies’ enormous rooms in the frat house, daddy’s credit cards and student IDs out and about with lines of something she’d only seen in movies. Since all the dealers were on the low with the campus crackdown, and since it was midterms season, the demand amongst the student population was unbelievably high. Zuko was the only brave stupid enough to keep selling. Katara had burst into the room to alert Zuko that Toph and her were about to make a dramatic exit without him to go back to her place and watch John Tucker Must Die instead of studying.

She had expected a lot of things, hell even coke (maybe). What she didn’t anticipate was seeing a girl in Zuko’s lap, kissing up his neck, wearing practically nothing. He had an assertive hand on her thigh, massaging it, manhandling her like Katara wished he would do with her. He’s talking and acting like he belonged with the assholes of your school. Like he wasn’t the gentle guy who Katara always saw in sweats always talking about his half sister, or memories of his uncle’s restaurant. She had made eye contact with him and promptly shut the door, feeling as though her heart would burst any second now.

So Toph and Katara go back to her place, calling up Suki who Ubers over, ready to rag on her (sort of) mans. Both Toph and her were in Suki’s t shirts that she “gave” to the duo. Both girls ignore her protests when she shows up and demands for them back. “Hey, that is premium Aliexpress Yeezus Tour shirts! They don’t sell fakes like these anymore!”

Katara was eating Target generic brand ice cream out the container, her heartbreak palpable, especially to Toph. The two girls were best friends after becoming roommates freshman year. Katara’s a sweet thing, too sweet in Toph’s opinion. Always remembering little things, people’s birthdays or favorite brand of instant Udon packages. She was always the one defending Toph against those who found it too easy to take advantage of her. Toph, in turn, was always there to mend her big heart after no one remembered her birthday freshman year. In many ways, Katara won a permanent place in Toph’s heart. She was always the one showing up to her dance performances, even if they were a two hour bus ride away. Always making sure to take off her makeup after recitals when she was too tired to move. It hurt her to see Katara like this, in pain.

“All I’m saying is that he uses you to play house. It’s time to cut the cord. Don’t be Beyonce, don’t keep letting a man bring down your worth. Plus, you don’t have the range to come out with Lemonade in the middle of all this heartbreak and betrayal.”

She scoops Vanilla bean into her mouth, eyes downcast. “What do you mean? Just because he comes here and sleeps over all the time?” She settles her head in Toph’s lap when she sees Suki begin to straighten her back, prepping for the rant she was about to deliver.

“Katara, sweet, pure, virginal Katara.”  

“Hey!” Katara yelps.

“I’m going to be honest with you, and it’s going to hurt. Like pap smear at the gyno hurt.” Katara nods, interest piqued. “Do you see you on his Instagram? Do you? Any posts, any tagging done when I know you took this photo of this overpriced matcha soy latte?” Suki tries her hardest not to break her tough girl role when she sees hersad fucking eyes. Why are they built like that? Like she could break her heart with just a watery glance? “Tell me, who do you see on Zuko’s Instagram and Snapchat?”

“Hotgirls,” she jumbles the words in her haste.

“Louder!” Suki shouts.

“ Hot. Girls. ” she admitted defeat. Toph strokes her hair gently to try to comfort her.

“That’s the thing with guys like Zuko, ok? They want the hottest girls on campus to suck and fuck, but they’re even more cruel with girls like you. Girls who are meant for dating to marry and cute gender reveal parties and pastels and shit. He knows that you guys aren’t meant to be together, the universe says so. But he’ll still play with your feelings because he likes pretending he deserves you. Pretending that in this world, girls like you and guys like him can be together and make it work.”

Katara’s jolting her head out of Toph’s lap in protest. “Well, what if I want to be a slut? What if I want to be the kind of girl that Zuko wants?” She was tired of being the cute girl who looks like she goes to volunteer at the community center regularly and is destined for some picket fence with a balding, accountant husband and loud, undisciplined kids. She wanted sex, hell she wanted to wear skimpy clothes without worrying what Zuko was going to think about how her tits looked, or if her pants showed enough of her ass to be considered hoe. Katara wanted the confidence of those girls Zuko would put on his social media, she wanted to be them. Being with Zuko felt like being with someone who got her, and she liked, hell loved the attention he gave her. As though she felt pretty, and not adorable. He was someone she just couldn’t get out of her head, someone that was so dangerous to her because she was feeling herself change for him. Is it wrong that she liked it? The way he called her gorgeous when he comes over, or how he lazily grinds against her ass when he’s half-asleep, hands on her hips grounding her.

Suki squeezes her chipmunk cheeks between her musty hands, and interrupts Katara’s protest about an acne breakout. “Even if you try changing everything about you to become exactly what he wants, do you really think he’s going to treat you the same when it isn’t on the down low?”

Ouch.

Suki’s honesty still stings, but it was the cold hard truth. She was willing to change herself, be someone for a guy promising her trips to Paris when he could never meet when the sun was up. Suki’s words hurt as bad as the dress Toph was squeezing you into. “You wanted slutty, I’m giving you waist trainer, Insta model slutty!” She had convinced Katara to go on a date with some guy who was “perfect” for her. Code for boring, she was sure of it. Probably an engineering major who didn’t know how Twitter worked.

Even with all of Toph’s efforts, Katara decided all the shapewear in the world wasn’t going to contain her “post depression ice cream for all three meals” belly.  So, she decided to keep it simple with her “knock-off Ariana” outfit as she calls it. Pairing just a pair of thigh high boots with a long sweatshirt.

“Look, I know you secretly get off to the thrill of dating a lame drug dealer, knowing the cops could bust down your door and cause a scene at your apartment. I know you live for the drama. But I promise, this guy will be good for you. Let’s just have fun for one night. Please put the dress back on? I know you haven’t washed that hoodie in a week,” Toph pleads with Katara.

She just rolled her eyes while Toph reapplied a layer of gloss to Katara’s lips. Deep down, she just knew in her heart there was no getting over Zuko. At least immediately. But, it didn’t hurt that Jet was cute, harmless fun.  He was taking her out to a diner near her apartment, frequented by students at their college deluded by the aesthetic photo ops, and not too concerned about how the restaurant was serving up microwaved Mac n cheese. He showed up looking exactly like his Instagram photos and in a well ironed H&M button up. She could feel Toph hiding behind her futon, snapping clandestine photos for Suki, who was in the bathroom with the Taco Bell shits.  

“ How dare you?! ” Jet screeches, dropping a cold fry in disbelief. “You’ve never watched anime?”

“Ok, a scream was not what I was expecting. I just asked if Teen Titans counted. Sue me.” Katara’s laughing, and hates to admit that it was fun being with Jet. He’s nerdy and sweet and most importantly so, so tall. A good guy.

“It doesn’t! ” he huffs petulantly.

Katara juts out her lip. “How can you ever forgive me?”

“Hmm. I guess a second date. Maybe an anime sesh will have to do. Your place, and we’re pulling an all nighter.”

“Why not your place?” she questions.

“I live in a living room, and I don’t have a mattress. But why not? My place it is!” His aggressive thumbs up makes her laugh so hard it sends her into a choking fit.

“So, we’re watching Teen Titans first, right?” she teases, pounding at her chest to stop the coughs.

His smile reaches his eyes. “You know, I was kinda scared going out with you tonight. No offense, but you have, like, no pictures on your social media. All Toph promised me was ‘you’re really pretty and heartbroken as well. ’ And, not to try to win any brownie points on this date, but I have to agree, you’re really pretty.” Katara rolls her eyes, and he blushes.

“I was expecting something along the lines of ‘ Goddess like,’ but I guess ‘really pretty’ works, too.” She’s laughing along with his obnoxious giggles, and she feels almost lighthearted. Not quite ready to fall in love again, but considering the possibility. “Let me guess, she cheated on you?”

“Worse. Walked in on her with...drumroll please!” Katara lightly began drumming her fingers on the dining table. “You guessed it! My brother!” he sheepishly admits, bringing out the jazz hands and everything to emphasize his point.

She audibly gasps. “That’s some Kdrama shit right there! Please tell me you started a fist fight with him, kicked a nut or two.”

“Nah, I had an essay due. No time for that shit, you know? I just shut the door, banged out my paper, and haven’t spoken to either of them in about four months.”

She takes a sip of her milkshake. “That’s healthy!” Jet tilts his shake in Katara’s direction in agreement, before taking a long gulp from the cup.

He quirks a perfectly shaped brow towards her. “So, let me guess. Your guy saved his side chick’s name as Chick-fil-a in his phone, you found out and tried to strangle him with his belt, and he pressed charges?”

“Oddly specific, but sadly no. Let’s just say he had the biggest heart. Big enough for bitches on the side as well.” Jet makes a grunt in disapproval. “It wasn’t like I could be mad, anyways. We weren’t in anything official. But it felt like it could’ve been something, you know?”

It was like an unspoken agreement, an energy that the two felt when they met each other. A “my heart was just shattered into a billion pieces but hopefully a rebound will lessen the pain just for two hours tonight” kind of vibe. It felt good with Jet, like the two of you guys had known each other forever. He serves her with corny joke after joke, and she lets herself laugh. She hated being around men, and besides, Sokka threatened any that even made eye contact with her  for longer than 20 seconds. Aside from Sokka, Zuko, and Aang, the kid she babysat, Katara was afraid to let any other men in her life. Three was already enough emotional labor.

They both go out for boba afterwards, and Jet makes sure to pay for their drinksand then drop his change into the tip jar. He knows that Katara swoons immediately. It always works. That’s why 30 minutes later, she’s slamming him into her futon. Soon after, he’s shirtless, pressing at her core with impatient fingers. She’s grinding helplessly in his lap, his moans egging her on. He insisted she keep the boots on.

“I was not raised to leave my shoes on in the house. That’s just vile ,” she protested. Jet silences her with a gentle kiss, and a press of his throbbing cock against her.

“Please, baby. Make an exception for me tonight,” he whispers against her lips. Her shorts and underwear are suddenly missing. When the fuck did he do that? She’s dizzy and horny and so full when he starts fingering her. His fingers so fucking long and is making her whimper and ready to have his kids. She closes her eyes because staring at Jet’s fucked out ones made her want to combust. She was focusing on the feeling of being stuffed while trying to tamp down on the fear of losing her virginity, because that seemed like the logical course of action with how the night was playing out. Damnit, what if it hurts like a pap smear ? She thinks pathetically. In the middle of all her inner monologues, she’s suddenly shoved off of Jet’s warm body, tumbling on the ground. She opens her eyes to see Zuko pummeling Jet to a pulp.

“Not the face, Zuko! Not the fucking face! He’s too pretty for this!” Katara yelps, shoving Zuko’s muscular frame off of Jet. Jet sends her a sad smile before slipping his shirt over his head and heading out the door.

She’s fuming, too angry, too confused. “What the fuck was that ?” She’s at maximum screech levels tonight, much to her neighbor’s dismay.

“You tell me!” Zuko cards his hands through his hair. “You’re fucking some other guy? Don’t know if you’ve forgotten, Katara. But this,” he gestures between the two of them. “Did you forget about us? Forget about me? What the fuck?”  

“Hold up, Walter White.” She’s sticking a hand out in his face. “We are a situationship, at best. Don’t you dare accuse me of whoring around when we aren’t even official.”

“I thought what we had, what we were...I don’t know? It’s different,” Zuko rubs at his neck awkwardly. “Did you not feel the same way? Why do you care about all these labels all of a sudden? Why didn’t you fucking tell me you wanted us to make it official?”

“It’s because you’re supposed to know! You’re supposed to know that I hate what you do, that I hate loving you, because it hurts me.”

“So why won’t you go out with me? Is it because I’m a drug dealer?” Zuko’s mad, twisting the rings on his fingers while impatiently waiting on her answer.

“Not exactly,” Katara quips, averting her eyes from his fiery gaze. “It’s mainly because you don’t tip when we go out to eat.”

“Bullshit!” he howls.

“You need to tip at least 20%!”

“Katara.” He takes a deep breath in. “Why don’t we just make this official?”

She’s worrying at her lip. Trying desperately to remember the breathing exercises her therapist had recommended before she started crying and did something crazy like suck his dick because he looked hot when he was angry. “Zuko, as much as you’d like to keep pretending that we could ever be a thing, I can’t. I can’t keep holding onto this fucking unrealistic dream. These unrealistic expectations! What do you want me to do? Pray for the day you get bored of dealing or hanging out with the rich kids or making out with sorority girls so you could come back to me at night? Because I’m fucking pathetic and let you back every single time?”

She sees him spluttering, trying to desperately hold onto a solid response that could sway her decision. “Katara, you know how much I care about you. But you would never get it! You would never get someone like me!”

She scoffs. “Try me. What don’t I get about you, Zuko?”

“That being with those people, and dealing makes me feel like more than just a poor kid with no parents and no fucking future.” Zuko huffs out the confession as though he was holding it in for a millenium.

“I get it, ok I understand but-”

Zuko steps back from her, as though she’s slapped him straight across the face. “No, Katara. You don’t. You don’t fucking get it. You get to cosplay as poor. Pretend that you have to budget when Sokka could easily handle everything if things go wrong.”

Katara’s angry, angry at herself. For hurting Zuko with her careless words, for looking so fucking stupid. “Ok, fine. You’re right.” She surprises even herself at her confession. "I don’t get it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be fucking worried about you? That I’m terrified about what could go wrong? One wrong move and you could fucking die! You think the dean is going to let any of those rich assholes take the fall for anything? No, they’re going to blame it on the disposable kid on Financial Aid,” she wails at the top of her lungs.

She searches his eyes for any understanding, for any reaction to what she was saying. His jaw is set in a determined look, the kind of look she knew was unwavering, was unable to be changed no matter what. She sucks in a breath of air, praying for any sort of strength. “How about you do you, and I do me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Zuko squeezes out. He’s rushing out the door, slamming it on his way out.

//

“I knew I could smell the cock on you! You rode that dick like a stolen car, didn’t you?” Suki bellows, cackling.

“Please, I will fucking block you,” Katara wearily threatens, without any might behind it. She’s, predictably, in one of Zuko’s old t shirts from when he played soccer in high school, slapping on moisturizer before she could retire to bed. “Zuko stopped anything from happening when he came in and went 'New York after Hottie said she looked like Beyonce' on his ass.

Toph grunts over the line. “So what’s the deal with you guys? He’s dealing you drugs and dick now? You’re fucking the weed man for weed? Or are you fucking the dick man for dick? At least you’re not fucking the tweet man for tweets.”

Katara pauses in patting in the cream on her face. “How does this make any sense to you? Like do you not hear yourself speak?”

“It makes perfect sense to me, slut.”

Suki jumps in before low blows could be dealt and the girls start making fun of each others foundation not matching. “You know what, I bet Zuko’s selling whole ass cilantro and/or oregano and no one says anything because he’s fine.”

Katara pauses in applying her lip balm, a call from Zuko popping up threatening to end her call with her girls. “Zuko’s calling?” she questions.

“This late?” Toph is in between bites of her pepperoni Hot Pocket.

Suki sighs. “Listen, Katara. Girls don’t win when it comes to love, we never win. Maybe you should take a break from all this Zuko mess, and I don’t know. Pick up a hobby. Go back to therapy.”

But Katara knew something was wrong. She could sense it, just feel it inside her. Something was inherently wrong. As though the universe was whispering this to her, pleading with her to listen. “I’ll call you guys back, ok?”

“This is the future Stephanie Meyer wanted. For girls to be pathetically in love with pale, emo guys,” Toph miserably whimpers after Katara leaves their call.

Katara heart felt like it could fall out of her ass and then jump back in her mouth with how loudly it was beating. She’s running, clad in only the t shirt and her slides. They were threatening to slip off at any second from how fast her feet were forcing them to pound at the pavement. Word of the wise, don’t fucking run in slides.

“Don’t fucking hurt him!” She screams, expandable baton whipped out and ready to pummel any bitch dumb enough to hurt Zuko while she’s around. A few guys were standing around Zuko’s limp body, about to lay another painful blow against his bruised visage when she starts wildly beating them with her baton. She’s shrieking at the top of her lungs, scaring them enough for all of them to disperse. They all ran off before they had to deal with whatever the fuck Katara was doing. Crazy wasn’t in their agenda that night, only beating up good looking dealers.

“Oh, Zuko.” Katara immediately lets go of the weapon, dropping down to her knees to look at him.

Turns out, everyone wants a shot at the king.

She sits herself down and gently cradles Zuko’s head in between her hands before placing it in her lap. He closes his eyes and musters the strength to give her a small smile.

“Thank you, Katara.” She’s trying her best to hold back her tears. The gravel is scraping unforgivably against her legs, the cold causing her throat to begin to itch. She’s shivering as she types in “911.”

Zuko lifts a battered arm to swat quickly at her fingers. “Can we just Uber to the hospital? I don’t want to drop two racks on an ambulance.”

“Zuko!” Katara squeals. It works, he’s got her to smile in spite of all the drama, all the tears. It’s so easy for them to be like this together. Just enjoying the moment, just being themselves. “You know, I’m sorry for ever saying you look like an angry snake. You still do, but I’m sorry.”

“I hate you,” he says without any commitment to the spite.

“You don’t.”

“I know.” He lets her finish ordering the Uber before speaking again. “I love you.”

She runs her fingers in his hair. “I know.”

“Say it back, please?” He has the audacity to pout despite being beaten nearly half to death.

“I’m scared,” she can’t bring herself to break eye contact with his intense gaze.

“I know.”

//

“Zuko! What happened?” Iroh’s running as fast as he can, still clad in his sleepwear. He sees the pretty girl that the nurses warned has refused to leave the boy’s side for the past few hours, never letting go of his hand. She’s even had the gall to snap the nurses who would show up to their shift a few minutes late.

He sees his nephew rub comforting circles in the girls’ hand with his thumb, looking at her before he could make eye contact with his uncle. Right when he’s about to say something, he’s interrupted.

“He was protecting me. We were walking in a bad part of town because I really wanted to get ice cream, and...we got mugged.” She finishes lamely, whispering the last few words. “They hit him first and then were trying to steal my purse. They got even more mad when he started yelling ‘don’t hurt her!’ He jumped in front of me before they could do anything.”

The two share a look and a smile. Zuko’s grip on Katara’s hand grows impossibly tigther.

[paytonfischer]

location: Royals Clubhouse featuring: @thexiomarareyes triggers: nsfw, fighting & blood

ABOUT: Payton finds Mara at the clubhouse, and two share a discussion before someone else appears, causing growing tension until the two finally find themselves alone. 

Vanilla Ice05/23/2020 With her palms pressed against the desk, a frustrated sign came from Mara. The coding that displayed on her screen nearly burned into her vision. She spent the majority of the afternoon tucked in the back of Ignition. Two computers sat turned from the public view while a black hard drive flashed a consistent green light. Mara began working to answer Carsons' questions after she gave him a preview of her current work. The week following the Carnival was spent organizing what she already retrieved from the Moonlight security footage and computers. She kept the possible banking records to herself, for the time being. It wasn't promising enough to bring attention to it. This was one of her biggest projects to date, and her brain ready for a well needed break.

She attempted to ignore the wandering eyes as they passed the office door. It was the distant sound of a motorcycle that caught her attention. A nervous breath released from her as it could be one of two people. Mara let a hand raise to the keyboard, her eyes returning to the processing screen. The sound of heavy boots worked in her direction, her fingers slowly down on the keyboard as her eyes flickered up towards the doorway.

Trissy Trat05/23/2020 The conversation with Joshua had gone well, and though the mere idea or suggestion still hung heavy over his mind, he’d decided to allow his chest a moment to expand. Catching his breath as he moved down the narrow hallways, nodding towards familiar faces, only pausing when one asked for a word with him. “Sure, shoot.” He offered, pausing to lean against a far wall, his gaze traveling about the clubhouse till landing on a familiar brunette. “Actually I’m sorry, can you excuse me?” Pushing off the wall, he wasted no time in crossing the room towards her.

“Let me guess, you were hopin’ to catch me at my place of business?” Ignoring the looks of others, Payton reached out, pulling the chair across from her free as he turned it around, sitting in the opposite direction. “Seriously though, you look good in the glow of your computer screen.” His tone was light, teasing though it’d be a lie if he said running into her wasn't the highlight of his afternoon now.(edited)

Vanilla Ice05/23/2020 A sarcastic scoff formed in her throat as she pushed off the desk. “Yes, I’ve set up my stalking command center in your office,” Her eyes rolled as she gestured towards the two computers in front of her. It had been a week since she heard from him and it showed no signs of letting up. Mara wasn’t one to reach out in a moment of silence. She decided the distance between them was for the better.

Smiling softly, her arms folded loosely across her chest. “All I’m missing is the leather,” She countered as her attention turned back towards the computer. The screen came to a sudden halt, causing her hand to fly down onto the keyboard. “Not off saving the world?” Her eyebrows raised upwards as her eyes remained on the screen. It was easier for her to focus elsewhere when attempting a conversation with him. May 24, 2020

Trissy Trat05/24/2020 Scoffing, Payton shook his head. “I mostly just save the city, particularly the Brooklyn area, I’m a fan of their pizza.” Tapping his fingers against the plastic of the chair, he watched her for a moment, her own digits dancing over the keyboard. It seemed whatever she was doing, the woman was rather invested in it. “How’s work goin’ for you?” If she was in the clubhouse, odds were it was Royals related though before he could inquire further, another walked up, slapping the male across the back.

“Someone overheard your talk with Joshua; I wanted to be the first to say congratulations.” It was just a random member, someone Payton hadn’t spent much time with in general. But still he nodded his head, giving the others hand a firm shake. “Thanks, man, really do appreciate it.” It seemed news spread fast as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, if you don’t mind.” Gesturing towards Mara he motioned with his head for the other to leave.

“Oh sorry Pay, didn’t realize you needed help setting up a Wifi password or something, that is what you do though right baby?” It was intended to be a joke but already Payton was standing, his chair scooting back. “Bet she’d like to see my hard drive and everything, aye, Fischer?”

Old habits died hard it appeared, as Payton reached out without warning, catching the hem of the shirt of the other as he dragged him forward. “You were almost not annoying, Collin, but then you just had to open that big ole gaping hole in your face.” Deep sighing, he tighter his grip. “Apologize to her, now.”

Vanilla Ice05/24/2020 Mara acknowledged she was listening with a nod of her head. Her teeth caught the skin on her bottom lip as the computer began to not respond. “I found a crust in my couch,” Her fingers tapped eagerly at the power button, the screen sudden going a bright blue. Paytons’ question brought her attention back to his, her hand pausing on the keyboard. “I need another vacation,” Her words were interrupted by the voice of an unfamiliar male.

Her hand moved to close the non-responsive computer. The celebratory comment coming from the males mouth caused her attention to return to Payton. Mara let her mouth press into a fine line as the two continued their conversation. His gesture towards Mara caused her eyes to narrow slightly at the pair of males. She wasn’t surprised she had no idea what was going on. The brunette steered clear of any inner-club doings. It was the unfamiliar members next comment that caused a frustrated sigh to release from her lips.

The same childish comment Mara faced before. It was the constant attention towards her looks that caused her skills to be overseen. Laughing then, all she could do was nod her head as her hands worked to pack up her things. Mara didn’t need to do this here, especially not where she was going to get unnecessary attention.

The shift motion of a body launching forward caused her body to stiffen in place. The sight of Paytons’ fist clenched into a tight ball caused her to take a step back. Mara knew the anger was there. He danced around it like it was invisible to everyone else. She could feel the frustration growing as Payton gave the male one last shove forward. “I don’t want a fucking apology,” Her voice more direct than she intended it to be. The brunette was sick of being bothered just to be protected by those who kept her at arms length. Her narrowed eyes fell on Collin, her chin nodding towards the open doorway. “Go before I change my mind,” May 25, 2020

Trissy Trat05/25/2020 Exhaling, Payton tightened his grip on the other's shirt, pulling him just a little closer. “Remember this,” With that, he pushed him back so he stumbled, nearly falling on his heels. “--because I will.” Maybe he shouldn’t have cared, just let it go, the very moment the asshole had opened his mouth. And yet he couldn’t, something about Mara’s presence pressing him into action. “Xiomara...” Turning towards her, he let his fists drop to his side, stalled balled up.

“Hey, wait.” The woman hadn’t left, though she had acted to stand and Payton found himself moving around the table towards her. “I’m sorry.” He was hot-headed, his temper getting the best of him in most moments. But he wasn’t willing to let Mara walk away so easily, especially when she seemed just as angry. “Mara, look at me.”

Vanilla Ice05/25/2020 Maras' arms folded tightly across her chest as she glanced between Payton and the other male. She wouldn't deny the fact it felt good to have the human shield. The problem was that she needed to fight her own battles. She silently watched as the male retreated into the garage, her eyes flickering towards Payton. Her hands returned to grabbing her things. "No, I'm fine." The lie broke from her lips as she leaned down to grab the large tote bag from the floor. Her hand dug into the bag, pulling a set of keys from the bottom.

She kept her attention focused on everything she brought from her apartment. It was easier to focus on that than to avoid the sixteen questions she had. Her movement stopped when another apology rang through the air. "For what?" She questioned as Payton continued towards her. Mara needed to keep the distance between them, the confusion she had was threatening to come spewing out. "I'm not doing this here." Mara finally returned her eyes to his, her mouth pressing into a fine line as her eyes glanced past. Their encounter with the other member already caused attention, she didn't need anymore of it. May 26, 2020

Trissy Trat05/26/2020 Frustration was evident on his features, but Payton would at least try to understand where she was coming from, recognizing that they were in a public place. “Alright,” Exhaling, he reached for her hand, tugging it gently behind him as he led her away towards the back hall. Ignoring every look they earned, his focus solely on getting the brunette alone. “--hold on.” Reaching for the knob, he turned it abruptly, watching as the door opened into a little office space. Nothing huge, and mostly used for storage but it would do.

And as they entered, he waited till she was inside, shutting the door with his free hand as he leaned over her. Finally alone, or well at least as alone as they would be getting in the next five minutes. “I said I’m sorry because of whatever the hell that was back there, I could tell it bothered you.” Looking down at her, he tried reading her features, piecing together the string of sentiments she was feeling. “And I know I overreacted, but I just, I can’t handle assholes thinkin’ they can talk to you like that. Not when I’m around, or hell, not ever.” She deserved better, and if he had any say in it, Payton would make sure she was provided nothing less. “You deserve respect, and if they can’t figure it out the first time around, I’ll help them with some directions for the second course around.” Shaking his head, he dragged a hand down the length of his face, working to try and properly express what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “You’re something different, they ought to see that,” Pausing, he sighed, his whole chest releasing. “--Because I sure as hell do.”

Vanilla Ice05/26/2020 The tension between the two was thick enough to create a wall between them. She could feel his frustration breaking through the barrier as his hand took ahold of hers. His swift movements towards the back of the shop caused the anxiety to rise in her throat. Mara kept her mouth pressed closed as she moved into the office. Her head shook as she turned to face him, her arms folding across her chest.

A minute passed before Payton moved to stand over her. She let her eyes fall to the middle of his chest, shaking her head once again. "I'm not mad," Mara could feel his eyes burning a hole into her head. She was more taken back by his instant jump at the male. The vulgar comment the blonde male made was one she heard many times before. A frustrated breath escaped her lips as Mara looked up at him, her arms dropping at her sides. "And, I appreciate that. I don't care what you do, I just don't need to see it." She knew the violence was bound to happen. The brunette already accepted the fact Payton would somehow find his way into the middle. "I don't need respect." Her eyes narrowed at him then. The brunette hesitated for a moment, her teeth catching the inside of her cheek. "I have my own way to get revenge." She watched the hand drag across his face, the frustration was easily replaced by exhaustion. "If I'm so different, why do I feel like everyone else?" Mara let the direct question linger for a moment, her eyebrows slowly raising. The words coming out of his mouth contradicted his actions. "What do you want me to say?" Her eyes glanced away as her brain went silent. Her skin was crawling and the pit in her stomach began to spread.

Trissy Trat05/26/2020 “You’re different to me.” Payton repeats, unsure how better to explain his thoughts. Already everything was racing a mile a minute, and he was left trying to keep up. “If those assholes are gonna disrespect you, then they might as well be disrespecting me.” Because somewhere along the way in the last few weeks, Payton had become attached to the woman in front of him. Forming ties that refused to be broken, even if they sometimes got knotted. “You aren’t everybody else.” This time his voice lowered, his gaze meeting her own. “—you’re like nobody I’ve ever met.” Mara saw things, experienced things and yet she kept herself separate. Somehow able to see through the ring of sin that the Royals circled in. “Xiomara,” Payton should’ve been smarter, more sensible but instead he simply reacted, placing his palm flat against the wall behind her as he stepped forward, closing the distance just before he kissed her.

It was slow at first, barely ghosting over until suddenly it wasn’t, his free hand moving to her side as he walked her back, teeth grazing against her lesser lip. “You’re something different altogether.” He promised the woman, feeling the wall stall their movements as he pulled back just a few inches. “Believe me.” May 27, 2020

Vanilla Ice05/27/2020 "Treat me like it then," She suggested as they worked to process the situation at hand. This wasn't what was suppose to come out of their first meeting. "I'll deal with it. It hits harder from a woman," Mara countered, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. She wasn't going to argue any further about it. The brunette wanted to be on the same playing field. She didn't want to stand behind him, she wanted to stand beside him. "You don't have to convince me," Her head shook once more before glancing back up at him. She knew long before her first interaction with Payton that she wouldn't quite fit into this life. There was something off about her and it wasn't visible at the surface. The sound of her name made the hair on her neck stand up, her body shifting backwards as Payton pressed towards her. With his lips on hers, a hand fell back to reach for the wall.

Her opposite hand reached towards the open end of his jacket. The feeling of his teeth only earned a hitch breath from the back of her throat. "So are you," The words formed against his lips as her back meet the wall. Mara let her head tilt backwards as her hand attempted to tug him closer. "Why should I?"

Trissy Trat05/27/2020 There was a surge of heat collecting in the cavity of his chest. everything else fading away as he moved in closer, a hand gripping at her hair, though he was careful to remain gentle. He wanted this, he wanted her. It was evident in every action that he made, and yet she still needed proof. The thought alone permitted a chuckle to escape his lips, which was now buried against the curve of her neck, his lips pressing chaste kisses along her flesh. “You smell so fucking good.” It was intoxicating, as his hands slipped lower, tracing along her curves till he found her hips; digits digging in deep against denim. “I think about it constantly.” Without warning, he lifted her, his other hand slipping from her hair to the wall, as he easily urged her higher, sliding his palm along the length of her leg till he encouraged her legs to spread around him.

“You know that? You drive me bloody crazy.” Pressing his forehead against her own, he released his hips to roll against her own just once, the notable bulge pressing against her inner thigh.

Everything about Mara had thrown him, inebriated him to the point that he saw nothing else when she was around. And when she wasn’t? Well, the woman hardly skipped his subconscious, even in his dreams, it was her who he saw. “Tell me I do the same to you, tell me you can’t escape me in your head.” Driving his hands even lower, he found no shame in cupping at her ass, his hand ceasing against the curve of her cheek as it found its way into her back pocket, squeezing determinedly. “Say it.”

Vanilla Ice05/27/2020 The sound from the opposite side of the door dispersed as Payton closed the gap between them. The hand tangled in her hair only promoted her neck to tilt to the side. She was giving up the battle she fought to keep the distance between them. Her hands moved to coil around the fabric of his shirt as he worked against her flesh. It left a trail of heat spreading well past the neckline of her shirt. "I'll remember that," The words were replaced with a content sigh. Her body only pressed closer as his hands gripped tightly onto her hips. His words were only pushing her closer to the edge, the anticipation beginning to form in her torso. "What else do you think about?" She curiously questioned as a gasp came from her. The sudden boost in height caused her hands to latch around his neck. Mara let her back press fully against the wall as her legs wrapped just above his hips.

"Don't tell me that," Her fingers worked to lace into the ends of his hair. The throbbing between her legs went into overdrive as he rolled against her hips. She let her legs tightened around his waist as his growing length pressed into her.

Mara could hear her own words repeating in her head. If she wanted to be happy, she had to stop being scared. Their path was already unclear and it only seemed to be getting worse. In this moment, she decided to stop thinking about what would happen tomorrow. "No," She let her head raise to speak the word against his lips, her fingers tugging back on his hair. The pressure on her ass only caused her hips to grind slowly against his groin. "Make me,"(edited) May 30, 2020

Trissy TratYesterday at 10:25 PM Oh, so that was how they’d be playing it as Payton let his hands travel lower, scooping at her ass as he managed to use his free hand to pop free the button of her jeans. “As you wish.” Slowly he let her feet meet the ground, dropping to one knee as he tugged gently at the denim, moving it further down her hips. “Hell, I’ll do whatever you wish.” Placing a kiss against her hips, he shifted his position so he was leaning against the wall, his thumbs hooking into the sides of her panties, pulling her forward. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Though when no hesitance came, he let one side slip further down, a trail of heated caresses following.

“I want to taste you.” Looking up at her, he finally gave the fabric one last tug, freeing them as he reached around, urging her forward as he tipped his head up, crouching just a bit lower so he could lean into her, meeting her warmth with his mouth.

Vanilla IceYesterday at 10:50 PM A grin formed on her face as the button of her jeans unsnapped. Mara let her eyebrows arch as her feet fell to the floor. She watched as he dropped to his knee, her hips working to peel back from the material."Anything?" Mara asked as she inhaled a sharp breath. His mouth moving against her skin prompted her hips to move forward. A hand rested against the wall as the other worked into the ends of his hair. "Don't stop," Her legs began to part as the thin material began to fall from her sides.

Mara's head mindlessly nodded as her eyes locked with Payton's. She sat bare in front of him as his hand tugged her forward. The brunette's head fell back within seconds as his mouth connected with her center. Her teeth caught the inside of her cheek in attempt to stifle back a moan.

Trissy TratYesterday at 10:57 PM Oh, no he wanted to hear her as his tongue moved about, exploring and savoring. Everything about her taste capturing him as he moved one hand towards her own, interlocking their fingers against the wall, as his other only pushed him further into his mouth. “Say my fuckin’ name.” It was a demand, as he moved his gaze up towards her own, locking it as he popped his lips around her clit, a slight suctioning movement before dropping his head back.

“Say it as I make you cum.” This time his tongue came in contact, fully working at a feverish tempo, determined to feel her walls clench, with her wetness tinting his beard. “Mara,” Growling against her warmth, his teeth gently nipped at her clit, teasing and taunting as his free hand gripped her asscheek, stroking the rounded curve. God, she was beautiful.

Vanilla IceYesterday at 11:33 PM The arch in her back increased as his tongue worked vigorously against her. Mara's chest began to slowly heave as his tongue hit spots most missed. She let her nails dig into the rough side of his palm, her hips rolling with the curve of his mouth. The brunette let her eyes fall towards his, her fingers tightened around the ends of his hair. "No," She let the words moan from her lips as her body twitched with the pull of her clit.

The hand in his hair urged his face deeper, her grasp pulling eagerly at the loose ends. Mara could feel the wave of euphoria threatening to spill over as Payton continued his aggressive pace. She quietly mummed at the sound of her name, a throat moan broke from her lips as his teeth grazed across the delicate skin. The brunette felt the base of her legs begin to shake as her core tightened against his face. "Right there," Mara could feel her dominance streak wearing away as her groin rode out her orgasm against the heat of his mouth. Her head fell back once more as her eyes focused on the ceiling, his name could practically be heard from the other side of the closed door. "Payton," May 31, 2020

Trissy TratToday at 12:00 AM Feeling her come against his mouth, Payton kept himself pressed against her, memorizing each vibration as his nails dug against her flesh. "Yes baby, come for me." Never ceasing his movements, he let her ride out the orgasm till she stilled, and only then did he rise, licking over his lips as he looked down at her. "I'm excited to do that again," Pausing he forward, kissing the curve of her neck. "and again, again."

Only next time, it'd been in his bed, and not a supply closest. So he could really show her his worth, as he grinned down at her. "You're different, Ximoara Reyes, I mean it."

Vanilla IceToday at 12:29 AM She could feel her eyes fluttering back into her skull as her body fell to his manipulation. A whimper rolled from her lips as Payton’s fingers pressed roughly into her skin. It was only a few moments after her release that his figured returned to look over her. Her back remained flat against the wall as she looked up with him. “Whenever,” the brunette declared as her head tilted to welcome his lips against her neck.

A small sliver of greed spread through her as she wanted to push further. Pouting her lips slightly, her hands reached forward to tug him closer. “I know,” Mara pushed off the wall to press her mouth against his. The brunette welcomed the taste of herself as her tongue barely grazed along his bottom lip. Pulling back, her hands worked to pull her clothing back into place. “I’m not walking out first,” Mara challenged as a smile planted on her face.

// FADE TO BLACK

[moonlightchess]

On Lesser Ghosts, my perpetually in-progress novel, a cast of current characters:

Brandon Graham: 30 years old, police investigator for the Dorset Police Department of Dorset, Vermont. The sole survivor of serial killer Seth Morgan, active throughout the bulk of the 90s and all the way through 2003, when he was captured shortly after a 15-year-old Brandon escaped his nightmarish year of captivity in the Morgan house. Casually alcoholic, gay, entirely jaded and weary of the world, but stronger than he appears at first glance. Recently assigned to the case of Cora Tycho, a promising young physics student from the Lower Prince area of Vermont who has gone missing.

Dr. Casey Tycho: 30 years old, and Dorset PD’s newest medical examiner. A British expatriate originally hailing from north London, Casey is the antithesis to the human disaster of Brandon. Sharp, extensively educated, responsible and diligent, he wears silk-lined suit vests and ties to work and has been sleeping with Brandon for six months in an arrangement that Brandon refuses to acknowledge as any sort of relationship. He’s quietly accepted this, both out of respect for Brandon’s boundaries and because being black and openly gay in a small Vermont town may not be the most desirable situation. His sister Cora has gone missing, and he hates how little he wants Brandon on the case, but he knows better than anyone how unstable the man can be.

Sara Graham: Brandon’s younger sister at 27 years old, a folk musician and “crafty mess” by her own admission. Bright, curious, extroverted and warm, much of her life has been dedicated to worrying about her brother. She makes beaded jewelry and pottery on the weekends, collects coffee mugs, and is a driving force in Brandon’s life, though he occasionally wonders if she doesn’t resent him at least a little for the way his kidnapping and subsequent fame as Seth Morgan’s sole surviving victim dominated her younger years. The two are very close, and she’s determined to not allow him to lie down and give up on the Cora Tycho case, no matter how much tension and distance it’s created between he and Casey.

Sasha Prescott: Brandon’s boss, police chief of the DPD. Tough as nails, but she harbors a soft spot for Brandon in spite of his sporadic displays of instability and recklessness in the past. Especially protective of Casey, having long since come to the conclusion that Dorset’s black community is small at best and they have to stick together - the disappearance of Cora, a young black woman in her town, has been keeping her up at night. Her hawk’s stare and firm hand keep the entire department in line, but this also means that she has a constant target on her back.

Kris Alden: A mystery. Was with Cora Tycho on the night she went missing during a camping trip in the woods. Claims he went home early, a result of stomach problems. Not much intel on him yet.

Audrey and Stephen: The forensic lab techs, working directly under Casey. Odd, dreamy types, ensconced in their own little world much of the time. May know more than they’re letting on.

Read the first few pages below!

                                                   🔍🔍🔍

09.12.19:

A burning and industrious early-morning sun insisted upon bullying the pleasant warmth of Casey’s skin into something too harsh to ignore as Brandon groaned, rolling over onto his stomach in bed.  Beside him, Casey stretched, languid as an enormous cat, his sleep likely having been far more restful. Still, his smile was tender as he reached for him, and the scent of coffee brewing from the kitchen suggested that he’d already been up once to make it for him. The sweetness of the gesture hurt, and he curled away from his touch. “Too fucking hot.”

“It’s only going to be about seventy today.” Because of course Casey knew the day’s predicted weather already, of course he was as on top of it as he was everything else in his life. Casey, with his autumn-brown skin and gentle, fox-gold eyes like candlelit amber, of course he was ready with coffee brewing and the forecast on his phone. They were the same age, thirty, but Casey was one of those rare people who had been an adult since twelve. He’d probably delighted in collecting school supplies for a new year when none of his friends gave a shit, he was the type of person who always knew where his keys were. He had a set-in-stone laundry day, which had blown Brandon’s mind when he’d first learned of it. Even now, at six AM, he smelled like fresh fucking bread. Literally the worst human, Brandon had long since concluded, but the sex was fantastic.

Wordlessly, he rolled over for his first cigarette of the day, ignoring Casey’s softly disapproving sound behind him. He briefly considered reminding him of his total lack of access into his personal life, that whatever happened between them sexually meant ten kinds of nothing outside the bedroom, but Casey had never pushed or questioned his boundaries. He kept his distance as Brandon rolled naked out of bed, ambling to the window to shove it open before disappearing into the bathroom without further comment. He gave him time to shower before following, tapping his fingertips against the glass shower door with a quiet, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Want company?”

“Oh, uh. No.”

There was a pause, and then Casey’s silhouette nodding silently, turning to go. He was unique in that Brandon never felt so much as a semblance of guilt about bluntly rejecting the affections of anyone but him, and now it felt sharp. The hot spray of water went needle-harsh against his skin, but he still ignored the coffee Casey had left on the counter for him, as well as the text blinking on his phone. Eat something. Don’t be too late for work, Sasha will have your ass. Even now, he did his best to take care of him as much as Brandon would allow, but he rationalized that he’d never promised the man a damn thing. In fact, he’d made his limitations abundantly clear on the first night they’d tumbled, panting, into bed together, roughly six months ago. The problem was, there was another man. He was persistent and jealous, and he was always around. He was sitting on the edge of his bed right now, in fact. Late forties, moon-pale skin and sleek, ink-black hair, his deceptive youthfulness undercut by the coldness lingering in his dark eyes.

Seth waited, silent, watching Brandon dress. The most attention he ever paid to his honey-blonde mess of hair was a quick tugging of his brush, and the woodsmoke cologne his sister had given him for Christmas last year was left mostly unused on the dresser. His morning routine had long since boiled down to a quick shower, shave, and brushing of teeth and hair before throwing on whatever happened to be clean regardless of its fashionable implications. Today, Seth watched him button up a loose black Oxford over a pair of battered jeans, before embarking upon a ten-minute search for his keys because he wasn’t Casey and never would be.

A light drizzle began to dissolve the heat of the day like sugar in warm coffee once he was on the road, clouds going dense and dark with the sweet threat of a proper rain. Sasha had already texted him - 9:10, Graham. Late again. Casey had tried to warn him, but then he always did, and Brandon never listened. Elgar helped to swallow Sasha’s nearly tangible contempt for his time management skills as he drove, and beside him, Seth settled into the passenger’s seat to stare thoughtfully out at the increasingly heavy rain.

10.4.2003:

This far north into Vermont, where Seth’s house teetered on the border into Canada, winters descended early and lingered long. The ceiling-to-floor steel and rebar support pipe Brandon had been handcuffed to by the wrists for the past two weeks had absorbed the seeping chill, and Seth had only dressed him in a filthy, tattered wifebeater and a pair of old blue flannel pajama pants that smelled suffocatingly of mothballs. He woke every few hours with numb, stinging toes, shivering and dripping. The handcuffs Seth had restrained him with had to have been ordered from somewhere - there was no soft pink fur lining to suggest an intended use of foreplay, and instead they were solid in a deadly way, a way that thunked every time he slid them locked with a firm sense of finality. 

A fever burned through his bones overnight near the middle of October, and finally some part of Seth seemed to awaken to his basic human needs. He was provided a deeply itchy wool blanket that felt woven from canvas and sandpaper, but it did the job of keeping him warm. Every few nights, his worn boots would thud down the basement steps to offer him a plate of cold, congealed noodles that he’d clearly been keeping in the fridge. His wrists went raw and scabbed with the endless scrape of the cuffs, his knees cramping in their bent position. Stretching his legs was possible, but uncomfortable. The days began to melt together, the constant darkness of the basement transforming time into a static thing. He slept when the wave of exhaustion became too much to fight, he woke and watched the shadows when sleep eluded him. He lost all sense of night or day, the passage of hours.

Three weeks deep, the frantic hope that he’d be found began to fade. The basement began to feel like his place, and he began to forget what it felt like to not fall asleep hugging a metal pipe. Seth was strangely reassuring, an exponential effect that seemed to correlate with his slow acceptance of his situation. As time dissolved and desperation waned, Seth’s approval bloomed. Sometimes, now, the noodles were warm and slick from boiling water, fresh. His blanket was replaced with a less abrasive one, albeit filthy. At fourteen years old, Brandon learned that life began and ended here in his cold, dark basement. The memory of the day he’d been taken seemed irrelevant now, the faces of his parents to whom he’d clung so desperately in those early days.

“I know that you don’t understand.” Seth’s voice was soft, gentle more often than not, sedately erudite like a classics professor on vacation in the woods for the holidays. He was quite articulate, expressing himself fairly eloquently whenever he came into the basement to speak to him. “It sounds trite, like something Keats might have written, but believe me when I say that this is your chrysalis phase, Brandon. It’s tight and uncomfortable and emerging will be a painful struggle, but I want you to trust me. I know it’s asking a lot of you right now, but I also know that your eyes are open and you’ll get there. I trust you already.”

He wore a lot of high-collared fleece sweaters in earth tones and he kept his silky hair longish, framing his face in a soft sort of way that left him mild and relaxed to the eye. Brandon learned to crave him, the only human voice, presence, that he’d experienced in a month as the end of October approached. He couldn’t express this yet, but Seth would smile down at him, bending at the knees to wrap him in a new blanket or to offer him the day’s plate of noodles. Sometimes the blankets were splattered with fresh bloodstains and sometimes the noodles were wrapped around bullets of sausage that tasted blandly wrong, but he was there.

Once, shortly before Halloween, the burgeoning bond between them inspired him to blurt, “I wouldn’t say anything, you know. You could just let me go, you wouldn’t even have to drive me home. I’d never tell anyone, I understand your work here--” because Seth had often referenced his cryptic “work” without elaborating. “I won’t try to stop you, you could just--”

Seth’s open hand slammed into the side of his head, smacking his skull into the metal pipe with a gut-churning clang. The world exploded into white fire, his vision briefly going dark as his brain struggled to retain consciousness. A thick, hot ooze of dark blood began to gush from his nostrils, but he was too resigned at that point to so much as scream. Instead, he moaned softly, sagging forward as his head began to throb in time with his heartbeat. The agony was blinding, but he didn’t pass out, which came as something of a disappointment.

A month and a week passed.

09.12.19:

Dorset’s PD’s station was one of the lingering bastions of old-school police architecture, all museum-high ceilings and wooden desks arranged in rows. Brandon wove his way between them on his way to Sasha’s office, set high above the ground floor grunts and their ancient desktop computers. He’d always respected the way she’d left the glass panels that made up the front wall of her office intact, leaving her visible to her officers and techs alike. She was typing on her own laptop when he tapped his fingers against said glass, waving him inside. A still-steaming paper cup of Two Brews sat on her desk, littered with loose papers that themselves were littered with her scribbled notes. My office, whenever you decide to show up, she’d texted him.

Sasha Prescott was forty-four years old with dense, dark curls clipped short and precise. With her high cheekbones, full lips and velvet-dark skin, she could easily have been a model even in her middle age, dominating an industry obsessed with youth. And dominate it she would have - there was a carefully cultivated air of laser focus that she wore like armor wrapped around her, her narrow, jewel-black eyes piercing through lies and alibis like a hot knife through butter. She and Brandon’s mutual respect had led to a highly efficient and successful working relationship over the years, and they both appreciated that neither was in any way interested in developing any sort of personal friendship outside of work.

Now, he dropped into the Quaker chair in front of her desk and considered making an attempt for her coffee, which she didn’t appear to have started drinking yet. Her signature plum lipstick had not yet stained the rim, but she zeroed in on his intent with her standard razor perception and shook her head. “I will literally stab you,” she said casually, and he let his hand fall to his knee instead.

“What’s up?”

“First off, roll in here late again and I’ll write your ass up. Secondly, we have a delicate situation in our laps right now and I want some input on how to deal with it.”

Arching an eyebrow, Brandon kept his tone as nonplussed as possible. Too much visible interest might have convinced Sasha to change her mind, one of her stranger quirks. “I’m listening.”

“Cora Tycho is missing, as of somewhere around midnight last night.”

He nearly rose to his feet despite his resolve, an icy fist punching straight through his ribcage to seize his heart. “Casey’s sister?”

Sasha confirmed this with a short nod, her lips pressed tight. “She was out camping with a friend near the Lower Prince quarry. Her friend, Kris Alden, fell ill shortly after they ate dinner and decided to go home. Cora wanted to drive him, but there was no one available to take her back once he was home and he claims he felt guilty about making her miss some super-moon or whatever the hell it is, told her he could make it home on his own. She never came back from the woods, the Alden kid shared a class with her that she skipped this morning and no one has been able to reach her via call or text. It’s not enough to assume that she’s officially a ten-fifty-seven just yet, but people are starting to worry. She’s never been someone to just bail on everything like this, Kris described her as very thoughtful and responsible.”

“You’ve already sent someone out to talk to him? Does Casey know?”

“Not yet. That’s actually what I wanted your input on - obviously he’s not getting anywhere near this case, but given the personal nature of your relationship with him what are your thoughts on his capability to handle the work environment in general as it’s investigated? Should I just send him on a vacation until this is cleared, or is he frosty enough to stay professional here at the station while his sister is missing? You know him better than any of us.”

Brandon’s brain reeled. “Personal nature? I don’t know what sort of relationship any of you are under the impression that we--not that any of you should have any impression of our relationship, I mean. Shit. We’re not in a relationship! I barely know him!” His voice was raising in pitch while he remained completely unaware, his knuckles going white around the armrests of the Quaker chair. Sasha exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Jesus. Do I need to send you on a vacation too? Get your shit together.”

“Fuck. Okay.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he exhaled. “Casey is one hundred percent able to handle working while this is being solved, but that doesn’t mean he should. I doubt he’ll let you send him on a vacation, but try anyway. He doesn’t deserve to be here all day, trying to focus on other shit while half of Dorset is trying to figure out if his sister’s body is rotting in the woods somewhere. He should be with his family.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m giving this girl until tonight to turn up, and then I’m issuing a gloves-off ten-fifty-seven.” Sasha’s voice went to iron, and it occurred to Brandon that she cared for Casey as much as anyone at the DPD did. He was the lifeblood of the forensics labs, their unflappable new medical examiner whose lingering British accent left over from a youth spent in west London had a way of soothing even the most panicked and horrified relative of one of his corpses. 

“I need you to go into far more detail about the supposed “nature” of my relationship with Casey, up to and including just how the hell you even knew about it at all. Not that it’s anything. At all.”

“Would you kindly climb off my dick, Graham? I’ve got enough shit on my plate right now.”

“Sasha.”

“Settle down. No one else knows anything, even though according to you there’s nothing to know. It’s just that a lifetime of police investigation have left me a highly observant person--”

“A lifetime? You’re in your forties, don’t start writing your memoirs yet you drama queen.”

“...And as such, I’ve noticed you two leaving work together occasionally, showing up around the same time in very deliberately separate cars but sometimes accidentally wearing each other’s shirts, things like that. Things only I would ever notice, I promise. No one else has mentioned anything to me, and you know they would if the rumor mill was running about it.”

“Fine. Whatever. Any more intel on Cora?”

Wordlessly, Sasha slid a manila envelope across her stately desk. Opening it, Brandon was confronted with a glossy photo of a beautiful young woman, all sparkling honey eyes and rich dark skin like a sunset’s sweet glow, thick black hair meticulously oiled and wrapped and beaded into immaculate dreadlocks that she’d pulled back with a sky-blue silk scarf for her senior high school photo, Cora wore her brother’s beauty as elegantly as he did. They shared the same royally rounded nose and high cheekbones, full lips and dimples. His chest ached, and he brushed his fingertips against the photo thoughtfully without realizing he was doing it. Sasha had compiled everything - her academic records, notes on her hobbies and habits, her generally expected whereabouts on any given day. She had no legal record to speak of, her profile speaking to a bright, clean-cut girl with a gleaming future in physics.

“She was a student at NVU,” Sasha supplied. “Is a student. Solid grades, a quiet type, well-liked by her peers but not known to be a partier. Close with her family, especially our Casey. Loved to cook, according to reports. She entered several baking competitions last year, even won a couple. Played the violin all throughout high school, but turned down a suggested spot on NVU’s student orchestra. Said she didn’t want it to interfere with her study time, according to the orchestra leader I called. She seemed laser-focused on her goal of working for NASA someday, had a whole vision board about it on Pinterest.”

“I’ll start with Kris Alden. I’ll head out to his place today.”

“Start with Casey. I don’t want him to hear about this on the news, and my official statement on the case is going live tomorrow morning.”

“Shit. Okay.” Scooping the file up under his arm, he rose to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him, he down in the forensics lab?”

“With Audrey and Stephen. See if you can get him alone, he won’t like his techs seeing him break down in front of them if he reacts poorly.”

“How the hell else do you expect him to react to the news that his sister is missing?”

“I’m just saying, let’s be conscious of how difficult this is going to be for him. You’re not exactly known for your tact, but you have the best shot at holding him together here. You know as well as I do that the longer we go without finding this girl, the less of a chance we have.”

Brandon paused at her office door. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Took me a year to get out of that basement.”

He hated the way her gaze softened, and so he made his way out without a goodbye to make a point, ignoring the irritating hiss of her compressed-air door mechanism that refused to let him leave with a satisfying slam. The forensics lab and department morgue was located in the basement of the station for obvious reasons, a narrow elevator depositing him into the DPD’s underground two minutes later. The temperature dropped by a few degrees once the doors slid open, the stone all around them cooling the air. He couldn’t hear the rain anymore, down here, and he found Audrey and Stephen hunched over a severed hand on a sleek chrome examination tray in the lab.

Audrey was tall and willowy, twenty-six with ice-blonde hair wound into a messy braid that she’d draped over one shoulder, so pale and slim that there was something ghostly about her, especially when taking into consideration her gray eyes so light and translucent they were nearly colorless, like a mirror or a deep-sea creature. She wore a white lab coat over a pair of black jeans and a loose, baggy gray sweater - she wore a lot of gray, black and white, and she always looked like a spectre, an overcast ocean. The selkies would have accepted her as one of theirs upon sight. Stephen was only barely as tall as her, with a much friendlier face, soft freckled cheeks and tanned skin suggesting a childhood spent outdoors working off baby fat. He had peanut-brown curls tumbling over his forehead and round, intelligent hazel eyes, a sharply defined mouth and an easily cheery demeanor. Oddly enough, he and Audrey were quite close.

“Hey guys. Anyone seen Casey?”

“Down in the morgue.” Audrey pointed to her feet, indicating the sub-level beneath them. “He left this hand with us and told us to collect data samples and disappeared. He’s been down there all morning.”

“Do you know whose hand it is?”

“Pretty sure it belongs to that wheat farmer who turned up in the hospital last week missing one. I mean, how many hands could there be unaccounted for in Vermont right now?” Stephen grinned, snapping his gum. He took a kind of morbid glee in his work, something Brandon had always suspected Audrey shared with him.

“Left hands, to boot,” Audrey added, shrugging. “How are you, Brandon?”

“I’m fine. I’d love to stay and um, look at the hand with you guys, but I’ve got to talk to Casey. Have...fun?”

Stephen’s grin widened. “Oh, we will, friend.”

“I hate the way you say things.”

Stephen’s laughter followed him back into the elevator, which delivered him to the bottomost floor of the DPD headquarters. Casey was there, bent over his own work, having forgone his stiff lab coat in favor of his neatly tucked-in dove-gray button-down, black silk tie, charcoal dress vest and matching creased slacks. His leftover British sensibilities were evident in his crisply classic style, always semi-formal and expensive even when he dressed “down” in Burberry cashmere sweaters and custom-tailored jeans. He looked so unflappable that Brandon’s faith in him was stirred anew, and he approached with more tenderness than was normal for him. His aura alerted Casey to something amiss upon impact, and he narrowed his eyes at him before saying a word. “Don’t see you down here often, love.” The last word slipped out before he could stop it, and Brandon watched him flinch minutely, almost imperceptibly.

[sweetlysilent]

Apartment 509 (Part Ten)

Pairing: Roommate!Fuckboy!Tom x Reader

Summary: Just when things were starting to look up, everything came crashing down within a blink of an eye, but the universe has a way of balancing things out.

A/N: Wow hello everyone, it’s been a while since I’ve updated Apartment 509. These past few months have really taken a toll on me, hence why it took me forever to write part ten, but now it’s finally here!! I’m really happy with how it turned out. This is technically the last part of Apartment 509, which is kind of a bittersweet moment for me because I loved writing this series so much, but there will be an epilogue! It’ll be considered part eleven. That being said, I hope you all enjoy this part, I put so much thought into how I wanted it to end, it may cause some tears just an fyi. Also, this is the longest fic I’ve ever written, it’s 7.9k words. Okok I’m gonna stop rambling now, love you all, enjoy. xx

Apartment 509 (Masterlist) | Main Masterlist | Part Nine

If you’d like to be tagged for this mini-series feel free to shoot me an ask, or you can add yourself to the Apartment 509 Tag List + Feel free to add yourself to my personal tag list if you’d like! Happy Reading! :)

You sat on the edge of your bed, blankets hanging off the mattress, tears rimming your eyes as you stared blankly at the floor. The only thing making a sound was your heart thumping wildly in your ears. Your hands were as cold as ice, but you barely even noticed, your whole body being completely numb, even though your mind knew you were shaking.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut filled your ears, footsteps making their way down towards your room, before your bedroom door swung open. Madison’s concerned expression contorted into one of worry, her eyes raking in your shutdown appearance.

“Y/N.. What’s going on? I got here as quick as I could.” Madison spoke quietly, making her way over towards you, as she knelt down in front of you. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.” She stated, raising a brow as you blinked a few times, your blurry eyes flickering to hers.

“It’s my father..” You whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek as your eyebrows scrunched together, “H-He’s in the hospital..” You paused, your throat aching as you tried to hold back your sobs, “He had a h-heart attack Mads, t-they don’t know i-if he’ll make it.” You choked out, unable to hold back any longer, a waterfall of tears streaming down your cheeks.

Madison’s eyes widened, her face falling at the news about your father, her heart aching for you. She knew how much he meant to you, he was, is, your only parental figure you had left.

“I should have known something was wrong Mads, I should’ve known.” You cried into her shoulder, her arms wrapped around your crumbling figure. “Don’t do that Y/N, you can’t blame yourself for not knowing.” Madison tried to reason with you, she wouldn’t let you blame yourself for something you had no control of, let alone knowledge of.

“I should’ve called him the second the payment for school stopped, it was a sign, and I ignored it.” You sobbed, your eyes now red and puffy as you looked at her. “Y/N, take a deep breath, please.” Madison whispered, a sorrow expression on her face as you inhaled and exhaled a breath, your body growing tired.

“Why don’t I take you to the hospital so you can see him.” Madison offered as you nodded your head slowly in response. You stood up, grabbing a hoodie off your bed, which was actually Tom’s hoodie, but in the current moment you didn’t even realize, too focused on putting on your boots that kept your feet warm. You both exited your room, Madison pulling out her car keys, the sound capturing Jacob’s attention, causing him to look up.

“Madison?” He questioned, grabbing her attention as she turned her head to look at him. “What’re you doing here?” He questioned, confusion written all over his face. “Y/N called me.” She stated vaguely, glancing over at you as you made your way in front of her, your eyes flickering over towards Jacob.

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Jacob immediately questioned the second he saw you walk into his line of sight. You let out a sniffle, a tear trickling down your now splotchy cheeks. “My father is in the hospital, he had a heart attack.” You spoke quietly, your voice monotone, scaring Jacob slightly at how emotionless you sounded.

He didn’t know what to say, he knew you were falling apart on the inside, he knew how important your father was to you. His heart broke for you, remembering the day where you opened up with him and told him about your mother passing away. Now here he was, witnessing you go through it all over again, but this time it was so much worse.

“I’m taking Y/N to the hospital, you’re welcome to join us there.” Madison offered as Jacob nodded silently, before Madison motioned for you to go ahead of her, exiting the apartment.

Jacob chewed on his lower lip anxiously, pacing around the kitchen as he tossed his phone back and forth between his hands, debating on whether or not to call Tom. He knew things were complicated between the two of you at the moment, but this was serious.

He let out a breath, pulling up Tom’s contact name, about to press the call button when he heard keys jingling and the main door opening once more. Tom and Harrison’s voices filling his ears. Now not only did he have to tell Tom, but he had to tell Harrison too.

“Jacob! Mate! Are you home?” Tom called out, removing his coat as Harrison kicked his shoes off, trailing behind Tom. “Kitchen!” Jacob called back, swallowing nervously as he ran his hand across his forehead, going to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of water.

“Hey man.” Tom greeted, entering the kitchen, Harrison walking beside him as Jacob smiled. “Hey guys,” He nodded his head towards the both of them, taking a swig of the cool liquid, “How’re you doing Haz?” Jacob asked, wanting to try to get his mind off of you and everything going on.

“Honestly, I’m already doing much better.” Harrison admitted, a faint smile on his lips as Tom patted his back. “As much as I hate going there, it really does help me, I can just vent their and it makes me feel so much better.” Harrison smiled softly, fiddling with his fingers. 

“I also got medication prescribed to me today, my therapist says that’ll help keep me stable, and my psychiatrist agreed with her.” Harrison added on, his eyes a bit brighter as both Tom and Jacob smiled.

“That’s great man.” Jacob smiled, as Tom grinned at his friend. “I’m so proud of you mate, you’ve come such a long way.” Tom congratulated him, giving him a hug as Harrison chuckled at the gesture.

“Thanks guys.. I really do owe it all to you.. And Y/N.” Harrison smiled, his voice a bit quieter when he said your name. He knew bringing you up was a risky move, but it was true, he really did owe you one.

“Speaking of Y/N, where is she?” Tom spoke up, his brows furrowing as he crossed his arms, glancing down the hall to see your door open. It struck him as unusual, it was a Saturday night, you had told him earlier that you had homework that you needed to get done. Plus, you had also agreed to wanting to have a movie night with him, but now, you were nowhere to be seen.

“Jacob?” Tom pressed, turning his gaze to his other roommate, his eyes narrowing slightly as Jacob let out a defeated sigh. “Alright, if I tell you guys, promise me you’ll handle it professionally.” Jacob started, giving both of them a serious expression as they both nodded in response, their attention solely focused on Jacob.

“Y/N’s father had a heart attack, she’s at the hospital right now with Mackenzie.” Jacob spoke cautiously, noticing their expressions fall immediately. “Is she okay?” Harrison breathed out, a worried expression on his face as Tom stood in silence. 

“I’m not going to lie to you guys, she’s broken, I’m not sure if she’s going to be able to overcome this, especially if he doesn’t make it.” Jacob admitted, another sigh escaping his lips as he rubbed his chin.

“Then we need to be there for her, now more than ever.” Tom insisted, pulling his keys back out and heading right for the door, grabbing his coat along the way. Harrison gave Jacob a questioning glance, but let it go, quickly going to put his shoes on as Jacob shut the door behind him.

They weren’t going to let you go through this alone.

- ❁ -

You had gotten to the hospital ten minutes ago, and now you were stuck in the waiting room. You couldn’t sit still, your foot tapping against the white tiled floor, your eyes constantly flickering to every spot in the room while you anxiously chewed on your thumb nail.

Madison glanced over at you, her eyes full of worry, she had never seen you like this before. The only time in her entire life that she had ever seen you upset was during school when you had slept through your alarm and missed class, and then.. With Tom.

She cleared her throat, capturing your attention as you looked over at her, a brow raised. “I know this is the absolute worst time to bring this up, but I just really need to get his off my chest.” She paused, taking a breath as her nerves increased, causing your heart to sink even further down into your stomach. “About Tom?” You spoke quietly, your voice hoarse from crying so much.

You knew you were going to have to have this conversation eventually.

“Yeah.. About Tom.” She nodded, her voice quiet like yours as she focused on her hands. “What I did Y/N.. I know it’s fucked up, it’s haunted me since the day it happened.” She sniffled, the guilt overwhelming her as your face softened.

“I don’t know what came over me that night, I had gone out to a party with Abby and Scarlet, we were having fun, drinking and dancing, and then next thing I know I’m with Tom in the apartment, and then after that it’s all a blur.” Madison explained, the memories flooding her head, tears trickling down her cheeks.

“When I woke up the next morning I was so confused, until I saw him laying next to me, I felt horrible Y/N, I still do.” She choked out, wiping away the tears on her face.

“I betrayed you, I went behind your back and hooked up with your roommate when you told me not to.” She ranted, her breathing becoming heavier the more she spoke. You placed your hand on her arm, causing her to look up at you.

You gave her a weak smile, “I know,” You whispered, watching another tear slip down her cheek. “You should hate me.” She whispered, tears rimming her eyes once more as you frowned at her words. “I could never hate you,” You shook your head, holding her hand tightly, “You’re my best friend.” You sighed, as she let out a broken laugh.

“Yeah.. A best friend that hurt you.” She sniffled, guilt still eating away at her. “Yeah, you did, but I know you regret doing it, and that’s what matters.” You explained, as she gave you a questionable look.

“I forgive you Mads.” You mumbled, a faint smile on your lips as she gave you one back, before she engulfed you in a tight hug. “I love you so much Y/N, I don’t think I could ever go through not speaking to you ever again.” Madison spoke into your shoulder, giving you one more squeeze before letting go.

“I agree, there’s so much that has happened that I need to catch you up on.” You confessed, twiddling your fingers nervously. “Spill.” Madison stated, sitting up straighter in her chair, facing you directly as a sigh escaped your lips. “I’ll start from where I left off with you last.”

For the next hour or so you told Madison everything, you told her about your dates with Harrison, and how much of a gentleman he was and how he always made you feel so special. 

However, you then did a complete one eighty and told her about how Tom had to save you from Harrison, and how he had gotten violent. You then went on to tell her about your feelings towards Tom, and how you ended up sleeping with him, but what really got her was when you told her that Tom confessed his feelings to you.

“I am feeling so many emotions right now, I’m unable to process this Y/N.” Madison spoke, her eyes closed as she rose her hands up in front of her face, her face scrunching up slightly. “I’m just going to unleash everything.” She nodded her head, more so talking to herself than you, before she reopened her eyes, seeing an amused smile on your face.

She took a deep breath, before her eyes widened, “I can’t believe you and Tom fucked!” She exclaimed, whacking your arm as you pouted at her in response, whilst shushing her. “Like I knew you guys would eventually because the sexual tension you both had for one another was intense, and it still is.” Madison winked, causing your face to heat up.

“How was he? Everything you dreamed of?” Madison grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at you as your eyes widened, your mouth becoming dry. “I-I mean..” You stammered, your face bright like a red tomato. “Oh shit, he really did a number on you, he’s got you speechless.” Madison smirked, a brow raising on her forehead as you choked on air.

“It was just that good.” You confessed, your words coming out a bit mumbled, you were already embarrassed beyond belief, so you decided you might as well be honest. “It’s like he knew my body more than I knew it myself, he knew exactly what to do to make me putty in his hands.” You licked your lip, heat radiating off your face the more you spoke.

“He has some magical hands, and his mouth..” You shut your eyes, reminiscing in that moment, before Madison hit your shoulder, causing you to whine and rub it. “I regret ever bringing up your sex life.” She groaned, a teasing smile on her face, before it turned serious.

You knew immediately by the look on her face that she was pissed, which could only mean one thing for the next topic of discussion.

“The next time I see that British blonde haired boy I’m going to kill him.” She seethed, her eyes narrowed as she clenched her jaw. “What he did to you deserves my foot up his ass and my hands around his throat.” She snarled, her eyes becoming a darker shade as you sat quietly, letting her vent out all her rage towards Harrison.

You began to zone out her ranting, a bad habit that you’d grown accustomed to from your late night classes when your professor wouldn’t stop talking. Your eyes focused once more around the waiting room, until your eyes flickered over towards the main entrance of the room, the light brown wooden door opening.

The second you saw the familiar brown curls you felt your heart skip a beat, your eyes softening as they locked with your favorite chocolate brown ones. However, your expression faltered slightly when you saw who followed behind him.

Harrison.

Realization dawned on you immediately, your head snapping over to Madison who was already sending daggers towards Harrison. Her jaw was clenched, hands balled up into fists as Tom glanced between you and Madison, before looking at Harrison, his eyes widening when he made the connection.

Tom motioned for Jacob to move in front of Harrison, Madison instantly standing up, storming over to the three of them. “You’re so dead Osterfield.” She growled, trying to shove past Tom as she attempted to swing at Harrison’s face.

“Tom! Let me go! Right now!” Madison shouted, squirming in his grasp as she continued to fight against him. “Look, I know you’re mad-” Tom started to explain, but got caught off by Madison elbowing him in the stomach, causing him to groan.

“I’m not mad, I’m pissed as hell!” She seethed, attempting to swing at Harrison once again, only to let out a loud frustrated scream, her viewpoint now on Jacob’s and Harrison’s shoes.

You smiled in amusement as you saw Tom holding Madison over his shoulder, her body flailing in an attempt to get out of his arms. Tom glanced over towards you, a smile forming on his lips when he saw you were already staring at him.

He was so whipped for you.

Tom quickly refocused though, due to Madison squirming around more frantically, his grip tightening around her waist. You continued to watch the incident going on in front of you, the sight of Madison fighting against Tom making you forget why you were at the hospital in the first place.

Jacob on the other hand continued to stand in front of Harrison, a concerned expression on his face as he watched Madison carefully.

Harrison however knew why she was acting the way she was towards him. He didn’t blame her for being angry, for wanting to get some kind of justice for you. What he had done to you was unforgivable, he knew that, and he hated himself for even laying a hand on someone as sweet and innocent as you.

Harrison couldn’t help but glance over towards you, a painful expression washing over his face. You deserved so much joy and happiness in your life, not all this darkness and pain.

His eyes flickered back over towards Tom, his brow raising as he noticed Madison had finally calmed down.

“You good now?” Tom questioned as Madison mumbled something in response, as Tom set her back on her feet. She gave Harrison another glare, causing him to swallow nervously before she turned on her heel to go back to you.

You have her a small smile as she sat down next to you, silence falling over the room once more as Tom, Harrison, and Jacob sat down as well. The tension between everyone was thick, nobody daring to break the thin ice.

The silence was soon disrupted by the sound of a knob turning, this time the other door in the room opening, the doctor, James, stepping into the room.

“Y/N, may I speak with you for a moment?” James questioned, his eyes glancing around the room for a split second as you nodded in response, standing up from your seat and heading out to the hallway with him.

“How is he? Is he going to be alright?” You bombarded him with questions before he could even shut the door. Your eyes were full of worry with a mixture of hope, your hands clammy as you anxiously rubbed them together.

Dr. James stayed silent for a moment, his eyes softening as he let out a breath, his expression falling. “Y/N, there’s never an easy way to say this, but, your father.. We did everything we could.. But there’s nothing more we can do.” He explained carefully, his heart breaking at your broken expression.

“N-No.. You’re lying! Y-You’re supposed to help him!” You cried out, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you shook your head in denial. “What kind of doctors are you!” You scream cried at him, your voice loud enough that everyone could hear you in the waiting room.

“Y/N.. There’s only so much we can do in these situations.” Dr. James tried to explain, a worried expression on his face as you were having a complete meltdown right in front of him.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, hesitantly placing his hand on your shoulder as you sobbed, your hands covering your mouth as he walked you back into the waiting room. Everyone's heads snapped over towards you immediately, their eyes widening at your shattered figure.

“Oh Y/N.” Madison mumbled, tears rimming her eyes as Tom instantly stood up, engulfing your fragile body in his arms. His hands stroked your hair and back soothingly as he pressed a kiss to your head.

Harrison however couldn’t take his eyes off the way Tom was comforting you. His brows furrowed slightly, a pang of jealousy and hurt stinging his heart.

He turned to look at Jacob who gave him a sad smile, as if answering the question he was already thinking. He gave a slight nod in response, before refocusing on you.

He needed to know, he needed to hear it from you.

Hesitantly Harrison rose up from his chair, slowly making his way over towards you and Tom. He placed one of his hands on Tom’s shoulder, grabbing his attention.

“Do you mind if I uh.. Talk to Y/N for a moment?” Harrison questioned, his voice quiet as Tom chewed on his bottom lip for brief moment. “It’s alright Tom.” You mumbled into his chest, pulling away gently as you wiped your cheeks.

“Are you sure?” Tom questioned, his words coming out more as a mumble as he cupped your face in his hands. You gave a slight nod, placing your hand on his, before motioning Harrison towards the door to talk in the hallway.

You made your way over towards the door, Harrison following behind you, closing the door once you two were alone in the hallway.

You both stood in front of one another, an awkward silence between the two of you until Harrison cleared his throat, causing you to look up at him.

“I’m really sorry about your father Y/N..” Harrison whispered, breaking the silence as you nodded your head, not daring to speak because you knew if you did you’d start crying.

He sucked on his bottom lip, shifting a bit as he let out a sigh, fiddling with his fingers as he looked down at his shoes.

“There’s no easy way to say this, and I know this couldn’t be worse timing, but, Harrison pauses, licking his lips nervously as he glanced back up at you, locking eyes with you, “Is there something going on between you and Tom?” He questioned, his heart beating a bit faster as he watched your eyes widen slightly, taken back by his question.

That right there gave him his answer.

He felt his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach, a pained expression on his face as he sucked in a breath.

“I-I’m so sorry Haz.” You whispered, tears rimming your eyes once more as you hesitantly grabbed his hand. “It’s okay.” He tried to reassure you, giving you a forced smile. “He’s better for you anyways.” Harrison spoke quietly, a slight frown on his lips as he played with your fingers.

You shook your head, not believing his words, “No. No, it’s not okay Haz, I-I cheated on you with Tom, and that’s not okay.” You sniffled, wiping a tear off your cheek as Harrison sniffled also.

“Yeah.. Well.. Cheating is nothing compared to what I did to you.” Harrison frowned as you squeezed his hand gently. “Neither of those things are okay.” You stated quietly, frowning at him.

“But, you’re getting the help you need, and I’m telling you the truth about what happened between Tom and I.” You spoke calmly, looking at him sadly as he nodded his head slowly.

“I guess we’re both even in doing fucked up things huh?” Harrison questioned as you took a deep breath. “I guess you could say that, I think yours is a bit more extreme though.” You admitted as Harrison nodded in agreement.

“Yeah.. What I did to you is beyond words,” He paused, looking down at your hands, “I really am sorry Y/N.” He sniffled, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I know you are Haz, I know.” You whispered, wiping the tear off his cheek with your thumb.

You knew that the Harrison that hurt you wasn’t him, that that was a broken boy that was lashing out in the only way he knew how. The real Harrison was the boy you met in the line to get a cup of coffee, the boy that bought you breakfast so you wouldn’t be late to class.

That was the Harrison you knew and loved.

You gave him a faint smile, as he gave you a sad one in return.

“I think we both know what’s the best choice for us.” Harrison whispered sadly, his heart aching knowing he had to let you go. “I know..” You spoke quietly, a frown on your lips as you wrapped your arms around his waist, a tear slipping down your cheek.

You hated that you had to break up with Harrison, but you both knew it was for the best. “Thank you for believing in me.” Harrison whispered into your hair, a tear trickling down his cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair, causing you to let a few more tears fall. “I’ll always believe in you Haz, always.” You sniffled, before pulling back, giving him another sad smile.

Harrison cleared his throat, wiping away the few tears off his cheeks with his sleeves. You inhaled a deep breath, a wave of tiredness overwhelming you, causing you to lose balance for a split second.

Harrison quickly caught you, his hands on your waist, a concerned expression washing over his features. “Y/N are you alright? Do you need to sit down?” He questioned, his eyes scanning over your face, taking in how pale you got all of a sudden.

“I don’t feel good.” You admitted, your brows furrowing as you held your head. Harrison saw a nurse walking down another hallway, causing his brows to lift up. “Excuse me! Miss!” He called, waving at her as she began walking towards the two of you.

“Yes? What can I help you two with?” She questioned, looking at Harrison before her eyes fell upon you.

“Oh. Sweetheart.” She gasped softly, seeing how pale you looked. “How about we go get you checked out, make sure everything is okay? Is that alright with you?” The nurse asked you, her voice calm, comforting as you nodded your head in response.

“I’ll bring her back once we know she’s alright.” The nurse told Harrison, a soft smile on her lips as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, helping you down to another room. Harrison watched you disappear around the corner, his bottom lip between his teeth, a nervous feeling washing over him.

He let out a breath, jumping up and down a few times, shaking his arms before straightening his posture and heading back into the waiting room. All eyes immediately landed on him, confused expressions on all their faces.

“Where’s Y/N?” Tom questioned, his heart starting to race as Harrison cleared his throat. “Y/N wasn’t feeling well so a nurse took her to check to make sure she’s alright.” Harrison explained, walking back over to his chair.

“How long will that be?” Madison added on, brows raised as Harrison shrugged his shoulders. “No clue.” He replied, before pulling his phone out, leaving Tom and Madison frustrated.

You on the other hand had just gotten your blood drawn for a few tests. You sat on the examination table, your legs swinging back and forth as you waited for the doctor to come back.

The room was quiet, the only noise filling your ears was the sound of the paper crinkling beneath you whenever you moved. You weren’t sure how long you had been waiting already, it felt like eternity, and you knew you didn’t have time to just sit around and do nothing.

You were about to jump down from the table when the sound of the door opening caught your attention. Your head snapped over to see the doctor walking in, a clipboard in his hand.

“Ah, hello Y/N, my name is Steve,” He began, introducing himself as he took a few steps in the room, but you were quick to cut him off, “Am I going to be alright?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself, your cheeks heating up as he let out a chuckle.

He set the clipboard down on the counter, a warm smile on his face. “Yes. You’re going to be alright.” He confirmed, making you let out a breath of relief. “The tests showed that you were very dehydrated, which could have caused you to stumble a bit, and you were on the verge of becoming malnourished, which is why you were starting to feel sick.” Dr. Steve explained, lifting up one of the papers on the clipboard as he spoke.

“Overall, the good news is you and your baby are still healthy and in good shape, you just need to make sure your keeping enough food and liquids in your body alright?” He spoke sternly, wanting to get his point across.

You however zoned out everything he said after he mentioned the word baby.

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” Dr. Steve questioned, his brows raised as your eyes widened, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “D-Did you say baby?” You questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes. I did.” He nodded his head, his brows furrowing as he studied your face. “I’m gathering you didn’t know due to your reaction.” He spoke softly, a smile on his lips as you blinked a few times.

“I-I’m pregnant.” You whispered a faint smile on your lips as tears rimmed your eyes for what felt like the millionth time today. “Congratulations Y/N.” Dr. Steve smiled as you placed your hand on your stomach in disbelief.

“Thank you Dr. Steve, really, thank you.” You smiled, getting down from the table, shaking his hand before you headed back to the waiting room. However, you decided to stop by a vending machine along the way to get some water and some sort of food. You were no longer eating for just yourself, but for the growing baby inside of you.

You eventually made it back to the waiting room, your eyes falling upon everyone’s anxious expressions, before your eyes flickered over towards Dr. James.

“Y/N, can I speak to you for a moment? Privately.” He motioned for you to follow him out the other door in the room. You anxiously left the waiting room once more, standing in a different hallway as you anxiously drank your water, as he let out a sigh.

“Your father is awake right now, but his body is extremely weak, we don’t think he’s going to make it through the night.” Dr. James confessed, a distraught expression washing over his features as you let out a sob.

Dr. James motioned you to follow him, leading you down another hallway until he brought you to what you assumed was your father's room.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” He gave a faint smile, placing his hand on your shoulder before walking down the hallway to another room. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before entering the room.

The sight of your father being hooked up to all kinds of machines giving you flashbacks of your mother. You let out a sniffle, taking a seat in a chair next to his bed, taking his hand in yours.

His eyes opened slightly, glancing over towards you, a weak smile on his lips. “Hey lovebug.” He spoke, his voice quiet, making your heart ache. “Hey dad, h-how are you feeling?” You mumbled, wanting to be strong for him as you rested your chin on his hand as he let out a sigh.

“I feel.. Tired.” He whispered, his eyes shutting for a split second until you felt him squeeze your hand gently. “You’re really strong, you know that right?” You told him, tears falling down your cheeks, a few dropping onto his arm.

He let out a weak chuckle, “Not as strong as you bug, you’re following your dreams.” He smiled as you let out a choked sob. “How can I continue to live my dreams if you’re not here with me?” You whispered, your throat becoming sore as you were holding back more sobs.

“I’ll always be with you bug, you know that.” He reassured you, squeezing your hand once more. “It’s not fair..” You squeaked out, your vision blurry as you sniffled, “I can’t lose you too.” You cried, as you heard him sniffle as well.

“It’s the way of life Y/N..” He mumbled, turning his head to look at you, a painful expression on his face to see you so broken. “I-I know… It’s just.. It’s not fair.” You shook your head, brows furrowed as you looked up at him.

“I know bug.. I know.” He mumbled, caressing your head as he wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“How about you tell me what I’ve missed, talk to me as if we’re not in the hospital right now.” Your father suggested, hoping that it’d help take your mind off of all the pain. “Okay..” You nodded, inhaling a deep breath as you sat up straighter.

“I moved into an apartment with two guys, they’re really sweet people, I uh.. I actually like one of them if I’m being honest..” You admitted, seeing your father grin at you, making you laugh quietly. 

“Is he here with you?” Your father questioned, as you nodded your head. “I already like him, the fact he’s here shows that he cares about you.” Your father smiled, as you rolled your eyes playfully.

“Yeah well.. My ex is also here.. He’s friends with the guy I live with, also the one that I like.” You confessed, a weak smile on your face as your father groaned, letting out a chuckle. “Y/N!” He smiled, rubbing his face as you smiled sheepishly.

“I’m sorry okay! I didn’t know at the time.” You defended yourself, a laugh leaving your lips as your dad shook his head in amusement at you. “Besides boys, I’m almost done with this semester of school, meaning I’ll only have one more year left until I graduate.” You proudly stated, a bright smile on your face as your father clapped.

“That’s my girl.” He grinned happily, ruffling your hair up making you swat his hand away, a pout on your lips. “You sound like you’re doing well sweetheart, I’m so proud of you.” He smiled, squeezing your hand softly as you smiled back at him.

“There is however.. One more thing I wanted to tell you..” You spoke cautiously, watching him raise a brow at you in curiosity. “I actually just found out a few minutes ago, but.. I’m pregnant.” You smiled nervously, watching his eyes widen in surprise.

“Y-You’re pregnant?” He whispered, attempting to sit up a bit more in the bed as you squeezed his hand. “Yeah dad.. I am.” You nodded your head, a soft smile on your lips as he rubbed his face with his other hand. “Well I wasn’t expecting that, that’s for sure.” He chuckled, shaking his head before glancing over at you.

“Are you mad?” You hesitantly asked, fearful of him not accepting the fact that you were going to have a baby at such a young age, you were still a college student after all. Your dad let out a sigh, shutting his eyes for a moment before reopening them and looking at you.

“How could I be mad? You’re bringing a life into this world Y/N. You’re going to be a lovely mother.” Your dad smiled at you, causing all your fears to dwindle away. “Even though I’m still in college?” You tilted your head a bit, as he chewed on his lower lip.

“I think it’s going to be challenging, but I know you’re strong, and you can handle whatever comes your way, even a baby.” He smiled, nodding his head as you leaned up and gave him a hug, a smile on your lips. “I love you so much dad, thank you.” You whispered, before pulling away.

“So who’s the father?” He questioned, raising a brow at you as you gave him another sheepish smile. “Y/N.” Your father spoke once more, narrowing his eyes at you as you fiddled with your fingers. “The father is the guy I like, my roommate.” You confessed nervously, you weren’t sure how Tom was going to take the news, you just hoped he’d feel as happy as your father did when he found out.

“I’m gathering he doesn’t know yet?” Your father spoke aloud, raising a brow at you as you shook your head ‘no.’

“I’m honestly a bit afraid to tell him.” You admitted, your eyes focused now focused on your shoes as your father let out a huff in response. “If he can’t handle the fact you’re having a baby, then he shouldn’t have gotten you pregnant.” Your father stated simply, a smug expression on his face as your eyes widened.

“Dad!” You exclaimed, laughter leaving your lips as he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just stating the facts, young kids these days think having sex is great and all, but the second they get a girl pregnant they freak out and ditch.” Your father explained, as you listened quietly, he wasn’t wrong, you knew a few girls from school that had gotten pregnant and the guy just up and left them.

“I appreciate you looking out for me dad, but I think I’ve got a keeper.” You smiled shyly, as your father nodded his head. “I’m glad to hear that, because my girl deserves the best and only the best.” He declared, a grin on his face as he sunk back into the bed more.

“Are you okay?” You questioned immediately, reality coming back to you within a second. “I’m okay bug, like I said, I’m just really tired.” He smiled weakly at you, even though you both knew what was really happening.

He was dying.

“You know that you’re going to be okay right?” He reassured you, turning his head to look at you once more. “I don’t know dad-” You began but he rose his hand, silencing you instantly, “Y/N, you’re going to be okay. I know losing your mother at such a young age broke something within you, and now all of this is happening and it feels like you’re reliving that moment.” He gave a sad smile, as you sniffled at the memories.

“You’re a fighter, and I know that when the inevitable happens you’re going to shut down, but I want you to promise me that you won’t this time. Let people in, spend time with your boyfriend, spend your time putting all your love and energy into your baby.” He smiled softly at you, grasping your hand gently in his.

“I love you so much Y/N, and I already love my grandbaby already, so use that love, and create something wonderful, just like your mother used to.” He smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek as you let out a sob, tears falling down your cheeks as you held his hand tightly in yours.

But then it was as if time froze, the sound of a single beep going through the room, the noise you knew all too well.

You lifted your head up, your face scrunched up in pain as you saw the line on the machine flat. You shook your head, denial creeping in as you stared at your father. His eyes were shut, his hand still in yours, but his body no longer moved with life.

“Dad..” You choked out, shaking his hand a bit, trying to get him to open his eyes, but you knew he wouldn’t, and that’s what killed you, you knew he was gone.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably, your heart broken to the point where your body physically felt the aching pain. The doctors came in a few moments after, telling you to say your last goodbyes, which was the hardest thing you’d ever done. You told him you loved him, and promised him you’d do what he said, before exiting the room, watching the doctors remove him from the room.

Your body shook with sobs, you could barely stand you were crying so hard, you just lost the last family you had left. There was one thing that put you a little bit at ease though, when you looked at your father for the last time, you couldn’t help but notice how peaceful he looked, not an ounce of him looked like he was in pain. 

A part of you felt like he just needed to get everything off his chest to you, to express how much he loved you and how proud he was of you, that way he could be at peace and move on to reunite with your mother.

At least, that’s what you believed.

You slowly began your way back down towards the waiting room, eventually making it there and opening the door slowly. Everyone stood up instantly when they saw you walk into the room, their arms wrapping around you as you cried your heart out. 

Their hearts broke for you, they knew this was an extremely hard situation for you to go through once more, but this time instead of you being alone, you had them to comfort you in the time of need.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there in their arms, but eventually your cries dwindled down, you were fairly certain it was because you ran out of tears, having cried so much in one day.

You felt exhausted, the only thing you wanted to do now was go get some food, and go to sleep, but you knew you couldn’t do that yet, not when you had a secret nobody knew about yet.

Tom couldn’t help but notice the way you zoned out for a few minutes, causing his brows to furrow, he knew you were upset about losing your father, but the look in your eyes told him something else was going on inside your head.

Hesitantly he placed his hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your daze as he gave you a questioning look, causing you to let out a shaky sigh.

“C-Can I speak with you for a moment? Alone?” You spoke quietly, causing his heart to start to race. What was so important that you had to speak to him alone?

You both walked out to the main hallway, your hands clammy as Tom studied your actions, his own nerves starting to eat away at him.

“Y/N what’s going on? You’re making me nervous.” Tom spoke anxiously, his eyes glued to you as you rolled your shoulders back. “Okay uhm, so, there’s really no easy way of saying this, but, here I go..” You paused, your eyes shut as you took a deep breath, before reopening your eyes, “Tom, I’m pregnant.” You spoke softly, a weak smile on your lips as Tom’s eyes widened.

His eyes wandered from your eyes to your stomach, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

“I-Is it mine?” He stammered, internally cringing at how dumb the question sounded. You gave him an amused smile, nodding your head in response. “Yeah, it’s yours. At least it should be since you’re the only one I’ve had sex with.” You squinted your eyes a bit, earning a slight chuckle from Tom in response, he always did love your witty comebacks.

“So.. I’m going to be a dad?” He spoke up after a few moments of silence, a grin slowly appearing on his face. “Yeah, we’re having a baby Tommy.” You smiled softly at the brunette haired boy standing in front of you, his heart melting at the nickname you used. “We’re having a baby.” He repeated, his voice quiet as his eyes began to tear up.

“I also uhm,” You cleared your throat, running your fingers through your hair as Tom tilted his head at you, “I told my dad about you, and about the baby.” You smiled softly, watching as Tom’s eyes softened at the mention of your father.

“What’d he say when you told him?” Tom questioned, taking a few steps towards you as you smiled at him. “He was so happy Tom, he believes in me so much, in us.” You sniffled, starting to get choked up once again.

Tom wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips against your forehead. “I know he never got a chance to meet you, but I know from how he was talking that he approved of you. He only wants the best for me, and I know now that that’s you Tom, it took me a while to figure that out, but it’s clear to me now.” You smiled nervously up at him, your hand reaching up to run through his curly brown hair.

“I-I love you Tom, and I hope that you’ll love us too.” You whispered quietly, as a tear slipped down his cheek, a soft heart filled smile appearing on his lips. “I’ve loved you since the moment you moved in.” He whispered back, his hand coming up and resting on your cheek, while his other rested on the middle of your back.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I wouldn’t want to feel this way for anyone else but you Y/N. I promise you and your dad that I won’t let you down, I’m going to be the best father and be there for you no matter what.” Tom declared, as you gave him a loving smile.

“You forgot something else.” You teased him, your face glowing as Tom’s brow furrowed. “The best boyfriend.” You stated in a teasing manner, watching his eyes widen even more. “You better not be messing with me Y/N.” Tom warned you, a smile on his lips as you let out a giggle, shaking your head. “I’m serious Thomas.” You grinned at him, watching his eyes brighten.

“Then I’m sure as hell going to be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.” Tom grinned, pulling you flat against his chest, causing you to squeal and laugh as his lips connected with yours. Your hands sunk into the curls at the back of his neck, while his arms wrapped around your figure, hugging you close to him.

This kiss was different from your last, before the kiss was hungry, full of lust and craving, but this kiss, this kiss was soft, full of love, full of passion.

You both eventually broke away, your foreheads resting against each others, giggles escaping both your mouths.

As hard of a time you were going through, you remembered your father's last words, telling you to be happy, and create something wonderful, and that’s exactly what you were going to do. Now that you had Tom by your side, and your beautiful baby growing inside you, you knew you’d be okay, just like your father said you would.

“Should we go surprise the others with the news?” Tom grinned, his fingers intertwining with yours as you smiled brightly up at him. “I think that’d be a great idea.” You nodded, the smile not once leaving your lips as he opened the door for you, both of you entering with bright smiles on your faces.

“We have some news everyone,” Tom began, grabbing all of their attentions, their brows furrowing in confusion as Tom glanced down at you, “We’re pregnant!” You announced, watching as everyone's mouths dropped open in shock, before they all stood up to congratulate the both of you.

What once was a dull, dark waiting room was suddenly turned into a loving, happy one. Even Harrison was happy for the both of you, wishing you two the best, while Madison and Jacob were already talking about baby names.

Laughter continued to leave your mouths as everyone began making up baby names, the atmosphere in the room becoming breathable again. You couldn’t help but look up at Tom, he had a bright smile on his face, laughter escaping his lips as his eyes shone brightly as his arm continued to stay wrapped around your waist.

It was in this moment being surrounded by your friends and Tom that you felt something other than pain that day, you felt love.

Your father was right after all, you were going to be just fine.

- ❁ - 

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[i-do-ships-and-stuff]

We Aren’t Sparring Anymore (part one)

Pairing: Kylo x non gender specific reader

Word Count: 1,974

Summary: Y/n, a new General of the First Order, is being observed by Supreme Leader Kylo Ren to determine if they are fit for their leadership position

Warnings: cursing, lightsaber fight

Gif not mine

The temperature couldn’t have been more than thirty degrees as you approached the planet. You wanted nothing more than to stay within the warmth of the dreadnought, but as a new General of the First Order, you had certain duties to fulfill. Sometimes those duties included sucking up your personal feelings and getting shit done.

Today that shit involved you, your best friend General Hux, two troops of stormtroopers and the Supreme Leader Kylo Ren inspecting a hundred mile radius of this unexplored planet and determining if there were any life forms. The Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren, would be examining your troops to make sure you had trained them well enough for combat. This unfortunately meant that he would be watching you too, seeing as this was the first troop you had trained.

You broke your perfect posture to lean against the window and stare at the approaching spherical rock formation up ahead. It appeared to be completely black and almost blended perfectly against the inky darkness of space.

Behind you someone cleared their throat. A bit panicked, you regained your posture and turned to face the person.

“Ah, Y/n. Are you prepared yet for our mission today?”

It was Hux. He stood tall and stiff in his black uniform. His hands were tucked behind his back as he looked down at you and you could tell it took everything out of him not to slick back that one stubborn strand of hair that hung in his face.

“Oh, of course, General Hux. But I’m not due to the loading deck for another ten minutes. I thought I would stand and admire the small planet.”

Hux looked out at the window. “I would hardly call what you were doing standing. You would do well not to slouch where people could see you. Creates a weak image.”

He tried not to smile as he looked back at you. You both broke out into soft laughter as you made eye contact.

“I hate that you’re a General now, Y/n. I have to try and take you seriously now. Do you know how hard it’s been to try and be completely professional with my best friend?” He sighed deeply. “I doubt this will work out there when Supreme Leader is watching us.”

“You have been more smiley lately.”You said, playfully punching his arm. “We will be fine. These last few months of training have really helped me be more professional. I’m still lacking some self control but I’ve got this. I promise I won’t let you down.”

He gave you one last, warm smile and motioned for you to follow him.

“Come, Y/n. We should arrive early and make sure that everyone is on time.”

Not to your surprise, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren was already waiting for everyone, standing straight, his face cold as stone. At least, you assumed it was under that stupid mask he wore. To make it worse, when he spoke his voice sounded like it was being emitted through a damn walkietalkie.

“General Hux. General Y/n. Have you set aside your gear for the weather on this planet? We believe it to be cold.”

He said all this without moving his head towards our direction and without and movement in tone. There was no emotion. Not even a lift in pitch at the end to indicate that he was asking a question. Typical.

Thankfully, Hux answered for you. “We are fully prepared, Supreme Leader. You will not be disappointed with the performance of Y/n’s troops today.”

This made you list your chin a little. The faith Hux placed in you always made you more confident. But, as usual, Kylo Ren found a way to ruin it.

“Oh? Haven’t you heard? I tested these troops about a week ago. This mission is solely to test General Y/n’s skills.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Hux broke position slightly and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You do not have the right to utilize General Y/n’s troops without their permission! This is completely inappro-“

“It’s alright, General Hux.” You interjected, hoping to save your friend from a force choke. “Thank you, Supreme Leader.”

This made Kylo turn his head towards you, which always caused your stomach to hurt. Looking at the mask he wore dehumanized him greatly. It was like there was no man. Only a darker shadow of the once great Darth Vader, a man- creature- that you admittedly feared.

You had only seen him without his mask three times. Twice when he was forced to eat in the cafeteria after he threw his personally prepared meal in a fit of rage and once when you first arrived on this dreadnought.

You had been searching through the ship to try and find the main deck and you were horribly lost. You knew you weren’t anywhere close to where you needed to be so you took a second to think in the hallway. That’s when you heard the voice of a sobbing man. As you looked to your right you saw a door. It opened as you stepped towards it and inside sat the Kylo Ren, his face buried within his hands. As fear flooded your stomach you rushed from the room and hid in a supply closet for an hour.

“Ready, Y/n?” Hux’s voice snapped you back into the present.

Almost everything was different from when you first started daydreaming. The Supreme Leader was across the deck speaking with the pilots. Your troops had appeared and were already standing in formation. You made a note to yourself to speak with the few you noticed that had not polished their armor.

“I see them too.” Hux said. He scrunched up his nose as he spoke.

“Between you and me,” you began,” it’s ridiculous that we give soldiers white armor to begin with. They look like fools.”

You both snickered before heading to the ships, motioning for the troops to follow.

The trip to the planet surface was smooth and easy. To your pleasure, the planet was almost as dark on the inside as it was on the outside.

When the ship landed you stood and turned to your troops and delivered the orders: Get out, search the land, do not aim to kill if anyone or anything is spotted, report back in four hours.

Your troops exited in perfect formation. You tried to hide the fact that you were proud, but your lips curled into a smile anyway.

Kylo saw this and approached you calmly.

“Don’t look so happy, General Y/n. It doesn’t matter how your troops preform. I’m not watching them nearly as much as I am watching how you conduct them.”

Great, you thought. I already look like an idiot.

“Secure the perimeters of the ship before splitting up!” You shouted, hoping to regain some sense of control. You saw Hux nod approvingly from the corner of your eye.

Kylo’s obnoxious helmet voice sounded again. “I’ll be back to check in on you.” He said. You watched anxiously as he walked away, kicking up dust as he went.

It was only then that you noticed the dirty earth beneath you. The entire ground was covered in a black soil. It crumbled like sand, but it felt like soot, and when walked on it would whisp away from the boot which touched it and disappear into the air.

You walked towards Hux and stood by his side as you watched the troops disperse.

“It’s freezing!” You said, shivering into Hux’s shoulder.

“Y/n...” Hux said.

“What?”

“This is your test and you’re currently doing nothing but watching.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s what you always do on dumb little missions like this.”

He chuckled. “Yes. But I’m not being observed now, am I?”

“Oh fine!” You pouted at him before tightening the buttons on your coat and gathering about ten troopers.

You didn’t know where you were going, but as acting General you had to do something. You had them follow you until you found a deep stream of water. “Search here for any life forms.” You commanded, and they did so immedietly.

An hour had passed before you saw the Supreme Leader again. He caught you sitting on a rock by the opening of a cave. You had been searching the grounds and commanding your troop just moments before, but of course he couldn’t have been there for that.

“Supreme Leader!” You almost yelled as you jumped to your feet. “We are just about done with this area. I was about to gather them to help search this cave.”

He didn’t look convinced. Instead he began to pace slowly in front of you. He definitely saw you gulp.

“General Y/n. I was beginning to trust you. I give you the freedom to watch your troops for an hour and you disappoint me.”

You were frozen all over, by the weather and by fear.

“It is clear to me that you may not be entirely ready to properly lead an army. Should I also assume you aren’t ready to fight one?”

This offended you. “I am absolutely ready to fight, Supreme Leader. You have sparred with me several times during my training. You know I am ready.”

Again, he was not convinced. Removing the robe from his body Kylo took out his cross shaped light saber. You took yours out in response.

“What is this, Supr-“

“We aren’t sparring anymore, Y/n. It’s time to prove you are ready.”

You hated when he didn’t use your title. Just using your name was belittling. It made you feel like dirt. If he wanted a fight, he could have one. You were determined to not let him down.

“I guess we aren’t.” You said and began to swing violently, but he countered just as fast.

Neither of you could get close to landing a blow.

Your sabers sliced through the cold air, colliding repeatedly and always missing their targets. On occasion Kylo would push you back and gain the upper hand, but it never took long for you to regain your equal position and continue to fight. You fought for so long you didn’t even realize that all his pushing had brought the two of you close to the edge of the river. The Supreme Leader began to talk through ragged breathes.

“Don’t stop! Don’t even fucking think of stopping, Y/n! If you give up this is over! For you, for your troops, for everyone!”

The air was hotter than hell and your blood boiled at the sight of this man as he swung his weapon at you.

He spoke to you as if you were nothing. But that’s not what hurt you. You had been nothing almost your entire life. What hurt you was that HE thought you were nothing. You had fought tooth and nail to gain your position. You had crawled from the bottom of the food chain to be where you are today, and still he looked at you and saw nothing?

If he was going to talk dirty, then so were you.

“You speak with such strength, Supreme Leader. I almost forgot that you were the man I caught sobbing like a child in his room my first day on this ship.”

Just like that he lost his composure. You could see him loosen his muscles as he thought about what you said.

“That was you who came into my room?” He whispered so softly you could barely hear him.

Without thought you moved to strike his armor but he dodged at the last second. You heard a loud pop and and saw a bright flash of light. For a second you couldn’t see anything, and then when you could you regretted ever joining the first order, for this was sure to get you killed.

What had you done?

You had struck Kylo Ren’s beloved helmet, and it layed split in half on the sooty earth.

(I hope you enjoyed! 💕I’ll be writing part 2 if this gets enough likes”

[letstalksymphogear]

Symphogear, EP.4

Last time on Beverly Hills 90210!

Hibiki begins to understand the true nature of the Sam Reimi Spiderman trilogy as she lives the life of a superhero by night and a normal student by day in the most miserable way possible. Constant cockblocking from the duties she explicitly chose to do distance her from her significant other Miku, as it drives wedges into their friendlationship. As Hibiki breaks off a plan prepped weeks in advance to see rocks fall from the sky, she takes out her frustration on the local Kamen Rider villian rejects before coming up to see Tsubasa, only to be greeted by a new face...

Let us continue!

As the situation tenses between the three gi- hey! Hey, wait a minute! This is a flashback! That’s no fair. You’re just going to throw this to us while we’re trying to do this stuff? Get it together, show.

The show hauls our asses to a flashback, because God knows we needed one right now. It’s not just any flashback, though. It’s a flashback of our favorite redhead, Kanade!

In a straightjacket.

While everyone is staring.

“i dont usually do this but you’ve got a bad case of catch-these-handsitis”

“oh god, she’s so wild, and angry... i... why am i hoping she’s single...?”

“aye. this is the fate of all rabiosexuals out there.”

Kanade is tied down because she’s the sole survivor of a Noise attack, and more importantly, she really, really wants to fight the Noise. What she doesn’t know is that she is potentially a new candidate for a Symphogear relic.

“oh... we’d pair so well... our colors are diametrically opposed...”

“GIMMIE A FUCKING GUN AND A TEN PIECE CHICKEN MCNUGGET MEAL YOU GUY FIERI LOOKING ASSHOLE”

Genjuro, who suffers from Compulsive Child Adopting Syndrome (CCAS), immediately comes to the conclusion to adopt this tiny gremlin. It helps that her parents are, well, dead.

Fatherly instincts vibrating intensely.

Genjuro talks to this small child, who is currently 99% anger and 1% chicken fluff, scanning their conviction towards working to the goal of fighting the Noise.

In retrospect, his methods are a bit weird. Feeding into the extreme edginess of a 14 year old scorned isn’t exactly the best thing in the world. Unfortunately, as we established before, the only thing that can fight Noise are Symphogear, and the only reason he’s not in the front lines is because he can’t wield one.

Kanade naturally obliges this deal, her braincells having long since perished alongside her parents. Then Perish indeed, Kanade.

“buddy im being trained as a samurai in modern times and i still could not fathom going as hard as you”

The pact is sealed. The child is adopted. Genjuro’s adoption addiction relapses, and he’s going to have quite a long talk at AA (Adopters Anonymous).

The thing about Genjuro that makes him an interesting character is that he actually really, really, really hates the idea of having to pit children in fighting these horrible threats. Unlike a lot of male characters who have a strong sense of manliness but a poorly written way of expressing it, Genjuro manages to be a compassionate person in the face of all this terribleness. He’s the only person to think about throwing parties for these girls, and trying to give them any sort of sense of happiness and normalcy to their lives, now changed forever by machinations he has been put in charge of. He’s the Anti-Gendo. He doesn’t tell Shinji to get in the robot. He makes sure Shinji is well enough to be in the robot, and would never do so otherwise, knowing the mental toll.

That’s why ultimately, he is The Dad.

So, with that in mind, they prep Kanade to recieve the relic assigned to her. One of the major elements of using relics is compatibility. Kanade is not naturally compatible to Gungnir; they have to slowly ease her into it.

“mumble mumble cant wait to kick their asses mumble mumble”

This is a process that takes years. The show doesn’t do well in showing this, but it takes many, many years for her to be compatible after endless medical examinations and controlled situations.

The experiments, naturally, hurt like a bitch to boot.

“genjuro she’ll be okay, right?”

“flip a coin on it, tsubasa”

“oh shit yall see this news? pornhubs gonna buy tumblr! damn, i can make an all in one profile now.”

When you’re forced to watch your newly adopted daughter torture herself to be compatible with an ancient, musty cursed relic.

After all that, Kanade still isn’t compatible. Of course, nothing is simple with Kanade. You may ask yourself, “Why did Genjuro have to tie up Kanade in a straitjacket? That seems pretty abusive.”

Simply put, it’s because Kanade has never fucked around in any second of her life, having taken off all the devices on her, taken a direct syringe of the stuff she’s trying to synchronize with, and directly inject it into her, herself.

Fear.

“i am so SICK, and TIRED, of all this namby pamby wimpy ass standard shit. YALL MOTHERFUCKERS THINK I WONT GO FULL THROTTLE?! MY LIFE IS FULL THROTTLE. I! AM! GONNA! GET! SHIT! DONE! TONIGHT! BOYYYYS!”

Tsubasa, likely already going through puberty by this point, simultaneously understands both the concepts of fear and arousal witnessing this near suicidal display of absolute madness immediately.

Holy shit, Kanade.

You know shit’s bad when even Ryoko is afraid.

Turns out, however, that Kanade did the right move in becoming compatible with Gungnir, at a very physically demanding price.

Really, physically demanding.

“shouldnt have had that massive spaghetti carbonara before doing all this shit but fuck i really liked that fuckin’ spaghetti slorp slorp go the sauce ooooooooh god this is bad”

“HAHA IM FINE- IM FINE EVERYONE- THIS- THIS IS JUST THE SPAGHETTI- I HAD BEFORE THE- BEFORE THE PROCEDURE IT’S NOT- IT’S NOT BLOOD I SWEAR- OH I AM FEELING LIGHTHEADED- DON’T WORRY YOUR PRETTY HEADS IM GOOD! OH- OH FUCK-”

The scientists, who have been easily staring at this entire situation for more than 5 minutes or more, have not stepped in to do a single damn thing, as if overpowering a 14 year old to stop her from injecting a dangerous thing that could directly kill her is completely out of their paygrade. Genjuro wakes them the fuck up and likely briefly contemplates firing some of these morons.

“so this is what’s called... getting lost in the sauce...”

The scientists scramble to keep Kanade from vomiting more marinara sauce but Kanade exerts but a mere fraction of her now developing Symphogear abilities, knocking them all out with ease.

“this is some shit right here, damn”

Kanade pulls some Independence Day theatrics on everyone, as a 14 year old on the verge of death typically would if given the opportunity. Death may be certain but you at least get to go out in style. Will Smith would be proud.

The half-life of Tsubasa’s fearousal reached completion as it has mostly decayed into fear at this point.

However, the relic pendant begins glowing. This is likely the one thing that keeps Kanade from dying. An interesting comparison given Hibiki’s own survival and gear manifestation.

Kanade achieves super saiyan.

“THEY ALL SAID I WAS LOST IN THE SAUCE... AND THEY ALL THOUGHT THE SAUCE WAS LOST IN ME. BUT NOW... I AM THE SAUCE!”

Tsubasa’s fear directly transmutes itself back into arousal per the first law of alchemy. Something to note is that Tsubasa was naturally receptive to her own gear; she didn’t need to go through the medical process Kanade went through. It’s because of this that Kanade earns Tsubasa’s admiration for life, even long after she dies.

“THE SAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUCCCEEEEEEEEEE”

And so, the unambiguously gay duo known as Zwei Wing formed. Singers by day...

Noise slayers by night.

Saving the country, singing in the country, bonding together... in the country. Truly, there is no more iconic duo than these two.

“yall sing pretty”

“anyway bye”

Kanade’s initial motivation for getting Gungnir was to kill the Noise indiscriminately with no hesitation. It slowly dawns on her, though, that helping people... is good?

“the sauce lost me. i got lost in the sauce. i became the sauce. but... why don’t i... share, the sauce? because... people like sauce... and i like sauce... and we can bond together... liking sauce!”

Kanade and Tsubasa have a Captain America moment running together as Kanade muses about how singing for other people feels way better than just pure murder funtimes.

“hey, uh... tsubasa... it just hit me. i like sauce. and... you, you like sauce. do... do you want to share sauce together?”

“kanade as your girlfriend ive literally heard you talk about sauce metaphors for the last several years and if you dont think i wont slurp your sauce down without hesitation you’ve got another thing coming”

“hell yeah! ive still got some of my original leftover marinara to share!”

No heterosexual explanation whatsoever.

Not a damn one.

Oh yeah...! Because by shedding tears, the reality you face is...

Nehushtan? Weird end of a sentence, but okay.

We’re thrust back into the present time, present day, as we’re back in our three way throwdown.

Genjuro is an extra large McFuckingPissed with Large Fries and a Shake, supersized.

“you want some sauce with that? lmao, sorry, too soon”

As the werewolves come out in full force, the tension strengthens while a battle brews nearby...

“yall think you’re getting your hands on this goddamn armor without realizing im officiating this here gay pride parade. and guess what? you’re cancelled.”

“didn’t know clowns were part of the acronym, let alone capable of managing it. either way, you’ve gotta be at least this tall to use the armor.” 

“so why not make like a hobbit, drop the armor, and burrow back to whatever hidey hole you came from, bimbo baggins!”

“guess you didnt read the books, moron. last i checked, bilbo doesn’t lose his traveling partners.”

“that low blow only comes at the cost of outing yourself as a fucking nerd.”

“im not ashambed. im gonna blow your mind with some math: my foot, plus your face, subtracting the teeth from your mouth, equals an ass kicking.”

“NOTHING IN THAT FORMULA INVOLVES ANY ASS WHATSOEV-”

Hibiki gets in the way immediately, citing the ethical ramifications of fighting humans as opposed to talking to them, conveniently forgetting this was the same person ready to body her merely an episode or two ago.

“hey first of all please don’t say bimbo thats really degrading, and second of all clowns aren’t actually in the acronym but im sure there are some gay clowns out there so please dont talk like that and thirdly im sorta short and that hurt my feelings and fourthly killing is fucking bad, tsubasa, let us not commit human on human murder”

both of them, in unison, i shit you not:

“yo, you like murder? shit. i like murder too!”

“like oh my god! murder is my favorite hobby. i take it back, you’re chill. still gotta die, though.”

Hibiki is casually tossed aside from this fight, given her very ideas are anti-thetical to fighting as a whole.

A real sick battle ensues.

Something to note is that our spunky opponent has another relic at her disposal which summons Noise. This relic is called Solomon’s cane. You’ll learn more about it later.

Not a pretty sight.

Tsubasa is losing. Not only is she losing, but the enemy cool kid reveals a very notable detail of her plan: She was distracted Tsubasa on purpose. The real plan...

Was to kidnap Hibiki.

In an ironic twist, Tsubasa’s inability to work with her teammate not only put her teammate in danger, but explicitly allowed her opponent to fulfill her mission of trying to capture her.

“i changed my mind kick her ass please oh god”

Hibiki still has not learned her lesson.

Tsubasa gets her ass kicked. Her opponent pulls every punch in the book, with some lowdown dirty fighting.

Unfortunately, Tsubasa, having learned from the Kanade Amou Private School Of No Brain Cell Combat, she pulls the last ace from her sleeve.

“lmao bitch whatre you gonna do, sing?”

“i didnt design my hair like a fucking 8th note for nothing, you cabbage patch kid”

“then let’s hear it, motherfucker.”