#there was One (1) thing i was able to muster up enough drive to do and then a few comments completely fucking destroyed it

[benevolentvampire]

my mother will see textbook depression and then decide it just pisses her off

[dadfemme]

Someone to Lose - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 | The Next Victim

a03

She called it. That’s why they pay her what they do after all.

Another body showed up on the property of a local farmer and horse trainer– Ana Hurley.

Emily went straight to the scene with Alvez in their rented SUV. After a half hour drive outside of town, the agents arrived taking note as they pulled into the gravel drive that they were the last to get there. Sheriff Hailey and the other three officers had already arrived, going by the brown truck in the driveway. Alvez got out of the car first to meet up with the other boys around the scene. Emily’s plan, once her docs met ground was to seek out Ana Hurley, and likely the Sheriff by default.

Prentiss hadn’t not thought about the town’s sheriff after she went back to her hotel room last night. The strong-willed, steadfast sheriff. In some ways it reminded her of herself, but also decidedly not in the way this woman was so confident at her age. How old was she when she joined her team? She was so unsure, so focused on fitting in. Maybe Jane felt the same.

Emily felt her brow furrow. Here’s this woman, so effortlessly leading her people. So confident in herself, so much so to speak up to her. That hadn’t happened in some time. Only her team back home had enough gall to speak to her like that. As Emily rounds the faded brown barn she’s pulled from her thoughts when she hears two feminine voices.

There stands Jane in her uniform, long hair tied up into a ponytail standing next to a woman, presumably Ana, dressed in denim jeans, cowboy boots, and a faded hoodie. Her long dark curly hair spilled over her shoulders like one of the horses in the nearby paddocks. She was closer to Emily’s age, and the picture of a cowgirl if Emily had to think of one. The woman was leaning close to Jane, talking quietly about her morning and how she came upon the corpse. Jane is listening intently, holding onto every word the woman said.

“Janie. I-” she sniffles, “I wasn’t ready to see that this morning. This is all so much.” Jane nods solemnly, “Thank you for talking about this with me Ana. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find them, but you made the right call to let us know right away.”

Ana steps closer. She was close before, Emily notes with a bit or irritation, but now the tips of her boots brush Hailey’s. Emily watches on as the woman reaches out a calloused hand to cup the Sheriff’s face.

“Are you taking care of yourself, Janie? Do you have someone to take care of you? This couldn’t be easy…this is your town in danger after all. I know you love your town.” Ana is looking at the sheriff, stepping closer to her as if there was any room to do so, ostensibly to offer comfort. Jane pauses, and after a beat begins to open her mouth to respond.

It’s at this point Emily decides she’s had enough. She clears her throat and steps in with her usual confidence, a grimace on her face the closest thing to a smile she can muster for this woman.

“Ma’am,” she grits, holding her hand out, “I’m Agent Emily Prentiss, FBI.” Ana reluctantly releases Jane’s cheek to shake it and if Emily’s grip is more firm than normal than that’s between her and Ms. Hurley, isn’t it?

The Sheriff takes a step back and offers a grateful smile to Emily.

Maybe things are going to start off on a better foot today. Especially if Emily can get whatever weird feelings she’s got under control, that is. Maybe she’s just tired.

“Prentiss. Thank you for making it all the way out here. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

*

The two of you are quick to peel away from Ana and start your way to the crime scene about a quarter of a mile out.

“You familiar with the townsfolk?” Emily asks, trying to keep it conversational. She’s almost able to keep the accusation from her tone. Almost.

You snort. How discrete. Of course this question came following whatever Prentiss observed of you and Ana.

“Most of them, yep. This is an elected position after all,” you answer quickly. Then add, “Ana, we…well. We had something once, but it wasn’t right. I assume you caught onto the…uh. History. Back there.”

You wave your hand vaguely and continue, “Anyone with eyes could,” you both breathe out a laugh, “she gets off on the attention.”

And is happy to get you off in return, but you kept that tidbit to yourself.

“From women,” Emily asks.

“From anyone,” you correct. “Ana aside, this happens sometimes with the women in town. Word gets around when you’re a woman’s woman,” you shrug and glance to Emily. Her smile matches yours by way of response.  

The two of you approach the body and get the rundown from Alvez and the boys. Both of you forget each other for the next several minutes to slip into what you both are best at. You nearly lose track of Emily as your eyes fixate on the body in front of you and all immediate surroundings.

“You’ve kept this from the public, right?” Lukes asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve tried, but you know how people talk,” Garrett shrugs. “So far it’s just a quiet rumor. Everyone’s pretty on edge, regardless.”

-

You find yourself walking back to the car with Prentiss again, the two of you the last of the officers to leave the scene. Prentiss appears to want to say something, but you pretend not to notice. The silence is eventually broken when she directs her body toward yours and speaks up.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” she keeps looking at you while she walks. “I thought I’d worked on thinking before I spoke.”

You grin at her honesty. “It happens,” you shrug, looking down. You’re hesitant to let on how much the comment had stung. “I earned my spot here. I mean, I know that. Still a sore spot for me, I guess. It’s just been a while since someone so much as hinted I might not be capable for this job.” You keep your eyes down as hers haven’t stopped boring into you since she began speaking.

“I’m still sorry I said it.” She’s stops walking, catching your arm for you to stop in front of her.

“I know what it’s like being capable, knowing you’re capable. And still feeling like you have to be prepared to prove yourself at every opportunity. It’s exhausting when all you want to do is your job.”

She’s so sincere as she says it. Her voice is so steady, so earnest. As she talks you find yourself drifting deeper into her piercing gaze such that neither of you seem to register neither of you are speaking. Until a throat clears. The two of you were so caught up in the moment, you’d missed the boys approaching.

“Hailey!” Two pairs of eyes snap to meet Danny’s approach. “You have the keys. Hurry up we’re freezing our asses off out here.”

Emily starts walking first, but this time it’s you who catches her arm. She turns around to face you, dark eyes questioning.

“Thank you again. For saying that,” you say quietly, but you keep your mouth as if to continue. Something inside you wants to say more. More about what it actually meant for her to say that. How lonely it is to feel the way you have, and how good it felt for her to see you like that.

But saying that would be silly. To be vulnerable to her? This person you met yesterday? Absolutely not. So you drop your hand and offer a small smile before you square your shoulders and jog to meet up with the boys.

[livingwithlosingyou]

Living with Losing You - 11/7/2022

Bench Run. 

Today was a good day. I will say I woke up feeling a but under the weather, but I ended up pulling myself out of that. I had to onboard two new hires this morning, so I needed to muster up the energy for it. 

I went into the office and get that done, it was nice to have a change of pace. I decided to go back home right after since I didn’t really have the opportunity to let Sadie out for long enough. I ended up jumping in back to back meetings and such. I hadn’t eaten breakfast (besides a granola bar) so I made my leftovers to eat. These really hit the spot! I love those GF Hawaiian roll sliders. 

I did end up going to practice today, because Aaron and I wanted to talk about pre-season training, but also talk with the boys about their mindset and performance.We sent them on bench run today, which was honestly the perfect run. I can’t disclose what it is because it’s an SCHS boy’s team secret. I can’t ruin the tradition! Anyway, the boys loved it, and came back to candy. My step mom gave me a massive bag of candy, and I needed it out of my apartment. It was perfect. After practice I headed to Chick-Fil-A for dinner since it had been a little it (a little but being like a couple of days). I definitely get into spurts where I crave it for days on end. Can you ever really go wring with it though? It’s SO good. 

On my drive home, I got a text from one of our mutual friends that they had a buddy who was talking about being suicidal, and that the guy wasn’t safe. I ended up calling the friend to make sure he was okay, and we had a long and fruitful conversation. We need to be able to talk about these things. I know they’re not the most comfortable topics to talk about (anything with mental health which saddens me) but it is so important to change that narrative. When I was done eating and got off the phone, I ultimately decided it would be a good idea to try and get some rest. I knew today’s blog was going to be shorter since it was just you standard run of the mill day for the most part. Nothing major to report. 

Something to report though just in general is that my brother texted me asking if I basically “slandered his name” (aka referenced his recovery). This upset me because I would never do that without permission, but also he hasn’t talked to me in weeks. And when he did last talk to me, he basically lied to my parents about how I was doing to get me off his back. I appreciate his concern, but I am not sure how genuine it truly was. The more I listen to Harry Styles’s song “Matilda”, the more it resonates with me. 

I miss you everyday James. 

Rest in Peace, James Burton Nichols

10/1/1993 - 7/16/2022

[magz]

Untitled (Ring) : chapter 1. Listless and Mindless.

I look out the window of my sister’s car, there were trees whizzing past me and a bright blue sky that calmed my eyes. My sister, a big woman with long blonde hair and a smile on her face, held the wheel with a lot more energy than I’d seen anyone else have while driving. She’d whistle tunes from the car radio, glancing at me every once in a while.

It was so nostalgic. The familiar scene outside, though having changed with the seasons, poked at the childhood memories that kept itching to flood out all at once in my bored mind.

I can still remember when I was younger, the kinds of dreams and aspirations I had, and the moments of day-to-day life that were so normal yet insignificant that I couldn’t help but feel warm inside, sad I had overlooked it all.

My mom’s pot roast that would fill me up so easily, my sister’s penchant for singing early 2000s pop songs, and the big spacious house that kept us all cozy.

I think I had a pretty alright childhood then.

Though it’s hard not to remember the later years too. That of my mom’s voice back then.

“Nonnie, could you be so kind to help me peel the potatoes? Your mom’s getting a little old I’m afraid.” She’d laugh under her breath, a little chuckle to lighten the mood.

It was a good joke, she was too young to even be considered “a little old” even by my childish standards.

I’d peel the potatoes, then chop the onions, carrots, and herbs. At the time, I would make the roasted potato casserole just like she would to ease her worries. I wanted to be good, enough to be able to feel proud of it in front of others.

Her hands would shake with tremors every once in a while, sometimes causing accidents and food to almost fall on the floor. She couldn’t even clip her nails anymore either, I’d try to help with that but she’d refuse. My mom was a proud kind of woman, and she had limits to what she’d let me do for her.

“What does your mom have?” 

“Huh?”

I still remember how people would ask me that. But, I didn’t really know. Maybe arthritis? I wasn’t sure at the time, I wasn’t that knowledgeable and I’d just plain forget it anyways I think.

But...

“What causes people to shake and forget things a lot?”

“My mom can’t hold a fork anymore”

“What do I do if someone I know acts different?”

“How do I help my sick mom?”

I kept filling search bars with my worries and questions. I scoured through forums with people going through the same things as me and my mom.

“It must be alzheimers or… some other ‘degenerative’ thing right?” I wondered to myself.

I wanted my mom to go to the hospital and get checked, but she didn’t want to, even when she was getting worse. 

She’d moan in pain.

“Does alzheimer’s do that?” I’d ask a friend on one of those forums. It was a little fruitless but I had the idea planted in me that I had to get her some help, she could have multiple health issues at the same time! Alzheimer’s alone doesn’t do that! I was much more confused at what it could be.  

My young teen self was very stubborn, I could admit that at least. I badgered her, I would bargain with her, I’d try to pull her along with me but none of it worked.

She’d space off every day, like she was keeping in so much and not telling me anything. She was an expanding water balloon just waiting to pop, her stress filled the air like smoke would a burning building.

“Mom. Mommy, please? Pretty please?”

Her rustled hair, long un-cut nails, tired eyes, splotches of weird skin patches, and shaking body all screamed to me that she needed help but her mouth would tell me “Nonnie, my little baby, please... no. I’m fine.” on those better days where she could still barely do anything, but could still muster up words and pet names for me. She'd just lay there on the floor exasperated and oh-so-very-tired.

I would sob myself to sleep, too. It was an exchange of sorts, she wouldn’t let herself cry, so I would do it instead almost every night as my sister held my hand and held in her own tears. 

Then one day, she was suddenly fine again. Like everything was a dream… a nightmare. 

“Baby, is everything fine? You seem kind of out of it.” She’d express concern of my surprised face and how I accidentally dropped my school backpack on the floor, papers and folders flying out messily. “Is school too stressful, my little Nonnie?”

I hugged her tight that day. The warmness, relief, and confusion still resonating in me each time I remember. 

“Can you believe it?” My sister would motion me to come close to her on the dining room table, talking in a low hushed voice. “It’s like she just… reset from to how she was before.” Her eyes widened. “Try to act like everything is normal and that none of that happened, okay? I… No, it didn’t work out when I tried to ask, so… no. We can’t question miracles.” She informed me.

Screech!

My mind snapped back to the present. Oh.

“We’re here.” My sister declared ethusiasticallly, clutching the steering wheel with one hand after shifting the car’s gears. 

A house straight off the pages of a 90’s home renovator’s magazine welcomed us with it’s picture-perfect landscape and friendly atmosphere. A blue painted house with an arched entry and flat roof, in front there was a white wooden porch that creaked in just the right way. Confidently, I could now say:

“I’m home”

Me and my sister decided to pay my mom a surprise visit and try to cook her some meals just like we used to. She must’ve been lonely from the both of us being away from her, college occupying me and a career a thousand miles away leaving my sister far from our original home. ‘An empty nest is a sad one’ like they say.

Ding Dong!

She didn’t answer the door, she must be sleeping or maybe she’s out of the house at the moment. We didn’t want to be rude but it’s a good thing the spare key is still being hidden under the potted plant on the porch.

My sister gently opened the door, and we were both careful with our footsteps in case it’d wake mom up the wrong way. She’s a grumpy sleeper.

I had an incredulous look while staring back at my sister, starting to doubt that our mom was even here.

“Anya, go check on mom. She’s gotta be in her room. She never goes out on this kind of day you know. She’s still mourning and stuff, it’s always the same each year.” My sister acted like it was so obvious, almost rolling her eyes at how I squinted in disbelief at her.

Just in case, I tried to lighten my steps as I walked to her room, soft creaks melting to the sound of the house’s normal squeaks and bellows. Mom is an easily startled person and the point of today is to make her feel loved and that we’re not just ungrateful, not to make her have a heart attack.

I opened the room’s door.

There she was.

She… My mom. Yeah, that was her without a doubt. But she looked just like those days. Those cursed days I kept thinking of whenever my mind drifted off. But different.

“Ah…. Didn’t I teach you to knock?” My mom’s face was full of scars that weren’t there before, she looked rugged yet… somehow young. “Nonnie, can you keep a secret?” Her index finger’s long nail touched her lips. “Shhh.”

She… had horns. Those long nails were sharp, she had those same markings on her skin, dark on paler skin. The closer she stepped towards me the easier I could see words swimming in those dark splotches on her shoulders. 

Even though her speech seemed intelligible, she was drooling and a mass of someone’s brain was in her hands, and she wasn’t even looking at me. I don’t think she could see, but then how did she know it was me?

Her movements seemed like a puppet on a string, without deliberation.

Had my mom lost her mind? What was she doing?

Unfortunately, this was just the beginning of all this. 

2021 magz draft.

Untitled (Ring) : prologue

I had dreamed of the day I could see your face with tears welling up from happiness. You’d say “Yes, yes! Of course!” while you would cup your hands and cover your mouth to contain your excited squealing. You would look at me as I knelt down before you as I swear to protect you. I would place an oath made of gold and diamonds around your finger. A small grin inching into a full smile on my face, thinking “I can’t believe this day finally came.” 

I know there must be many people around the world thinking something just as pleasant, but I could not imagine anyone quite as lucky as the me proposing to you. My pouring out my affection freely as the many cups of champagne that’d accompany that night.

It’s too bad that I would not be able to see that day. 

It’s me crying instead, for a very different reason today.

A short life with passions cut off early is so sad, but what should I have expected?

I’m prepared to have my final breath taken away. 

“Hello, dear.” She whispers to me a few feet away. 

Her eyes had no light to them, no love. Her skin had curses written on it, moving around like ink on water as if those words that were too tiny to read were alive.

I still loved her, even with her new fangs, sharp claws, and suddenly scathing personality.

The curses had eaten every piece of her soul, every “I love you”, replacing them with a vow of hatred.

“You already know I’m going to kill you.” She stepped closer to my immobile body. “I’m so glad… I’m so happy.” Her voice lilted, yet it felt so hollow.

And with a strike of the circular weapon in her hand, the last “ring” I’d see, I said my prayers and lost my life.

[thebatfamfanatic]

Six Times He Met Her

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, guy taking advantage of a minor in first chap, mention of underage smut in fourth chap, making out?, violence, mentions of blood/injury, main character death, adult language, angst

A/N: First thing I’ve written on Tumblr!! Tell me if anybody likes it, or if I broke your heart. And yes, I know I’m evil.

1-

The first time he saw you was around 2:30 in the morning. Jason was squatting on the edge of a rooftop in Gotham, surveying the dark scenery below him.

Somehow, there was still plenty of traffic on the dirty streets, plenty of cars honking and driving around. Jason always wondered who the fuck needed to be somewhere at 2 am.

He fiddled with a loose seam on the Robin uniform he sported each night, hunting down the assholes of Gotham (pretty much 70% of the city) and putting them in jail, where they belonged.

At 16, Jason Todd technically should have been in bed, maintaining a healthy sleep schedule and doing some rich kid shit during the day. Of course, his adoptive (long story) father, Bruce Wayne, richest playboy in Gotham, employed him to be his little tweety bird sidekick at night, so here he was, at the rendezvous watching the streets. yay. A scream came from an alley nearby. Jason stood, stretched his legs, and leaped down from the roof onto the ground. He pinpointed the alleyway where the noise was coming from and raced into it. A girl, about his age, had been cornered by some bitch dude who thought he could take advantage of this girl. Not on Robin’s watch.

Before the girl could scream again, the guy was on the ground and Jason was helping her up. She shakily took the hand he offered her and looked him in the eye. Shit, she had gorgeous eyes. Jason froze for a second, lost in her beauty, before clearing in his throat.

“Hi. I’m Robin, uh, you probably knew that. Are you okay, ma’am?”

He hated the squeak that came out of his mouth. He sounded like a fucking 5 year old. The girl raised her eyebrow. She had recovered rather quickly. “You don’t have to call me ma’am. I’m not some rich-ass royal whatever from Britain.” Jason liked this one. Sassy, but just so. He inquired where she lived, and she gave him the address. With his grappling hook at the ready, Jason pulled her closer to him. She jumped at the sudden closeness, but seemed to enjoy it. Maybe? He didn’t know shit about girls.

Jason shot the hook, propelling them up in the air, and landed on a rooftop. They continued this routine until he got in front of her house. It was still several seconds before he released her waist.

She started to walk towards her door, before stopping.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Sorry, what?” Jason blinked.

“I thought you were smart, Robin. Its my name, dumb ass.”

Then Y/N disappeared into her house. Jason stood there foolishly outside on her front lawn for a while, thinking about the girl he had just met. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he realized 10 minutes later that he had forgotten to ask about where her family was and everything.

Oh well. Bruce would be expecting him anyways. Jason shot his grappling hook and started home, still dazed from the encounter.

2-

The second time you guys met was two weeks later. Jason was just Jason Todd, a normal 10th grader living in the shadow of his (adopted) older brother Dick Grayson. Nobody paid much attention to him, and he didn’t really mind. Mostly Jason focused on getting A’s in class and then retreating into the library until Golden Boy’s after school clubs were over.

That is, until you walked in. It sounded as if you had just moved here, and for a minute, Jason felt a little sorry for you. I mean, Gotham wasn’t the greatest place to spend high school, or any grade, in his opinion.

You looked at your schedule from across the hall and then up at the locker next to him. For a second, your eyes met his and Jason was content. Lost in those brilliant colors. And then you looked away and started walking towards him. He realized just in time maybe he should stop leaning over your locker as you stopped next to him.

“Hi. Y/N. Just moved here. Looks like we’re locker neighbors.”

Jason was about to reply with “I know” but restrained himself. “Jason. Nice to meet you. Congrats on moving to this shitshow.”

He managed to not grin like an idiot as you laughed. The sound was music to his ears, like beautiful bells. God, he was being sappy.

“It’s not much of a shitshow when you’re here.” Ooh, she flirts too. Jason smirked as you opened your locker and dumped your stuff inside, pulling out the things you needed for your first class.

The first bell shrieked just as you closed your locker. “See you around, Jason.”

The small smile you gave him made his day, and he almost forgot to get to class. Yes, you were certainly one of a kind, and yes, Jason wanted you. The question was how to get to that point.

3-

You guys had a couple classes together, and frequently sat at the same table during lunch, so it wasn’t long before you were quick friends with Jason. However, the next notable time you met was a little while after he got your number.

Jason was laying on his bed, scrolling mindlessly through Tumblr as he thought about ways to ask you out.

Y/N, would you grant me the honor of going out with me? No, too Romeo and Juliet.

Hey, want to grab ice cream? He had to make it clear what his intentions were. Then it wouldn’t be weird if he kissed you, right?

Oh, god, if he fucking kissed you….what would that be like? Before Jason could start fantasizing, his fingers were flying across the keyboard and he had sent a text to you. What did he do, what did he-

Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to see that new movie this weekend. It seems like something you would enjoy.

Hm. That was actually pretty good. Where did he come up with that?

Jason had just started inspecting his fingers for some kind of sign of being possessed by smooth-with-girls-syndrome when you responded. He looked up and read it quickly.

Sure, I’d love that! Thanks for thinking of me ❤️

A heart. You had put a heart at the end of it. Did that mean you knew it was a date?

Jason sighed. He certainly hoped so.

4-

The weekend date went good. By the end of it, Jason was sure you knew it was a date. The second one passed, and then the third. The third one was when you hesitantly pecked him on the cheek. The fourth was when he kissed you actually. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was just enough for him to take you on a fourth date. An actual “will you go out with me on a date” kind of thing.

He took you to a restaurant in the fancy part of things. You two ate food that two broke 16 year olds technically shouldn’t have been able to afford, but Bruce helped Jason out.

Jason drove you home afterwards and discussed the topic of the upcoming summer during the car ride. What you were doing, where he was going. The entire time, Jason had butterflies in his stomach. He wasn’t sure how to act. Was he messing it all up, or were you actually into him?

Once he parked in front of your house and walked you up to the stoop, you looked at him. He noticed you were biting your lip nervously, and god, why did he think that was so hot? “My parents aren’t home.” It was the softest Jason had ever heard you speak, but he knew what you meant. He smiled gently, and kissed you again. This one was destined to last longer, and before either of you realized it, you had opened your door and you were leading him to your bedroom.

That night was one neither of you would forget, and by the end of it, Jason had officially asked out successfully.

5-

You and Jason spent a lot of time together after that. You met his older brother, Dick (who was very happy for Jason, too happy in his opinion) and his dad, Bruce Wayne. Bruce was cool, but very busy all the time.

By two months, Jason still hadn’t told you his identity as Robin, and he was running out of excuses. One day, you confronted him, assuming he was cheating on you. He tried everything, but he had to go out on patrol.

Jason left that night assuming you were broken up. The entire patrol, he wasn’t himself. Truth was, he loved you so much he was afraid of losing you. That had become his greatest fear. It was that night everything went wrong.

6-

You were out taking a late night walk. Down by the pier, a cold wind was blowing, and as you walked past warehouse after warehouse, you pulled your coat tighter.

You were affected as well, and confused about where you and your boyfriend stood. Did you guys just breakup? Did he love you? Did–

A scream echoed from one of the warehouses. You turned, afraid of stepping closer but afraid of leaving the person. Eventually, your curiosity won over and you climbed up several crates to peer into the window.

What you saw inside almost made you scream yourself. Robin, the hero everybody talked about, lay defenseless and bloody on the ground as a tall man-the Joker- whacked him over and over again with a crowbar.

You gasped, wanting to help, but you knew that would be foolish. You would just get in the way for a minute. Tears started to form in your eyes as Robin weakly cried out from the pain. He looked so…helpless.

Joker relentlessly beat him with the crowbar, and Robin’s mask began to come off. You rubbed the tears from your eyes just as the mask fell to the ground.

“No.” was the only thing that you could muster. Jason lay on the ground in the bloody Robin suit. Jason fucking Todd. There was your boyfriend, being beaten to death by the asshole of all assholes. That was why he kept disappearing at night, because he fucking protected the city!

You were mad at yourself for being so cruel to Jason without knowing what was really going on. You barely paid attention as Batman and Nightwing suddenly burst through the windows.

Joker laughed, and said something you couldn’t hear from the outside. Probably taunting Batman as he watched his apprentice get beat to death.

A fight broke out, Batman lunging at Joker as Nightwing rushed to Jason, laying broken on the ground. You had just enough time to duck as a Batarang came swooping out of the hands of the Caped Crusader and straight through the window you were looking through.

It was then you realized how close Jason was to death, and what you needed to do. The window pricked your jacket as you jumped through it, but you didn’t care. Gymnastics back in 6th grade helped when you landed awkwardly. Nightwing spun around, and it wasn’t hard to figure out that was Dick, which meant Bruce was Batman.

However, none of that mattered when Jason was half dead in front of you. Nightwing- Dick- made no effort to stop you as you knelt in front of Jason. “No, no, no.” You cradled his head in your hands, trying hard not to recognize how limp his body was, and how his chest barely moved as he struggled to breathe.

Jason’s eyes were closed, tears running down his face silently. You were crying as well, mumbling curses and things that made no sense.

“Please, don’t be dead. Please, I-I love you.”

You watched Jason make no acknowledgement he could hear you, watched him breathe once more. His chest rose and never fell.

You screamed and buried your head in his costume, not caring about getting blood on your face. Dick pulled you away wordlessly, out of the warehouse. You barely registered that the warehouse exploded behind you a few seconds later.

Dick let you sob into his shoulder for what seemed like hours. Him and Bruce exchanged a short conversation, both riddled with grief.

Six times you and Jason had met, and that was the last.

[fruitoftheweek]

Little Cherry Book:

Chapter 1: Who is She?

Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 Here

I guess this is a Switch!Spencer (mainly Sub! Spencer)X reader fan fiction this is my first fan fiction I’ve written since middle school so bare with me and feel free to message me constructive criticism. This will probs be multiple chapters but I just couldn’t get this idea off of my mind so here we go! And yes this season 1/2 Spencer because he is just the cutest!

Pairing: Spencer Reid X reader

Plot: Doctor Spencer Reid has heard of little black books, but that pales in comparison to what he has just found in the BAU’s elevator. A sweetly scented notebook filled with salacious journal entries illustrating the writer's sexual fantasies. He doesn’t know what it is about this book but all he can think of is finding its owner.

TLDR: Spencer finds your kinky notebook and uses super sleuth skills to find you.

Series TW: 18+, smut, degradation, piercing, choking, knife play, mommy/daddy kinks, spanking, exhibitionism, Will update as time goes on

Chapter TW: Cumming in pants, Hinting at sex, exhibitionism, no panties, Language, General 18+, Hinting at future kinks

Word Count: 2,439 (gah damn)

𝒯𝒪 𝒲𝐻𝒪𝑀 𝐼𝒯 𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒞𝐸𝑅𝒩𝒮:

𝒟𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓀𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈. 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈. 𝐼𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝑒, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹, 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹.

As Spencer read these sentences, he paused. Not for the warning of so-called curses, there was no scientific evidence for such things and Spencer knew magic was just science with a trick of the eye, but for the vehement warning making him feel intruding on whoever had left their journal in the elevator.

It had caught his eye as he stepped into the elevator on his way out of the office. As someone who had lost plenty of books in his days roaming the halls of the BAU, he knew how frustrating it was to not know what happened at the end. As he picked it up, he noticed the cover. It was old, bound in aged cherry red leather, yet too small to be more than a pocketbook. He had found your message while searching for a name to return the book to, and simply reading the first page already felt prying.

Alas, one sentence enticed him “If it comes into the right hands, You can find me.” Where his hands the right ones to come into? The probability of that could be found easily by calculating how many people got on and off of this specific elevator that day, no, in the past hour, with the hustle and bustle of people leaving for the day. Spencer could and he would calculate it he wasn’t so distracted by the message and his voracity to solve this mystery.

Tentatively, he flipped the page, finding a handwritten table of contents. This book had obviously been very important to the reader if they had taken the time to write in page numbers, detailed headings, and chapters. The table was nearly full of chapter titles in scrawled cursive lettering. His eyes stopped on the first chapter title. “Male Needs” with shakey lettering. He could tell by your handwriting that you grew more confident in your journaling as the chapters progressed, the hesitations in your strokes growing few and far between.

As he flipped the page once more he had reached the next floor and a large group of people bustled into the elevator. Spencer shied away from them, not just because he had an aversion to contact with strangers and their germs, but because of the sentences, he had read underneath that first chapter “I do not need a man, a man needs me. Yet, when I am with a man, I have needs. Needs that most men can’t fulfill. I need a man that eats pussy like it’s the only way to quench his thirst-“ and with that Spencer slammed the book shut, earning some confused looks from the others on the elevator. He should have heeded the warning because now all he could think about was the fact that this was your nervous entry and as your confidence grew, it was bound to escalate from there. He wasn’t sure if it was his flustered mind or the heat growing deep from inside him that made him feel dirty; not because it scandalized him, but because these were someone’s fantasies and he had intruded in their secrets and soiled them with his mind.

Ding! He had reached the ground floor and that was when he decided to leave it alone. He couldn’t bring it to the lost and found as it would be more likely to end up in the wrong hands there and your secrets would be for someone else to find, not that he even knew who you were.

On his drive home, he tried to think of anything else besides the book. His lunch, Garcia’s new item she added to her collection, how to get back at Derek for putting salt in the sugar container, but his mind kept wandering. It didn’t help that the notebook sat tauntingly on top of his satchel as if saying “Open me, you know you want to. You want to know who I am. You can find me.” There was no way that it had been there for that long as the janitor was on duty today and he had been on the elevator two hours ago on his way to clean the top floor. Since Spencer had left a little later than most people that meant there were multiple elevators full of people who would have noticed. He knew it wasn’t so but part of him felt as if you had left it there specifically for him to find. Like it was made for him. He quickly shook off the thought and went back to who it could be. He wanted to return it without reading any more. You clearly would miss it but he couldn’t imagine you wanted others to know about what lay in those folded corners of your book and your mind.

As he walked up the steps of his complex, he clutched onto the notebook with all of his strength, he feared that he would look down and it would have disappeared, he wanted to keep your deepest secrets safe as if they were his own. He was only able to relinquish his grip when he shut and locked the door to his apartment. He set it on the table as he got prepared for the night. By now he had limited his pool to 54 women who were regularly in and out of the elevator at that time of day which was a cut down in comparison to the 860 roughly women in that building on any given day. But that number still wasn’t small enough. He had to minimize the sample size even further. That was the only reason he reopened to the table of contents, right? Not because of his own morbid curiosity and definitely not because of the heat burning in his stomach.

He looked down at the page numbers, still too nervous to look at the titles, and saw that each entry was a page long consisting of 23 entries and one with a title but no page numbers. Not chapters as he previously thought but entries giving lascivious details into what he had not yet mustered up the courage to read. He was still unable to look at the titles in fear of what he might find. If graphic depictions of female oral sex were displayed under “Male Needs”, what possibly could lie ahead.

For now, he studied the handwriting. Cursive, not often used by many younger women, was often associated with antiquities and traditional values but he noticed something off. There was a very specific curl to certain numbers. Every even number had a specific extra curl or flourish to it and the zeros had a line through it like a “do not enter” sign. This went directly against the hypothesis that you were an older woman that the cursive provided; as many older women who wrote in cursive stuck to the rules even when it came to numbers. She wasn’t old enough to even be Hotch’s age but she appreciated the charm of the past. 'Who is this girl?' Spencer wondered. He was able to narrow it down to about half of his previous lot, excluding the women on his team. He had seen them write enough to know their handwriting inside and out. And while Garcia’s had similar flourishes to yours, she never crossed her zeros.

Spencer knew that he would have to read at least the chapter titles to grasp a better understanding of your handwriting and who you could possibly and as his eyes scanned the page, for the first time in a while he was actually reading slowly; putting all of his focus into each word and what order they were in. Unfortunately, his focus was his downfall. His face became so hot that he felt as if you could see steam coming off of it.

Table of contents:

Male Needs

Praise

Degradation

Mommy

Daddy

Work

Exhibition

Choking

Collars

Breeding

And that was all he could take. Ha couldn’t look at the thirteen and a half more entries, even this much knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t have much experience with women and certainly not enough to understand what all of those words necessarily entailed but he knew that whatever it was keeping his internal fire roaring with heat.

While he hated snooping, he knew he would need more information. He chose the chapter that sounded the most mundane out of all of them, "Work." ‘What was more normal than work.’ he thought, but he was so sorely mistaken.

"Work:

"Before I move on to exhibitionism, I have to talk about work. Yes, I would love to have sex at work where I and my partner are one step away from getting caught, I haven’t done that yet. I want to tell you what I have done. Almost every day I go to work wondering if the others can tell that I’m not wearing underwear.”

His heat spread from his face down until it pooled in his loins and his cock became hard imagining this mystery girl walking the halls of the BAU with a breeze in her skirt, nearly exposing the secret that lied beneath. Had he sat next to you when you were partaking in this activity? What would he have done if your skirt bunched up your thigh as you sat, exposing the tan lines where your underwear should be. Would he be able to see you in your tight work pants with no pantie lines and be the only one who truly knows your secret?

“I kinda want to be caught someday by Him. I wonder what he would do. Would he tell me off for being unprofessional? Would he take me to that storage closet 3 doors past Garcia’s office, just far enough away that he could teach me a lesson for being naughty at work?”

He felt so dirty, inserting himself into the fantasies of a girl which he did not even know that he almost glanced across the use of Him, capital H.i.m. He wanted to indulge in his imagination that in some way or another that the “Him” in question was in fact the man reading this with trembling hands and an impossibly hard cock. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining situations in the storage closet that he regularly used as a reading nook when he needed time away from the others.

He rested his head on the pages of the book, hoping somehow that his dirty thoughts would be transplanted from his head and back into the pages so that he could stop thinking about you. His efforts were thwarted as this action meant that he could spoil himself in your scent that enveloped the book. As if you had wrapped it in the deepest most vulnerable part of you to hide it away from others. You smelled of bergamot, patchouli, and musk but deeper than that, you smelled like sweet, tart berries and honeysuckle in summer. There was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on at first but it was intoxicating all of his senses. It was saccharine, heat, and sex all combined in one. When it clicked, it no longer felt as if his head was pressed against a book but as if his he sat kneeling on the ground with his cheek resting in your inner thigh, your hot sex waiting for his indulgence, “like it's the only way to quench his thirst” echoed in his brain. The scent was your natural pheromones beckoning him closer with the promise of a treat.

And that was it. That was what sent him over the edge. The purest embodiment of your scent had him cumming, hot in his pants.

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

You sat down at the edge of your bed after a long day at work; shucking off your work clothes to get as comfy as you could in your PJs as a way to unwind from the day. You went to grab your lip balm from your bag and noticed that the front pocket of your bag had been left open. You instantly panicked, searching everywhere for your little red book. The one that kept the key to your deepest secrets and darkest fantasies. You tore your bag apart, knowing that you had it at the end of your workday because you took it out of your desk drawer and tucked it back into its home in your bag. You cursed your carelessness for not double-checking that you zipped your bag before leaving. With your forgetfulness, you knew it would happen one day but you didn't realize it would be this soon.

There was an odd mix in your heart and your stomach. Part of you felt your heart drop through your ass thinking that it had ended up in the wrong hands, part of you had butterflies thinking about someone knowing the deepest parts of you, intimately in your own words. You had the assurance that your name was nowhere to be seen in the book but you also knew that you worked with people who analyzed people's dark desires for a living. While none of your fantasies involved murder, they were like precious gems that you kept locked away in your heart. You couldn't dare imagine what would happen if it came into His hands. While you were the youngest at the BAU, only by a few months and you weren't even part of the group because you were still tentative, you couldn't put your dirty thoughts into the innocent head of the pretty boy genius. It was almost more worrisome than if SSA Hotchner or Gideon found it and you were fired. The idea of tainting someone so pure...

You had to literally shake your head to clear your thoughts. Imagining His face tinged red in innocence reading through your lewd writing had your head in a tizzy. Imagining Doctor Spencer Reid sifting through the pages with lightning-fast fingers, stroking down the pages of smut as you had imagined him stroking down your thighs so many times before. You decided to bury your head in your pillow, hoping that would calm your mind enough to slip into slumber.

Unfortunately for you both, your efforts would be fruitless and you would both go to sleep unknowingly thinking of each other.

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Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 here

And that's Chapter one. Hope y'all like it. LMK in my messages and all that <3 have a great week!

[unofficial-underfell]

Do you have any tips on starting a comic?

I’ve been working on comics for a while, and though I’m far from being a professional, there are a few things I’ve learned about making a comic. For one this may not be the best advice (I mean after all I did stop for like 2 years) but it’s stuff I’ve learned through trial and error, and practice. A lot of drawing practice. This is also speaking from the perspective of, specifically, a comic artist doing this as a hobby, not a career. Also with the assumption that this comic will be posted on a social media site. Career comic-artists probably have a lot more specific requirements . 

1. Contrary to popular belief, the hardest part for me at least, is consistency, to keep going even when you have doubts about your ideas and your work. Those doubts will creep up on you regardless of how talented of an artist you are or how good your idea is, or how excited you are to start. That doesn’t mean your idea is no good, everyone had doubts. But the one thing I always remember that keeps me going is that I’m creating something new and wonderful, and I’m sharing that with the world. Even if the idea has been done differently, I’m doing it MY way, in a way that’s unique and special to me. 

 Let yourself love to create, because that’s the whole point, isn’t it? 

Set realistic expectations for yourself, whether it be 2 page a week, or 1 page every 2 weeks, or even 1 page a month, or even just whenever. Find what you’re able to do and try to stick to it. Sometimes you will not feel like it. Artists aren’t just go go go all the time, you need breaks, you need rest. Sometimes you need to make yourself do a little bit of progress, in those cases just sit down with the pencil in hand and see what you can do, give yourself about 20 minutes to an hour, and if you can’t find that motivation or drive at all to even put the pen to paper, maybe come back to it another time. It is work, I’m not going to say it’s not, it’s creating and that takes time and effort. You’ll need to find out how to creatively place the speech bubbles, change positions of people talking to keep scenes visually interesting, write dialogue, etc. That’s not to say it’s bad but just keep in mind that if you can’t muster up motivation to work on the comic, don’t feel bad, it takes effort, and you have your own life, and people get tired. We’re not machines.

Another thing about consistency is that, if the inspiration strikes you to do like 12 pages at the same time, don’t be afraid to let that be a buffer so that, should you fall behind, you’ll still be ahead of the game. Schedule pages for weeks/ months in advance based on how often you said you’d post. Don’t create a bunch of pages and then allow your buffer to run itself out, because then you’ll be scrambling and it will feel an awful lot like crunch. And also don’t dump all the pages at once because the momentary satisfaction is nice, trust me, regret.

2. PACING. PACING. PACING. I CANNOT stress pacing enough. The ruins did not NEED to take 250 pages and yet it did. Pacing is so important, I know you want individual scenes to be important but also, being concise is just as important in a comic. There’s a balance between having enough space for the readers to breathe, and also having the comic crawl along at a snail’s pace. Over my two-year break, I want to believe I’ve improved immensely with the pacing. In which I was able to wrap up the fight with Toriel and then meet sans over the course of like 15 pages when previously it would have taken me something like, 40 probably. 

In my opinion, pacing is more important than artistic ability, color, shading, or any other cosmetic thing. The only thing more important is story. And that’s the Most important thing. You want to keep people looking forward to updates, and having relevant stuff happening on every page is a great way to have people eager to see the next update. 

3. If you want to change something early on, you can. Nothing is stopping you. Don’t get caught up in what other people want, think about what you want. And if you want to make other people happy, don’t stress. If people like your comic and it’s direction, they’ll be happy with your artistic direction. Just don’t pull a “It was all a dream and nothing mattered after all’ because nobody likes that haha

That’s pretty much my two cents. If you got an idea and a passion, go for it. You got one life to live but you don’t only have one story to tell! 

-Mod Avery

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

A Heartbeat Away | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.7k

✦ based off the song I Should’ve Kissed You by One Direction

✦ summary — Damian is haunted by the fact that he only said good night when he should have kissed you.

✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of pregnancy (a minor character is pregnant), mentions of food and beverages, fluff.

✦ author's note i — randomly remembered my obsession with this song and couldn’t get it out of my head.

✦ author's note ii — the parts in italics are flashbacks.

════════════════════════

Ever since he started living with Jason, Damian found himself straying away from the things that held him back.

His life would never be normal, but in hindsight, he could admit things weren’t as bad.

The fallout with his father came crashing down in the worst moment possible — Dick was dead and his relationship with Tim wasn’t the best.

As little as he knew Jason, he was sure he could trust him so he asked for his help instead of somebody else’s.

And Jason didn’t say no. Whether he had the heart to do it or not was irrelevant because he still took Damian in and helped him find a job.

He hated said job.

‘It’s a job,’ you had told him, ‘you’re not supposed to like it.’

You.

Damian rarely stopped thinking about you. Calling it infatuation felt like an understatement, and yet he couldn’t find a better word to describe the whirlwind of emotions you gave him.

He still remembered the day he met you for the first time.

Jason paced in the living room, perking up every time he heard a noise outside the apartment.

You’re driving me insane,” Damian said from the small dining table.

”Roy’s late.”

”Why are you surprised?”

Jason glared at him.

Both of them heard somebody stand on the other side of the door. Their steps didn’t sound like Roy’s.

Pulling the door open, Jason was ready to snap at whoever had knocked.

“You ordered something and gave my apartment number instead of yours. Again.”

Damian didn’t recognize the voice so he slanted his body to the side to see who it was. He couldn’t stop staring.

”I’ll make it up to you.”

”Jay,” you sighed. “I’ve told you before, you just need to tell me beforehand if you don’t want things to arrive to your apartment. My roommate could have opened it.”

Damian chuckled, a single elbow resting on the table.

Jason craned his neck. “You think this is funny?”

”I think you’re a moron.”

”Shut up and come meet our neighbor.”

Damian didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up with an eagerness he hadn’t felt since Jason texted him to let him know he had found the materials so he could build a suit and go back to patrol.

”This is my brother Damian.” Jason turned around to place the package under the table next to the door.

He knew you’d either seen him before or heard about him the moment his eyes landed on you. People always had a visceral reaction when they met him, some found him attractive, others attempted to ask for favors, and some recoiled in fear.

But you didn’t. You held his gaze and stood in the same spot you had been since you knocked on the door.

And whether it had been in a newspaper or a gossip forum, he was glad you knew something about him. There was something about the way you stared at him that screamed for him to trust you. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Nice to meet you,” you politely said, smiling at him.

Stunned by the fact that you hadn’t mocked him, and now assuming it wasn’t wishful thinking after all, he tilted his head. Most people did mock now that he wasn’t under his father’s wing.

Still, he said, “Likewise.”

Your smile became warmer. “I live three doors down the hallway in case you need anything.”

He felt a pang in his chest at the gesture. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Weird sensations in his chest were normal when he was around you. Befriending you was easier than he’d ever admit and talking to you became the highlight of his day.

The pangs in his chest turned into a fluttering sensation in a heartbeat. You’d make him feel breathless when you did the smallest things — when you smiled at him, when you complained about other neighbors with him, when you asked about his day.

He felt special. For once in his life for being the closest he had ever been to resemble a normal person.

And he also remembered, quite painfully, that night he let you walk away without mustering the courage to tell you —or show you— the way you made him feel.

The deserted hallway was yet another proof of how easy it was to lose track of time around you.

Damian hadn’t expected to get back home past midnight or to skip patrol, but 1:00 AM turned into 2:00 and he couldn’t part from you no matter how many times he tried to remind himself to do it.

He hadn’t even expected to enjoy the state fair as an adult, yet he couldn’t remember a time he had more fun than that evening.

You gazed up at him, waiting for him to either do or say something. Anything other than stare at you in the middle of the hallway.

You had already thanked him for making you company, there was no way you’d say anything. And he froze.

“Good night,” he sputtered.

Your brow twitched. “Night.”

He watched you unlock your door and get inside your apartment with a heavy heart.

You moved out a couple months ago and he hadn’t seen you since then. The texts the two of you exchanged were sporadic and they bordered in formal.

He should have kissed you, he was aware of that. And to make matters worse, Jason chewed him out when he found out.

He still looked for you every morning he left the apartment as though you’d remember you had forgotten something. That you had forgotten him.

Jon said it was for the best, that somebody as sweet as you didn’t deserve to carry with his baggage.

Damian knew his best friend to be right, but how could he let go of you that easily when you made him see he was more than his mistakes and regrets?

He didn’t need anybody to carry him, he could drag himself anywhere if needed.

He simply hated the hole in the pit of his stomach every time he entertained the possibility of having to see you one day with somebody else because he wasn’t brave enough to say what he needed to let out.

The idea of being out of time was killing him slowly, so naturally, he’d sought a quick death.

════════════════════════

You gasped upon opening the door. You weren’t expecting anybody to be outside — much less Damian Wayne.

“Oh!”

“Hi,” he softly greeted.

You blinked rapidly. “Did you need anything?”

“I wanted to... Are you on your way out?”

“I’m just dropping this off for my mom.” You momentarily lifted the bags you were carrying in one hand. “She lives nearby.”

He spared a look to the reusable bags in your grasp. “Is she sick?”

“Pregnant,” you explained, playing with your keys. “It’s high risk due to her age so we take as much care of her as we can.”

Damian walked backward, allowing you to come out of the apartment and lock the door.

As you pushed the door to make sure it was locked, he asked, “Would you care for some company?”

Turning around, you gave him a small smile. “That would be lovely.”

He reached over. “Let me help.”

“They’re not heavy.”

“I insist.”

”Okay.” You handed him the bags and took the initiative to lead the way.

He reached your side immediately.

Not knowing what else to do, aware you’d let something slip if you didn’t find something, you made small talk. “How’s Jason?”

“As annoying as always.”

You still remembered when he meant those words, when he complained about Jason and how often they butted heads. His tone was different now, lighter, almost playful.

“Good to know some things never change.”

You walked the streets with an ease you hadn’t been able to in years. Growing up in that neighborhood meant which streets to avoid, and sadly, most of them were unsafe.

There were many things you could have asked or said, perhaps apologize for being cold while texting.

You were in your right to be cold and you could have just not answered, but you wanted to keep contact even though you were hurt.

Damian was great company. It was a shame you misread the entire situation and couldn’t go back to chat with him like before.

It took you a few attempts to get them to talk comfortably, but once he was able to, he didn’t look back. He even gossiped with you.

Stopping in front of the house, you looked around to make sure your mom had the windows open. Once sure, you walked up the front steps.

You withdrew a single key from your back pocket and extended your other hand so Damian would give you the bags.

The floors were recently mopped which meant your aunt had visited that day.

“It’s me,” you yelled so your mom wouldn’t get up. It was her time to be watching TV in the living room.

Carrying the bags towards the kitchen, you caught the jingle from a commercial.

You filled a glass with water and added a couple of ice cubes.

Your mom was comfortably sat on a recliner, feet up and remote control on her thigh. “Hurry back before it gets dark.”

“Don’t worry, a friend of mine walked me here.” You handed her the glass. “Do you need anything else?”

She ignored your question as she took the glass. “Who is it?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Him?” She lifted an eyebrow.

You hadn’t mentioned a guy to her in almost two years now, her surprise was understandable. “Not now.”

“Oh, so it is like that?”

Maybe it was and maybe that was the issue. She wouldn’t blame you if she knew him like you did, if she heard him laugh or saw him change his demeanor to accommodate to somebody else’s sensibilities.

You didn’t think you’d witness anything remotely close to that when you met him for the first time, but you learned really quickly that Damian was full of surprises.

“I’ll call in the morning in case you need something. I’m working ’til 3:00 PM tomorrow.”

“It’s okay.” She took a sip of water. “Did you bring anything sweet?”

“Homemade muffins and a few chocolate bars. Do you want one now?”

She shook her head. “I’ll wait after dinner.”

You kissed her cheek. “Call me, please.”

“Go, go.” She ushered you to go with a gesture of her hand. “Don’t make your friend wait.”

It was your time to ignore her comment.

Damian was sat on the front steps when you came out, looking up at the darkening sky.

“Is everything alright?” you asked in a whisper as to not scare him.

“No.” He shook his head and stood up. “I mean, yes. How’s your mother?”

“She’s good. Having fun watching reality TV.”

Damian squinted. “Is reality TV really that entertaining?”

“It’s mindless stuff, but it’s fun sometimes. You get to judge other people’s lives without feeling remorse because it’s most likely fake.”

The walk back was way shorter and you didn’t want to part. It was time to swallow your pride and your feelings for him.

He didn’t part ways with you at the building entrance. He walked beside you until you reached the elevator — Damian extended his arm to keep the doors open and allowed you to get in first. He followed suit.

You turned the lights on with Damian on your tail. He did wait for you to invite him in, but you were sure both of you knew there was no way you wouldn’t.

“I made muffins. Do you want one?”

Damian nodded.

You guided him to the dining table where a trippy vase in pastel colors rested with flowers.

He looked around the apartment as he walked towards the table. As he sat down, he fixed his eyes on the vase.

“Green or black?”

“Mmh?”

“Your tea.”

You could swear you saw him smile to himself.

“Black.” He placed his cellphone on the table. “You still have that thing,” he said, referring to the trippy vase.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He huffed a laugh. “Jason said it was ugly.”

“Jason doesn’t have the best taste in the world,” you lightheartedly retorted.

The vase was precious to you, a gift from Damian who spooked you in the middle of a rainy night and made you knock your favorite vase.

You set a plate in front of him and placed the muffin there. “Your tea’s almost ready.”

“No roommate this time?”

“Nope. I miss Lou, but I don’t miss having a roommate that much.”

“I thought the move was temporary just so you could be close to your mother...”

“It is, but there’s still a long way to go. The baby should be here next month and she’ll need help around the house.” You disappeared for a moment as you looked for a mug.

Having found one, you dropped the teabag and poured the boiling water in.

“Sugar.” You put the sugar bowl down just in front of the mug. Feeling his eyes on the side of your face, you gazed at him. “It’s brown, don’t worry.”

He relaxed and uncovered the sugar bowl. “Is the father of your mother’s child around?”

“Yeah.” You sat down on the chair closest to his. “She remarried last year and her husband tries to help, but you know, work gets in the way.”

“Tell me if I can help with anything.”

“Don’t worry, you have enough things to juggle with already.”

“What’s one more? At least let me make you company or walk you home. These streets are dangerous.”

You softly nodded. From the day you met him you knew you would never be able to tell him no — and having his company after a long day sounded nice.

“So...”

“So,” you encouraged him to go on.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“No. I thought I was a little while ago, but...” You hoped he’d understand what you were getting at. “I guess something got lost in translation.”

“Did it? Or was he too much of a coward to show the way he felt?”

“Don’t.” You hated hearing him talk like that about himself.

“You don’t know how much I regret not kissing you that night. I—“ He sighed, twisting his mouth as he frowned. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“At least now I know you did think about doing it.”

“I did. Many times throughout the night.” He turned to the side to fully look at you. “I wanted to find the perfect moment and became overwhelmed. Sounds like a bad excuse, but I swear it’s the truth.”

“I believe you.”

Damian scooted closer and reached over to place his hand on your face. Softly, he caressed your cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

You leaned onto his touch, tilting your head. “Me too. Sorry for being such an ass.”

“It’s fine. I would have reacted similarly.”

“Similarly or worse?”

“Worse.”

You laughed, making him smile.

“May I?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Damian leaned in, placing his free hand on the back of your chair as his nose brushed yours.

His lips softly connected with yours, but the slow pace didn’t last. The two of you had wasted too much time, thrown away too many opportunities to be this close —or closer— and patience wasn’t a virtue Damian possessed.

The chair was now balancing itself in two legs, making you interrupt the kiss with a squeal.

Damian then made you stand up and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips were immediately back on yours.

Your hands went up to rest on his biceps as he kissed you again. His arms tightened around you as he deepened the kiss and you melted.

You melted into the kiss, onto his warmth, due to the fact that he wanted this as much as you did.

Kissing him had become a mere fantasy for you, and there he was, not only making it a reality but exceeding your expectations.

Grabbing him by the neck, you broke the kiss in search of air. His breath was barely ragged and you remembered he told you he could hold it in for a long time.

You needed him to teach you just to be able to kiss him for longer.

“That was nice,” you said, still breathless.

“Yeah, really nice. We should do it more often.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I’m telling you I want you to be mine.”

All in or nothing, of course. Jason had warned you that Damian didn’t take things lightly.

But you were okay with that.

[lebrookestore]

the one; l.ty

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x reader

Themes: exes! au, best friends to nothing, exes to nothing, college! ish au because they’re graduating, the angst is a very subtle type but its still pretty heavy

Warnings: unrequited love, heavy angst, mentions of kissing and food (ice cream)

Wc: 1.6k

Playlist: the 1 by taylor swift, closure by taylor swift, 2 kids by taemin, dancing after death by Matt Maeson

Authors note: this is a deleted scene from my fic, favorite crime! (which you should go read. please lmao but also because it will give this story even more context) i have altered it so it sort of works as a oneshot? Anyways, I hope you like it<3

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

~

When you’re younger, you’re told to live your life to the fullest, to enjoy your youth. You’re seen as naive and and wide eyed at the world around you. When you’re younger you’re allowed to make those stupid mistakes and mess up, because people look past them.

But some mistakes, everyone but yourself can look past. These type of mistakes could haunt you for the rest of your life with every little thing you do. The what ifs.

And when you’re young, even though you have so much of your life left to enjoy, you can’t ever go back and fix them. They were permanent, like a life long promise, or a tattoo inked into your skin. You would never be able to escape them, even if you moved on.

At age twenty one, standing in front of your full length mirror donning your graduation cape, you had already made one of these mistakes, and it weighed you down everyday, simply because the reminder of it all was just a window away.

You glanced through your window, seeing him there, doing the same thing as you were, trying to adjust his tie. If you hadn’t been so stupid, then the two of you would have been getting ready together, you would be the one tying his tie and he would be the one teasing you about how your your cap was too big for you.

You let a smile brief your lips, before looking away. Even though you were no longer staring at him, you knew exactly what he was, the image burned into your mind. Bleached blond hair still messy no matter how much he tried to tame it, his bright eyes that seemed to hold the universe and that intoxicating smile.

Your biggest mistake was falling in love with the boy who never loved you back.

And how you had fallen, hook, line and sinker for him. Taeyong was the object of your affections, your best friend- well former best friend. That was where your mistake came in.

You foolishly let it happen, a relationship of sorts with him. At first, it was everything you had ever wanted, but that slowly started turning into a nightmare you wanted to wake up from. Sometimes you still wonder if you’re in a nightmare.

The two of you worked so well together, because you had known each other since you were four. He knew all your flaws, had seen you at your worst and at your best. You would have never thought he would be the cause of one of your worst moments.

But Taeyong, he wasn’t in love with you, but rather, was infatuated. Infatuated with the idea of love and loving you. Once he figured that out, he did the right thing and told you, effectively breaking up with you.

You lost your best friend and lover all at once. It was painful being around him, because you were still in love with him. He had been your everything, and now you had nothing at all. He slipped through your fingers like sand on a beach.

You hadn’t talked to him since that night he told you the truth. You made an effort to not look at him through your window, because it would just break your heart more. You had never known what it was to be heartsick until you experienced it yourself, and extremely violently.

He didn’t push it either, giving you your space. And while this helped you heal, it also felt so wrong. From spending almost every moment together, to spending no time at all, your lives had completely changed.

For some, love was a breeze, it gave them a fuzzy warm feeling that they wanted to hold onto forever. For you, love hurt like a bitch.

You couldn’t help but think about what could have been, if he had actually loved you. Or if you never indulged in what you wanted and just stayed friends. Sometimes- no, all the time, you wished that had happened instead. You were fine with loving him quietly.

Another part of you, the more selfish part, wished he never realized he didn't love you. You would have been fine living that way, but that was only thinking about yourself. You deserved to know, and he deserves that freedom.

What if?

Falling into love is easy, especially with someone like Taeyong. He was the most beautiful guy you had ever seen, with the kindest heart you could think of. You had fallen when you were merely seventeen, still in high school.

No, it was the falling out of love part that was harder. After loving someone for as long as you had loved him, you couldn't imagine ever loving anyone else. The sheer thought of it didn't make sense to you.

So what if you were still with him, what if you never lost him. What if he was still your best friend through thick and thin?

Snapping out of your thoughts, you made one last adjustment to your graduation cap and sighed, scanning yourself over in the mirror. Deeming yourself presentable, you walked out of your apartment, jogging down the stairs of the building and reaching the ground level.

You were hitching a ride with your friend Ryunjin, who was arguably the world's worst driver but you didn't really have a choice. If you did, you would be going with Taeyong, but well, that wasn't going time happen.

You yourself couldn't drive, simply because you were too scared of accidently killing someone. Taeyong had even tried to teach you how to drive when the two of you were dating, but it was discovered that you were probably even worse than Ryunjin.

A few traumatized minutes of the drive to campus later, you found yourself lost in a sea of students that were also graduating with you. Thankfully you had a few friends, but it was still pretty overwhelming.

The ceremony itself was a blur, of you were being completely honest. You saw your friends get called up on stage and receive their scrolls. Ryunjin flashes an awkward peace sign at the principal because she shook his hand, Ten did a happy dance after, and Renjun pretended to click a picture.

You saw Taeyong go up there and receive his scroll, a bright smile on his face, a smile you so loved. You clapped for him, a proud, yet bittersweet smile gracing your features.

And soon it was you up there, and after you had gotten your scroll and take your picture, it had literally turned blurry. You didn’t realize you were tearing up until a wave of emotions crashed over you. You had finally graduated, you were out of this place after four years.

You hated change, despised it even. Now you were thrust out into the world, gone was the familiarity of attending classes and parties with your friends. First you lost your best friend, now you’d probably lose most of your other friends. It wasn’t as if all of you were going to stay in the town, you had first hand experience of this when your friend Yeji graduated the year before and moved away.

You were so young, so naive and yet it felt as if you couldn’t hold on to a single moment long enough. How were you supposed to enjoy your youth then? You were slowly loosing everything.

Sucking in a deep breath, you composed yourself, a laugh escaping you when Ryunjin practically threw herself onto you in a hug of celebration. You quickly wiped your tears so no one saw them, smiling. 

Turning around to talk to another friend, your eyes met Taeyong’s. He was much further away from you, but you knew it was him, you’d always know him. He didn’t break the contact, a small smile appearing on his lips as me mouthed something.

‘I’m proud of you’

You mustered up the best smile you could, repeating the same things silently so that only he would know it. Pressing your lips together pacified, you once again accepted that it was over. You had accepted it so many times, but you had to keep reminding yourself.

With one last look in his direction, you raised your hand up, curling your fingers into a fist before bringing it down to your chest, right over your heart. His smile only grew as he gave you an affectionate wave. Best friends after all, you knew each other like the back of your hands.

And then everyone tossed their caps into the air, as cheers resounded through the hall. Laughter and chattering filled the area, and you knew it would be alright in the end. 

You accepted the fact that Taeyong would haunt all your what-ifs, even as you tried to move on. All the kisses at midnight and late night talks out on your adjoining roofs, the long drives and ice cream dates- it was a thing of the past.

And yes, it still hurt when you recalled all the beautiful things that had happened with your time with him, the way the two of you were so beautiful.

It simply wasn’t meant to be, even if you were still in love with him. Heck, you were sure you’d always be in love with Taeyong, a part of your heart would be reserved for him and him only, but it was time to let go. You weren’t okay right now, but you’d learn to be okay. 

Still, it would have been fun if he had been the one.

fin.

[forever-rogue]

I’m so excited that your doing these requests!🥳 could you please do prompt 36 from prompt list 1 with javier please, think I would cry😂💖 Thankyoux

Oh, okay, I see what you’re doing to me here! 🥺😌 Enjoy!

Prompt: 36. “Does he know about the baby?”

Javi x Fem!Reader ; warnings: language, pregnancy

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You knocked on Connie and Steve’s door, hesitating for just a moment before opening once you heard her call to you. As soon as you walked into the Murphy’s place, you were overwhelmed with the smell of her delicious cooking. You grinned as you walked in, following the smell of the percolating coffee. 

“Good morning,” you grinned at Steve who was setting the table. He looked up and smiled, offering you a small wave. You were just about in the kitchen when you felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around your waist before you were held against a strong chest. His smell immediately overwhelmed your senses as he pressed a few kisses to your bare shoulder; you’d purposely worn a sundress, one you knew he loved just to tease him a little...and for one other very specific purpose - but he wasn’t privy to that just yet, “good morning, Javier.”

“Good morning to you, Dulzura,” he whispered in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek, “you had to wear that little dress, didn’t you? You drive me crazy sometimes.”

“Hmmm,” you mused as you hastily pulled out of his grasp before turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his lips, “maybe I like to mess with you...maybe I just really like this dress.”

“You are…” his hands his found purchase on your hips as he gave them a gentle squeeze, kissing along your jaw before stopping at the shell of your ear, his warm breath tickling you, “an absolute little -”

“Hi babe!” Connie beamed when she stuck her head out from the kitchen, her smile stretching from ear to ear, “so glad you made it! Do you mind giving me a hand real quick with finishing up? Javi - let the poor thing breath for a moment.”

Javi sighed dramatically before hanging his head; but you didn’t let him down that easily, instead putting a few fingers under his chin and turning his face up so you could kiss him properly. He instantly lit up at your touch, those soft brown eyes crinkling in the corners as his dimple made its appearance, “te amo, Javier. Now go and help Steve or something. I’m all yours after brunch anyway.”

“Fine,” he pouted as you pushed him in Steve’s direction. You watched him go with a laugh before joining Connie in the kitchen. She just smirked at you, handing you a bowl of fresh fruit to cut up.

The two of you fell into easy conversation, and you thoroughly enjoyed her company. But as you kept chopping away at the fruit, your stomach started to churn more and more with each slice of your knife. When you were halfway through cutting up the mango, you couldn’t handle it anymore and practically threw down the knife as you dashed towards the bathroom. You almost kicked the door open as you got onto your knees and heaved up the contents of your stomach. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. You sighed at yourself when you were all done, wiping at the corners of your mouth. You’d thought you’d gotten over this part by now, hoping that it wouldn’t rear its ugly head again - especially not in front of your friends and boyfriend. No - the morning sickness should have been done by now.  

“Dulzura?” Javier stepped into the small bathroom and shut the door behind him, immediately dropping to his knees next to you. Flushing the toilet, you turned to him and put on the most innocent face you could. He grabbed your face gently in his hands, brushing a thumb over your cheek as he studied you intently, “what happened? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Javi,” you promised him softly as you put your hands on his wrists and gave them a gentle squeeze. Although you were sure that the average person would have easily believed your little lie, Javier was no average man and he was able to easily see through your white lie. You sighed heavily before pulling his hands from your face and moving to stand up, “please don’t worry about me, it’s probably something I ate.”

“I do worry,” he insisted, just as firmly, as you turned on the tap and stuck your head under it to swish your mouth with water, “it’s my job-”

“Your job is to be my boyfriend,” you spit out the cold water, “and to trust me when I say everything is fine. One little upset stomach is nothing to worry about, Javier Peña. You have enough to worry about, don’t worry about this one too.”

“Fine,” he held up his hands in defeat, but you could tell that he wasn’t going to let this one go; for now probably, but forever, “but-"

"If it happens again, you'll be the first to know mi amor," you promised him, "now go and finish up with Steve and I'll finish the fruit."

Javier gave your hand a squeeze before slowly making his way out of the bathroom, with you quickly following on his kneel. Before he walked back over to Steve while you rejoined Connie in the kitchen.

She'd taken it upon herself to finish cutting up the fruit, but a knowing little look was on her face. You walked back over without saying a word, fully intending on not mentioning a word, but just like Javier, Connie was sharp and perceptive and wouldn't let it go. You'd surrounded yourself with a particular type of person and right now you were regretting intensely.

"Does he know about the baby?" she whispered under her breath as you stilled in your motions. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly met her eyes, wanting to cry at the little smirk on her face.

"I-I-I…don't know what you're talking about," you lied lamely, more so wondering if she would go along with what you were saying or call your bluff.

"Honey," she gave you an almost pitying look, "you just had a bout of morning sickness and you're starting to show. I've seen the old dress trick tons of times."

"How did you know that's what it was?" you asked in a rushed whisper. She was a nurse...of course she'd know.

"Randomly throwing up at the smell of food? And it's not the first time - it's happened not infrequently over the past two months," she stated as you groaned, "just because those two are oblivious, doesn't mean I am."

"Fine," you hissed quietly, making sure that Javier and Steve weren't paying attention, "how can you tell I'm showing?! I thought it wasn't...obvious yet."

"Not to the untrained eye," she admitted, "I'm guessing you just started to pop? You've been wearing looser clothes lately… I'm guessing...16 weeks?"

"14 weeks...shit Con," you sighed softly, "I...I've been too obvious! I haven't...I haven't told Javier! I haven't found the right time and I've been so nervous and I-I-I...just I'm scared, Con. What if…"

"No what ifs, honey," she said softly as she put her arm around and pulled you into a hug, "you need to tell Javier. He deserves to know...and I know you're scared, but you know how much he loves you and this won't change anything. You've turned Javier into the best version of him - he adores you. But you have to tell him...besides you're not going to be able to hide it much longer…"

"Fuck!" you whined softly.

"Just tell him," she stated firmly, "you have to tell Javier."

"Tell me what?" Javier and his impeccable timing struck again as he walked into the kitchen and grinned at the two of you. You exchanged a nervous look with her before turning back to him.

"How much I love you," you swallowed nervously before grinning at him with the best smile you could muster up, "which is a lot whole, mi amor."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off with a kiss. Javier made a small sound but said nothing, instead giving you another kiss. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

"What's wrong, Dulzura?" Javier asked as he pulled you into his lap; you had stiffened immediately upon his touch. As soon as you'd gotten back to his apartment, he was all over you, his touch was like fire and he was all consuming. It had been easy to get lost in his touch, the feel of his lips on yours,  his large hands roaming your body. 

But as soon as he had led you back to his bedroom and he flopped down on the bed and pulled you into him - sheer panic set in.

"N-nothing," you lied as you stood up and took a step back. A look of confusion crossed his features as you tried to keep it together, "just tired…"

"Okay," he sighed softly before running a hand over his face, "what the hell is going on? You've been acting off all day…"

"Nothing…"

"Dulzura."

"Javier, you're worrying over nothing again."

"You won't even let me touch you," he sighed lightly, "if you don't want me to let me know. We don't have to do anything…"

"I do, Javier...I'm just tired."

"Bullshit…"

"Javi…"

"You can tell me anything, Dulzura. I love you, you know that."

"I-"

"Anything at all."

"I-"

"Nothing will ever change that I love you."

"I'm pregnant."

It came out as an almost shout as you finally plucked up the courage to just say it. Javier's jaw dropped as he immediately looked at your stomach and then back at your face. A million different emotions flickered over his features as he tried to figure out what was happening. 

Oh, he'd heard you - he just couldn't come to terms with it.

"What?" he said softly as he met your eyes. His eyes were glossy as he tried to figure out if it was true, "Dulzura...what did you say?"

"I...I...I'm pregnant," you whispered softly, your own eyes starting to prick and burn. Slowly, you reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it up as gently as you watched his reaction. He sucked in his breath as he watched your stomach become revealed to him. It was small, still barely evident, but it was there - the sweetest of bumps, "I...I should have told you sooner, Javier. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Why are you sorry?" his eyes were practically twinkling as his lips trembled slightly. He stood up and came over, a hand gingerly going to your stomach as he paused to see if you would stop. But you didn't - you let him put his hand on your belly before putting your own on top of his, "our baby...how far…"

"14 weeks," you said nervously as he nodded, trying to keep it together and not completely lose his mind, "I found out about 6 weeks ago and I-I-I panicked so much and I kept trying to figure out the perfect time to tell you and I keep not. I'm so sorry for that, Javier. You deserved to know sooner...and I completely understand if you don't want...anything to do with me or the baby."

"Why would you think I wouldn't want anything to do with…" he paused as he looked up and met your eyes, his free hand moving to your cheek, as you keened in to his touch, "did you think I was going to be mad...leave?"

"No," you admitted honestly, "I just didn't know what you'd...think. I'm scared and nervous and I didn't know what to do, and I just kept not telling you. And we didn't plan for a baby, I mean...its a mess."

"I love you," he whispered before kissing your forehead, "and - fuck - a few years ago I didn't think I'd ever love someone again or be in this situation. And now...I'm scared, don't get me wrong, absolutely terrified. But I am...I'm excited. This is...you...I love you."

"I'm scared too," your lips trembled, but in a quick measure of reassurance, he pressed a kiss to your lips in a sweet, gentle manner, "its a baby, Javier. What if-"

"Dulzura," he whispered softly, "I know there are a ton of things to think about - but I promise you this - it will be okay, we will be okay. I'm not going anywhere and I will protect you and the baby, and fuck - I'm happy. Scared but happy."

"Yeah?" you asked softly, not hesitating to throw your arms around his neck and holding him tightly, "I love you, Javier. More than you will ever know."

"I love you too," he kissed the crown of your head as he gently rubbed your back in soothing circles. He held you silently for some time, letting you get your soft cries, these ones not of worry or sadness but nervous happiness out, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How did I never...notice? What if I hadn't found out and you'd gotten bigger?" he chuckled warmly as you snorted with laughter.

"Well, I've been keeping the lights off," you reminded him and he made a sound of 'oh yeah', "and this little bit just seemed to pop out the last few days...I don't know...I guess I would have blamed...bloating?"

"You are too much," he laughed as you gave him a sheepish look, "do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Next time, just tell me as soon as you know," he insisted gently, "I...I want this - to be a part of this - and to experience it all with you."

"Next time?" you quirked an eyebrow gently, "you presume there's a next time?"

"Maybe…" he grinned with a cheeky smirk, "but seriously, Dulzura - I'm happy, scared, but happy. And I love you, always."

"I love you too," you promised, "con todo."

"I know," he whispered, "now - will you let me show you how much?"

"Javier…"

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Hayloft (p.2)

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)

Warnings: Abuse, drunkenness, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead, decapitating a chicken, reader is kind of emotional in this chapter

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!

Part 1 

_____________________

Work had passed fairly quickly as it always did when you had the opening shift. It sure sucked having to arrive at five o’clock in the morning but at least you got off earlier and you knew that that way you could grab groceries before your father got home and could yell at you about an empty kitchen again. By two o’clock in the afternoon, you were home again, hopping out of your truck and grabbing as many bags as you could in one go. 

The loud sound of metal slamming against metal shook you and you flinched, looking between your door and the frame to see Arvin walking out towards you. It hadn’t occurred to you that his car was even in your driveway. After so many years of having busted broken down old cars sitting there that your dad had been swearing he’d fix for almost ten years, cars in the driveway seemed normal. “Let me give you a hand,” he offered as he got closer, lifting the canvas bags from your hands before you could object. 

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you felt the weight suddenly taken off your own arms, “Thank you.” You dove back into the truck to grab the last two bags before slamming it shut with your hips. The two of you began your stroll towards the front door, the dirt driveway kicking up around your feet. “You’re back early.” You noted, looking over at Arvin. 

He shrugged, “Yeah, uh, Wallace had me on the early shift today.” 

You fumbled with the bags as you tried to unlock the door, kicking it open with your toes when it finally gave in. You walked into your home and Arvin followed, closing the door behind him. “Been here long? I didn’t see you in the driveway.” 

“Not too long. I just didn’t want to let myself into your home without nobody there.” Arvin set the bags on the counter next to where you set yours. 

You began to unpack the bags and put the groceries in the respective places. Arvin watched off to the side, unsure of how your kitchen was organized so he was worried he’d do more than good if he stepped in. “My daddy got the late shift?” 

Arvin shook his head, noticing that his beat up old hat was still on his head despite being indoors and took it off immediately, his tousled brown curls parting messily down the middle. “No, we went in at the same time. He ‘n some buddies said they was goin’ to some bar in town.” 

He watched your shoulders fall a little and you sighed, “Figures…. You didn’t go?” 

Again, Arvin shook his head, “No. No offense to your daddy but I don’t like to drink the way I get the feelin’ he does.” 

You snorted, turning to him with a knowing chuckle, “Let’s just say that I’m sorry in advance for whatever he says or does when he gets home, if he gets home. Sheriff Pike might end up callin’ in the mornin’ tellin’ us to pick him up.” Though it was stated as a joke, Arvin could hear the tragic reality behind your words. 

Arvin then noticed the pack of beer bottles that you were pulling out of the bag. As if you could feel his eyes looking at you with worried curiosity, you glanced over at him, noticing the way his eyes flicked between you and the beer in your hands. You offered a sad shrug, “I know what you’re thinkin’ but trust me. Sometimes it’s better to have him drunk and possibly content than sober and angry there’s nothing to drink. Besides, the beer is better than the hard stuff with ‘im.” 

“‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to be makin’ faces. Your business is your business,” Arvin backpedalled, giving you an apologetic nod. 

You shook your head, “Don’t worry. I know how it looks. I’m sorry you gotta see all of it. I been tryin’ to keep to keep him calm but if you end up stayin’ a while, I’m sure you’ll get to see him at his worse times.” 

Arvin chewed his lip as he contemplated whether or not to bring up what had been going through his mind but he had to make sure you were alright. “I-I heard you ‘n your dad talkin’ last night… right after you left my room.” 

Your face fell as you realized what he was talking about, “You weren’t s’posed to hear that. I’m sorry.” Shit, this was what you were hoping to avoid. 

“Are you alright?” 

Gentle. Caring. His tone was something that had been long lost to you in this house and it took the words out of your mouth for a moment. It was embarrassing, the way your heart welled up with… well love wasn’t quite the right word but the warmth of being cared about. Not since after your mother had passed had you heard somebody actually care about how you felt. 

You just nodded and gave a forced smile that you could tell was easy to see through but it was the best you could muster. For someone who was able to take so much shit from their father and was able to look the man who would throw things at you and grab you by the hair dead in the eye with nothing but contempt, it was compassion that made you crumble. It had been so unexpected, especially from Arvin, the stranger living in your house. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry! I didn’t mean to - I didn’t mean to overstep. I only…” He stammered over his words and at first you were confused until you felt the single hot tear tracing its way down your cheek. 

You were quick to wipe it away, shocked at your own uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. You hadn’t realized until now that you had zoned out on the ground while Arvin’s words repeated in your head but now a flash of embarrassment ran through you. “No, no, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You sniffled once before giving a small laugh of disbelief. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since anybody asked that.” 

You straightened up and ran your hands through your hair, eyes closed as you thought of what else you needed to do. Thankfully, if your dad was at the bar, you had at least another four hours to just you and Arvin, all night if you were lucky, though you seldom were. That was when the feeling of dread set in. Your dad had requested chicken roast for dinner tonight and whether he came home early and only a few beers in or you had to drive him home hungover in the morning, the man would be furious if there weren’t at least reheated leftovers for him. You had to kill Patty and prep her for dinner. 

“You okay?” Arvin asked again, though this time it was in reference to the way a heavy look fell over your features. It wasn’t a profound deep question like it was earlier. 

Your head wavered from side to side and your lips twisted, “My daddy asked for chicken roast tonight. I gotta go out and fix Patty up.” You tried to put it lightly though it felt anything but. “I’ll be out in the coop. You’re more than welcome to clean up in the shower or do whatever you’d like ‘round the house. The radio is in the livin’ room if you wanna tune into somethin’.” 

You pushed yourself off the counter and walked to the door in your kitchen that led out to the backyard but Arvin made a few steps to follow, “Is it alright if I keep you company? It don’t feel right bein’ in your house without you or your daddy here.” 

You smiled at the thought of him staying with you and you nodded, continuing out the door, “Sure, c’mon.” 

The hen house wasn’t very far from the back door. From there, you could see the several acres of land that your father was wasting. Your grandparents had bought this land in the late 1910’s and had started up a little farm of their own to sell locally, though your father had abandoned the farming portion after they died. It was where your daddy had grown up and then where you had as well. God, how you missed your grandparents. Your grandmother’s soft words of love and kindness but sternness and willingness to swat your butt with a wooden spoon if you got an attitude (though she would yell at your father if he ever tried to discipline you - “Now you leave that poor baby alone!”). Your grandfather had looked like a rough and angry old man from years of hard work but he had the softest heart of anyone you’d ever met. How the two of them had raised your father was beyond you. 

When you approached the wired fence and jiggled the lock open, the chickens inside stood surprisingly still. They trusted you. You could see it in their little brown eyes. You were safe and warm and didn’t want to harm them. You came in for the unfertilized eggs they laid and left, oftentimes with some seed and a soft pat or two on the head. Patty, a fat white hen with black specks, walked comfortably around your feet, nuzzling her head against your leg. She was the nicest hen you’d ever had. She trusted you. 

God, you were about to cry again. You bent down to pick her up and you held her against your chest, trying to look her in the eye, though it was difficult when she kept jerking it in different directions. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” you murmured low. Usually it was your father that would slaughter the hens if he really wanted the meat that badly. You had never done it yourself but he’d made you watch every time so that you knew how if the time ever came. Each time it made you sick to your stomach. 

Already, you felt green. The unassuming hen that you had been friendly enough to for her not flip out when you held her was none the wiser that her life was about to end by your hand. You glanced over to the large wood round just ahead and the axe that was leaned up against it. 

Your face contorted as you realized how much you disliked the placement. The way your father would slaughter chickens right in front of their friends made your heart break. It was barbaric. 

You walked over to Arvin and held Patty out towards him, “Would you mind holdin’ onto her for a second?” 

Though visibly confused, he took the chicken from your hands, drawing back when her wings fluttered out at the contact with the new strange man. Arvin watched as you walked towards the large round and tried to push it with all your might. “What’re you doin’?” 

“I’m-” you grunted, feeling it slide slowly, inch by inch, “trying to move it where the other chickens can’t see.” You took another moment to use all your force against it before standing up straight and breathing heavily, “I know it sounds dumb cause they’re only chickens but it feels cruel to make ‘em watch, y’know?” You went back to pushing the round and Arvin approached behind you. 

From here he could see the blood stains in the wood. It looked as if the blood had been washed off but the wood had been stained crimson regardless. There was also a divot where an axe had clearly been driven down many times over the years, chipping away at the wood. 

Arvin’s heart actually warmed a little at your attempt to show mercy and your willingness to go out of your way to spare some chickens’ feelings. It wasn’t something he was sure he’d do himself but when he heard you say it, he realized you had a point. It was cruel to imprison a bunch of animals and then lead them out one by one to be slaughtered in front of everyone, each animal waiting their turn. “Here, take ‘er back. Let me.” Arvin stepped in, handing Patty back over to you and bending down to lift the round onto its side with much effort. The wood had to weigh at least a hundred pounds and had long since settled into the ground where it had been placed when you were a child.

Your eyes widened as you watched his biceps bulge, straining the material of his blue t-shirt. You’d never seen a man with muscles like that before and you found your eyes trailing along his arms, following every popping vein from the tops of his hands, up his forearms, and onto his biceps until they disappeared beneath his shirt. It was something you hadn’t expected to see in him. Arvin looked like a quiet, polite, hardworking young man but you never would have imagined the immaculate muscles he possessed. You found your mind wandering to what other surprises laid in store beneath all those layers he wo- 

You needed to calm yourself down. If only he could hear your thoughts, he surely would be furious and disgusted with you. You hadn’t had such impure thoughts since that one time you had been messing around with Jimmy Bates in the backseat of his old car back in your senior year of high school. The two of you didn’t even go all the way but you went far enough and the guilt ate you alive since the two of you were never officially together anyways. He was just the cute boy from high school that you had pined over years that had finally given you the chance right before he shipped off to join the war. 

“This alright?” Arvin asked, shaking you from your fantasy, and you snapped back into reality to realize he had rolled the wood round around the side of the coop behind the wooden wall, outside of the other chickens’ views. 

You nodded and walked over to him, “That’s perfect. Thank you so much for doin’ that. I know it’s sorta stupid.” 

Arvin shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, “If it means somethin’ to you, it ain’t stupid at all. Besides, now that you pointed it out, it was a little barbaric.” 

You smiled up at him, one which he returned. How was this boy so damn nice? Was this some cosmic way of the universe finally giving you something good in your life? You’d become so calloused to your father’s harsh words and barked commands that you had forgotten how nice it was to feel cared about and validated. And you barely knew him. 

“‘M glad you think so.” You looked down at Patty in your arms and any good feelings you’d had melted to sadness and fear. “You been a good girl, Patty. I know you struggled with layin’ eggs for a while but you were always a good girl. Never bit me once unlike some of them other hens.” You weren’t often very soft and vulnerable but you were about to take something’s life for the first time and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that on your heart. If this were a life or death situation, you would feel better about it, but it wasn’t. The only reason Patty had to die was because your father would throw a fit if she didn’t. 

You carried her to the log and gave her a little kiss on the top of the head, “Please don’t hate me but I understand if you do. Say hi to my momma for me, will you? Tell her I love and miss her.” You set her down and got her in the position you always saw your dad put the other chickens in before he chopped their heads off. Arvin handed you the axe with uncertainty but watched on as you struggled to bring yourself to finish the deed. 

You held her down and you could tell by the way she was flailing that she was panicking now. Patty was well aware of what was happening. “I’m sorry!” You choked, tears welling up in your eyes as her panic began to turn into your own panic. How did people do this? Why was this so freaking difficult? 

Tossing the axe slightly in your hand, you readjusted the handle and just as you went to swing, Arvin piped up, “I can do it.” 

You looked over at him, the afternoon sun reflecting the tears in your eyes and making the color of your irises stand out in tragic beauty. “I-I- Would you really not mind?” You breathed out in relief. 

Arvin stepped forward and you handed the axe out to him, “I don’t mind.” You held onto Patty until Arvin could position her just right as well. He had no idea what he was doing - he’d never had to slaughter a chicken before. He had heard that all you had to do was cut their head off though and then he’d heard the rumors of them running around like crazy even after their head hit the ground. How hard could it be? 

Once he had the hen pinned down where he wanted her, he looked up to see you chewing on your thumb, brows knitted in discomfort. It wasn’t the first chicken you’d watched get slaughtered but it was far from something you enjoyed observing. Arvin signaled to you with a nod before raising the axe above his head and you shut your eyes tight, flinching at the sound of the old metal head thudding into the old wood. 

**

You had the carcass sitting in the sink while you pulled off the blood soaked feathers, depositing them into the trash bin by the handful. This part was easier for you, something you’d done many times in the past. “Thank you for doin’ that. I’m sorry I’m such a baby.” 

Arvin sat at the kitchen table behind you, “You ain’t a baby just cause you don’t like to kill things. I’d say it’s probably rather normal.” 

The time was inching closer to four o’clock now and the sun was beginning to hang ever so slightly lower in the sky, the precursor to sunset. It was warm outside and a cool spring breeze blew in through the open window above the sink. You snickered as you pulled another handful of feathers out, “Yeah? That mean you ain’t normal?” You looked over at him with a playful glint in your eye but your smile fell when you saw an uncomfortable look cross his face, almost like he’d seen a ghost. 

“I ain’t never said I liked killin’ either.” Arvin attempted to match your joking tone but it was pretty evident there was a weight behind his words. 

“Hey, I‘m sorry. I was only jokin’.” A pang of guilt washed over you but it was only that. A joke. You hadn’t imagined teasing him over something like killing a chicken would set him off, especially since he volunteered to do it for you, but apparently you were wrong. 

Arvin sniffed and scratched his nose, “I know.” After a moment of awkward silence, he stood, “Let me give you a hand. What do you need done?” 

You scanned his face once more to make sure he was really okay but you decided to drop it when you saw his insistent look. You shook your head, “I got it. It ain’t much after I get this all gutted and cleaned.” You picked up the mostly featherless carcass by the wings and plopped it back down into the sink. 

“Well ‘m sure there’s vegetables or somethin’ else that goes with it, right? Let me start cuttin’ those up.” His persistence was adorable, making your heart flutter in the most wonderful way. The idea of a man actually being helpful was unknown to you before Arvin. Your life had been filled with your dad’s drunken bossings since you were twelve years old. You couldn’t remember the last time a genuinely kind voice offered you anything more than a smile on the street, not that you took that for granted. Arvin was just different though. Noble and helpful and kind. 

“You really don’t have to-” 

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that but I really do want to help. So what can I do to make things easier on you?” He took a few steps closer to you until you felt the beginning of what could have been sparks if he stepped any nearer, like when you hold two magnets a few inches apart and you can feel the energy between them, that hint of attraction, but it’s not quite close enough to pull them together. 

The blush in your cheeks at his simple gesture made you break the eye contact with a nervous laugh of retreat, “Okay, fine. If you’re gonna be so insistent,” you drew out with a teasing drawl, “you can cut up veggies. There’s potatoes over there and carrots and zucchini in the fridge.” 

Arvin’s lips turned up in a small smile when you finally resigned your stubborn ways and he went off to find the vegetables where you had directed him. 

Needless to say, when your father came home from the bar to find you and Arvin talking over a song by the Platters playing on the radio with Arvin cleaning up the dishes while you tossed together the vegetables and the seasoning, he was less than pleased. 

“What the hell is going on here?” His slurred speech made your eyes widen in fear. He was supposed to get home later like he always did. But then you found yourself chiding your irresponsibility. Why the hell would you take that chance? You knew better than to let Arvin help out and now you were gonna pay. 

Arvin sensed the way you tensed up beside him and watched as you spun around to face your father with haste, “Just finishin’ up dinner now. Should be ready by six so you got more than enough time to take a sho-” 

“Why the fuck is he doin’ the dishes?” You father was leaning against the wall, clearly relying on the structure for support. This wasn’t the time to test him, not with Arvin here. It was times like this when he’d start throwing stuff at you. 

Before you could say anything, Arvin piped up firmly but respectfully, “I offered, sir. It’s no problem at all.” 

Your dad pointed at Arvin, “A man ain’t got no place with his hands in a sink of dishes. You leave that shit to her and she’ll just grab you a beer.” He stumbled over his own feet before catching himself ungracefully. 

Arvin’s jaw set tightly and you gripped the countertop with white knuckles behind you. Times like this, you weren’t even sure what to say anymore. No amount of standing up for yourself got you anywhere with him. You never made any headway with your dad’s sexist views on gender roles. It was pointless. The only thing to do was try and work your way to supporting yourself so you could get the hell out of dodge and never look back. 

Arvin’s voice surprised you, “A man’s place is helpin’ out the women in his life when they need, not leavin’ ‘em to do all the housework themselves.” You nearly choked on your own tongue at his words. It was a bold statement for a man to make, especially to the head of the house that was being so gracious as to host him free of charge, but he didn’t back down. It appeared like the jab was lost on your drunken father but Arvin continued with a slightly less accusatory comment to diffuse the situation regardless, “I grew up helpin’ my grandma with all the house chores so I really don’t mind at all.” 

You watched the way your dad eyed Arvin and then you before scoffing and grumbling incoherently as he shuffled his way into the living room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I don’t want you gettin’ kicked out ‘cause of me. You didn’t have to say nothin’.” 

Arvin glared at where your father had disappeared and nodded, “Yeah, I did. You don’t deserve all the shit he gives you.” 

You suddenly found yourself avoiding his eyes and twisting your lips. He was right and you were well aware of that fact. The abuse your dad put you through was uncalled for at best. The fact that Arvin had actually taken the time to not only notice the same fact but acknowledge it and stand up for you was something you never thought you’d hear someone do. It made you uncomfortable. You’d been fighting this battle by yourself for so long that letting somebody even know it was being waged was enough to make you want to sink away. Even so, a part of you wanted to let Arvin keep standing up for you. It made you feel weak after having to stand up for yourself for so long but also validated. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his for only a moment before turning back towards dinner that sat in a roasting pan on the stove, “Thank you.” 

______

Taglist: 

@thisisparadisemylove

@justapurrcat

[remsmoonlight]

— title : just drive

— word count : 1.6k words

— pairing : rick grimes x reader

— summary : never had the inability to drive been a reason to divulge, nor had it been a problem. until a horde of walkers are trailing behind you, that is.

— warnings : swearing, implication of anxiety, mentions of death / potential car accidents, mentions of blood and gore

note: two imagines in two days i can’t believe my productivity, i thought it would be funny that being unable to drive in a zombie apocalypse would be funny because it would be such a useful ability to have ( ahem ahem my non driving ass ) this was meant to be like 500 words but it got away from me, anyways enjoy three hours of my nonsense!

                               ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Burning. The sensation is fierce as you fight your own body to force more oxygen into your airways, to power you along to escape the deathly growls that follow behind you. Paranoia stokes its own fire, the feeling that walkers are much closer than they actually are push you to lighter steps in the barren dirt, the only tracks laid into its path are the ones you are currently forming with every inch you put between you.

Exactly how you’d gotten into this situation is not something you mind wants to visit currently, more concerned with your current predicament.

“ We’ll turn left up ahead, we passed a few cars a while back. “

“ That's as good a plan as any. “ You rush out in one breath, the words with a ghostly tone while you try to find your voice. Everything hurts, the idea of more running is not something you find appealing.

You wonder if the walkers are able to run, any thought to distract yourself from the aching your muscles feel at the physical exertion you’re being put through. For a fraction of a fleeting second, you turn your gaze backwards, your eyes running across the line of walkers that want to make the sky above you rain with your blood across the greenery as you flee. They do a very good job of speed walking, the amount of energy they have for being dead is something that unnerves you. Even after you have caffeine in your bloodstream, you have never had this much energy. What is their secret?

Tears blur your sight as you set your eyes on a graveyard of cars, dust that covers every inch of the metal machines show their age.

“ Rick! “ You exclaim, a new flower of hope blooming in your voice as your finger shakily raises to point in the direction of the car park. “ Over there! “

Both of you split instantly as you reach the space, your hands tugging at the handles of the vehicles, wishing with every fibre of your beings that one is unlocked — or at the very least, there is a key to unlock them nearby. Extremely nearby.

“ This one! “ Your voice carries over the distance resoundingly, the door opens with a click that blesses your hearing.

“ Yeah.. We’re lucky today. “ Rick mumbles to himself, flinging the bags that had been weighing on his shoulders into the back.

In the suddenness of the situation, your heart plummets below with a steep drop that you swore will not end. I can’t fucking drive. You gasp at the realisation of it, desperation twisting and contorting around the entirety of your body.

“ Rick.. “ Turning towards Rick swiftly, you pause in your confession. An uncomfortable heat warms your cheeks as you study him, unsure of how he would react during the worst possible moment for the disclosure. “ We need to switch places! “

“ What? “ His brows knit together as he asks you, confusing misting him completely. “ Why? Start the car! “

“ I do — I can’t drive! “

The confession leads Rick to momentarily splutter in response, his words cowering under the veil that is his tongue. Colour drains from his features, a continuous slap against the back of the car’s window from a lone walker ahead of the horde pushes him into a brisk movement. The action is awkward, the lack of space threatening to cause harm in the form of bruises from knocking limbs against various parts of its interior.

“ Just drive! “

With a haggard start, you examine the way your surroundings appear to move, realising that the vehicle is awake and increasing with speed as it puts space between you and the dead. You lean your head against the window, one of your hands moves towards the temple of your head to message some of the tension of almost being eaten away. That had been too close for comfort.

“ Uh, y’know I gotta ask — “

“ How I can’t drive, right? “ You finish, your eyes roll in response, you know he’s going to  find too much amusement in making fun of you.

“ And how you made it this far. “ He drawls, humour embedded in his response as his eyes continue to survey the road ahead.

Your teeth bite the side of your cheek, with strength that almost is able to draw the crimson liquid that lays beneath your flesh. Lips purse at the enjoyment you can feel radiating off of his body, as it wishes itself into existence.

“ I don’t know! “ You grumble loudly, your shoulders lift temporarily in response. “ I’m just always with someone who knows how to operate one of these things. “

“ You never learnt before? “

“ I mean.. I always had a fear of driving. No reason, just the thought that one wrong move and.. “ a shudder rips through your body with a blinding pace, your fingers lay tapping at your thigh. “ I could cause an accident, or even be in one would scare me to death! “

“ That’s understandable. “ Rick nods, glancing in your direction before breaking out in a grin. “ Kinda. “

A heavy groan vibrates inside of the car, you throw your hands up in the air as you realise he’s one of the worst people to divulge this information to. Your addition to the group hadn’t occurred as earlier as most of them, they’d been kind enough to accept you into their family after escaping Terminus. On a rare night, nightmares of that cursed location shatters the mirror of a dreamy slumber into a thousand shards that scar your mind for the nights that follow. Echoes of screams from those captured, treated no more than a prize cow that awaits its slaughter to service those with the butcher’s knife.

Truthfully, you’d gravitated towards the man. With the amount of trauma you’d been through, the way that when he speaks, you craved the comfort his words never lost. Certainty and confidence are still with him today, often leading you to believe everything will be alright. Even if the road between Georgia and Alexandria had been filled with gore and tears, everything has turned out fine. So far.

“ You are being so annoying right now. “ Cursing the man, you show him your middle finger.

Rick says nothing, he merely chuckles in response. You almost allow your mind to tread into the murky waters of the man you used to know and the transformation into the man he is now.

“ I just.. “ shaking his head, the cheeky glint in his eyes only sparkles more as it grows in size. “ How d’you not run into this problem earlier? “

“ I don’t know! “

“ It’s nothin’ short of amazin’. “ a gust of air is released from his lips, only now does he realise they’re dehydrating from the amount of running done that afternoon.

Trees and bushes blend into one another, creating a vivid merging of shades, providing a soothing palette to paint the most tranquil of artworks. You envy the way life has flourished under the lack of human traffic, trampling the environment without a care, you wish you could undergo the same change the way it has. The human mind has a way of making obstacles difficult for itself.

“ I just.. Can’t help but find it funny. Drivin’s.. It’s a way of survivin’ when you got more than one of them on your ass. “

“ Well I guess I am an outlier to that rule. “ your brows move with the motions your head makes as you try to muster an air of superiority over the notion.

You find yourself wishing you hadn’t succumbed to your fears, that you’d bit the bullet and studied and practiced as much as humanly possible. The fear of driving hadn’t been the only thing that stopped you from pursuing the ability, but the idea of having to take a written exam and an actual driving test? The two often colliding in an infinite clash of wills that left your insides in a constant, battered wreck every time you thought about the idea.

All you want is to be able to do that one thing, after all, so many had done so before. You’re sure that everyone, minus the children, are able to drive. Such a simple thing, you’d never thought would prove to be such a thorn in your side when you’d take the train to work. Life has a way of stitching together a set of circumstances only to treat them like dominos, destroying the work with little regard as it watches them fall one by one. The carefully nursed structure is a shell of what it used to be, the resting place of what could have been.

“ You didn’t give up, y’kept fightin’. I’ve seen people able to hotwire these things taken down. It ain’t the car that keeps a person alive, it’s them. “ He assures you warmly, as much as he wants to continue to find amusement in lacking what is now deemed as a life skill, it doesn’t take a genius to realise you’re becoming annoyed by the poking and the prodding his humour brings.

“ That’s oddly.. Uplifting. “

“ I do say these things from time to time, no need to sound so surprised. “

“ They’re so rare I forget. “ A smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you eye the man from the side. It is your turn to laugh now.

Light hearted chatter fills the limited space, conversation flowing just that little bit more freely now that danger no longer pursues you in earnest. You’re thankful for a drop of normalcy in a sea of skeletons that surround the world now, you can pretend that — even for a little, it’s a normal day.

“ What d’you say to havin’ some drivin’ lessons? “

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 2)

 Part 1

lena wakes up with a start when her head starts smacking against the window of the (stolen? given? borrowed?) jeep once they turn onto a bumpy dirt road in what looks to be... approximately the middle of fucking nowhere, though that’s hardly surprising. ‘nowhere’ is precisely where they’ve been for the past four days.

lena massages the side of her head that hit the glass with a displeased harrumph--she can already feel a raised bump at the point of impact. her eyes are heavy and dry, lids stubbornly sticking together as she blearily looks around.

kara is staring straight ahead, both hands clenched around the wheel in a way that would have ordinarily mangled the thing as easily as one breaks a matchstick. but her knuckles have gone white with the force of her grip, and the steering wheel is no worse for the wear, and all lena wants to do is point it out.

“where are we?” she asks instead, seeing nothing but dust and bright blue skies. the road they’re on is practically indistinguishable from the landscape--a strip of lighter, packed-in dirt that disappears into the horizon.

“texas,” kara answers, eyes still on the road. it’s so bumpy the entire car is shaking; lena is practically bouncing in her seat, so much so she feels her teeth clatter in her mouth and has to clench her jaw to make it stop. the radio is completely silent--has been that way since some news station said the words lex luthor, so the only sound is the bumping and shaking of the vehicle. lena wants to say something about kara’s driving, maybe tell her to slow down, but she thinks about their exchange at the diner one more time and tries to, again, reign. it. in.

“it took us almost three days of driving to get to texas?” lena asks, making sure to put in the us instead of you in her question even though kara has been the one driving. in truth, she hasn’t really kept track of where they’ve been--hasn’t been able to, with all the zig-zagging across cornfields and deserts and ghost towns and dingy motels... scratch that, maybe it isn’t so surprising it’s taken them that long.

kara just grunts and nods, offering no further explanation. lena continues staring at her white-knuckled grip on the wheel, wondering when--of even if--the thing will just break in two.

it doesn’t break. instead, kara turns abruptly into an even smaller dirt road, leading to more nowhere, and then she suddenly stops.

“why are we stopping?”

lena receives no response; kara just turns off the engine and undoes her seat-belt, stepping off the car to rummage in the back for something. she comes out with a small shovel, which makes lena raise a brow in confusion, but the blonde offers no explanation as she walks a few metres away from the jeep and starts digging.

she hasn’t been asked to help, so lena stays inside the car for as long as she can muster without the air-conditioning running, watching kara’s plaid shirt darkening with sweat at her back as the blonde grunts through the effort of digging through dry, hard earth. 

kara’s still digging by the time lena steps out of the car once she feels a trickle of sweat running down her back. the heat is stifling; her head feels hot and humid under her cap, and her hair is stuck at her temples. lena approaches cautiously, taking a water bottle from the passenger cup-holder--kara looks up momentarily once she hears the passenger door slam closed, but otherwise keeps to her task.

lena eyes the blonde curiously--she’s grunting, panting, and sweating profusely with the effort, and the picture she paints is so... weird. lena has never seen kara sweat.

“why is it taking so long for your powers to come back?”

that gets kara’s attention. lena’s standing right by the hole kara’s made in the ground, one hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, the other extending the water bottle like a peace offering. lena’s gazing at the hole with ill-concealed ineterest, but says nothing further, waiting.

kara sighs, taking the offered bottle without looking at lena and running a hand through her hair. the short strands are drenched in sweat, and looking more brown than blonde at the moment.

lena waits, transfixed with a water droplet that escapes from the corner of kara’s mouth as she drinks in large gulps; she follows the droplet run down her jaw, then down her bobbing throat to disappear somewhere between her collarbones.

“i don’t know,” kara says, handing the empty bottle back. her voice is jarring enough to remind lena she had asked her a question, so she nods dumbly as she takes the bottle back and fiddles with the cap. “i think there’s still some kryptonite in my system.”

lena opens her mouth in surprise, but struggles to form the words. kara’s gone back to her digging, and before long hits something hard beneath the earth. she discards the shovel, opting instead to kneel in the dirt and continue unearthing whatever she’s looking for with her hands.

“still?” lena finally whispers, so low she doesn’t think kara heard her, isn’t sure if she still has her super-hearing or not.

kara grunts, tossing a metal briefcase at lena’s feet. she clicks it open, and lena just sees the green of dollar bills in neat little rows.

“well,” kara mutters, still kneeling in the dirt. “it was a lot of kryptonite.”

<< Previous || Next >>

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Highway to Heaven - Ch. 1

Your best friend Johnny wants to go on a road trip. The only catch? He wants to bring his roommate, Jeong Jaehyun, someone you just couldn’t stand.

Genre: e2l, fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

Warnings: none for this chapter :)

A/N: So here’s the first chapter for the multichap I said I had been working on, the entire fic is finished so I’ll post a chapter maybe once a week? Also I’m terrible with warnings so if there’s something that you feel I should warn about please let me know.

“You’re kidding me right now, right? Please tell me you’re kidding. I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Come on, be nice! Poor guy just broke up with his girlfriend, so he could use the distraction. Besides, I think you have the wrong idea about him, this’ll be a good opportunity for the two of you to get to know each other better!”

You shot your best friend a dubious look, but he just shrugged. You were packing for your annual road trip when he dropped the bomb that it wouldn’t just be the two of you this time.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoffed, “I have a perfectly good idea of what he’s like.”

The person in question, Johnny’s roommate, Jaehyun, was someone you could sum up in one word: player. He had a new girlfriend every time you saw him, so you had no idea why he would be so broken up about this latest one not working out.

“You have the wrong idea about him, Y/N,” Johnny shook his head, “He’s really a nice guy.”

“Johnny, you’re just too nice.” You grunted as you tried to close your overstuffed suitcase.

“Hey, take that back!” He mock-reprimanded you, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “No but seriously, Y/N, please just do this one favor for me? Please?” He clasped his hands together and pleaded with you, making the most pathetic face he could muster.

“Fine!” you rolled your eyes and gave in, mostly because you knew how annoying Johnny could get about these things, and his puppy-dog face always made you laugh until your sides hurt. He whooped in victory, rubbing it into your face that he had won.

“Yes! Alright let’s get this show on the road!” he yelled, pulling your suitcase for you as you both left your apartment, “I promise you won’t regret this!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, following behind him, “I call shotgun though.”

---

Since you were already packed and ready you had nothing to do but sit around browsing your phone while they packed. Johnny had pulled all of his belongings into the living room, asking you for your opinion on what to pack and not to pack.

“We didn’t need that last time and it just ended up taking up space we could have used for other things,” you shook your head, not even looking up from your screen, “don’t bring it.”

“But we’re going somewhere different this time, maybe we’ll need it?”

“Johnny,” you sighed in exasperation, “we have a third person this time which means one other person’s worth of stuff, we just don’t have the space. Your fault anyway for letting him come.” You grumbled.

At that moment, Jaehyun walked into the room with his suitcase packed. You blushed red, hoping he hadn’t heard what you just said, but if he did he didn’t make it obvious. He just looked between you and Johnny with a blank expression, then walked over to the front door and parked his suitcase there.

“I’m ready,” was all he said, then plopped himself down on the sofa and started scrolling on his phone. You looked at Johnny and rolled your eyes.

“This is going to be fun,” you muttered under your breath, and Johnny smacked you lightly on the knee.

“Jaehyun, Y/N mentioned the night sky is really beautiful in Carmel, you can really see the stars,” Johnny offered, huffing as he packed the last of his suitcase and zipped it up. Jaehyun looked up from his phone, his eyes flashing something as he looked at you.

“Really?” he asked, and it was the first time he had addressed you. You didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Um, yeah. It’s darker out there, far from big city lights so the stars are so much brighter.” You mumbled, unsure of what this weird feeling you were getting from him was. You looked over at Johnny but he just smirked.

“Jaehyun is a night sky enthusiast,” Johnny emphasized the last word, “Oh wait, Y/N, don’t you take pictures of the night sky all the time for the ‘gram? Would you say you’re a night sky enthusiast as well?”

You wanted to smack Johnny’s fake innocent face, at that moment you questioned why he was still your best friend.

“That’s cool,” Jaehyun smiled, and his ears turned red, “I take pics of the night sky too. We should follow each other.” The way he smiled made dimples form on his cheeks and his eyes turned into upside down crescents and you couldn’t help yourself but the sight of it was so endearing…

“Awesome! We’re all friends now!” Johnny clapped, and the loud sound of it jolted you out of your reverie. You shook your head, determined not to let Jaehyun, the player, play you like he’d played all those women before you. You would not be another notch on his bedpost.

“Let’s just get out of here, I’m getting claustrophobic.” You grabbed your jacket and walked out the door, missing the look Jaehyun exchanged with Johnny, with Johnny just shrugging apologetically.

---

True to your word, you took shotgun as Johnny drove. Jaehyun didn’t seem to mind, although he suggested playing rock, paper, scissors for who would take shotgun on the next shift.

“I’m driving next shift and I already said Johnny could take shotgun,” you stated matter-of-factly, and Jaehyun only nodded. Johnny stayed uncharacteristically silent.

“Well when it’s my turn to drive, you can take shotgun if you want,” Jaehyun offered, his tone of voice very casual. Again that feeling you couldn’t name churned in your stomach. You did your best to tamp it down. You looked over at Johnny and he was smiling. The bastard was enjoying this.

“Sorry, it’ll be late by that time and I’ll probably want to sleep, so it’ll be better if I took the back seat.” You countered, proud of yourself for being able to keep your voice steady.

Jaehyun took the rejection in stride. “Makes sense,” was all he said, and went back to staring at the scenery that passed by his window.

“Y/N,” Johnny clicked his tongue, “give him a chance,” he said, low enough for only you to hear.

“I know what he’s trying to do and I will not be his next victim,” you hissed under your breath. Johnny looked over at you warily.

“He’s just being nice, Y/N, relax.” Johnny reassured you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“I know he’s trying to get into my pants and it’s not going to happen! He’s been without a girlfriend for a hot minute and I’m the closest target!”

Johnny just shook his head and sighed. “You really have the wrong idea about him.”

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Sy vs The Kitten 1/1

Title: Sy vs the Kitten (tm) - Round One

Pairing: There is an established coupledom between Sy and The Wife (that’s You! 💕💕) and it is mentioned, but the main showdown is between the Beard and the Claws. Captain Syverson x You

Rating: Fluff fluff fluffity fluff. You want it, I got it for you. 💖💖

Summary: A kitten, a frosty morning, and a gruff green beret with a heart of gold.

Word count: 1975

@angreav​ and @angelicwolf98​  as promised :)

also @thelastsock​ and @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​  I JUST saw your exchange regarding a feral reader/Sy. This isn’t it, but it’s close ;)

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

In Mid-November, it was expected to be cold in the mountains of northern Montana, but, when he awoke to a murky Friday morning, it wasn't just cold, it was down right freezing. With his eyes closed, he lay in warmth and security of his bed thinking how easy it would be to merely turn over and go back to sleep.

But, there was work to be done and with a sigh he sat up, pushed aside the heavy quilts and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Scrubbing both hands through his closely cropped hair and feeling his sleep warmed skin prickling in the chill, Sy stayed there a moment longer and mentally ticked over his to-do list.

Behind him, hidden under the mound of quilts, his wife groaned, clenched into a tight ball and he received an ear full of muffled complaining telling him to either get back into bed and put that furnace he called a body to good use or get up, but damn him for letting out the heat!

Chuckling, he nearly lay down again, desperate to do the former, but as he had to start his day, he reluctantly chose the latter. He got up, spread the rest of the bed clothes about his wife's already buried form and then fondly whacked her bum with an open hand, earning an incomprehensible string of words that may or may not have been  a promise of bodily harm.

Specifically /his/ body coming to harm.

Amused by her idle threat, he left her to sleep and quietly went into the adjoining bathroom.

Sy showered and dressed and followed by his rescue dog, Aika,  who met him on the stairway landing, he descended to the lower level where the scent of coffee greeted him.  The previous night, his ever thoughtful wife had programmed the coffee maker to ensure that hot coffee was waiting for him when he got up and even as he poured a cup for himself, he longed to go upstairs, get into bed and pull her back into his arms.

He grumbled to himself,  as the want of his sweet-smelling wife rose like a aching knot in his throat.  He was halfway between putting the cup back onto the counter when the big shaggy Alsatian bumped expectantly against his legs, distracting him.

'Right, right, Aika. I remember,' he laughed and he gave her, her morning snack.

No use wasting more time, he thought.

A stiff dark brown canvas jacket hung from a hook by the back door. Shrugging into it and pulling on a matching hand knitted beanie (one of many homecoming presents from his wife)  he opened the door and stepped out into the cold, crisp morning.

Cradling the steaming cup of coffee, Sy stood on the wide back porch surveying the stretch of land and the forest beyond. He  loved spending his downtime at the family ranch as it was so far and away from his normal chaotic hell. The air was clean and fresh and the only gunshot he heard was the occasional crack of a distant hunting rifle as someone took down their dinner. He found clarity and serenity at the ranch and the quality time he spent with his wife there was sufficient to keep him sated and strong enough to face going back into service.

His thoughts drifted to the woman in his bed again and a contented smile curved his lips. He was definitely going to finish up his chores quickly and spend the rest of the day worshipping her luscious body. That would certainly warm her up.

Sy really had only one job that morning before breakfast and it was  to ensure that the corn silos were all buttoned up and that the paperwork on their contents was properly filled out. That meant getting into the truck and driving the half mile of dirt road to the edge of the ranch where the trio of silver silos stood.

He put his now empty coffee mug on the the narrow table sat between two rocking chairs by the back door and whistling softly to the dog, he trotted down the stairs and walked towards his truck.

Aika, who had been curled on a soft handmade dog bed at his feet, busily smelling whatever Alsatians could smell between porch deck boards, snorted and pushed up and to her feet. She yawned, squeaked and shook her lanky body, but remained standing on the top step looking down at him.

Sy looked back at her and she regarded him placidly. He knew that Aika loved being in the mountains and was becoming very accustomed to the luxurious life he had been able to provide for her. But sometimes she just wanted to laze around and be spoiled.

'Aika,' he said gently, patting his thigh. 'C'mon, girl. We'll get this over with, ok? Then breakfast.'

The word 'breakfast' perked her up and her long tail shot into the air behind her. She wagged it furiously but instead of following Sy down the stairs, she turned and went to sniff around the back door. She pawed it a little and barked to be let in, for breakfast was only served inside.

'Aika!' he laughed. 'Come on now, girl. C'mon.'

She whipped into a circle and looked longingly at the door before sighing and bouncing down the stairs.

Sy fished his truck keys out of his jacket pocket and walked up the gravel path to where he'd parked the truck. Aika followed and then alerted by something,  stopped suddenly, and frantically sniffed the air. She hunched to snuffle at the front grill of the truck before dropping flat to wedge herself beneath the chassis.

'Aika!' Sy snapped going  to see what had captivated the dog so much. 

He crouched, reaching for her collar to try to drag her out from beneath the truck. 'What's goin' on with you.'

Aika didn't give up.

She continued to bark and bark until he relented and popped the hood. He used a small Maglite to quickly scan the top of engine for the thing that had whipped his dog into a frenzy. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary and about to slam shut the hood again, a small noise caused him to pause.

Aika heard it too and barked once, inquisitively. Sy glanced down at the dog who tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

Sy stepped up on the chrome front bumper, ducked under the raised hood and leaned in for a closer look. He wove the torch's beam in and around the engine parts and he huffed out a noise of surprise when the stark white circle of light fell upon a small grey furry lump.

Said furry lump promptly lifted big watery eyes, squinted in the bright light and meowed.

This barely audible sound sent Aika into another frenzy of barking and she attempted to clamber up onto the bumper and into the engine.

'Stop it! Sit!' Sy chided her glancing back at the house and hoping the noise hadn't disturbed his sleeping wife. With a huff Aika obediently plopped her rump onto the gravel and waited.

'Damn,' he muttered, thinking that if Aika hasn't alerted him to their stowaway, he would have had a mess on his hands later.

Sy reached into the engine and tried to curve his big hand about the tiny kitten body but his heroics were immediately rewarded with the violent wrath of teeth and claws. With a startled yelp of pain, he snatched his hand back and involuntarily jerked up and banged the back of his head against the underside of the hood.

He bit down hard on another swear and rubbed the back of his throbbing head. Sy glanced down at Aika who whined with apparent sympathy. But, it was probably more amusement than sympathy.

'Yeah, thanks,' he grumbled in response. 'Aw right.'

Clearing his throat, Sy trained the light on the kitten again who now glared up at him with as much kitteny menace as it could muster.

He tried again to fish the fuzzball from its hiding place but unable to get a good grip, he drew back again.

Need two hands, he thought.

He slid the tail end of the Maglight into his mouth and using one hand, he corralled the kitten into his other and managed to squish it gently into a hissing ball between his lightly cupped hands. Sy held the kitten against his side, stored the torch in his back pocket and then rearranged the kitten to get a better hold on it.  Nose up in the air, Aika tore circles around him, wanting to get closer to the dew wet and shivering kitten.

'Now, where's yer mama?' Sy asked the sad, big-eyed face.

The kitten meowed pitifully, made an attempt to escape but decided instead to nestle into the heat of the man's comforting hands. And, with a sigh, he tucked the ball of fur and claws into the breast pocket of his over-shirt to help keep the kitten warm with his body.

'Anybody else?' Sy asked Aika and nodded to the truck.

The dog stared up at him, much too interested in the pocket hitch hiker to answer.  Sy stepped back up onto the bumper and not only finished his investigation of the engine from the top, but also from the bottom.

Nothing. All clear of sheltering fur balls.

'Right,' he said to both animals now in his protection. 'Let's go.'

He helped Aika jump up into the tall cab and slamming the door, he walked around the truck to the driver's side and climbed in. Rescuing kittens aside, there were still chores to be done.

**

There was a woman in the kitchen when he returned with the kitten and Aika in tow.

She looked up from from her coffee and circular needles and when he finished hanging up his jacket and stuffing the beanie into the jacket's pocket, she put aside her unfinished work.

'I promised you a beating,' she teased with a bright sunny smile.

Sy looked at her a moment, hand protectively cupped about the lump in his plaid shirt's breast pocket.

'What?'

He'd forgotten about her sleepy threats.

'For this morning.'

He thought a moment and then laughed a dirty little confident laugh.

'Oh,' he replied and supressed a grin.

He approached her and leaned in to kiss her forehead. When she lifted her face, he kissed her lips.  'Whenever you want to throw down,' he said, grabbing her chin between his fingers to keep her head up. 'I'm ready.'

She smiled with interest before she was distracted.

'What's that?' she asked, tapping the back of his hand still cupped against his shirt.

Sy drew back, gently extracted the sleepy kitten and presented it to her.

'It was hiding in the engine of my truck,' he explained and smiled a little when she reached both hands out to accept the kitten with a soft coo.

Sy poured another cup of coffee and leaned against the counter to watch his wife walk around the kitchen to find appropriate materials to clean and swaddle the kitten. She opened a can of tuna and they both watched the animal eat its fill.  

Once the kitten had fallen asleep in its new warm cocoon, she handed the bundle to Sy. Kissing his bearded cheek, she smiled.

'Once you save a life...' she said and left him alone in the kitchen with his new fluffy responsibility.

Aika sat before him and watched the exchange intently. Sy leaned down and presented the bundle to the dog who sniffed it excitedly and then immediately began licking the tiny head.

'Aw right, aw right. Take it easy.'

Sy straightened and continued to drink his coffee as he studied the little pointy face.

'I'm responsible for you now. I'll take care of ya, don't worry.'

-end :)

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 3

The Wildest Times of the World

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.9k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge​ @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Sorry this update took so long! But I hope y’all enjoy it :)

Warning(s): none :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

AO3 link

Chapter 3 let’s go!

Three chilly October days after Ron’s abrupt departure from London - which Juliet was still seething about - she arrived home from the store to a different person she expected to never hear from again. Lottie stood at the front door, muttering to herself about whether or not to knock. Juliet was especially surprised because it was raining, which would have normally kept the editor indoors if she could help it. Juliet watched a moment, not wanting to give away her presence immediately. It satisfied her to watch Lottie fret like this. After a few moments, Juliet caved and cleared her throat. 

Lottie gasped as she whipped around, clutching at her chest. “Heaven's sake, Juliet! How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” Juliet said, intentionally vague. “Can I help you, Lottie?” 

“Well…” Lottie hesitated, shifting her weight and toying with the fingertips of her gloves. “Shall we go in? I really need to speak to you.” 

Juliet decided not to comment on Lottie’s self-invite into the house. She figured with no other job openings popping up, this could be her opportunity to try and gain back some favor at the London Pursuit. She couldn’t imagine that Lottie was here for a personal reason. That was not the sort of manager she was. 

Once inside, Lottie followed Juliet to the kitchen - again, kindly not saying anything about the state of the house. Juliet set her grocery bags on the table before taking her coat off. Lottie shrugged hers off as well, removed her hat and gloves, and took a seat. 

“Cuppa?” Juliet offered. 

“Sure,” Lottie replied. 

Juliet put the kettle on. Then she started unloading the bags. 

“So, what did you want to speak to me about?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as she could. 

“It’s the Albourne story,” Lottie said, voice tight, almost like she was spitting the words out. “All the other reporters are too busy to cover it. And if I have to go through the process of hiring someone new, we won’t get it in time.” 

“I’ve already told you, I think it’s -”

“You needn’t remind me of your insolent remarks,” she snapped. 

Juliet sighed, picked up a can of beans and placed it slowly in the cupboard, forming as polite a response as she could muster. But Lottie beat her to the next word. 

“If you agree to cover this story, I’ll let you cover the war down there,” she said. 

Juliet almost slammed the cupboard door shut in surprise. “What?” 

“You can cover the war news from there,” Lottie repeated. 

“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” Juliet returned. “Because if you know the Germans are in Aldbourne and you haven’t said anything until now, you might be in trouble, Lottie.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Juliet. The Americans are there, you could write about them.” 

Juliet bit back the snappy retort she had about that, and dialed it down. “Fascinating as the Yanks are, I reckon they’re not doing much actual fighting in Aldbourne. Unless you mean brawling in pubs.”

The English had almost adjusted to the American presence by now. However, Juliet had slipped out of more than one pub after a fight broke out between some bright-eyed, blue-blooded American who spoke too boldly about their importance in the war effort and an Englishman who naturally took offense to the effort of “our own lads” being minimized. It escalated. Drinks were thrown, followed shortly by fists. Others jumped in to either assist or attempt to separate the combatting parties, only to get swept up in the action either way. It was entertaining, sure, but Juliet thought it made rather a mockery of the term “Allies.” 

“They’re doing something there,” Lottie insisted. “And I give you full permission to try and find out what. As long as you cover the story about the girl as well.” 

“Observing Americans isn’t really covering the war, and you know it, Lottie,” Juliet said. 

“I’m not sending a woman to the front line, there would be a mob at the office door,” Lottie said. “I personally don’t care if you want to go and get yourself shot, but your blood cannot be on my hands.”

Juliet had to concede that point. Other papers had already suffered the ramifications of sending women reporters even within the vicinity of the front. There were boycotts led by counter-feminist groups and concerned mothers about the message it sent about women’s roles. It was one thing for women to work while men fought the war, but to put them in the line of fire? That was just indecent. 

“Well, good to know my life isn’t as much of your concern as public opinion,” Juliet joked.

Lottie frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Relax, Lottie, I’m taking the piss,” Juliet returned with a wave of her hand. 

She paused, mulling over the offer Lottie was bringing. She wasn’t in much of a position to refuse work, but the idea of covering that gruesome story was almost too much to bear. Even if she was a bit interested in what the Americans were doing. Then, something else crossed her mind. 

“Why do you want this covered so badly?” she asked. 

Lottie’s face flushed and her mouth drew tight, which Juliet understood to mean the reason would not be to her liking. She braced herself. 

“A family friend is with the Wiltshire police,” Lottie admitted. “He thinks it would look good for the department to solve a case like this and put the murderer away. And to have the press cover it, especially a London paper with circulation throughout the country.”

Juliet couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “You’re killing me, Lottie.” 

“This is the deal I’m offering,” Lottie sighed. “I know you’re opposed to it, but this is the compromise I’m willing to make.”

 Juliet considered her options. She did need the money. But the subject matter and the reasoning were so against her ideals and ethics as a journalist. How could she live with herself if she broke them for money? But there was her mother to consider as well. Which brought up another objection. 

“Even if I wanted to,” she said. “I can’t. It leaves no one here to look after Mum.” 

“I thought you had a brother,” Lottie returned. 

“He lives on Guernsey,” Juliet reminded her, minding her tone so she wouldn’t sound too bitter. “Otherwise, I’m certain he’d be here.”

Lottie shifted uncomfortably. “I apologize. I forgot.”

“S’fine,” Juliet replied.  

“Can’t you hire someone to look after your mother?” Lottie asked. 

Juliet only raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her - as if to say, “you’ve seen the house, you think we can afford help?” Lottie understood the implication. 

“What if…” Lottie trailed off, considering. “What if I hired someone to look after her?”

Juliet blinked. “That’s...generous of you, Lottie, but I’d never be able to pay you back or -”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lottie said. “I want this story and - believe it or not - I want it done well. I know you’ll handle it as tastefully as possible and you could really show that -” 

She was cut off by the kettle screeching its completion to boil, so Juliet went to take it off the burner and fetch some tea cups. She poured the tea and served it, and Lottie thanked her quietly, almost abashed by her admission to decency. But there was something more. 

“Really show what?” Juliet pressed.

Lottie heaved a defeated sigh. Like admitting this was something that exasperated her. “That women can handle tough topics. It’s not covering the war, but it’s a step in that direction.” 

Juliet couldn’t help but agree. If women could handle murder and the investigation surrounding it, surely women could be seen as sensible enough to tackle tragedy on a larger scale. They weren’t going to faint at the sight of blood or burst into tears over sentimentality. She couldn’t help herself. Juliet wanted to be part of that narrative. 

“Lottie, I’m surprised at you,” she teased. “I didn’t take you for such a feminist.” 

Lottie’s jaw dropped and she gaped at Juliet, totally affronted at the suggestion. “I am no such thing!” 

Juliet shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah, I probably wouldn’t be either if I had your tits.” 

Lottie could only sputter in response and Juliet snickered before sipping her tea.

“Juliet!” Lottie scolded. 

“I’ll do it,” Juliet said suddenly. 

Lottie closed her mouth, stunned. “You’ll - you’ll do the story?” 

“Yes,” Juliet assured her, smiling. “You’ve given me a real reason to. And if there’s someone here to look after Mum and I can get a bit of war news as well, then what choice do I have but to say yes? You drive a hard bargain, Lottie.”

Lottie’s relief was palpable. “Thank you, Juliet. Really.” 

“When do I go?” Juliet asked. 

“There’s a train to Aldbourne tomorrow morning at nine,” Lottie said. 

“I’ll be on it.” 

***

Aldbourne was probably a village that once called itself sleepy. But now it was overrun by Americans - mostly paratroopers - which created an upheaval the likes of which many residents had never seen before. There was life in the town. The Women’s Land Army, or “land girls” as they were called, were taking full advantage of the flirting opportunities that arose with these American men, who lacked British decorum and were therefore prime targets for a fling. As Juliet walked from the station to her lodgings, with all the people mulling through the heart of the village, she found it almost hard to believe she was there to report on a murder. 

Lodgings were difficult to come by with the Americans billeted in just about any space they could fit. Even horses were having to share their stables. But Lottie pulled some strings and got Juliet a room above the Blue Boar, a pub. She wasn’t sure how much sleep she’d really be able to get with the noise of a pub below her, but she didn’t dare complain. Not when she was one step closer to getting what she wanted. 

The owner was a portly, older gentleman by the name of Jacob Powell. His kind, round face welcomed Juliet warmly, and she was grateful for the reception. She didn’t want to infringe too much on his hospitality, so she refused a cup of tea for the moment, insisting she needed to get unpacked and to the police station as soon as possible. 

“Oh, yeah, that's a gruesome business about the little girl,” Jacob said. “Are you really going to write a story about it?” 

“I’m no Agatha Christie or anything, but I’m going to do my best,” she returned, keeping her tone light. She wasn’t in the habit of discussing a story with just anyone. 

He shook his head. “It’s just a right shame.”

“Concisely put, Mr. Powell,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Right, sorry,” he said bashfully, and he reminded her that the offer for tea still stood if she changed her mind before closing the door behind him. 

First, Juliet set down her suitcase with her clothes. Second, she heaved her typewriter onto the desk in the corner of the room. It was beside the one window that looked out onto the street. Juliet approved of the set up since she liked natural light while she wrote. She got her things exactly where she wanted them, but hadn’t bothered to remove her hat and coat since she was going right back out. Securing her notebook, pen, and room key, she left. 

The police station was one of the dullest she’d ever seen. Given the nature of the town, it didn’t surprise her. Lottie’s contact was Otis Allen, a lieutenant in the Wiltshire Police, who was still in Aldbourne to lead the investigation. He was a tall, thin man, with kind blue eyes and straw-like blonde hair. Rather unimposing for being in law enforcement. But Juliet observed right away the misshapen mound where his right ear should have been. He mentioned it before she had the opportunity to ask. 

“Sorry about the grisly ear,” he said. “My gift from the Germans last time they had a go at us.”

“A bit rude,” she teased. “Flowers would have suited just fine, I think.” 

He chuckled at that as he gestured for her to take a seat across from him at his desk. With that, she noticed a gnarled hand - the few fingers he had left were permanently curled under themselves. He disguised it fairly well with a glove, but she saw anyway. 

“Those Jerries really overdid it on the gifts,” she remarked. “I bet it wasn’t even your birthday.”

He fully laughed at that and she noticed his expression softened. When they’d met, he’d been a bit rigid, but his muscles relaxed now, put at ease by her gentle humor. 

“Thanks for that,” he said. 

She cocked her head to the side. “For what?”

“For the jokes,” he answered. “Ever since that war, all I get are pitying looks or fear. Thanks for treating it like it’s...normal.” 

“I’ll leave pity to the nurses,” she said with a smile. “Now, what have you got so far on the case?”  

He went over the basics with her. In September, a six-year-old girl, Peggy Lee, was drowned in the tub, allegedly by her host, Meredith Fisher. Peggy had been with the Fisher’s since January with no reported issues. When Peggy did not arrive for school the next day, her teacher phoned the Fisher’s home with no answer. They chalked it up to Peggy being ill or some other explainable matter, and moved on. When she was absent the following day as well, they called again, and Meredith told them that yes, Peggy was ill, and could not come to school for a few days. Ashley Fisher, Meredith’s husband, was in London on business at the time, and when he returned at the end of the week, found Peggy’s body and called the police. Meredith claimed initially there was an accident, but evidence from Peggy’s autopsy proved foul play was involved. Juliet took fervent notes as Otis explained it all, trying not to get disgusted by the whole thing. 

“Where is Mrs. Fisher being held now?” Juliet asked. “Surely not here in Aldbourne.” 

“‘Course not, she’s in Trowbridge,” Otis assured her. “Mr. Fisher is here though, if you’d like to speak to him.” 

She blinked. “Is he an expert on the case or something?”

“Well, no -”

“Then what insight could he possibly give me?” 

“He’s a witness,” he reminded her. 

“Investigators and lawyers question witnesses,” she said. “I need facts from experts to put the story into context. His testimony would only sway readers' emotions, and that’s not what I’m after.” 

He smiled. “Well. You’re not like any reporter I’ve ever met.” 

“I should hope not,” she returned. “I’m not covering this for the sensation. Why do you think I haven’t asked you where the Lee family is?”

His eyebrows went up a ways on his forehead. “You’re not going to interview them at all?”

She shook her head. “Nope. An interview with them is even less useful than an interview with Mr. Fisher. They weren’t even witnesses.” 

His eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “Right. Emotional appeal instead of factual.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And besides, I’m sure the last thing they need right now is some reporter sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

“I like you, Miss Fletcher,” he said simply. “You’ve got...surprising respect for this. And a good head on your shoulders.” 

Juliet forced a smile to swallow her question if he’d be surprised by her if she were a man. She didn’t know where her control came from during interviews, but she was grateful for it. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said. “Lottie told me the goal was to get this story widely circulated, and I truly believe that’s possible with the facts alone. I don’t believe in patronizing the audience to get their attention.” 

“You’ve got more faith in people than I do,” he scoffed. “But I like your style. I look forward to working with you.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” she returned. She did like Otis, even if he had briefly underestimated her. “Tomorrow I’ll be able to meet with the doctor who conducted the autopsy, yes?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The prosecution is having a psychiatrist evaluate Mrs. Fisher this week, so I’ll keep you updated on that as well.” 

“I’d love an interview with the prosecutor too, if that’s possible,” she said. 

“I’ll speak to him about it,” he told her. “Have a good evening, Miss Fletcher.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

They shook hands before she parted. She made her way back to the Blue Boar, dodging GIs all along the way. They were winding down for the day, it seemed, going for runs, dates, or drinks, depending on their mood. She got a whistle or two, which she ignored, mentally going over her notes. She was also relieved she wasn’t going to have to fight Otis on how to do the story. She really was getting free reign on how to put this all together, and she was excited by the opportunities that meant for her. 

Her excitement was sucked away when she reached the Blue Boar and found her things had been hurled onto the street. Her mouth fell open. She had only just arrived, what on earth could she have done?

She marched toward the door, straightening up to her full height, prepared to demand an answer from Jacob. But she didn’t have to go far, he met her at the doorway, blocking her entrance with a glower on his face that could have melted snow. 

“What’s the meaning of this?!” she demanded. 

“I don’t want any of your sort staying in my establishment!” he shot back. “Did you think you could fool me?! I read the papers!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she returned. “What papers?!” 

He pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his back pocket and threw it at her. She caught it and opened it with a snap. She recognized it as a society gossip periodical that she usually tried to avoid. On the side of the page, she read the headline “ARTHUR BURNS’ EX-FIANCE TURNS LADY OF THE EVENING?” with a photo of her leaving the hotel she’d met Ron in, looking furious as she absolutely was that day. Her heart dropped as she read the copy beneath. 

Desperate times must truly call for desperate measures, it began. Juliet Fletcher, 31, who just earlier this year was scorned by Arthur Burns when he terminated their engagement, was spotted leaving a hotel after a rendezvous with a mysterious American. The receptionist, who wished to remain anonymous, said Fletcher returned the following day, found the Yank gone, and stormed out, seething. 

‘It was clearly a dispute over money,’ the receptionist said. ‘They left the hotel together early in the morning, and she came back in the evening after he’d checked out. She was so sneaky about what she needed, I knew it couldn’t be anything respectable. And then to be as furious as she was about his leaving, it was obviously about an unpaid sum.’

Could it be that Miss Fletcher has fallen into disgrace after Mr. Burns left her? Could it be that she needed additional income after becoming accustomed to the Burns lifestyle? What else could possibly drive her to stoop to such lows? 

The Burns family refused to comment for this story, and Miss Fletcher herself appears to be out of town at the moment. And who can blame her?

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” she cried. “It isn’t true!”

“Pictures don’t lie, missy,” Jacob practically spat. “Now clear off from my property or I’ll have the police on you!”

A small crowd had gathered to watch the confrontation unfold. Doubtless, the raised voices had drawn attention to them, but Juliet could not bring herself to care. The injustice of it made her blood boil. She squared her shoulders and planted her feet. 

“It’s not true, you idiot!” she shouted. “This paper is known for misrepresenting the people they write about!” 

“I said - CLEAR OFF, YOU!” he roared. 

She scowled at him as fiercely as she could manage, but he slammed the door in her face. Head held high, she went and snatched her things off the ground, slinging them onto her shoulders before facing him again. 

“THIS ISN’T OVER!” she hollered back. When she turned on her heel and saw the Aldbourne residents watching with avid interest, she snapped at them too. “Should we have sold tickets?! Mind your business, people!” 

Properly scolded, they scattered like roaches. Juliet heaved a sigh, wondering where to point her feet. Fuming, she considered parking herself outside the door and shouting until Jacob had no choice but to hear her out, but she couldn’t risk arrest. Not when she was relying on the police as sources for her story. 

Her thoughts were completely interrupted when a platoon of paratroopers jogged across the square from where she stood. Leading them was the man Juliet held solely responsible for all her troubles as of late - Ron Speirs. She told herself not to get distracted by the sweat on his brow or the way his backside looked in the little shorts he had on, and focus on what mattered. He was getting away with what had happened - or rather not happened - while she was publicly shamed. Abandoning her bags, she hurtled after the platoon, catching up with surprising speed in her heels. 

“HEY!” she bellowed. 

The whole platoon stuttered in their cadence, and the few in the back turned their heads at the sound of her voice. Ron either didn’t hear her, or ignored her, and she wasn’t sure which was more infuriating. She gained on them. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to get louder, absolutely refusing to be ignored. 

“RONALD SPEIRS!” she yelled. 

He called his men to a halt, stopping alongside them and turning to face her. He blinked in surprise at the sight of her - he had evidently not expected her here - but he didn’t say anything right away. She caught her breath as she marched up to him. This time, she was ready, wallet in her coat pocket. She whipped it out and brandished it like a sword. 

“No one pays me a kindness and gets away with it!” she shouted, popping the wallet open and fishing out the bills she owed him. “That,” she slapped the first few onto his chest, and he caught them before they fluttered to the ground. “Is for my half of the hotel room!” She did not acknowledge the snickers that went through the platoon, and then forced a second handful of money into his hand. “And that is for the potatoes and cab fare!” 

He looked levelly at her. “I really didn’t expect to be -” 

“I don’t care what you expected!” she continued. “You left me to look like a prize idiot!” 

He glanced at his platoon, who were murmuring to each other as speculation began about how their lieutenant knew this strange woman. 

“I’d rather have this conversation in private if it’s all the same to you,” he said. 

“It’s not all the same to me, you punk!” She accentuated this with a shove to his arm. He didn’t move, but it made her feel better. “You humiliated me in front of the stupid hotel girl, which has now resulted in me losing my lodgings, so yeah, I’m going to stand here and embarrass you in front of your little mates!” 

“Juliet -” 

“How dare you leave before I could pay you back!” she went on fiercely. “You said you’d be there! You lied right to my face! Like a - a - a liar!” 

“Eloquently said,” he returned. 

“I don’t need your wise-ass remarks!” 

“Settle down.” 

“I WILL NOT SETTLE DOWN!” 

Her face was red with how much yelling she’d been doing, so she took a deep breath to collect herself. She felt a tingle in her throat, so she tried to clear it. 

“I’m going to, though,” she said. “Not because you told me to, but because my voice is getting hoarse.” 

He stared at her for a beat. “Okay. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“The receptionist at the hotel in London spoke to a gossip columnist about seeing us together,” she said. “Now, the owner of the Blue Boar says he won’t have one of ‘my sort’ in his rooms.” 

“I see,” he said with a nod. “I’ll sort it out.”

“No, I can’t owe you another favor,” she returned. 

“So you just came over here to yell at me?” he asked, to clarify. 

“And pay you back!” she insisted. “Now that’s been accomplished, we can part ways and I’ll never speak to you again. Starting now.” 

“Juliet -” 

“Starting now!”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away. He watched her go for a moment, enjoying the way her skirt swished around her legs, the shape of which he enjoyed more than he cared to admit. Shaking his head to clear it, he faced his men again. He noticed the stifled laughter behind their hands and smirks on their faces.

“Something funny?” he snapped with a scowl. 

They straightened up and muttered quick “no, sir”s under his glare. 

“Good, we’ve got a run to finish,” he said. 

They continued down the road. But Ron knew just what he was going to do afterward. 

***

Night fell over Aldbourne like a frigid shadow. Juliet, with aching feet and chattering teeth, took shelter in a phone booth across from the Blue Boar, having scoured the village for anywhere else to stay to no avail. And she was not a moment too soon in closing the booth door. Just seconds after she did, a soft rain began to patter against it. 

She needed to call Lottie and see what her options were. She couldn’t stay in Aldbourne without a room, but that put everything on hold. She pushed the coins into the slot and called Lottie at home, adding guilt to her weariness. 

“Hello?” came Lottie’s voice after just two rings, which relieved Juliet a little since it meant she was not in bed already. 

“Lottie, it’s Juliet,” Juliet said. “Look, something’s happened and your friend Jacob’s given me the boot.” 

“What?” Lottie questioned. “Why?” 

“Some stupid fucking article accusing me of being a prostitute,” Juliet snapped. 

“There’s no need for that kind of language,” Lottie replied coolly. 

Juliet hesitated a beat. “Okay, given the nature of what I said, I’m not sure if you’re referring to ‘fuck’ or ‘prostitute.’”

“Both,” Lottie said, and before Juliet could protest, she went on. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

Juliet explained everything - that her arrival went fine, but at some point during her interview with Otis, Jacob had read that article about the hotel nonsense, and had refused to let her back inside. 

“Now I’m stuck in a phone booth,” she finished. 

A beat passed and Juliet feared for a fleeting second that her time had run out. She dug in her pocket for more coins, but Lottie spoke again. 

“So...what were you doing in a hotel room with an American?” she asked. 

“That��s your takeaway from everything I just said?!” Juliet cried, incredulous. “Lottie, I’m exhausted and freezing, I need a place to stay or a ticket home!” 

“Was it something indecent?” Lottie pressed.

“No!” Juliet returned. “Look, I got drunk, I almost got hurt, and he just looked after me for the night, but nothing happened, I swear. Believe me, he’s the last man on Earth I’d ever want to shag, even if he is ridiculously good loo-”

She stopped suddenly and whipped around when she heard a knock on the door. There he stood. Ronald Speirs, looking expectantly at her. 

“Son of a BITCH!” she swore, stamping her foot. 

“I beg your pardon!” Lottie gasped. 

“Must go, Lottie, my mystery American has returned,” Juliet said through clenched teeth. “Aldbourne’s about to have another murder on its hands.” 

She hung up harshly, slamming the phone down before Lottie could protest. Then she wrenched the door and faced him, eyes blazing. She opened her mouth, preparing to dismiss him completely, but he beat her to the punch. 

“Jacob changed his mind,” he said. “You can have your room back.” 

She deflated and blinked at him in surprise. “I said I didn’t want -”

“Do you want a bed for the night or not?” he cut across her. 

Her drained muscles screamed at her to agree, but her pride was stronger. She started to refuse him again. 

“Buy me a drink, and we’ll call it even,” he said, as if reading her mind. 

“That’s not really the same,” she argued. 

“I didn’t go out of my way,” he told her. “The Blue Boar is where the officers drink. It came up, I explained, simple as that.” 

“Okay, one drink.” She held his gaze. “And then we’ll never speak again.”

He looked into her eyes, so long and so intensely, in any other context she would have thought he might kiss her. But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t do anything. He just shrugged, turned, and walked back toward the pub. She didn’t totally blame him since the rain was beginning to come down harder. With a defeated sigh, she scrambled to collect her things and followed him.