r5gggm5y-blog

[16ozicedcoffee]

“Citizens,” said Enjolras, “what that man did is frightful, what I have done is horrible. He killed, therefore I killed him. I had to do it, because insurrection must have its discipline. Assassination is even more of a crime here than elsewhere; we are under the eyes of the Revolution, we are the priests of the Republic, we are the victims of duty, and must not be possible to slander our combat. I have, therefore, tried that man, and condemned him to death. As for myself, constrained as I am to do what I have done, and yet abhorring it, I have judged myself also, and you shall soon see to what I have condemned myself.” Those who listened to him shuddered.

“We will share thy fate,” cried Combeferre.

“So be it,” replied Enjolras. “One word more. In executing this man, I have obeyed necessity; but necessity is a monster of the old world, necessity’s name is Fatality. Now, the law of progress is, that monsters shall disappear before the angels, and that Fatality shall vanish before Fraternity. It is a bad moment to pronounce the word love. No matter, I do pronounce it. And I glorify it. Love, the future is thine. Death, I make use of thee, but I hate thee. Citizens, in the future there will be neither darkness nor thunderbolts; neither ferocious ignorance, nor bloody retaliation. As there will be no more Satan, there will be no more Michael. In the future no one will kill any one else, the earth will beam with radiance, the human race will love. The day will come, citizens, when all will be concord, harmony, light, joy and life; it will come, and it is in order that it may come that we are about to die.”

Enjolras ceased. His virgin lips closed; and he remained for some time standing on the spot where he had shed blood, in marble immobility. His staring eye caused those about him to speak in low tones.

Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre pressed each other’s hands silently, and, leaning against each other in an angle of the barricade, they watched with an admiration in which there was some compassion, that grave young man, executioner and priest, composed of light, like crystal, and also of rock.

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.

But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.

Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.

Guess not.

You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.

The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.

Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.

An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.

A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.

But you didn't love him any less.

He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.

"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"

He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.

I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.

"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"

Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.

His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.

"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."

Bean purrs in agreement.

You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.

It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.

"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.

You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…

Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.

And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.

You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-

NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.

"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.

"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.

Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.

"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."

"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."

"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."

Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.

You open your mouth to apologize.

"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.

"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.

He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.

Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.

Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.

Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.

"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.

You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.

The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?

"You can wait in the hall-"

"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"

You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.

"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.

"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.

"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"

"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."

"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."

"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."

"What? No I meant-"

Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.

You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?

Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.

Traitor.

"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.

"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."

He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."

"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."

"Bean? Why?"

"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."

"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."

"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."

"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.

"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."

"I'm not a fan of One Direction."

"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.

Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"

He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."

"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"

He noticed that?

"How long exactly were you following me?"

"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."

"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."

Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

That felt good.

After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-

He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.

"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.

"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"

His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"

"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him.  Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-

No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.

“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.

“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something. 

Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green. 

“There’s nothing little about me doll.” 

“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal. 

It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.

It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there. 

He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head. 

And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.

Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes. 

I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen. 

You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip. 

Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him. 

Guess he's not a fan.

 “If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”

“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”

“Keep dreaming.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”

You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him. 

“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body. 

 The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.

You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform. 

Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand. 

He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid. 

You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.

It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.

He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.

“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.

That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.

But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.

Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window. 

But why? Why only around me?

The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-

Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was. 

You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.

Shit.

"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.

Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.

“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”

“Soldier Boy?”

“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”

At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-

Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.

Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.

When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.

But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.

You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.

Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…

Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.

“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.

You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.

“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.

“Hello-“

“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.

“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.

Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.

“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.

“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.

“Nothing happened-“

“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”

“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“You just had to follow me home!”

“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”

“I do it all the time!”

“Not anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”

"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"

"I think you do-"

"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.

"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.

Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!

You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.

"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.

"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.

The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.

"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.

"I thought you were joking."

"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.

"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.

"What?"

"It's prettier when it's down."

"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."

"You could give me yours-"

"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.

“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“

“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."

Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.

“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”

Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”

Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

(Photos for series picture found on Pinterest)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro

[pricegouge]

Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part One | master list | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, pining for someone who isn't your husband

reader is fem and fat

You know where it's going. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, get out of your house, scream and yell and pin everything on him - for always taking your husband away or for being an impossible standard to hold him to you don't even know.

It's raining in York again, the soft tatting upon the windows your only indication. It's evening, but you've still got the blinds pulled because you couldn't be arsed to draw them. In the apartment next door, a baby cries its head off and you sigh, turning up the volume on your b-movie romcom. It cries a lot.

You don't immediately reach for your phone when it buzzes against the coffee table because you can't think of any pressing reasons someone would be contacting you tonight, but it goes off twice more in as many minutes so you relent, unlocking it without really looking. Thumbing through to your messages, you find your husband's contact photo beaming back at you, top of the list. You pause, lip twitching slightly. Johnny's supposed to be halfway across the world, his phone inaccessible to him. It should be a good thing that he's texting you - returning from a mission early could go one of two ways, but if he was well enough to text then surely you should be excited for him. Except you're not, because you know what his message will read before you even open it.

Used to be, Johnny would stumble through the door after a deployment all battered and bruised, laughing when you yelped because you weren't expecting him - wandering the house in lazy day clothes because you thought he was supposed to be away another week. He always rushed home the second he could, never wasted enough time for so much as an 'I lived' text because he couldn't bear to be away from you one more unnecessary moment.

Used to be, you two missed each other when he was away.

>having the boys over for dinner

<you're back in town?

>got in yesterday yea

>can u make that pasta dish gaz likes? owe him my life

You sigh, torn between being more annoyed by Johnny's presumption, the fact he hadn't even let you know he was alive let alone at base, and the fact that you know you should be worried after a comment like that.

Mostly, you're just too tired.

The pasta dish Kyle likes involves heavy cream which you don't currently have. There's a small shop just two streets up and you'd hate to waste the gas so despite the weather, you grab an umbrella and some boots and head out, patting yourself down for the mandatory keys, wallet, phone check. It's dreary out. In addition to the rain, the season's coming to its long, slow end and bringing with it the cold sort of damp that soaks into everything, the whole world seemingly saturated with the miserable chill. Normally, this is your favorite kind of weather, but lately you've been too dreary yourself to properly enjoy it. So you amble along, unfocused. Unappreciative. Foggy. 

Identical brick houses line either side of the street, stretching out around the bends in either direction. The winding of the road lends a claustrophobic feel to the entire city, population density driving houses tall enough to obscure the movement of the sun throughout the day. 

It wasn't a bad place all told, but Johnny had chosen it for its proximity to base back when he was still just a young recruit and it had never really felt like your home. There'd been promises, back when the two of you were still engaged, ones you should've known better than to hold him to. Dreams of a house in the country, or talks of moving you out to Scotland. You hadn't been lying when you'd told him you didn't need any of that, but you'd never expected him to interpret that as you being content to live in the same dingy building the rest of your lives. It wasn't really your place to complain about it, though, given it was Johnny's income that paid the bills. You worked as well, though mostly just to keep yourself busy, as Johnny had insisted on your being a stay at home mom for the first few years of your babies' childhood. You weren't sure why you didn't find something more stimulating now, given how many years had come and gone without the man committing to the prospect of children. 

It used to hurt, the reneged aspirations. You've gotten used to it.

You're a regular at the shop by now, having lived in the same little apartment for the last five years. The owner greets you as you enter, the little bell above the door chiming as you close your umbrella, tapping it on the doorframe a few times to dislodge any excess droplets. 

"How are you now, Mr. Hudson?" you call, making a beeline for the kitchen staples. If there were still good things to be said about your marriage, at least you no longer cringed at convenience store pricing. 

"I'm well, yourself?" the old man croaks back politely. He's not doing well, actually, as his wife is wont to tell you anytime she's the one manning the counter, but you think it would be impolite to ask him how his prostate is out of the blue, so you don't call him on it.

Instead, you tell a lie all your own as you set your find in front of the register. "Can't complain."

"What's for dinner, then?" he asks, nodding at the carton.

"Smoked sausage alfredo." Not for the first time, you're grateful Gaz's favorite dish is consistent enough that you regularly have thawed sausage on hand. The last time Simon had saved your husband's skin in the field, Johnny had thought you'd be able to whip up a chicken dish in two hours and you'd had to run half across town for protein. 

"Mm," Mr. Hudon hums appreciatively. "Am I invited?"

"May as well be," you laugh, perhaps a little meanly given the poor man isn't in on the joke. You take mercy at his confused look. "My husband's inviting a few friends over. Wasn't expecting to cook for so many people." You weren't expecting to cook for anyone, actually, completely content to rot away with a bag of crisps but that's beside the point.

"Oh, yes… big man? With the… hair?"

"The very same," you grumble, taking your receipt.

"Haven't seen him in a while, how's he been?"

"Well, I gather he almost died recently, but I couldn't tell you much else. Haven't seen him either." The parting smile you give the old man feels rotten on your face. You bid him a good night and wave, scurrying out the door before he can properly respond. 

The sight of John standing on your stoop when you return startles you, although you should really be used to his early arrivals by now, as John tends not to linger in the company of his subordinates too long and often finds his own rides to and from base. He's also generally more eager to stop by than your husband is, though you can't think too long about that without feeling like you're going to walk off a pier. 

John greets you warmly as he always does, pulling you into a one armed hug as he kisses your cheek. With his free hand, he pulls your umbrella from your grasp, keeping you both under its protective circle as he straightens back up. 

You search your pockets for your keys, a good excuse to eye yourself over to be sure you hadn't accidentally worn something inappropriate out of the house. Like hosiery and a big graphic tee that said 'fuck me daddy' or something on it. John always brings out this paranoia in you, that same instinct that has people re-reading work emails to check for porn links four times before hitting send. But with him it's, 'Are you dressed? Is a dildo about to fall out of your shirt sleeve? Did you remember to put your wedding ring on?' 

You didn't.

"Hi John. Sorry to keep you waiting. I didn't realize anyone would be in so soon." 

"And here I thought I'd be the last to show for once," he counters, grabbing the cream from you and slipping it into the brown paper bag he carries on his hip. Something about his expression darkens minutely when he clarifies, "The boys left base a few hours ago. They still not in?"

Somehow, you don't find this as surprising as you maybe should. "No."

John hums, following after you obediently as you make your way to the lift. Normally, you try to get some exercise in by climbing the stairs, but you don't feel like huffing and puffing your way up with John in tow. Instead, the two of you pile into the small shaft where John does nothing to minimize the width of himself, standing directly by your side instead of slightly behind, squishing you between himself and the mirrored wall. You keep your eyes forward, glued to the metal doors. You can feel his eyes on you, shameless and assessing. Can even see his head turned toward you in the blurry reflection before you. He's always like this when he first gets home, as if he can ascertain how you've been spending the time without your husband's company just by staring a hole through your temple. 

Probably, he could.

John's an attentive man. Always has been. So it shouldn't surprise you when he huffs gently and pulls himself to his full height with an air of grim determination. He's gonna ask one of his questions again, you just know it - the kind that leaves you exposed, crawling back to your husband's familiar apathy with renewed appreciation. John draws a breath, you close your eyes, and then the lift dings, doors opening with a rush of air that rivals the relieved breath you take. You step out before John can motion you forward as is his custom, ducking through the door to prevent him saying a word.

Distraction comes with the general din of settling in. John tucks your umbrella away in the tiny entrance closet and brings his bag into the kitchen. You dip quietly back to your bedroom to make yourself more presentable, calling from the bedroom for him to make himself at home. It takes you no time at all to get ready, the casual dresses at the back of your closet all hanging clean and untouched. You check to make sure they've not gone musty before pulling one on and applying some basic makeup. Rotting on the couch hadn't called for mascara, but a houseful of men certainly did. 

You blink when you realize the implication of that, smudging the dark product all under your lower lashes. You only resist the urge to roll your eyes at yourself for fear of repeating the process under your brow.

John's in the kitchen when you emerge, sudsing up the dishes from your lunch to your horror. "John! You don't have to do that," you squawk, attempting to shoo him along with fluttering hands, as if he were an overgrown pigeon. 

Unflinching. "Of course I don't. Wanted to be helpful but I didn't know what you'd planned for dinner so I couldn't get started on that."

"You didn't have to do anything," you counter, still hoping that your defiant presence at his side would cow him away from the sink.

He just smiles at you, that overly cheeky one that crinkles his eyes charmingly. "Wanted to, love,"

Well, who are you to say no to that?

The two of you slip into companionable silence as you get to work, though you play it up when he completes his task, leaning his hip against the counter with that same intense expression from before. You're not ready for the question, whatever it is. Maybe never will be.

John seems to sense this, changing approach by making a show of unpacking his paper bag, setting the options he's brought for wine out in front of himself. He eyes the ingredients you've assembled carefully, and sets a white bottle aside for dinner before helping himself to the drawer where he knows you keep your corkscrew, popping open a bottle of red as he knows you prefer it. You collect glasses as he does so, watch him warily as he pours you a generous glass. Once he's served you both, he settles into  an island stool with an exaggerated air of relaxation.

When he starts, the question is blessedly easy, though you remain on high alert lest he pull some intelligence acquisition maneuver on you before you even see it coming. 

"Well, how's it been on the home front?"

You know where it's going. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, get out of your house, scream and yell and pin everything on him - for always taking your husband away or for being an impossible standard to hold him to you don't even know. Another part of you just wants to be seen. John's got his arms crossed in such a way to make him impossibly broad, imposing. There'd be no getting past him even if you wanted. 

The worst part is, you don't.

"All's well, John, thanks." A lie, despite knowing how you feel, how you want him to force you to talk, crack you open and pry your injuries from you with strong hands, get you back in working order. You both know it.

"You sure? Been looking a little blue of late." It's not judgemental. You remember the old tan line he used to sport on his finger - wide and pale on his weathered hand. It's long gone, a nicely healed wound. He doesn't even worry the space with his thumb anymore, a habit you'd picked up of late, as if the band itself burned. You wonder how long you'll try soothing it once the ring is gone and nearly bite through your tongue when you realize what you'd just thought.

A clatter at the door saves you from answering and you force a smile as you turn to greet Johnny. He roars through the door as is his custom, loud and singular and enigmatic enough to make you forget your qualms when he hoists you into his arms and peppers your face in kisses. "Oh, ah've missed ye, bonnie," he crows, only putting you down when Gaz insists it's his turn.

You're turned about between the two of them, a mess of 'missed you too's, and 'good to see you's, and 'come on in, can I get that for you?' Gaz kisses your cheek, tells you dinner smells lovely despite it barely being comprised of more than its base components yet and you grin at him, letting yourself be charmed through another boisterous night with the boys.

It's not until much later, as you're sending everyone packing with to go containers of extras and squeezing shoulders in parting that you notice your fingers gripped tight around John's bicep, finger conspicuously empty.

Next>>

[robins-egg-bindery]

Windows by @drgrlfriend

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

fic by @drgrlfriend

art by @maichan808 & @andavs-main

368 pages / 83,266 words

Title Font: PP Hatton

Body Fonts: Cardo, Geo

HAPPY FFWAD!!! Thank you @renegadepublishing for putting on this event in celebration!

More on the process below the cut!

I'm so excited to be posting this book! Super grateful @drgrlfriend was so down to let me bind Windows for Fan Fiction Writer Appreciation Day. This is one of my all-time favs, and I was thrilled to give it the treatment it deserves! @maichan808 & @andavs-main were also incredibly kind to allow me to include their stunning art pieces in the book <3 And thank you @renegadepublishing for putting this event together!

I wanted the typeset to be visually interesting and move around the page, without making it difficult to read. I created unique headers for each of the 28 chapters with royalty free art, and varied placement on the page in six different configurations. I also played with the text warp to make the text work as part of the image - one of my favorites is chapter 26, "Banshee", pictured above!

I used Brick duo for this bind, as part of the vision for the front cover, which was done in silver permanent vinyl. I think the rich rust color is perfect for how I would imagine Stiles & Derek's apartment building, and the silver is incredibly reflective - my favorite part is how the vinyl catches the light on the spine, and can reflect "Windows" on whatever surface it's on (pictured above). That's not an added effect, it's just doing that!

I did @tankbredgrunt's faux double-core headband with some Sulky Gutermann I bought at a secondhand store for $0.25, and it's so pretty! A bit thin to work with, but totally worth it for the multi-color effect it gives off.

And I finally got a proper crisp hinge! I think it really brings the whole book together, thank you knitting needles (even though you were a pain in the ass).

This project also marks my 100th book! I'm rapidly approaching the two year mark of my fanbinding career with no sign of stopping; thank you to this entire community, and all of the fandoms I've been able to bring this hobby to. I love how cross-fandom it is; and for an old floater like me, it's wonderful to bring all of my interests together and have something that transcends those lines.

HAPPY FAN FICTION WRITER APPRECIATION DAY!

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Eventual smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 4: A Wedding of Presidential Proportions

You couldn't sleep when you got back to the White House. You were pacing the floor of your room, trying to fabricate a believable love story for you and Bradley.

You would say that you'd gotten close during his campaign, and he proposed the night he was elected. That would explain why he risked his life for you after the last debate and why you held the Bible and danced with him at the inauguration. That would be believable.

You also had to think of a wedding date. It would need to be soon. Now that the people knew, they would push for a wedding. You settled on October. That would give you two months to figure this out.

You'd have to tell your parents tomorrow because you knew they would have questions, but you couldn't tell them the truth.

You were furiously trying to write notes down when you realized you should probably check on Bradley. It was almost two in the morning. You hoped he was still awake.

You grabbed your robe and note cards before sneaking down the hallway. You knocked once on his door before it flew open.

"You can't sleep either?" He asked you. "No. But I've been productive. You say as you enter his room.

You spend the next twenty minutes going over the tale you have spun for the two of you. He sits silently and nods along as you pace back and forth across the carpet of his bedroom.

"So, does it sound believable?" You ask him once you finish. "It does. You've really put a lot of thought into this." He agrees with you.

"Now, for a wedding date, I was thinking October because by the time the story gets out, we will have been 'planning' one for a few months." You tell him.

"Do we really have to get married? I mean, William and Kate dated for ten years before tying the knot." Bradley points out. "Yes, but their engagement was about a year. Trust me, I've thought about dragging it out, but with the digital age we live in, it gives people too long of a chance to find out we are lying." You explain to him.

"Okay, so after we get married, how long until we can get divorced?" He asks you. You stop in your tracks. You hadn't even thought about that.

"Well—" you begin, "If we get divorced in less than two or so years, people are going to be extremely upset. It will look bad on you, and the tabloids will start fabricating stories of infidelity between us, and it would tank your chances at reelection and my chances of ever working again." You continue.

"But, if we get divorced after two years, that would be peak reelection campaign time, and again, people would be angry that their favorite first couple is breaking up and it would give your opponents fuel for a smeer campaign and probably tank your ratings and cause a scandal." You tell him. Then it hits you like a ton of bricks.

"Oh my god." You breathe out. "What?" Bradley asks you as he sits up from his chair.

"The only way to prevent this whole thing from killing both of our careers is to stay together and get divorced after you get reelected or lose the 2028 election. It would be at least four years of marriage. Four years of a lie." You state.

You can feel the heat rising in your chest as the anxiety sets it. You being to pace faster around his room. Your eyes are wide with a far off look in them.

"Oh my god, we can't do this. We can't commit to this for FOUR YEARS Bradley. What was I thinking when I said that? I'll tell you what—I wasn't thinking. I didn't want the media to brand me as someone who slept her way to the top, but now I've sentenced both of us to a life of scrutiny in the public eye!" You shout at him.

"We can't do this. I was wrong about everything I said. I didn't have a plan, I wasn't thinking I just did, and now I've screwed everything up." Your voice starts to tremble. Your chest tightens, making it harder for you to breathe. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

Bradley can see the cracks in your armor starting to break. The facade that you wear so well is slipping. His heart breaks when he sees the first tears slip down your cheeks. He's never seen you cry before. Come to think of it, he's never seen you as anything other than put together. He's shocked to see you like this. Emotional, vulnerable, raw.

"Where's my phone? I have to call Jaycee. I have to have her publish a story saying that I was lying and that we aren't a couple." You choke out. Your hands are trembling as you try to unlock your phone, but it's no use. The device falls from your fingers and crashes to the carpet.

That's all that it takes for you to fall to your knees and sob. Rooster immediately jumps from his seat and pulls you close to him. You're babbling about how you're sorry to him and about how you can save his career by tanking your own.

It's killing him inside to see you like this. To know that he's the reason you're having a panic attack at three in the morning. He doesn't know how to respond. Normally, you're the one picking up the pieces for him. So he does the only thing his can think to do. He sinks down on the floor next to you and pulls you close to him. He tucks you under his chin and rubs your back to soothe you.

"Y/N. Y/N—please, take a breath. Look at me." Bradley tells you softly. He takes your chin and gently directs it to meet his eyes.

"Let's take a couple of deep breaths together. Come on, breathe with me. Breathe in—and breathe out." He directs you. He repeats this several more times until your breathing is back under control, and you aren't crying anymore.

"Okay, let's talk through this slowly. We have two options. We can get married, spend the four years together, and then get a quick and amicable divorce after the election. If we do that, we both have a good chance of being able to continue our political careers, right?" He looks to you for your approval. You nod your head.

"Or, you commit political suicide by saying what? You made up the whole thing because you didn't want the media slandering you?" He asks. "It seems like they would slander you even more if you said we lied." He tells you.

"I can tell them that I can onto you, I was harassing you. Trying to blackmail you or something. If I did that, it would save your image. I could never work in politics again, though. I'd have to leave D.C." You stutter out, the anxiety still not fully gone from your body.

The thought of you leaving made Bradley sick to his stomach. He couldn't let you give up your dream for him.

"No." He says. "I won't let you do that. I can't let you do that. I wouldn't be in this position of power if it wasn't for you. I can't do this without you. I need you." He tells you earnestly.

"We are already friends. We can do this. We'd only have to pretend for the cameras and in the public eye. Behind closed doors, it doesn't matter. We can fake it til we make it." He laughs.

"You sure?" You ask him. "Positive." He confirms. You nod your head and smile at him. He helps you up. You take a deep breath and feel some relief.

You pause for a beat, and Bradley can see the exact moment you put your mask back on. Gone is the vulnerability you'd just shared with him, and back was the bravado he'd seen you wear so well.

"You know you'll have to make sure any hookup you bring here signs and NDA, right?" You ask him.

"Come again?" He blurts out with a look of confusion. The sudden change in your demeanor has his head spinning.

"Look, Bradley, even if we have to be married for a bit, I don't expect you to be celibate the entire time. You won't be the first president to have a mistress, but you'll be the first with permission. You snicker at the last part.

"I mean I'll do the same." You reassure him.

Bradley is too stunned to speak. The idea of either of you having a lover made his heart ache. He couldn't stomach the thought of another man touching you or getting to see the side of you that you kept closed off from him.

"Yeah, I understand." He hesitated. The silence around the two of you was uncomfortable.

"Right. So, I'm going to call a jeweler in the morning so we can pick out a ring and make sure you memorize these cards." You tell him as you hand him some flash cards, breaking the tension.

"I have the ring covered." Bradley tells you. "What?" You ask him. Unsure if you heard him correctly. "I have the ring covered. I'll memorize the cards. For now, we both need to get some sleep." He rubs your arms in a reassuring way.

"Okay. You're right. Goodnight, Bradley." You tell him as you leave his room. "Goodnight, Mrs. Bradshaw" He calls down the hallway after you. You roll your eyes and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

The next day around lunch, Jake storms into your room. "Wise-woman! Girl, what the fuck?!" He asks you.

"Jake, I don't have time for this. I was in a life or death situation. It was either fake engagement or political ruin. I did what I had to do." You explain to him. "I know, I know. Rooster already gave me the same speech. So you're really going to do this interview. Get married and all that jazz?" Jake asks as he comes to sit with you.

He flops down on the couch in your sitting room while absent-mindedly tossing a baseball in the air.

"Yeah, it's not ideal, but it keeps all of us employed. Well, let me rephrase that. It keeps you and Bradley employed. Meanwhile, I get to be paraded around as a piece of arm candy, and the only thing people are going to care about is what time wearing." You sigh.

"You know there are way worse things than being the First Lady of the United States. You think that no one is going to care about what you have to say, but Bradley will. He values your opinion more than any of his advisors. And you could have a serious social impact. Doesn't every First Lady have a platform that she focuses on during her time? Think of the change you could make. The good you could do in the world." Jake tells you. You hadn't really thought about it that way.

"Plus, do you know how many women in America would gladly take your place? I do, because I've seen the tweets and the tiktoks. Marrying Bradley isn't the prison sentence you're making it out to be." Jake finishes his pep talk to you before silently tossing his ball some more.

You sit there, taking in his words and processing them.

Neither of you is sure what to say until Jake speaks again. "So, on another note, your friend at the Post who's interviewing you—is she single by chance?" Jake asks you.

You laugh at his comment. Of course, he would ask you about Jaycee when you're having a crisis moment.

"Jake! You're such an asshole!" You laugh as you throw a pillow from the couch at him.

"Knock knock." Bradley comes in. "And that's my cue to go." Jake says as he gets up to leave.

Bradley comes and sits down next to you. He puts a small box on the table in front of you. "Go on. Open it." He tells you.

You open it, and your breath catches in your throat. Inside is the most beautiful ring you've ever seen. It's an oval cut diamond, easily five karats or better. It's flanked by two pear cut amethysts and set on a silver band.

"Bradley how—" you ask him. "Called in a favor." He tells you. You stare at it a moment before he takes it out of the box and slips it on your hand. "Size eight. Just like you said." He smiles at you. "Oval because of the Oval Office, right?" You joke with him. "Exactly." He breathes out.

"So, are you ready for this interview?" You ask him. "If I'm being honest, no. But I know that just like everything else, we can get through it together." Bradley kisses your cheek and pats your leg before getting up to leave. The skin where his lips touched buzzes with a familiar feeling that you're desperately trying to push back down.

Thanks to your careful planning, you made it through the interview with Jaycee. By the time you and Bradley arrived back to the White House, you were trending on social media, and #Wiseshaw was going viral. You had succeeded in pacifying the nation for a while.

Now, the real challenge began: planning a wedding.

..................

"Does it really matter so much about the flowers!" You groaned into the sofa cushion. The wedding was a week away, and instead, if sitting in on interviews for who was going to take over your position once you became the First Lady, you were with Jake and Jaycee picking out center pieces.

You had hated all of the aspects of planning the wedding. You hated them because over the past two months, you'd found yourself unable to deny the fact that you had feelings for Bradley. He truly was the man of your dreams, but the only reason you were able to have him was because of a lie.

Magazines, news outlets, and social media called you the perfect political power couple. The people ate up the engagement shoot you'd released, and the buzz of your upcoming nuptials was all anyone could talk about. People were rabid wondering what your dress was going to look like, who would be on the guest list, and most importantly, people wondered how long it would be until the two of you had children.

Of course, there was speculation that you were already pregnant due to how fast you were getting married from the time you announced your engagement. If only the people knew that your husband would never touch you like that.

You were broken from your thoughts by Jake.

"Yes, it really does matter, Wise- woman. You and the president are getting married. This is the closest thing America is ever going to get to a royal wedding." You looked at Jaycee and rolled your eyes because you knew Jake was right. This would be the first time a president had gotten married in office in over a hundred years. In the minds of many, this was a royal wedding. The two of you were the American Will and Kate.

"Jakey is just trying to be helpful as the best man and all." Jaycee tells you as she gets up to wrap her arms around him.

"If you two could keep it in your pants while I'm here, I would appreciate it." You tell them. You shuttered at the memory of finding out they were seeing each other. You had gone to Jake's office to ask him to sign off on some things, and instead, you found him and Jaycee, using his desk for purposes that it was not intended for.

"Oh c'mon, don't be such a grumpy gills. You'll be getting your taste of a man in power soon enough." Jaycee laughs.

"No, I will not. This marriage is a business arrangement. I'm not going to sleep with Bradley. I'm not even going to move out of my room." You tell them. You get up to leave as Jake and Jaycee shoot each other a knowing look.

.......................

Saturday comes quicker than you expected. All morning, people are fussing over you and helping you get ready. Jaycee is doing her best to keep you calm. You aren't nervous because you are getting married. You're nervous because your life is about to change.

You wonder if Bradley has the same knots in his stomach or if he is calm and collected.

The funny thing is, as he's getting ready, Bradley wonders the same thing about you.

He's paced around his room about five hundred times since he woke up this morning. You had no clue that Jake and Bradley's godfather Maverick had been trying to keep him calm.

He knows it's just about time, and his hands shake as he tries to tie his bow tie. You always make it look so easy. He growls in frustration before Maverick takes over. "The last time I saw a Bradshaw, this nervous was when Goose was getting ready to marry your mom. He was awful with ties, too." Maverick smiles at him, trying ease the tension. "They'd be so proud of you, kid." Maverick smiles as he smooths out Bradley's collar.

Soon, the wedding coordinator is coming to get them. It was time.

The wedding is to be held in the Rose Garden with a reception to follow in the banquet room of the White House. Everything is perfect. The chairs, the flowers, the table settings, the center pieces, the decor. All of it is fit for a wedding of presidential proportions. You'd spent two months going over seating charts, menu options, and cake flavors. Every time you asked Bradley what he wanted, he always responded with, "Whatever you want dear." You roll your eyes at the memory. Of course, he would be better in a fake relationship than any of your previous real ones.

As you put the finishing touches on your makeup, the thought of running crosses your mind.

You don't have time to ponder it though. It's almost show time. Your mother and Jaycee help you into your dress. It's a soft taffeta ball gown with ruching on the bodice. Its sleeves are slightly off the shoulder, and it has a jeweled belt at the waist. You could describe your dress best as "a modern take on Jackie Kennedy." Your mother helped you secure your cathedral length veil in your hair. She brushed a few stray hairs from your face before making sure your oval pendant was centered on your neck. Jaycee handed you your bouquet of lavender roses before grabbing the train of your dress and veil to help you out of your room.

Your father smiled when he saw you. Both of your parents were so proud of you. Their daughter was about to be the First Lady.

You took a deep breath as you walked out of french doors to the top of the staircase.

Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest as your feet carried you down the steps. It felt like you were in autopilot.

The violin quartet began to play "august" as Maverick walked down the aisle, holding framed photos of his parents before sitting them in two reserved seats. Jake followed him with your mother before coming back. Several of his former Navy friends escorted your bridesmaids down the aisle. Then, Jaycee and Jake made their way down the aisle. As the song looped, you could help think about the irony of it all. The man that you were about to marry would never be yours, not really.

Soon, it was your turn. You smiled as you heard the first bars of "Wildest Dreams" start to play. If it was one thing Bradley knew about you, it was how much you loved Taylor Swift. It only seemed fitting that he would pick two of her songs for your wedding.

Damn him and his ability to give you butterflies. It wasn't fair.

Everything moved in slow motion. The walk down the stair case and down the aisle felt like the longest ten minutes of your life. You did your best to look the part of the perfect blushing bride, but it was so hard.

Looking out at the perfectly place chairs with their perfectly draped cloth covers and perfectly tied lavender bows made you feel sick.

The sight of the wooden pergola draped in in greens and tulle made your knees weak. The meticulous rolled out white cloth that was covered in dainty lavender flower petals for the aisle had the bile in your stomach rising to your throat.

Everything was so perfect. Or at least it would have been if this was real. Your father could feel you tense up as you reached the bottom of the stair case and turned to stand at the end of the aisle. He patted your hand to comfort you. Everyone rose up from their seats, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to look up and look at Bradley. He was standing at the top of the aisle beaming at you. Suddenly, all of the anxiety you were feeling melted away. A genuine smile crossed your face as you began to almost float towards him.

You watched him brush a few stray tears from his eyes.

Your eyes stayed trained on Bradley the whole time. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was actually in love with you.

"You look beautiful." He whispered to you as you joined him at the altar. "Your tie's crooked." You whisper back. "Sorry, I didn't have help." He chuckled before the officiant asked everyone to be seated.

The ceremony goes by in a flash. You and Bradley exchanged vows and rings. And soon you heard the officiant say, "Mr. President, you may kiss your bride."

You lean forward to press a polite kiss to Bradley's lips, but in an unexpected turn of events, he sweeps you into his arms and dips you before kissing you. Everyone erupts in applause. The officiant speaks once more. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you, for the first time, President and Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw!"

Bradley grabs your hand as Jaycee hands you your bouquet before you walk back down the aisle under a sea of flower petals.

During the entire reception, Bradley doesn't leave your side as the two of you mingle. You have your first dance as husband and wife to a slowed down version of "I've Had The Time of My Laugh. You grin at his nod to the first time you danced with him. After you finish, its time to cut the cake. You enjoyed smashing some of it in his face more than you should have. Your smile never leaves your face. You can't believe how easy it is to pretend to be in love with him.

But that's all it is, pretend. You've signed yourself up to continue this charade with him for the next four years.

After the reception, you change into a white lace tea length dress. You and Bradley board Air Force one. You have three days for a private honeymoon. Bradley releases his duties to Jake for the time being before you leave.

Soon, you're touching down somewhere tropical.

You're exhausted by the time you make it there.

The two of you get settled into your bungalow. All you want to do is change and get some sleep.

"Can you unzip me? I want to take a shower. There's two bathrooms here if you want to shower too." You inform Bradley. He's happy to help. He unzips your dress. He sees the white lace of the bra and panties you are wearing.

"Thanks." You tell him before trapsing off to a shower.

Bradley groans and adjusts himself before heading off to the other bathroom. God, his right hand is going to be tired after this trip.

After an hour in the bathroom, you finally come out. You find Bradley sitting in a chair watching TV.

"You aren't in bed yet?" You question him.

"I wasn't sure which side you slept on, and I didn't want to assume." He says as he gets up and gestures to the huge bed in the middle of the room.

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm not sleeping in here." You laugh. He looks at you confused before you go to the other side of the room and on unlatch a door he hadn't noticed before.

"Did you really think I wouldn't plan a head to make sure we had two rooms?" You ask him.

"I—I shouldn't have doubted your abilities." He tells you, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"It's fine. Look, we've had a long day. We'll talk more in the morning." You smile and kiss his cheek before walking into your room. "Goodnight, Mr. President." You call to him.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Bradshaw." He calls back.

He hears the sound of the lock on the door clicking. He sighs before dropping back into the armchair. He runs his fingers through his hair before taking a look at the silver band that now adorns his finger. He twists it a few times and sighs.

How was he going to get through the next four years of this?

Little did he know that just on the other side of the door, you were dying inside too.

A special shoutout to @thedroneranger for beta reading this chapter and listening to my rambles!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lt-bradshaw @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @chicomonks @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ epilogue

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: FLUFF chapter map

Author's Note: I just want to say a quick THANK YOU to everyone who followed along and supported this story! Girl Genius @scarlettspectra who helped me with the original idea, my utterly beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff , the SWEETEST @sweetwolfcupcake (who fried my brain with that gif of Paul, thank u! 😘 , the always RAZOR sharp @discoscoob, the hilarious @lilithlinen , the insightful @reallongwire , emoji queen @thesecretlifeofmo , 🖤 @lonelyspadez and SO many others, I wouldn't have finished this without you, it wouldn't have been as much fun, and it CERTAINLY wouldn't be the fic it is without your amazing input!

-You’re going to have to rewrite the train station scene in your story, because you take him with you at the platform, and you are smart enough not to let go. 

At first, you stay together in your tiny apartment with its fetching view of a brick wall. The arrangement was fine, if not a little cramped. You spend most of your time in bed, anyway, but you find you don’t mind sharing your space with Paul, or your cooking, or your time. Goddammit if Anjelica wasn’t right about that. 

But maybe he knows you better than you know yourself. 

Without you needing to ask, [and you’re not sure you even would have, truth be told], he eventually gets his own place. Yet, you are still inseparable, barring the hours you go to work, and he goes to school. 

You find that you are equally happy to have your own space back, yet unbearably restless for the next time you will get to see him. It is a strange medley to balance in your life, and a part of you hopes that someday maybe you really will score that apartment with enough room for the two of you, and a typewriter overlooking the Bay. 

On the odd days you do not see each other, he writes you a letter, and you always write him back. 

As it turns out, Paul Sutton likes things that go, and he enrolls to study engines at a technical college in San Francisco. 

The day he roars up to your apartment in a leather jacket on a Norton motorcycle with a big grin, you cannot help but laugh. It seems like a ridiculous machine, and yet after the first time he takes you for a ride–it becomes one of your favorite things to do with him. You tear up and down the coast in your free time, picnicking at the beach or beneath towering sequoia trees. 

You have both healed from your misadventure, withstanding the occasional cough, or the odd nightmare...on a whole, your life together is so sweet, and the irony does not escape you that on more than one occasion you have to restrain yourself from asking him to marry you. But Paul is starting to find himself, given time in which he’s not running between raindrops, enemy fire, or immediately jumping into the responsibility of supporting a wife and children. 

He does not always take you on his motorcycle trips, often going on long rides to clear his head. He says it helps ease his mind, when his memories from the war become too loud in his head.

Most of the time though, he seems content, and you are so happy for that. 

-The first time after he dropped into your office at the publishing house to bring you flowers, just because, bless that man, your boss asks, “So that’s Peter?” 

“No, that’s Paul,” you tease him, aware that your beau’s good looks have a certain effect upon both sexes, no matter their preferences. 

You’d let your superior read your manuscript of your book, after catching you working on it at your desk during a break. You decided to title it, “A Walk in the Clouds.”  You’re not getting your hopes up, as he hems and haws over it. He keeps proposing changes to the story that would be untenable to you, as well as writing under a man’s pen name, or a less Spanish-sounding surname, in the interest of appealing to a broader audience. Maybe someday, you’ll find an agent who will champion your vision, and a publisher who won’t hold it against you that you are an intelligent self-taught Hispanic woman with opinions that challenge the conformity of post-War America.  

Maybe someday, things will be better…

Until then, you’ll just have to keep writing. 

-A year later, the two of you are out to lunch at a North Beach café, when a slick-looking man in a dapper suit passes by your table, then does a double-take at Paul, who was engaged mid-bite with his open mouth over a fork full of pasta. 

“Hey kid,” he says. “Ever thought of being in movies?” 

Taken aback, Paul wipes his lips with his napkin, regarding the man quizzically. “Ah…no, never occurred to me,” he admits to the stranger with a quizzical lift of eyebrows. 

“You got the look. Call me.” The Hollywood man flips a card onto the table, then strolls off like he has somewhere important to be. 

Paul looks at you, then laughs, shaking his head as he looks at the card. He is so humble about his dashing good looks, finding it embarrassing when women slow down to ogle him on the street, (or in one amusing case–to you at least– trip over the sidewalk). 

“How silly,” he says with a little smile, tearing off a piece of bread. He’s playing it down, but you think you see a glitter of intrigue in those polished ebony eyes.

You shrug. “Who knows?” you say playfully. “You’re certainly the best-looking man I know.” 

After all this time, his cheeks still pink for you, his ears turning red at the tips. 

“Well, that’s all that matters to me,” he tells you, reaching across the table for your hand. You slide your fingers into his, so happy you could die. 

Afterwards you go for a stroll, hand in hand, looking in the windows of the shops and laughing together, your head on his shoulder.

It’s hard to imagine that life could get much sweeter than this. Deep down, a tiny, selfish part of you hopes he doesn’t call that Hollywood headhunter. How drastically would your life with him change, if he became a star on the silver screen?

That’s when you know you absolutely believe he’s got what it takes–and you beat back your ugly little fears, resolving that you won’t stand in his way, if he wants to try for it.

You realize you’re squeezing his hand too hard when he looks down at you with a question in his eyes. “Sorry,” you apologize, tilting your head for a kiss. 

He grants your request, and his soft lips on yours still curl your toes. He rests his forehead against yours with that little smile, just for you…and your fears go quiet, replaced by the soft glow this man always inspires in you. 

“Just in case you didn’t know…I would marry you in a heartbeat, if you ever change your mind about all that.” 

You blink, your heart a sparkling firework trapped in your chest. 

You have to try twice before you can find your voice. 

“I think…I would like that, Paul Sutton.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs out loud, that beautiful sound that fuels you as surely as food or drink or air. He picks you up right in the middle of the sidewalk, spinning you around in a circle before his lips find yours again. 

Suddenly, you’re not worried about anything.

-Paul drops you off at your apartment after a lingering kiss before rumbling off on the Norton. He has to study up for a test on Monday, and you’ve found when you try to help him with his studies more often than not you just end up in bed together. 

There are worse things, but this is an important exam. You’re sure he’ll pass with flying colors, then you can reward him properly. 

You practically skip up the stairs, still giddy from earlier. Are you and Paul actually engaged? Promised to be engaged? Merely in talks? You’re not really sure, but it doesn’t matter. You’re together, and you feel like you have all the time in the world to figure it out. The whole country is in such a hurry now that the war has ended, but the two of you have learned you don’t mind taking your time.  

You almost step on a little lump of something left before your door. Puzzled, you pick it up. It reminds you of the handmade little ragdolls you and your sisters used to play with, made of cloth and thread and horse hair.  

But this toy is burned, half her hair singed away, her blackened face pulled in a terrible grimace. 

With a frown you lay it back to rest on the floor beside your door. 

Maybe the neighbor’s girl down the hall dropped her toy. She might want it back. If it’s still there tomorrow…you’ll throw it out. 

Your earlier elation dampered by a weird feeling weighing in your gut, you let yourself into your apartment, and go about the rest of your day. 

Yet as you sit down with your notebook and a cup of tea to warm the chill inside you, you cannot stop thinking about it. 

There’s no way in Hell that terrible man survived that fire… 

Is there? 

The End…

Or is it?👀

[ciaomarie]

Part 6: What Then?

It's over kids! The longest and final chapter is done. Chris Storer & Co. are probably going to put our beloveds through it in S3, but until then let's enjoy our low-key angst and romance. Post Season 2, Canon-Compliant, swoony, girly, fluffy. A happy-ending obviously.

After 10 years of grinding himself into dust Carm’s body began to surrender. About a month after The Bear’s opening, he came down with a cold that turned into a low-grade fever, a bitter cough with lime green mucus, night sweats, and mind-numbing exhaustion. After two days Sydney and Fak showed up to his apartment and dragged him to the emergency room. It was pneumonia and dehydration. The young male doctor muttered that his lungs sounded just like his father’s, a 40-year smoker. Yes, pneumonia was the primary reason, but a man Carmy’s age should be in better shape. He was out of commission for a whole week. The regret of letting down The Bear crew so soon after the Friends and Family fiasco motivated him to make a couple changes. First, he allowed himself only one emergency cigarette a day, which he needed less and less. Second, he went outside on Mondays, when the restaurant was closed. If the temperature was over 30℉, he took the train or walked to a park. His favorites were Humboldt and the Garfield Park Conservatory. Today he had come to the latter with his sketchbook and pencils in his backpack. Since the renovation he had continued drawing.

As he went towards to his favorite bench, he noticed a slender woman walking ahead of him. Her height, long swishing braids and jacket were identical to Syd’s. He compulsively began jogging towards her. Before he could call out her name, the woman pounced on a tall lanky man in front of her, wrapping her arms around his waist. Carmen had the sensation of being pushed off a diving board unexpectedly, his stomach pitching forward, unable to breathe much less scream before slamming into the water like a brick. The man turned and picked up Sydney up, planting a kiss on her mouth. He spun her around and…she wasn’t Syd. Thank God.

Carm made his way to the bench and hunched over, his head in his hands. She wasn’t Syd he recanted over and over until the feeling of relief gave way to self-reproach. This time it wasn’t her, but one day it would be. Would he be able to live with that? Uncle Jimmy’s warning not to be an overthinking manichino flashed in his mind. It was time to do something. He took out his sketchpad and began thumbing through it, an idea beginning to take shape. Hopefully, it wouldn’t scare Syd away.

The following Monday Sydney was in her cousin’s salon getting her entire life. Her microbraids were taken out, her hair was washed, deep conditioned, her scalp massaged, and now she was getting box braids put in. They were accented with delicate gold hair cuffs. She drowsed in the chair, with an almost empty to-go container of jollof rice in her lap, as her cousin and another hair stylist quietly discussed the latest season of Love is Blind.

“Sydney babe, would you ever go on Love is Blind?” her cousin, Ashley, asked in a louder tone.

Syd startled and rubbed her eyes.

“Never. That’s insane.”

“I got a message on IG that it’s coming to Chicago. You live and breathe your job so when are you going to meet somebody? Maybe your soulmate is in one of those pods!”

“Why don’t you apply then? You could find “love” and get more exposure for the salon.”

“Same for you and your restaurant ma’am, but I have a man.”

“Since when?”

“Since three months ago. His name is David, he’s a chemical engineer and the son of you know, Ms. Jumoke, she goes to the African church on Mackinaw…St. Paul.”

“Yeah, I remember her. Her sister used to watch me when my dad worked nights.”

“Anyways, back to you. Are you dating anyone, or should I send you the show application?”

“I don’t think love is blind. Have you seen the people they cast? Nobody too unfortunate-looking gets on. It’s so shallow.”

 “Ha! You’re one to talk. You have a very distinct type…white boys with tats and muscles.”

“Ashley, there’s been two of them. Like, that’s not a pattern.”

“No, three! This boss, no “partner”, of yours, had Sydney written over him. The family never sees you anymore.”

“I came to lunch at uncle and auntie’s last month! Besides, opening a new business is like having a kid. You know this.”

“Sure, but when I had dinner at your restaurant and you introduced us, he complimented you for five minutes and then followed you to the kitchen like a whipped puppy.”

Sydney grinned biting her lower lip and covered her eyes. Her cousin stopped braiding and hugged her.

“Aww…my baby cousin is finally going to get some!”

“ASHLEY!” Sydney groaned pushing off her cousin’s arms.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but I am happy for you. He is sexy. That neck is thicker than a tree stump.”

Sydney who had just taken a sip of her sweet tea, spat it out all over the mirror.

“That’s on you, Ashley!” she choked out between laughing and coughing.

When she was able to contain herself, she tried to reel her cousin back in. Talking about romantic potential with Carmy gave her too much pleasure. If he was content with the status quo she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Nothing really is going on. We’re business partners and we’re pretty good friends and it’s probably best we keep it that way.”

“Yes, and he gave you an equal share in the restaurant out of the friendly kindness of his heart.”

“You know, I think he would do that, because I’ve put in so much work, but it did feel like it was something more, at least his Uncle Cicero or Jimmy seemed to think so.”

“Girl, watch out. His sister and an uncle like you!? Would you take his last name, hyphenate, or keep Adamu?”

“Ugh, I’m not going there with you! Shouldn’t you be done with my hair by now?”

“If you want it done right it’ll be 2 more hours. If you don’t…30 minutes?”

“Fine, take your time but please let me sleep.”

Sydney closed her eyes, admiring her self-control. She hadn’t told Ashley that Carmy asked her to come by The Bear this evening. He was reworking a few old dishes. The invite was made at the end of the night a few days ago while they were turning off the lights. She said yes as they pulled down the last switch and she couldn’t see his expression, but she heard him exhale loudly as if he feared she’d decline. Sometimes they meet up on Mondays to network with vendors or collaborate on menu ideas, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, she intuited he was hiding something again like when he and Nat surprised her with a share in the restaurant. This time she didn’t pester him for details, knowing that it was probably worth waiting for.

When Syd arrived home at 3:00 pm she could’ve folded laundry and watched an episode of Psych, but she decided to pretend this was a date; well, like she was preparing for a date. It was a long time since her last. She had entered the Convent of Failed Dreams after Sheridan. Then The Beef/The Bear became her world. The light blue cuffed jeans and stripped white and mint green button-down shirt she was wearing was more than appropriate for a food brainstorming session. However, Carmy’s mysterious attitude might be concealing more great news. She might as well look good when and if he had some.

She took a luxuriously long shower, shaved, and rubbed in her mandarin-scented body oil. Then she entered slowly sifted through her closet considering a red jumpsuit, or just nicer jeans and a blouse when her eyes fell on her marigold-colored shirt dress. It was knee length, comfortable, but chic and the color made her complexion pop. She paired it with a brown and gold oval buckle belt and brown flats because she might be standing in the kitchen for hours. After a short struggle she decided to keep the top two buttons of her shirt dress open. It was only a collar bone, not cleavage. Then she considered makeup. She hated wearing a lot of it; her skin felt suffocated with foundation. She did her brows, applied mascara, a little mineral powder, a smidge of highlighter on her cheekbones, and finished with the Fenty “Hot Choclit” gloss bomb her cousin had given her as part of a set for Christmas. Her new braids with the gold cuffs made the look even better and Sydney couldn’t help admiring herself more than usual in her floor-length mirror. She felt so delicious that she ordered an Uber rather than sit on the train. She would take it later or maybe Carm would give her a ride home.

Just before she could lock the door Emmanuel came up the stairwell, his face lighting up.

“My baby girl, you are stunning! Where are you headed?”

“Thanks, daddy. I’m just going to the restaurant. Felt like dressing up for once.”

“So, is it a staff meeting?”

“No, just working on some recipes. I gotta go. My Uber’s waiting.”

Emmanuel leaned against the door and nodded with a sly smile.

“Oh okay, I see. Tell Carmen I said hello. Have fun!”

Sydney’s eyes widened and she ran down the stairs waving goodbye. Her voice couldn’t be trusted.

When the car arrived at the restaurant, the sky was overcast, the evening darker than usual for the time of year. She let herself in and observed the layout. The lights were low, and the back center booth was set for dinner, with a single table candlelit. She could see Carmy in the kitchen already sautéing something. She was headed towards him when he looked up, seeing her through the window and rushed to meet her in the front.

“Syd don’t-” he began before he was immobilized by the vision before him.

Sydney was similarly taken with him and marveled at how often they were of the same mind. Carm was wearing a crisp button-down blue shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the shirt tucked into dark navy pants, and he had gotten a haircut. Somehow it made his eyes stand out more. The sides were moderately tapered, his hair on top remained almost as long as before, and one of his rogue curls was damp against his forehead. He was perspiring, apparently having been cooking for a while.

“Nice haircut”, “You look amazing” they began at the same time and laughed nervously.

Carmy started again, beating his trusty spoon against his palm.

“So, the food is almost done. Just have a seat over there and I’ll be right out.”

Sydney nodded, a little confused and excited for this change of plans. She sat in the booth and noticed the speakers were playing The Teskey Brothers’ “Take My Heart.” She leaned back and closed her eyes letting the lyrics wash over her, her emotions stirring with that sweet ache.

“Take the time to notice what you really need, 

You’ll find it’s a little more simple, than what you thought before,

But I can say for certain that I’ve got more than I ever had before,

By remembering the little things that make my heart warm.

So take my heart and cut it into two,

After all the only thing missing from me was you,

You’re all I want, you’re all I need, you’re the air I breathe,

Cause after all the only thing missing from me was you.”

“Hey, are you good?” Carmy asked  approaching the booth with their plates.

Sydney sat up and cleared her throat.

“Yes, I’m good. I really like that song. Reminds me of-“

 “Otis Redding?”

“Yeah.”

Carm carefully placed the plates on the table.

“Well, speaking of throwbacks, I made-”

“Pork confit with onions and rhubarb!”

 “Yes, and after we’ll have Milk and Honey.

Sydney bit the inside of her mouth trying to absorb what seemed to be happening.  Carm muttered something about getting their drinks and went to the bar for their club sodas. Sydney remained mute, not knowing if she should ask him what this meant now or let it play out. “Don’t get ahead of yourself”, she admonished her heart.

He returned to the booth with their drinks and encouraged her to start, rubbing his chin as she put the first bite in her mouth.

“That’s it Carmy. Maybe even better than the first time,” Syd purred the pork melting on her tongue and some of her anxiety with it.

He blushed and began eating too.

“It is pretty good. Eleven Madison Park taught me a lot.”

The meal was mostly silent except for the occasional ejaculation over some element of the dish. Carmy couldn’t help gazing at Syd, taking in each detail, and rejoicing in the whole. The dip above her collar bone that rose and fell whenever she swallowed, made his head swim. Her lovely face was absolutely regal framed by her new box braids. Syd’s brown skin glowed in the candlelight and a heavenly citrus scent emanated from her. Whenever her eyes caught his obvious staring, he was too filled with gratitude to look away. Sydney’s eyes were soft and filled with kindness for this dear, lovestruck man. He looked helpless. In moments like this she remembered her capacity to build or obliterate him at will.  “Go with the flow” she reminded herself.

After they finished the main, Carmy took their plates and returned, with dessert, Milk and Honey. Syd lit up at the sight and when she tried it a wave of surprise flitted across her face.

"Is that mango? I didn't taste it at first, but then it like...bloomed at the back. Wow!"

"I thought it could use a Sydney twist. You always grab the mango lollipops off Sug's desk."

She resumed eating her dessert. Carm noticed everything about her. She'd played the Teskey Brothers, once or twice while they cleaned after a service, comparing them to Otis.

The Milk and Honey was devoured too soon and just as she wondered what else was on the agenda, Carmy took their bowls and returned with a package tied with twine. He set it in front of her, hands trembling, and sat a little further away than before. Syd perceiving his anxiety didn't raise any questions. She untied the string, removed the wrapping paper, revealing a red leather hand-bound notebook. The cover was engraved with her initials. On the first page was one of Carmy's drawings. It was a curbside view of The Bear. Several lined pages followed, then a drawing of the grapes in bone marrow broth. This alternating of lined pages and his pictures continued throughout the thick notebook. There were more pictures of their recipes, the various designs of her head scarves, and some were of her in different attitudes. In one she was leading expo with the confidence of Napoleon, and another was a portrait, her chin leaning on her hand, with a faraway expression in her large brown eyes. There were several others, so perceptive that Sydney felt naked. Adored. The final picture was surreal. It was a profile of Carmy's head the entirety of which was filled with Sydney wearing a hopeful smile and the scarf and shirt she'd worn her first day at The Beef.

She couldn't stop looking at it, her index finger tracing the lines.

"Sy-d" Carmen croaked his voice thick.

Breaking.

She looked up to find red-brimmed blue eyes searching hers.

"Come here" she breathed and no sooner than she blinked he was at her side.

"Syd" he tried again. Hyperventilating.

"Say more", she gently commanded smoothing his hair back before taking his hand in her lap.

This disarmed him, and he grinned in surprise. That was his line.

"Okay."

Breathe

"I want you Syd. I want to be with you.”

Breathe

“I want to do everything with you or not at all."

Then for the first time he wanted to say the words that had been a weapon for most of his life. They either were forced on him or yanked from him. His mother thought those words meant meekly submitting to her abuse. For Mikey it was cutting him off, so he wasn't exposed to his self-destruction. He never got to say it all. Claire believed it was part of a script. If he would only play his role and ignore who they were underneath, those words would become true enough.

Now, he had a new idea about those words, and they were wrapped up in this beautiful, talented, funny, tender, generous, stubborn, loyal, woman. His friend.

Suddenly they didn't hurt. He continued leaning to rest his forehead on hers.

"I love you."

Sydney blinked slowly as if in a trance, tears dropping to their joined hands.

Carm didn't move, but his face was filled with concern.

'Syd, are you-" he started to ask. Then he was spinning.

Sydney kissed him.

His neurons habitually used to process grief, anxiety, and small doses of happiness, trembled with the unusual amount of joy coursing through him.

Sydney was delirious. Her only thought was, he loves me.

Carmy couldn't close his eyes. The curve of her soft cheek so near his made him want to cry.

Then he did, for Sydney said,

"I love you, too."

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Evermore - Part 2

Summary: It’s been 7 years since the love of your life left you behind for his career. When he decides to come back, is it too late to start anew? Will you decide to start over or realize what's been right in front of you this whole time?

Warnings: 18+ for future chapters. AFAB!Reader. Alcohol/drug use mentioned. General angst. Swearing. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is given the nickname Peach.

Word Count: 2.5K

Masterlist

As soon as Eddie touched down in Indy, he phoned Wayne. Not going into all the gory details that had led him here, but Wayne knew well enough not to prod. He was simply happy to have his boy back even if it was only for a couple of days. This would be the first time the metalhead would be back to Hawkins since he had moved Wayne out of Forest Hills and into a one level ranch style brick home across town. It was modest but enough for the old bachelor. Even then he merely stayed long enough to get Wayne situated then he found himself on the next flight to L.A., thankfully avoiding any other interactions in town, namely you.

He rented an inconspicuous black car at the airport and headed home. In L.A. rockstar Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead driving but back home, he was just Eddie Munson, resident freak and Satan worshiper. The small-minded people of this town still probably thought he had sold his soul to get where he was today. At times, he might agree with them.

The drive went rather quickly, finding himself pulling up to Wayne’s in record time. He grabbed his small bag and slung it over his shoulder making his way up to the front step. Before he made it up to the door, it swung open with a screech of its hinges revealing the older man.

“There’s my boy! Happy Birthday old man!” Wayne beamed, meeting him halfway on the porch engulfing him in a warm, crushing hug. Eddie hugged him back with as much enthusiasm. He led them through the threshold as he welcomed him in.

“How long you in for?” he asked hesitantly. Never knowing what to expect from his nephew.

“Uh, couple of days,” it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Well, you’ve got a bedroom here. No need to hole yourself up in one of these dumpy motels around town son.” He took Eddie’s bag and walked to the room at the end of the hall giving him little choice but to accept the offer.

Standing alone in the living room gave him the chance to inspect the space. Wayne decorated it much like he had the little living area they had back at the trailer. Updated furniture but he still had his collection of hats hung on the wall above the couch. He also had his mugs proudly displayed in the kitchen and dining room. Eddie silently cursed himself for not bringing him a new one but made a mental note to pick up one to gift him before he left.

He noted the picture hung on the wall from his graduation. He stared at the smiling faces in the small oak frame. He studied the way your smile reached your eyes as you gazed up at him like he had hung the moon. At one time his favorite picture, now he despised the way it mocked him.

He lifted his hand to touch your face in the still photo when Wayne cleared his throat as he re-entered the room. Eddie retreating it quickly as if it had burned him. “She’s still in town, you know? She checks up on me from time to time. Doin’ real good for herself.”

Eddie looks away from your warm smile, looking down to the floor clearing his own throat before speaking, “That’s good. She uh… she happy?” He looked back to his uncle expectantly.

“Well, she seems to be. Always keeps herself busy. She bought a house not too far from here a couple of years ago. A nice little 2 story over on Maple.” The old man smiled fondly as he spoke about you. He never told Eddie anything that you two spoke about or even the fact that you had stayed so close after all these years. But Eddie wasn’t naive, he knew you were like a daughter to the older man as much as he was his son. Since moving away he suspected that the two of you were closer than he and Wayne were now.

They caught up over a couple of beers and a hot meal. It had been ages since Eddie had a real homecooked meal. It made him long for something he couldn't quite explain. He spilled his guts to Wayne. Telling him all about the ex he had just left behind, leaving out some of the details. He didn’t need to hear another lecture about the alcohol or drug fueled parties.

Wayne hadn’t expected Eddie, but he had somehow still managed to get him a cake. They laughed and reminisced over the dessert. Then he handed him a small, wrapped package.

“Wayne, you know you didn’t have to get me anything. Save your money for something useful. It would be better spent on yourself.”

“Non-sense! I can’t not get my only son a little something for his birthday.” He waved his hand dismissively.

Eddie opened it, revealing a lighter that held his initials, E. J. M. “Thanks old man.” He clapped Wayne on the back. “I lost my good one a couple months back, so this is perfect.”

The two shared a few more stories before Wayne decided to retire for the night leaving the other to ruminate, once again alone to spiral in his own thoughts.

Watching the dwindling sunlight hide behind the trees, welcoming the twilight, he decided to take a drive. The house was too quiet for his liking. He didn’t have any specific destination in mind, he just wanted to clear his head. He drove through the downtown area, Family Video and the arcade still going strong after all these years. Hawkins didn’t have much else to offer in the way of entertainment.

He noticed the area had gotten nicer, with a quaint little coffee shop occupying the space that Melvald’s General Store used to be. Something about the name caught his attention, but he brushed it off thinking it to be a coincidence. Once the mall had been built most of the mom-and-pop shops shut down, but it warmed his heart to see his little town still thriving.

He found himself in the parking lot at the Hideout, staring up at the all too familiar red and blue neon above the door. It was the same, but somehow different. The outside had been updated and he wondered if the inside had been too. He thought about the little apartment above the bar that held a special place in his heart, and all the memories he made there. It looked deserted now. No lights or signs of life.

A little while later after more aimless travel, he found himself on Maple Street. If he was completely honest with himself this is exactly where he intended to come. He parked in front of the only 2 story on the block. It didn’t look like anyone was home in the quaint little Tudor style home. The house was somehow exactly what he had pictured for you. Not a large home, but certainly taken care of. Manicured lawn and flower beds. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting out front when he noticed a familiar BMW slowly coming down the road and turning into the drive.

“Fucking Harrington,” he cursed out lowly to himself. “Of course, it’s Harrington.”  His grip on the steering wheel subconsciously tightened, turning his knuckles white.

He picked up the pack of smokes, resting in his lap, placing one between his lips to light and that’s when time seemed to slow. His breath hitched as he saw you exit the car. He couldn’t see you fully from this distance, with the light from the porch only giving enough illumination to make out your silhouette. He noted your hair was longer, but you looked good, healthy. Happy. You got out chatting with Steve, not able to make out the conversation but then he heard your laughter float through the air bright and clear. It hit him with such ferocity that if he weren’t sitting, he knew his knees would have failed him. He’d give just about anything to be the one to make you laugh like that again.

Much to his surprise, you didn’t immediately start for your front door but turned your attention to the back of the car. He watched with bated breath as you leaned down and picked up a sleeping form from the backseat. The child stirred slightly as she wrapped her arms tightly around your neck as you made your way to the house with “the hair” hot on your heels. He opened the door for you as you slipped inside and out of sight.

“What. The. Fuck.” he huffed. To say he was stunned would be an understatement. The cigarette between his lips threatened to fall as he was trying to pick his jaw back up from the floor as his mind caught up with what he had just witnessed. You… with a kid, with Harrington in tow. The what ifs started to take over.

He tried to maintain his composure as he drove back to Wayne’s. He picked up a fifth of Jack along the way. He was still having trouble trying to comprehend the scene that had played out before him. Why hadn’t Wayne told him you had a kid? With Steve Harrington of all people. He knew the two of you were close. Always had been. It had been a sore subject for your relationship a time of two. Eddie had been jealous and insecure back then, but you always assured him that there was nothing. And to your credit, never had been. But Eddie wasn’t blind either, he saw the way Steve looked at you. He could almost picture the gloating bastard, “I got the girl. What did you end up with?”

He slipped into the house making as little noise as possible so as not to disturb his sleeping uncle, hiding the liquor under his jacket as he made his way to the spare room. He shimmied out of said jacket and his shoes. Sitting on the bed he exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath since leaving your house. He lifted the bottle and let the dark amber liquid flow down his throat, burning on the way down. Matching the way he felt, burning with something he could only describe as jealousy. He had no reason to be jealous. He knew that. You weren’t his and hadn’t been in a long time. He downed the rest of the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, catching some liquid that slipped from the corner of his mouth.  

His head hit the pillow as his eyes were already growing heavy. He let the drowsiness take hold and prayed like hell to a God he didn’t believe in, along with the help of his friend Jack, it would be a dreamless night.

You woke up the next morning to the smell of bacon and coffee wafting from your downstairs, a most welcome invasion to your senses. Neither you nor Steve grew up in a household that reigned in domesticated bliss but you both try your damnedest around Maddie. He was a great dad, which didn’t come as a shock to anyone that really knows him. He'd always wanted kids and that whole picket fence dream. He just never imagined doing it alone. Which, he was never alone with the help of you and Robin, Maddie had plenty of motherly influence and love.

You yawned, stretched and not at all ready to face the day but the little tornado would be up soon, and you'd have no choice at that point. You grabbed your fuzzy robe and bunny slippers creeping from your bedroom and tiptoeing your way to the guest room. She was still sound asleep, laying on her stomach with her little face smooshed into the pillow and lips slightly parted. The exact sleeping position you'd often find her dad in. 

You cracked the door and padded your way softly down the stairs to the kitchen. Steve was standing at the sink, coffee in hand with a towel slung over his shoulder with his grey sweats and plain white tee hugging the expanse of his chest. He looked deep in thought peering out the window, you didn't want to disturb him, but he turned and noticed you in the doorway. 

"Oh hey," he smiled softly, his warm gaze falling to you. "You're up." He huffed a laugh as you passed by headed straight for the coffee pot without a word. He had already made quite the feast, with biscuits warming in the oven. He would make some lucky woman very happy one day. It was a selfish thought to hope you could keep him like this forever. Misery loves company and all that.

“Sleep well?” you finally asked, while pouring yourself a cup and sitting down at the counter that separated the kitchen from the small dining area.

“Always do when I know my kid is safe and you’re happy.” All syrupy sweet. So sticky, those words could pin you to the very spot you sat.

“She's still passed out, so I think our little adventure wore us all out." 

Just as those words left your mouth you heard a thud upstairs followed by the pounding of little bare feet running across the floor. Steve smirked as he held his mug to his lips. "Spoke too soon, Peach."

Maddie bounded down the stairs and ran into your waiting arms. "How'd my favorite girl sleep?" You picked her up, smoothing her sleep mussed curls. Her pajamas almost too small for her growing frame.

"Daddy was snoring loud!" You let out a hearty laugh and looked over at Steve, as Maddie buried her face tighter to your chest.

"Hey!" He gasped, setting his mug on the counter, his hands finding their way to his hips for that signature dad stance. "That's not very nice. I think you snored louder than I did."

"Nuh uh daddy!" She flew into fit of giggles; head thrown back as you pulled her into a tight hug. You were about to tell him to get her some breakfast when you heard three sharp knocks at the door. 

Maddie immediately jumped down and shouted, "I get it!" 

"Who are you expecting?" He mused, quirking his eyebrow playfully.

You shrugged, "no one,” as you followed her.

"Mads baby, hold on. You don't know who it is." She reached the door before you could catch up to stop her.

"Hi mister!" She greeted all smiles with a small wave.

"Uh... Hi," you heard him respond and your heart dropped as your throat immediately tightened. It was suddenly too hard to swallow. A voice that you could never forget.

You sidled up behind the girl to see the metalhead rockstar standing before you, ripped jeans and leather jacket, his usual go to look. His hair a little shorter and scruff lines his jaw, as if he hadn’t shaved in a week or so.  You noted he was twirling his rings around his fingers, a habit he only exhibited when he was anxious or nervous. His eyes immediately found yours. Those dark, doe eyes you once held so much love for.

"Eddie?" You barely breathed out above a whisper, too taken aback to say anything else.

"Hey Peach." 

Taglist: @josephquinncore @theawkwardbutterfly @jadedhillon @angelina16torres-blog @justheretoreadleavemealone @heyyimmisunderstood @micheledawn1975 @devilslittlebabyxx @luciferiorbxtch @bebe07011 @pettydonuts @munsonmecrazy

[nyaagolor]

Now that you’ve played through all the episodes, how would you rank them?

Oooo this is tough, in part bc I like all of them a LOT. The designations between a few of them, especially in the middle category, are gonna be kinda arbitrary, but I'll do my best :)

Also this got stupid long so I put it under a readmore! Spoilers abound, as one might expect

8. Dawn of the Golden Witch (Episode 6)

I have some... mixed feelings on this one. I understand what Ryukishi was going for in using chick-Beato and Battler's interactions to parallel Battler with Kinzo and show Kinzo's dynamic with Kuwadorian Beatrice via analogy, but I also think it kinda fumbles a bit. There are points (cookie scene being a big one) where I feel like the characters take a backseat to the themes and the whole narrative feels off. Chapters 5 and 6 are supposed to be a perversion of the original story that Beatrice has lost control over, but there are points during 6 especially where I think it kinda loses itself. The rest of it is great (Erika's VA is a goddamn champion) but the very beginning of this chapter is easily my least favorite part of the series

7. Requiem of the Golden Witch (Episode 7)

I don't really have strong feelings on this episode. It would have been the high point in just about any other VN, but Umineko is so consistently fantastic that Episode 7 didn't really hit me as hard as the others. It did make me wish we got more Kyrie though, even if I know exactly why she wasn't as prominent as many of the others. Kind of insane that my second least-favorite arc is something I would rank like an 8 or 9 out of 10, Umineko is just that goated (get it???)

6. Turn of the Golden Witch (Episode 2)

While I do love watching the worst woman ever conceived have a 48 hour progressive mental breakdown, Alliance hits every point I like about the Rosa / Maria dynamic but does it better. It's still an arc I absolutely adore, so it feels weird to rank it so low, but I think about it a lot less than the other arcs so down here it goes. Shoutout to this arc for making me laugh to the point I could no longer speak not once, but twice. Kanon chuuni jacket and leashed Battler you will always be famous

5. Twilight of the Golden Witch (Episode 8)

I know that ranking episode 8 in the bottom half sounds like sacrilege but this arc had so much Kinzo and while I understand his narrative importance I Do Not Like Him. The fact that Kinzo is in the Golden Land but Kuwadorian Beatrice isn't makes me want to throw bricks at things. Other than that though, absolutely stellar. I bawled at the ending. The next day I thought about it more, misinterpreted it, and cried more, then I thought about it more deeply and talked with friends, really started to understand the core messages, and sobbed even harder. As these things tend to go. This episode ruined my life. Would recommend.

4. Legend of the Golden Witch (Episode 1)

note: 4 and 3 are interchangeable I like them both a lot for different reasons

The first time I read this episode, I thought it was great. The further I got into Umineko, the better it got. Now, with a full understanding of the plot and knowing how this chapter serves as self-reflection through the other (Sayo via Natsuhi) it serves as probably the most raw glimpse into Sayo's mindset we get. This episode ruins me and I'm pretty sure when I inevitably reread it I am going to dissolve into a puddle of goo. Also Natsuhi is there and she's my favorite of the matriarchs so I'm a little bit biased :)

3. Banquet of the Golden Witch (Episode 3)

This is one of the funniest pieces of literature I have ever read in my life. EVA-Beatrice, the entire sob story (that I, like Battler, fell for completely), the two towers fight scene... 10/10 no notes. I don't even have the words for how much I adored this one. I wish I could read it again for the first time.

2. Alliance of the Golden Witch (Episode 4)

Ok so fun fact I thought this arc was kinda boring at first, and was a little miffed I had to constantly go through Ange's little side quests when I just wanted to see Beatrice and Battler again. Fortunately, Ryukishi has a beautiful way of changing my mind very very quickly and the more I think about this Episode the more I love it. It has some of the most powerful emotional moments, a really good rehashing of the themes, and is a lot tighter and more condensed than I gave it credit for. There's a LOT that happens in this chapter, and it's been growing on me a lot-- while it doesn't take the number one spot in terms of my favorites, I do think it's the best written of the 8 episodes. As a bonus it focuses a lot on Maria who is one of the best characters ever and my darling baby angel.

End of the Golden Witch (Episode 5)

This is the platonic ideal of Umineko to me. The layers of metanarrative, the perversion of a formula to reiterate its structure, the use of genre conventions as a dual-use in-universe and metanarrative element, Erika. End of the Golden Witch is when I changed from someone who loved Umineko to someone who was obsessed with Umineko. The ending is one of the most visceral parts of the VN and I will fully admit I cried. There is so much happening in this episode I could talk about it all day. Also Natsuhi is there. Hey girlie <3

[amberlynnmurdock]

Blind Faith (Ch. 15)

Chapter Fifteen: Sunday

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You and Matt wake up on Sunday and talk about what's happened and where to go next.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, unprotected sex.

A/N: Thank you all for being here since I started this fic in July. This has been my favorite Matt Murdock fic I've written because of the time and planning I put into it. If you've left a like, or reblog, or a comment on here, THANK YOU. It means the world to me to write fanfic and share it with people who want to read <3 Here is the final chapter of Blind Faith. I hope you like it!

Ao3 Link

Hell’s Kitchen

You stayed with Matt the whole weekend, and the whole weekend seemed to go by just as fast as it had come. One moment, you’re on your way to a date. The next, you’re blacked out and waking up in your savior’s apartment which actually turned out to be your boss’. Yeah, you could say you’ve had a long weekend. 

Your body felt fully recovered from the drug’s side effects, but it was your mind that still needed healing. Despite being saved from that terrible nightmare, you now were taking what you experienced with you everywhere. If it wasn’t you who poured a drink, you wouldn’t have it. 

Sunday. 

Bright and dry. Unlike the previous day’s weather of wet, stormy, and dark. 

And of course, the breaking news on Saturday morning. 

You didn’t want to spend more time than you needed to on him, but when you saw the breaking news flash across WHIH’s channel, your heart dropped. Zack was found by police and arrested for illegal drug possession. It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen him since the start of that dreadful night, so to see the footage of him knocked unconscious and bloody, tied to his dining room table, you froze. As soon as the image came on, Matt shut the TV off. 

Now, Sunday, you lay in Matt’s bed, with Matt beside you. Sunlight shone through his windows and onto the bed, lighting up the bottom half. You stretched under his silk blankets. 

Your legs felt sore from all the sex you had with Matt, which was going to be quite unforgettable once you’ve left. You looked around his living room through the half-opened sliding door and put it to memory: the brown, ratty leather couch. A mismatched dark blue chair. A light gray patterned rug. The brick walls. This bedroom that you’ve committed to memory of how soft his silk sheets felt on your skin just as you’ve committed to memory of the way he kissed your entire body.

You felt your heart flutter at the memory of Matt pulling you roughly against his body the night before. His hands tangled in your hair and pulled gently for his lips to find their way to your neck. Matthew, whispering in your ear that he’s wanted this for so long—he’s wanted you for so long. 

And there he was, doing it all over again. 

“Come here,” he murmurs half asleep, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. 

He didn’t leave your side once this weekend, and you didn’t want him to. Mostly because you weren’t sure if you’d ever have another weekend like this. A weekend with him. Being with him in general. 

It was a question the two of you were avoiding after that first night: where do we go from here? 

You’ve certainly spent most of the time thinking of this. And you were afraid too much had happened for you and Matt to take things any further. But you haven’t said this to him…because you thought you wouldn’t be able to get the words out. 

You’re damn near close to tears even thinking of it. And you know Matt can sense them in the air. He doesn’t ask you why you’re crying. He just pulls you even closer to his chest and kisses your head. He brushes his fingers through your hair. And you want him, just one more time. Once more, before Sunday is over. 

Matt slowly drags his fingers down your back, slipping under the blanket. He traces over your ass and presses one finger on your wet pussy, a way to ask permission.

You nod your head against his chest, gripping his shoulders. 

Matt gently pushes a finger inside your velvety wetness, feeling your pussy tighten around his finger. He pushes deeper inside you, wiggling his finger to find your sweet spot. He knows he found it when you squirm in the bed and shudder against him. 

“One more time,” you whisper.

You’ve wrapped your legs around Matt’s waist and straddled him in one swift movement. The silk blanket slips off your body, exposing yourself in front of Matt again. 

Matt gasps as he feels your wetness coat his lower abdomen, not quite where he needs you most. His cock is swollen hard under the sheets, and he can hear his own heart beating hard in his chest. You lower your face and kiss him deeply, letting his tongue enter your mouth and lick your teeth. He places a hand on your neck and you place yours on top of his, encouraging him to squeeze lightly, and he does. You move the same hand over your right breast, and he feels how hard your nipple is against his palm. He moves his hand in a kneading motion.

Matt can feel and smell your wetness in the air, it makes him feel an intense need in his chest. You slowly inch your way down and rub your soft pussy over the length of his hard cock. Matt rocks against you and grabs a fistful of your hair, gently tugging. 

You reach for his cock and line it with your pussy. Bracing yourself for the pain, you slowly inch down the length of him, feeling his size stretch your tight pussy until you were completely wrapped around him. You feel full and feel a familiar tightness in the pit of your stomach. 

“Oh, God,” you whine as you feel Matt’s cock fully inside you. You begin to rock back and forth on his cock, the more you do, the more you need to feel him all around, like an itch needing a desperate scratch. Matt bucks his hips up into you, bucks his cock hard into your pussy, feeling you clench his hardness. 

“You feel like heaven,” Matt breathes out, letting you bounce on his cock fast and then slow. You slowly lift your pussy off before coming back down hard and feeling the tip of his cock touch that spot deep inside you. And you keep doing it again, and again, and again, bouncing as much as you need to feel him. 

“Mm,” you moan feeling your pussy clench tightly around Matt’s cock. You tilt your body backward and Matt reaches his hands to cover your breasts. He kneads them and bucks his hips into you, pushing his cock deeper. 

“That’s it,” Matt says in a guttural voice. 

He knows you’re about to come by the way you’re moaning and breathing so fast, so fast he almost doesn’t hear you asking him to come inside you again. 

“Matthew,” you say breathlessly as you keep bouncing on his cock. 

Matt places his hands on your waist and rocks you back and forth on his cock for you, as you’re losing pace from going too fast. You come all over his cock and moan so lightly, it causes Matt to finish at the same time, filling you with his hot come, and feeling it gush inside your pussy. He holds you still as he feels his cock pump come one, two, three, four times so deep, you shiver and fall against his chest. 

“God,” Matt moans against your ear, feeling your pussy squeeze his cock for one last drop inside you. It feels so good to come in you, to feel that tightness in the pit of your stomach, to feel Matt’s warmth fill you. It leaks out a lot, you spread your legs and feel Matt slide out of you and the familiar empty feeling of his size leaving you. You practically collapse on the bed again and watch as Matt finds a towel to clean you with. 

You’re shivering in the bed from your orgasm, and Matt takes no time in holding you against him again, as you come down from your high. 

“Was this all a good idea?” You find yourself asking breathlessly against his pillow. Matt’s next to you, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“What?” 

“What we just did.”

“You mean, what we’ve been doing all weekend?” He smirks. You want to wipe it off, but you feel a shiver down your spine as you imagine him covered with a black mask. It was still strange that it was him. 

“Yes,” you say. You’ve come to peace with Matt being your savior, but you weren’t sure it was something you could live with. Perhaps, now was the time to ask Matt: where do we go from here?

“Doesn’t seem like it was necessarily a bad idea,” Matt says lowly, referring to your wetness. You move to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have found out what we would miss,” you simply say. 

Matt’s gaze moves to you, his brows furrowed. He reaches over to caress your chin, to guide you to look at him. 

“What do you mean?” He asks. But deep down, Matt knows exactly what you mean. 

“Tomorrow is Monday, Matthew,” you state plainly. “Tell me, do Karen and Foggy know you’re Daredevil?”

“Yes,” he answers. 

“Do they know I didn’t know?”

After a small pause, he nods. “Yes.” 

“How in the world do you expect me to walk into work tomorrow after a weekend like this? After they find out about us?”

“They won't think of you differently,” he shakes his head. “They’ll think of me differently.” 

“Matt,” you bite your lip, looking at his hazel-brown eyes. There was a time you were dying to know what his eyes looked like behind those dark red glasses. There was a time you were dying to know who he was behind that mask. “Think about what’s happened—what I’ve been through. We’ve been having this affair since the beginning of summer. We didn’t talk for a month, except at work, before I knew you were you. Friday, I was drugged and you saved me.” 

Matt clenches his jaw at the memory of Friday night. It makes him want to bring you closer to him again. But he doesn’t. 

“Then, I find out the man I’ve been seeing in secret was right under my nose all along,” you explain. “This is a lot for me. I can’t just pack it up and move on,” you reach over and gently run your fingers along his jawline, because this may be the last time you’ll ever be this close to Matt Murdock. 

“So what does that mean for us?” Matt asks, although he knows the answer inside. 

“It means, after today, that’s it. I’m going to resign from Nelson & Murdock tomorrow. I’ll write Foggy and Karen a letter and say—“

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll tell them.”

“They should hear from me,” you gently argue. 

“They will. But I will tell them everything.”

“Okay,” you sighed, “that saves me the awkward part of telling them I’ve been hooking up with you.” 

Matt smiles a little, but it quickly fades as your words echo in his ears. After today, that’s it. 

“Is it really over?” Matt asks. “After I finally reveal myself and we have this weekend, that’s it?” 

“Think about what it took for you to finally reveal yourself, Matt,” you whisper. “Look at how we ended up here.” 

As much as it pained him, it was true. What right did he have, after everything he’s put you through? 

“Okay,” he nodded. “If that’s what you want.” 

“It’s not that I want this to be the end,” you said in frustration, wishing he would understand what you were trying to say. “You’re all I’ve wanted this entire time.” You covered your face with your hands, feeling tears brimming your eyes. Why did it have to hurt so much, to make a tough decision like this? 

“I just—I don’t have the same faith I once did before,” you cry softly. “And I want you so bad. I want more weekends like this, I want to be with you, but—“ 

“Too much has happened,” Matt finishes your sentence, trying to remain composed. “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay.” 

“Then why am I still crying? Why does it feel like this?” You wipe your tears away and look around his room again—your safe haven for the weekend. You didn’t want to go. 

“Because what I did to you wasn’t fair,” Matt says softly. “I ruined what could’ve been for us. I have to live with that. Not you,” Matt reaches over and places his hand on your cheek, urging you to look at him. He wipes a tear away with his thumb, caressing your cheek. “Not you.” 

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

After your conversation, the two of you lay in his bed for a few more hours until you decided the longer you stayed, the harder the goodbye would be. You took a shower in his apartment and changed into the clothes his nurse friend left for you. When you finally gathered your things, Matt was waiting quietly on his couch.

“Ready?” He asks. 

“You don’t have to take me home, Matt,” you said, sucking in your tears. “I think it’s best I get a cab.”

“I want to make sure you’ll be safe.”

“I will,” you promised. “Please, Matt. Don’t make this harder for me.” 

Matt nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Let me walk you to the door, then.”

You wanted to smile at his attempts, but it only hurt your heart even more. With every step to his door, you slowed down your pace. Just as you reached for the knob, Matt did too, and your hands touched for a brief moment before Matt is taking your hand and gently pushing you against his wall. 

You close your eyes and let him do what he wants, because you want this, too. He leans down and gently presses his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching. Matt’s strong hands are on either side of your waist, and you’re taken back to all those times he’s held you on your roof, under a black mask. His lips ghost over yours, and it takes you to gently nudge him for him to fully press his lips onto yours. 

Matt holds you still as he kisses you deeply, more deeply than he ever has before. He takes this moment to remember your scent, your heartbeat, your breathing because he’s not sure when he’ll be able to be around you again. This is all he has to remember you. This moment that having blind faith has led him to—both of you. He kisses you again and holds your face in his hands. He pulls back to kiss your jaw, to kiss behind your ear, to kiss your neck. Matt will never forgive himself for this. 

“I love you,” you whisper. “I have to go.” 

“I lied to you, that one night,” Matt says with pain in his voice. “I do love. I love you. And I don’t want you to leave. But if it means anything, it’s the most intense feeling I’ll ever have to hold on to be left by you.” 

And with one last kiss, you’re out the door, out of his apartment, out of his life for a long, long time. 

When he hears you get inside a cab, Matt charges up his phone that’s been out of battery the entire weekend and calls Foggy to tell him everything that’s happened. 

TAGS: @starry-night-20 @sumsytee @queerqueenlynnn  @mattmurdocksstarlight @marvelcinematiquniverse @hailey-murdock @yeonalie (please let me know if I missed you!)

P.S. There will be an epilogue!

[uconnposter01]

Falling

Chapter 1

Azzi x black oc

3.K words

warning: cursing

August 2021  3rd person pov

“Fuck,fuck fuck” Nuveah mutters  as she jumps up in a panic.

  She couldn't believe that she slept through her alarm. She was late for her first class on the very first day. Grabbing her essential things Nuveah slipped  on a pair of black Adidas joggers, a white shirt and a pair of black Crocs Nuveah ran out of her dorm room to the lecture hall, thankfully it was only a five minute run. All eyes turned to look at Nuveah as she burst inside of the lecture hall ten minutes late. 

“I’m sorry Mrs Flanagan I slept through my alarm, it uh- won't happen again” Nuveah says trying to catch her breath. 

“Name?” The professor questions unamused. 

Every year there is at least one student who ends up late to her class so this is no shock, she just hopes this won’t be an everyday thing. 

“Nuveah Sanchez '' Nuveah mutters quietly. 

She felt embarrassed, especially with everyone staring at her. Nuveah honestly wishes the floor would swallow her right now. 

“Find a seat”  Profesor Flanagan answers dismissively. 

Nuveah’s eyes scanned the lecture hall looking for an empty seat in a room with at least 50 other people, It’s intense. It made Nuveah’s heartbeat fast and her hands clammy. 

“Today Ms. Sanchez '' Professor Flanagan says impatiently. 

“Sorry” Nuveah says softly, sighing.

 Noticing an empty seat towards the back of the lecture hall sat a brown skinned girl with glasses, and curly hair whose hair is in a high bun. The girl is beautiful, the slight smile on her looks welcoming and inviting. Taking a chance Nuveah decides to make her way over there to sit next to the girl. It's a win-win situation in Nuveah's mind. The girl looked very familiar to Nuveah but she can't remember where at the moment she's too anxious to really focus on her surroundings or faces.

Azzi notices the girl walking towards her direction and her breath hitches in her throat as Nuveah walks towards her, she is absolutely gorgeous. 

“Can I sit here?” Nuveah mumbles quietly. 

“Yeah of course,” Azzi says, looking away trying to hide her blush.

 Looking at the girl up and down Azzi couldn't help to get very intimated. In Azzi's opinion she thinks she's the most beautiful girl she's ever seen. Her hair is black with green highlights and it's straightened. It kinda reminds Azzi of Shego’s from Kim Possible. Her eyes are almond shaped and the lightest shade of brown and that color just  became Azzi’s favorite color. She’s well built, She has to play some kind of sport or go to the gym often. Maybe if Azzi played her cards right she could get her number and become her gym buddy and maybe something more.

           Nuveah is trying her hardest not to stare at the light skinned girl next to her, but it's so hard she's so beautiful and Nuveah is way too anxious and intimated to ever say a word to her hell it took everything in Nuveah to ask her to sit next to her. The two girls stole glances at each other whenever the other wasn't looking, both of them not listening to the lecture being presented.

      After catching Nuveah look at her one too many times Azzi decides to take charge and speak to the girl. 

“Nuveah right?” Azzi asks quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone else. 

“Yeah,” Nuveah mumbles, not trusting her voice.

“Azzi” The shooting guard responds,holding out her hand for Nuveah to shake. 

            Nuveah apprehensively shakes Azzi's hand worried that her hand is way too sweaty. Neither girl let's go for a minute feeling the spark of energy that flowed through them. After a minute of shaking hands and smiling like idiots, Azzi pulls her hand away. Realization hits Nuveah like a ton of bricks after realizing who is sitting next to her.

“Azzi Fudd” Nuveah blurts out staring at the girl next to her. 

“Yeah,” Azzi replies, laughing slightly. 

“Imma fan,I'm sorry I didn't recognize you, Also P talks about you a whole fucking lot” Nuveah rambles slightly. Azzi frowned upon hearing Paige’s nickname,she knows how Paige gets down and she prays that Paige isn't dealing with this girl. 

“Are you close with Paige?” Azzi questions quietly.

“Yeah, we hang out almost everyday,” Nuveah reveals quietly. 

   Hearing the piece of information made Azzi feel annoyed and jealous, Azzi rarely felt jealous so she feels a little ridiculous being jealous over Paige being friends or maybe when more with Nuveah especially since she just met her.

“Hmm okay” Azzi says, pursing her lips and looking back towards the professor.

Confused, Nuveah keeps glancing back at Azzi wondering if she said something wrong to the girl. After the professor ends class Nuveah bolts out of the lecture hall without another word. Her social battery has run out and she doesn't want to be stuck in a conversation with anyone,  except for Azzi she's the only exception in Nuveah’s eyes . But she feels as though she said something to make the girl not want to be bothered with her, she needs to talk with her sister to figure out what she did wrong. 

      Azzi frowns, noticing Nuveah sprint out of the lecture hall she wanted to get her number or social media or something. But she guesses it's for the best especially if she's messing with Paige. Walking into her shared apartment with Amari, Azzi notices most of the team is there and she  flops down on the couch and dramatically sighs.  

What’s up?” Amari questions noticing Azzi being dramatic

“I met the finest girl today” Azzi says while looking up at the ceiling. 

“Ooh okay, I see you Az, did you get her number?” Amari questions smiling at her friend.

“No, and I think she's fucking Paige” Azzi pouts while putting her head in her hands. 

“Wait who is Paige fucking now?” Aubrey asks only catching the last part of Azzi's sentence.

“Her name is Nuveah, and she's sooooo fine, but she said she hangs out with Paige and from how quiet she got when talking about and how she wouldn't look me in the eye I know they have to fucking” Azzi complains.        

“Nuveah who?” Aubrey asks, sitting down on the couch next to Azzi. If it's the Nuveah that Aubrey is thinking then Azzi has nothing to worry about. 

       “Sanchez I think,she came in late today in class and she sat right next to me and omg she was so beautiful, oh my God I think I'm in love already” Azzi excitedly explains her hand over her heart as she does so.

“Wait short,  brown skinned, light eyes, curly hair, strong as fuck Nuveah?” Aubrey questions once more. 

       “Her hair was straight but everything else is right,” Azzi says, raising her eyebrow. Aubrey burst out laughing after Azzi confirmed her suspicions, she could see why Azzi would misinterpret Nuveah saying she hangs out with Paige as they were messing around. 

“Stop laughing at me” Azzi mumbles growing increasingly annoyed with the girl.

“My bad, Paige and Nu-Nu aren't fucking they are homies, you ain’t got nothing to worry about” Aubrey says flashing a Azzi a smile reassuring smile. Hearing that Azzi stopped being annoyed and the frown on her face turned into a smile knowing that she still had a shot with the girl. 

     “Did you get her number?” Amari questions. Azzi’s smile instantly fades, being reminded that she didn't get the girl’s number,Azzi is determined to get it in the next class.

“No, but we have class again on Wednesday. I'll get it then,” Azzi says, hopeful and ready for when she sees Nuveah again. 

    Meanwhile Nuveah frantically pounded on her sister's dorm. Her sister’s roommate and fellow gymnast Jazmine opens the door with an attitude. 

“Nuveah stop banging on the fucking door” Jazmine says as she swings open the door annoyed with Nuveah. 

“Is Aniyah here?” Nuveah asks, ignoring Jazmine’s attitude. 

Nuveah can’t stand the light skinned girl standing in front of her, she's bougie, judgmental, entitled and always has a shitty attitude. She was so mad when she found out she was Aniyah’s roommate whenever Jazmine is around Nuveah knows she’s gonna have a terrible time. 

“She lives here right?” Jazmine asks Nuveah, rolling her eyes.  

 Nuveah's eyes narrowed and bit her tongue as she counted in her head from 50, she didn't want to disappoint her sister and break the promise she made to her sister to not argue with Jazmine. 

“Can I come in, I need to talk to her bout some shit” Nuveah grumbles, looking at the ground ignoring Jazmine’s previous statement. 

Jazmine rolls her eyes and opens the door wider letting the girl in the dorm room. Nuveah walks past Jazmine and the gymnast looks  her up and down as she walks by which makes Nuveah feel a little self conscious. 

“MoMo you dressed?” Nuveah questions walking inside of her sister's room. 

“It don't matter bitch,you already in here” Aniyah says, pausing her TV show.  

“Stop bitching” Nuveah says kissing her teeth

“What do you need, Pook?” Aniyah asks, whining as she does so.

“I met Azzi Fudd in class today , and I fucked up I need to know if I did something wrong” Nuveah stresses.

“Not you immediately fumbling a baddie” Aniyah teases, laughing slightly.

“Girl fuck you, can I tell you what happened or not”? Nuveah asks, growing annoyed with Aniyah.

“Go ahead Pook”Aniyah says, rolling her eyes. 

“I was late to class, I sat next to Azzi and we talked for a little bit. I mentioned being friends with Paige. She then got quiet for the rest of class,” Nuveah explains.  

“I mean y'all were in class, maybe she just wanted to pay attention” Aniyah says shrugging.

“Maybe,but she asked me if I hang out with Paige and when I said yeah a lot  she stopped talking” Nuveah responds. 

  The way Azzi just turned away from her and stopped talking to her earlier really has her anxious. She swears she said something wrong, but if Aniyah says she didn't, she’ll believe it; she has way better judgment and social skills than her.

“Did you get her number Pook?” Aniyah questions softly. 

Depending on her answer Aniyah can stop Nuveah from having a panic attack right now even if she didn't get the shooting guard’s number Aniyah has a back up plan that too also. 

“No, I was overstimulated after class so I just got up and ran here, I fumbled, didn't I ?” Nuveah mumbles looking down at the floor.

“No Pook you didn't, just try to get her number next class” Aniyah says softly. 

“Thank you MoMo,I genuinely don't know what I would do without” Nuveah says hugging Aniyah.

“That’s cute and I but I need to rant, are y'all done yet?”Jazmine questions looking down at her nails.

“Yeah, do you want me to leave or stay?” Nuveah asks, letting go of Aniyah and avoiding looking at Jazmine.

“I don't care, I just wanna talk about my sneaky link” Jazmine says flopping down on the bed. 

“Girl, this is a twin sized bed, what are you doing?” Nuveah complains about the lack of space. 

“If you  have an issue, sit on the floor,” Jazmine huffs, rolling her eyes once more at the girl. She couldn't stand Nuveah, she always had something smart to say, she likes Aniyah though so she tried to not to argue with the girl. Nuveah immediately drops to the floor not wanting to be that close to Jazmine.

“Anyway, my sneaky link fucked me in the back of her car and, but this time we were outside her dorm building  so anyone could've saw, I think I'm one step closer to meeting her teammates and roommates” Jazmine explains excitement etched on her face. 

“That’s good boo,you still didn’t tell me what team she plays on” Aniyah says smiling. She didn't want to tell the girl that she sounds utterly insane, knowing Jazmine she probably wouldn't listen anyway.

“You sound delusional as fuck bro” Nuveah deadpans. She refused to lie to the girl like Aniyah does,she won't be feeding into Jazmine’s delusions any time soon. 

“And you sound like a hating ass bitch” Jazmine snaps. She hates Nuveah’s attitude,she’s always negative and brings down the vibes in Jazmine’s opinion.

“Your mom is white isn't she” Nuveah states. 

Aniyah sends a sharp look in Nuveah’s direction, with her sister’s lack of a filter and Jazmine’s smart mouth  she can see Jazmine and Nuveah getting into a verbal altercation way sooner than later and she will be in the middle of it. 

“What it was just a question” Nuveah says trying to hold in her laughter. 

“I mean yeah,but what does that have to do with anything?” Jazmine questions her eyes, narrowing at  Nuveah.

“Nothing continue,” Nuveah says, smirking.

“What team does she play on?” Aniyah questions once more. 

“If I told you she wouldn't be a sneaky link, but we need to get you a boo, you see anyone here that you are attracted to” Jazmine asks. 

“I mean not really, I've only been here for like a week but Paige Bueckers is cute as fuck” Aniyah says, her nose scrunching in the process. 

“Mhm, don't go for her,” Jazmine says dismissively, waving her hand.

“Why?” Aniyah questions curiosity etched all over her face. 

“She's a player, you're gonna get your heart broken, she's just not a good person to try to pursue something with” Jazmine dismisses once more.

“I mean it's not like I'm looking for some serious shit”Aniyah replies shrugging.

“Girl,just trust me she has a big ass roster she’s fucked more than half of the school,you don't wanna deal with that shit, get her outta your pretty little mind” Jazmine said tapping Aniyah's forehead lightly.

“How do you know?” Nuveah questions not liking that Jazmine is dragging her friend’s name through dirt.

“My friend sometimes deals with her” Jazmine dismisses, cutting her eyes over at Nuveah.

  “What friend?” Nuveah questions one of her eyebrows raised.

 “ Damn, You nosy as fuck”Jazmines complains looking over at Aniyah so she could to tell her sister to stop. 

“I just don’t appreciate you lying on my friend like that, does she have a couple of girls she sleep with yes, but is she out here fucking half of school no” Nuveah says her nose flaring slightly. 

“Since when have you been friends with Paige”? Jazmine questions her eyebrows raising in curiosity. 

“And you said I was nosy” Nuveah responds  laughing

“Answer the goddamn question Nuveah no one has time for your shit you always want to play around this is exactly why no one likes you” Jazmine says snapping at Nuveah. 

“Since last year if you must know, I'm gonna head out though MoMo I'll see you later”Nuveah grumbled as she left the room. 

“That wasn’t cool,when she calms down you owe her an apology” Aniyah says.

  Nuveah doesn’t hear Jazmine’s response, but she's sure she's defending herself. Slamming the door on her way out, Nuveah makes her way to her dorm apartment, fuming. She wishes her sister had roomed with someone other than Jazmine. She's unsure if she could put up with her the entire school year; she will make Aniyah come to her place. 

“Woah, what crawled up in your ass and died,” Nuveah’s best friend and roommate, Gia, asks after Nuveah slams the front door shut.

“Nothing I'm going in my room” Nuveah grumbles. 

“Alright dude I'm here if you need me” Gia said knowing by the tone of her voice that Nuveah needs to be alone.

 Flopping onto her bed, Nuveah’s thoughts are filled with Azzi and Jazmine. Eventually, as Nuveah calms down, her thoughts only contain Azzi. Wednesday couldn't come fast enough. Nuveah decides it's best to leave a note with her socials on it, knowing she won't be confident to ask the girl for hers. After gaming and watching TV, Nuveah finally lays down, hoping Tuesday would go by fast so she can see Azzi. After her nightly routine, Azzi lies in bed, slowly falling asleep. Nuveah is on her mind as she does so. Her dream is filled with Nuveah and the future she wishes she could have with her. Tuesday is a blur for both girls as they have practice and classes to keep their minds occupied.

    Azzi woke up around 7 am, made her a protein shake, and carefully spent an hour and a half getting showered and dressed.

“I thought you said you had class” Paige states to  the girl who is currently spraying perfume on herself. 

“I do,” Azzi said, checking her outfit out in the mirror. “Then why are dressed like that?'' Paige questions, confused as to why she was wearing a white crop top and short shorts and sandals.

“I just want to,”Azzi replies, checking herself out one last time. Walking into the lecture hall Azzi sees Nuveah is already there saving a seat she assumes for her, it makes Azzi’s heart swell with pride. 

“Hey” Nuveah says, removing her backpack from the seat next to her. She couldn't help but check Azzi,she looked so good Nuveah would be stupid not to catch a quick glance or two.

“Hey” Azzi responds with a smile gracing her features.

“How’d you sleep?” Nuveah questions. 

“Good,you?” Azzi asks politely.

“Pretty good,” Nuveah responds. The duo are quiet for the rest of the class,and sure enough when class is dismissed Nuveah once again bolts out of class before Azzi can say a word to her. But this time left in her place is a piece of paper with her Instagram and finsta on it.

A short while later Nuveah receives a notification that almost causes her to scream in Gia’s ear

Azzi35 started following you

WhoisAzzi started following you

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

Hey, this is my first time posting a story on Tumblr

criticism is more than welcomed

I hope y'all have a good day

[thecandlesticksfromlesmis]

which brick digression is your favorite?

Billows and Shadows babyyyyy

Literally a whole chapter about the criminal justice system wrapped in a man falling overboard a ship metaphor. It’s so fucking 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

here are a few of my fave passages

[obetrolncocktails]

Karma Sutra | Sam Kiszka X Reader | Part 1

Warnings: In this chapter-slut shaming, objectifying women, use of alcohol. This series will include 18+ content. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This series is one of the first that I put out. It has been left incomplete for quite a while. I felt that it needed some updating and reworking, but it is one of my favorite plot archs...so get ready. There will be fluff, smut, and a WHOLE lot of angst, so pull up your panties and get ready.

Summary: Chasing after the boy who is easily known as one of the sexiest and cockiest on campus...what could go wrong?

You felt eyes on you as you walked across the quad between classes. For what reason, you couldn’t place, but you knew that you were being watched. Peering across the quad, eyes flitting in all directions, you attempted to find the source of your insecurity. Nothing. You bundled yourself tighter within the thickness of your peacoat, shielding yourself from the blustery December cold. Making your way under an awning, you smelled the familiar odor of cigarette smoke. It wafted in your direction, beckoning for you to turn your gaze upward. Ugh. Of-fucking-course. Sam douche-bag-extraordinaire Kiszka. “Cold as fuck out here,” he said, puffing out O-rings of smoke from the side of his mouth. 

“Mm, so you decide to step out in twenty-four degree weather to smoke a ciggy?” You spat sarcastically. 

 “Bad habit, sweetheart. You know what they say…they die hard.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and kept walking away from him. “There’s a party on the row tonight–you coming?” your eyebrows furrow instantly, turning to meet his gaze. 

“I haven’t been to a frat party in over a year, Sam. Why would I?” He threw his hands in the air, shrugging. His cigarette remained burning between two fingers, dropping ashes every few seconds to the ground. “Just thought it might be nice to see a refreshing face for once.” 

What the fuck? Why was Sam taking sudden interest in me? “I gotta make it to class. See you around.” You waved him off and continued walking to class. 

“Hey, Y/N, for old-time’s-sake, it really would be nice to see you there.” His eyes were the color of chocolate, which was ironic. His beauty could melt any girl on campus just like the confection–except for you. You would always be the exception.

“Bye, Samuel.”

Samuel. He liked that. He bit at the corner of his lip, his eyes following you as you disappeared within the halls. Mm, I’ll save her for later. Blowing out the last puff of smoke, he stubbed out his cigarette against the brick wall, dropping it carelessly to the ground before strolling away to the next entertaining encounter. 

***

Philosophy class soon turned into Philo-so-fucking-boring class extremely fast. Your mind wandered from the lecture, unable to focus. Why the fuck was he watching me? The truth that you wouldn’t even admit to yourself was that you had feelings for Sam, and had since freshman year. They had remained in the recesses of your mind ever since. For one, he was an asshole. You and almost every girl on campus knew it; however, some part of you would always have a soft spot for him, no matter how cocky he was. He just didn’t know it, and you sure as hell wouldn’t show it either. Fuck that red turtleneck sweater. Why did he have to look so good in it? You caught yourself doodling random hearts and sparkles in the margins of your notes as you thought about him. 

“Pssst, hey.” Your best friend, Paige jabbed you from behind with the top of her pen. “Pay attention, there’s going to be an exam tomorrow.” Your hands flew to cover your notebook from her view. “What are you hiding?” She whispered, curious as to why you were being so secretive. 

“It’s nothing, just drawings.” You realized a little bit too late that mere drawings wouldn’t have elicited such a reaction.

 “Doesn’t seem like it’s just a few drawings.”

 “Ladies, would you like to share your conversation with the class? Is it more important than the material that will be on tomorrow’s exam? Would you like to take it today after class since you don’t seem invested in the review?” You fell silent and averted eye contact, heat creeping up your necks to your faces. The remainder of class passed excruciatingly slow. When three o’clock finally arrived, you filtered out of the classroom to meet up with Paige. 

“So I was thinking…how would you feel about going to the Row tonight.” Meeting your expectations, she recoiled instantly. 

“Uh, who are you and where is Y/N? You never go to parties.” You turn away from her and begin to walk down the hallway. 

“I just thought it might be nice to do something different for a change.” Your cheeks were flaming again. 

“You’re such a liar. Who is it?” You bit your lip. 

“What do you mean?” you stalled. Paige stopped you mid-gait, grabbing at your arm. 

“Who is it, Y/N?” You had no choice but to look at her. 

“Ryan McClean.” Another Lie. It was a good replacement though. He was sweet, good looking and respectful. At least as much as could be expected for a frat boy. Paige stepped back with a hand on her hip. 

“You’ve never mentioned him, let alone told me you have a crush on him.” You continued to walk, ushering her forward.

 “Well, it kinda happened fast. I don’t know–I was hoping to see him tonight. I wanted to look cute.” You saved face by putting on an extra air of confidence. 

“Okay, okay I see you!” Paige grinned, snapping her fingers left and right as she walked. 

“Unfortunately, I have a date with Mark tonight–so I won’t be able to go.” You nodded, secretly relieved that she wouldn’t have to see you lose what little humility you had left. 

“Stay connected to the phone, don’t drink too much, play safe, get home safe,” she counted off on her fingers. 

“Thank you, Mom. Would you like to dress me, too?” you asked, grinning. Paige rolled her eyes playfully. 

“Actually, now that you ask, let’s go pick out an outfit that doesn’t scream…pilgrim lost in the twenty-first century.” You eyed her for a silent moment, challenging each other not to laugh, but you were the first one to lose, throwing your head back and cackling at her. 

“You are such a bitch!” You said, elbowing her. “Let’s go." Paige wouldn’t let you go to that party without looking your best.

***

“Lacy Monroe.” “Total babe, 13/10. Would fuck her any day,” Wyatt Sellars interjected, a massive grin pasted on his face. 

“Okay, how about Holly?” Matthew asked the question from the ping-pong table, tapping balls back to Wyatt. Christian Hearst entered the room next, a towel wrapped around his waist, applying deodorant to his armpits. 

“Wilson? She’s a bit of a bitch, but I'd chase her for a little while until I got bored.” He chuckled, walking to the fridge for a beer.

“How about Y/N?” The room falls silent, save for the fast bounce of the forfeited ping pong ball that was previously in play. Samuel Francis Kiszka. He sits cross-legged on a lounge chair in the corner, knocking back the rest of his IPA.

“You mean the sexiest girl at school?” Wyatt offered. “Is she Mormon or something? She could have easily made her way through the entire football team by now.” 

“Jesus, you dumb fuck, she’s not Mormon.” Christian came behind Wyatt, thumping him on the back of his head. 

“Well-I didn’t know, I–” 

“I think she’s stunning,” Sam says, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. His grin was obvious. His cunning expression cut through the room.

“Okay, asshole. What’s with the look?” Christian moved to the couch, taking a seat across from sam. 

“I saw her today. Walking to class.” He licked his lips as he talked. Christian rubbed his hands together, prepared to hear about some salacious romp. 

“And?” 

Sam’s eyes grow wider. “Oh, n-nothing happened, I just saw her.” A chorus of disappointed scoffs filled the room.

 “You suck, man. You literally had us going, just for fucking nothing,” Wyatt whined. 

“It’s not like anything would happen– I’m pretty sure she’s a virgin anyway,” Sam continued. 

“Oh, so she’s the pick of the litter. Nice!” Matthew interjected. Sam looked at him with a minor look of disgust, shaking his head. 

“So why are you being a pussy, Sam? I Bet–” Christian pointed his finger at Sam in a telling gesture. “I bet you…I bet you that she won’t let you take her virginity before the month is over.” Rising from his seat, Sam padded to the kitchen tossing his beer bottle across the room, where it clattered into the trash can.

“I bet you I can make it happen. Six hundred dollars and open supply of weed for one month–split evenly.” His grin emanated throughout the room.

“Aha, bet!” Matthew said, coming around Sam to slap him on the back in approval. “Paying up like a man.” Sam took a long gulp of his beer before retreating to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

***

Just as you finished your makeup, your hand slipped and your eyeliner streaked messily through the eyeshadow that you had just applied so effortlessly. “Fuck!” An exasperated sigh escaped your parted lips as you wiped at your eyelid to salvage the look. After several minutes, you emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed except for your top–you didn’t want to ruin it with makeup stains. Just as you pulled your head through the sparkly black crop top, your phone chimes. Paige.

Show Ryan what he’s missing, bitch! Shake that ass in my absence, too. Stay safe, I love you. Call me if you need me.

Right. Ryan. My little secret. You sent her a quick text wishing her well on her date. Pulling a pair of gold hoops through your ears, you got a notification that Carlos, your Uber driver, was waiting outside of your apartment. Grabbing a few last minute items, you made your way downstairs. Pulling up to campus, you noticed one thing first. It was loud. So loud in fact, that your head  was pounding by the time you made it to the Row. The identical houses were arranged in a perfect square with a patch of green lawn in the middle. Adirondack chairs littered the grass, loosely thrown around a glowing brick fire-pit. Girls looped themselves around boys, chattering aimlessly with beverages that sloppily poured over the sides of their cups and onto their laps and into the grass. They giggled and slurred–their heels dug into the earth, causing several unfortunate partygoers to trip and lurch, earning themselves yet another spilled drink or bitchy laughs from gaggles of jealous and judgemental girls.  

You rolled your eyes, debating on going after all, but your feet were already moving underneath you, carrying you along the sidewalk that led to each house. Who were you to think that it was smart to come here alone, especially when it was the first party you had attended in God-knows-how long? 

“Y/N!” Your eyes darted upward, trying to place the voice that was calling your name. You found him. Your eyes met his and you instantly felt like you were drowning. A vignette seemed to filter out the unnecessary material around you; the blaring music muted, the giggles and shouts subsided into soft static. He was impeccably dressed in navy silk. A tailored blazer skimmed his bare chest, provided as a mere accessory rather than a true piece of clothing. His bottoms hugged at his frame, falling just above a perfectly shined pair of leather loafers. His hands were casually tucked into his pockets as he looked directly at you–with that fucking smile. 

He strode towards you, knocking you out of the trance. Your breath hitched, sending bolts of panic through your system as he approached. Oh shit, what do I do? You thought, averting eye contact as you made every attempt to not look as awkward and helpless as you really were. 

“You’re not a hologram, right? If I remember correctly, you acted like you would rather be caught dead than come to the Row.” His feet landed in front of you as he arrived. You met his eyes, crossing your arms defensively.

“Well, I wanted to see what I was missing–by the looks of it, it just looks like it’ll lead to meaningless sex and a bitch of a hangover.” He readjusted in his spot, cocking an eyebrow upward. He likes your sass. He likes it a lot. 

“Well, it is a party, Y/N, what better to do than get drunk and fuck, hmm?” You scoffed at him, stepping off to the side, making your way to the first house. You heard his shoes tapping the pavement as he walked. Good. You wanted him to follow you. 

“What is your drink of choice?” He asked, trying to change the subject to something more playful. “I usually stick with tequila–the citrus notes are just–” You heard him kiss the tips of his fingers in a “chef’s kiss” gesture from behind you. You couldn’t help but grin, careful to maintain your guarded disposition. 

“Got any Pappy?”  You asked, turning over your shoulder with a grin. “I’m an expensive lay.”

Sammy snorts. “Two thousand dollar bourbon? You know the fucking answer, sweetheart.” That earned him a smile. You turned to face him and were immediately tossed upside down at the sight of his dimples. 

“Well, we do have some lovely white claw reserve that was bought at this very upscale store. Maybe you know it–Target?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at him. 

“Shut up, Sam!” He smiled warmly, coming beside you, pulling an arm around your shoulder.

 “Let’s go find something worth drinking, hmm?” You hadn’t processed what was happening, but you didn’t want to, either. You let it happen, weighing risk versus reward.  You stepped forward into the party with him at your side, forgetting the lie you had told paige. So much for finding Ryan. Instead, you found Sam. 

End of Part.

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[victimeyez]

The Aftermath

pt 3 of Professional//Victim x Prev x Next x

VOTE for the next chapter here UPDATE: CLOSED

After an intense "historical reenactment", someone needs to patch up Tommy.

TAGLIST: @suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi   @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

CW: Drugged whump, medical whump, captive whumpee

~

“-dead yet?”

Tommy started to come to, and immediately began to take stock of his body. 

He was laid on his front, sideways in the backseat of the car, drooling on Caius’s lap. His memories of Darwin started to come back to him, and he closed his eyes against them sharply, as if to stop them from coming. 

Caius replied to the other voice. 

“He’s breathing. Looks like he’s waking up, actually.”

Caius’s hand steadied him by his shoulder, which was mercifully numb. Actually, his whole body felt numb, and weak, when he started to stir.

“Don’t move too much. I had to break out the injectables to keep you from fully going into shock.”

“Is he going to bleed all over my car again? Caius, I swear to god-” 

“Rory, shut your damn mouth. This isn’t amateur hour anymore.”

“Is he stable?” Michelle asked. Tommy wanted to know that, too.

Caius drummed his fingers absentmindedly on Tommy’s shoulder. He could feel the pressure of it distantly, but without pain or feeling. It felt weird to be so disconnected from his body.

“Stable enough, until we get him to Sam. I packed all the holes in with bleedstop and he’s practically mummified in quickclot. We went through most of the injectables.”

“Sam’s gunna be pissed,” Rory added helpfully.

“He isn’t paid to get pissy. He’ll deal.”

“If this guy wants another session, he’ll have to come to us.” Rory continued to complain. 

“No, he can’t. He has a whole…set-up.”

They continued to talk while Tommy drifted in and out. 

    ��                                                                       ~

Caius and Tommy were dropped off outside of Dr. Sam Snow’s hidden office. They had an old wheelchair in the trunk to put him in, but the last of the meds were waning. He was in a considerable amount of pain with the bumps of every little bit of gravel or crack in the road as Caius pushed him along. He grit his teeth and tried to keep his groaning to a minimum. 

Caius rapt on an unassuming alley door three times, and waited. Knowing Sam, it would be a few, so he leaned against the bricks and started scrolling through his phone.

They sat in whatever their version of companionable silence was, until there was a familiar grinding sound behind the door. Caius pocketed his phone and stood back behind Tommy’s wheelchair, right as the door opened, thick as a bank vault.

A man leaned out, with dirty blond hair too scruffy to look professional. Sam looked perpetually bedraggled.

“Oh good, my favorites,” He addressed Caius, before turning to eye Tommy in the wheelchair.

“That bad, huh?”

“Even worse,” Caius said with a rueful grin.

Sam stepped out long enough to grab the handles of Tommy’s wheelchair, and popped him onto the back wheels to get him over the entranceway stair. Tommy shrieked in pain, muted somewhat by his instinct to keep his lips closed. He grit his teeth, protective of his wounded mouth. 

“Shut up,” Sam said mildly, and pushed him through the doorway down a dimly lit hallway.

This part of the building certainly didn’t feel like a doctor’s office. To the left and right there were rooms long abandoned, filled with broken glass and furniture, painted in old graffiti. 

Caius followed, pushing the red button beside the door to make it pull closed and lock behind him. 

They took a hard right and came to a metal door that Sam opened with a badge and a code. It always felt so unnecessary, but Tommy could only guess at the value of the contents within. 

The door opened and Sam pushed him through, walking him past his office on the right and straight into a wide, square lab that the networks of hallways flanked. It was coldly lit, but bright inside, with a generous strip of window circling the room for open visibility. Tommy was pulled backwards into the familiar glass door, and it felt like the temperature dropped a good five degrees past the threshold. 

“You’ll want to put him on his front,” Caius offered, stepping in after them and parting off to the right to find the small group of plastic chairs tucked to the far side. 

“Yeah, don’t bother helping me or anything, I’ve got it,” Sam remarked with sarcasm, but he pulled Tommy out of the chair and across his shoulder to lay him awkwardly on the exam table. Tommy didn’t fight, and rolled off of his side onto his stomach and laid face down. The exam table had a little hole in the end that he could comfortably put his face in, like a massage table. 

He closed his eyes. At least Sam was usually pretty heavy-handed with the drugs.

He felt a tugging on his pant leg as Sam’s scissors started to work their way up his leg, snipping his clothes off for easy removal. Sam didn’t comment until he was laid bare, the remnants of his clothing cast aside. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Sam called to Caius. Tommy knew better than to mistake his anger being over his well-being - he was just pissed about the amount of work his injuries took him to fix. 

“Yeah, this guy went medieval on him. Had a whole bunch of like, historical torture implements. He bound him up in some type’a spiky chair, with extra attachments. He hit him with a cattle prod until Tommy pissed himself and blacked out.”

Sam made a sound of revulsion. 

“Did he at least pay well?”

“Ehhh,” Caius thought for a moment. “He paid a lot, but still had a first-time discount.”

“I hope he tipped like a motherfucker, because this-” Tommy could imagine Sam waving a hand over his mutilated body in a lazy sweep.

“-Is gonna cost ya.”

Tommy imagined Caius’s stupid shrug at that, too. 

Sam’s gloved hands felt warm while he probed him, looking over the injuries to gauge the severity.

“I can’t see shit with all the fuckin’ powder. He’s gonna need a saline rinse.”

Tommy knew it was coming, but shuddered anyways. He heard Sam unwind the hose and open the nozzle without finesse, standing back so he wouldn’t get caught in the spray. The saline was luke-warm at best, and Tommy shivered as the solution washed away the last of his body heat. He gritted his teeth to try to keep them from chattering, and watched as pink water poured off the table and lazily swirled around the drain built into the floor. 

It didn’t hurt much at first, but as Sam really started to blast away the dried blood and clotting powder, it became a grueling test of endurance. The pink water beneath the table started to become more clear, and then quickly turned to a red as his wounds started to reopen under the spray. He heard Caius say something from the corner, but he couldn’t make it out over the shower. It seems Sam couldn’t either, because the jet mercifully stopped. 

“What?”

“Can’t you give him a numbing gel or something?”

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, and Tommy saw his feet retreat away from the table. 

“I plum forgot, he was being so good - Tommy, why’d you let me do that?” Sam mocked, but he returned and began working a thick ointment across his back. It took only moments for the gel to take effect, bringing blessed relief to every wound it touched. Tommy closed his eyes as the pain finally started to subside, and the paste left his skin feeling warm and completely numb. 

“I think you owe Caius a big thank you, don’t you?” Sam pushed, as he saw Tommy start to visibly relax under his hands. 

(Actually, I think I owe Caius a big shot to the face,) Tommy mused to himself, but he said nothing.

“His mouth is messed up, you’re not gonna get anything from him.” Caius commented, unamused by Sam’s playful mood. 

Sam groaned at the mention of more work, but finished rubbing the numbing ointment in without further comment. Tommy closed his eyes, and without the pain caging him in his body, he was finally able to drift. To go somewhere - anywhere -  where he wasn’t ass-up on a table about to be needled over. 

He was a little grateful to Caius, but it was…complicated. He remembered when he was first in, and so scared, and thought he might find some help in the other man. 

“We all have different roles here to make the business work,” Caius explained. Tommy was curled up in a ball on the sleeping roll Caius had brought him. 

“I’m your handler. I’m not your friend - I’m your boss.”

Tommy had sat up, leaning against the wall and hugging his knees. 

“What about the other guys?”

Caius sighed and sat down next to him, ignoring when Tommy scooted as far away as he could into the corner. 

“Well, they’re your bosses too. But it’s like - I’m like the manager, while they’re in corporate.” Caius seemed to struggle for a better explanation.

“Rory has a fuckin’ mouth on him, sure, but he could sell water to fish. He coordinates appointments, knows a bunch of market research and business shit, so that’s kinda his thing.

“Michelle deals with all the tech stuff, he’s a huge nerd. He uploads all the pictures and videos and stuff to the network, but it’s a hidden network, I don’t know, it’s all beyond me.”

“A network for…this?” Tommy asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah, basically,” Caius replied. “We’re franchise owners, technically. All this - and you-”

He turned to face Tommy fully.

“-Are our business.”

Tommy worried his lip.

“And your job… is to manage me?”

Caius smiled, amused, and adjusted his glasses.

“My job is to make sure you don’t break.”

Caius advocated for him, in a way. And he was nice to him, in a way. But he never wasted breath pretending he did it for Tommy’s good. He managed a balance of keeping Tommy at a low level of stabilization, in spite of everything, to protect his business asset. Abducting people was a huge risk, and not one they could constantly repeat if their other victims died or completely broke down.

He’d heard of other teams with assets like him, sometimes multiple at a time. But if they broke down for good, they weren’t interesting to use anymore and became worthless. Caius afforded him small mercies to maintain a tiny spark of morale, so Tommy continued to be valuable. 

Considering he was this far in, Caius seemed to be very good at his job. 

Tommy was snapped back to the present when the tip of a needle dug deeper than he was numbed, and he hissed with pain. 

“Sorry bud. Just checking to make sure you’re still with us.”

Sam continued poking him with needle after needle, circling every single wound with three triangulating punctures. This batch would take forever. 

Tommy suddenly felt a hand on his upper arm, and realized Caius had crossed the room to watch. 

“Which ones are these?”

Sam took a break to straighten his back for a moment. 

“Well, you haven’t given me a lot to work with. Lucky for you, I just got in this stem cell batch that’s just insane. It’s a more potent combo with extra immunomodulators. Moves weeks of recovery into mere days. I’m also putting our usual pre-scar steroids in, which should also help with the swelling and inflammation.”

“How did you lose your medical license again?”

“I was just too much fun. I’ll top it off with this new wound-food serum I got, it’s supposed to help the body keep up with the crazy-fast healing. I’ll spray him down with a second skin and he’ll need to keep that on for a week. He’ll need lots of rest and lots of food - no starvation punishments and no missed meals.”

“Did you check his mouth yet?”

“Oh fuck,” Sam answered. He started to move Tommy onto his side, but then stopped.

“Ah fuck it. Let me get him patched up here and I’ll take a look.”

It was kind of like getting a tattoo session done, if it were a full-body stick and poke. Sam was methodical and finished the injections before anyone else could have. The serum was applied generously (sloppily) and the second skin sprayed on. A second light with a blue tint was thrown on above the table, and the substance began to dry on across his body.

“Do you know how good you got it? This is cutting-edge stuff, the newest technology that won’t hit the hospitals for decades, if ever. Celebrities pay millions for this stuff.”

Tommy did not respond. 

“Luckily for you, everyone likes a blank page, don’t they? Gotta clear the board for the next guy.”

Tommy grimaced at the floor.

 (Think about - something else. The feeling of biting into a coffee bean. What it looks like, how it feels in your hand. The crunch, the bitterness. Focus on imagining the sensation. Nothing else. No feeling.)

“I’ll take a look at his mouth and whatever that thing on his jaw was, and I’m sending him home. Come back in a week for the second round of steroids. If it’s going well, we might be able to do the first laser treatment the same day.”

There was a numbed touch to his back, where apparently the second skin had finished curing on him, and he was rolled onto his back. He shut his eyes hard against the blinding overhead light. 

“Alright, open up.”

Tommy opened his mouth and Sam grabbed a penlight to examine inside. After a moment, he tsked as if chiding Tommy.

“Don’t you know better than to let strangers put things in your mouth?”

He moved down to do some poking and prodding where the fork had dug into him. He grabbed some now nearly-empty syringes and injected small shots along the edges of the wounds.

“These will be fine. Not even worth a stitch. I’m not going to put on a butterfly just because I want to make sure these heal from the inside out, but I don’t think they’re worth packing.”

Sam applied wound patches over each of the spots, working his fingers into the the edges of the patch until the adhesive melted on. 

“Those ones will be fine. As for the mouth, his tongue is punctured in multiple places and pretty swollen. I have steroids that will calm the swelling down and let it start to heal. Mouths actually heal faster than most other parts of the body, and with a little help those will close up fine. However-”

Sam turned, and started sorting through a couple drawers before turning back around holding a bottle. 

“Rinse four times a day with this solution. When you run out, switch to saltwater. But…he’s going to need to use a feeding tube for a week.”

At that, Tommy put his face over his hands and turned on his side, curling up to shield himself as best he could. The feeding tube was the worst, and he’d only had to use it once before.

“Yeah, I know bud.” Sam patted him on the shoulder with faux sympathy. 

“I’m putting him on a couple oral medications he’ll need to take twice daily AFTER feeding, always after. I’ll make up a care package.”

Sam started pulling various bandages and tubes out of cabinets and stowed them into a bag. Caius had luckily brought Tommy a pair of sweats and a hoodie, which he helped him into while Sam rummaged around. 

“What time next week?”

Sam waived a dismissive hand in Caius’s direction without looking at him.

“Whenever - just don’t be late.”

[see-arcane]

If I have understood correctly, this is Third Person Limited? Is it from one POV or does it switch between Each Harker (at least when one of them becomes also a Harker) in some chapters?

Or is it Third Person Omniscient?

Third Person landing somewhere between Limited and Omniscient as the story goes. There are a few scenes where I play a little bit with perspectives, but on the whole it's going to be sticking with Jonathan. Other characters will still absolutely be getting their spotlight scenes and analyses by the narrative--the whole cast will have plenty of room on the stage--especially (naturally) Mina.

But I will admit I'm also being a bit self-indulgent with this, allowing myself to not only ramble and fill in some ominous blanks, but to really put one of my favorite characters at center stage For Once in the 126 years since Dracula was published and every spinoff and adaptation writer decided simultaneously to strip him for parts or make him a boring asshole or just throw him out of his own fucking story.

Jonathan Harker is both my most beloved chew toy AND my special little guy and he deserves a brick of a book all his own after over a century and a quarter of being sidelined