#this prompt and many others have apparently been here for SEVEN months which is terrifying and if i think about it im going to cry

[queenangst]

30 min fic—maybe Midoriya admitting that he feels responsible for what happened to Nighteye, to the character of your choice? ❤️❤️❤️

for my 30 min fic challenge / read more: ‘30 min fics’ tag

faultline [read on AO3]

Now that it’s all over, Eijirou isn’t sure what to make of it except this: he’s tired.

He’s never felt this tired before, this bone-deep exhaustion, and so as the last of the internships wind to an end all Eijirou can manage is to return to the dorms and pass out hard on his bed. He sleeps for, like, forever. He’s so tired he doesn’t even dream, but Eijirou doesn’t need to.

Every time he wakes up he sees flashes of images that he knows are memories. In the same moment that Eijirou realizes he’s awake he also realizes he isn’t strong enough.

Three days after the Shie Hasseikai fall, Eijirou rises early and goes to train.

He’s not surprised to see Midoriya.

Since the beginning Midoriya has had a fire like no one else. A drive that Eijirou thinks is super manly, but also almost terrifying. It’s like Midoriya treats every single waking moment as an opportunity, as if he has to give a hundred and ten percent all the time like he’s going to lose everything if he doesn’t.

“Midoriya!” Eijirou calls.

Midoriya startles—so much so, in fact, that green sparks along his skin and he leaps sideways a little. Eijirou winces.

“Sorry,” he says, as Midoriya relaxes.

Midoriya chuckles. “No, it- it’s okay. I wasn’t expecting, um, to see you.” His eyes trail down and catch Eijirou’s workout clothes. “Were you, um…”

“I was thinking of going for a run,” Eijirou says. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Midoriya smiles. It’s a bit subdued than normal, but seeing it pulls a fizzy warm feeling through him.

“You don’t have to ask. So you’re fine with doing a few laps?”

Eijirou nods, ready to go.

“I need to get stronger,” he confides as they walk outside together. “I mean… well, I just, the whole thing really put it in perspective, you know? I wanna be better. Plus ultra. So… so next time something happens, I can face it with all my strength.”

Midoriya dips his head, expression sliding into something that’s a mix of understanding and determination.

“Yeah.”

They don’t talk much after that. Eijirou’s not a stranger to running, but even so, he doesn’t do it regularly the way Midoriya does. He lets Midoriya set their pace even if it’s slightly fast, and they do the first lap in silence.

It feels… good.

It feels like Eijirou is doing something. It feels tangible, putting one foot down in front of the other and feeling the impact travel through him, feeling the burn in his chest and hearing his own breathing. That’s what he likes best, even though by the second lap he feels a bit like he’s on the verge of doing too much.

Plus ultra, as they say.

Midoriya doesn’t let up. Like, at all. He slows just a little when he notices Eijirou falling behind, but even still… Eijirou glances over and catches a sheen to Midoriya’s eyes, a tension to the line of his jaw, the clench of his fists as they swing back and forth. He’s straining, wanting to go faster, to do more.

And every few seconds he can’t contain his Quirk, and sparks of green light burst around and follow him in a dizzying but beautiful trail.

“Hey,” Eijirou calls, and notes how out of breath he sounds. “Hey, man, you wanna take a break? I’m sure you don’t have to, but I could use a minute.”

Midoriya runs a little while longer like he hasn’t heard Eijirou.

He opens his mouth to call again, worry stirring, and then Midoriya slows to a walk, gasping.

“Water?” Eijirou asks.

Midoriya nods. The lap brings them close back to the dorms, so they walk the rest of the way. Eijirou really does feel like he’s kind of dying in both a good and bad way, so the water’s nice. Midoriya just sips at it, movements jerky.

See—here’s where Eijirou worries.

He doesn’t want to overstep, but Midoriya looks different. His internship changed him.

And Eijiriou’s did, too, teaching him more about hero work but more importantly about himself. One more thing, though. Fat Gum’s insistence is that everyone work as a team and take care of themselves and each other.

Midoriya doesn’t look like he’s been doing that.

“You wanna just… sit?” Eijirou tries. “Before we go again. Uh…”

“Sure,” Midoriya agrees. His fingers curl around the water bottle. “Sorry if that was a little much.”

Eijirou laughs awkwardly. “You’re intense, man. I mean, wow, plus ultra, haha.”

“Yeah,” Midoriya whispers.

They drop down by the side of the track. Midoriya brings his knees up close to him and holds them, and that’s when Eijirou really stops thinking and has to speak.

“Are you okay?”

Midoriya flinches. Turns towards him. “Huh?”

“About… everything.” Eijirou clears his throat. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, man. I know we’re not close, but—if you want someone to listen to you…”

“I…”

Sometimes, you have to take the first step. “Um, you know, I’ve been talking to Hound Dog recently. A little bit. Fat Gum said I should consider it, so I tried. ‘Cause I’ve been having a hard time—dealing. ”

“Oh,” Midoriya says, blinking. He looks down and scuffs at the ground. “Did… did it help?”

Eijirou’s words catch in his throat. He can’t say yes , because talking to Hound Dog has felt a little bit like turning himself inside out and finding that there’s a weak point in his armor. Literally, figuratively, whatever.

“I think,” he starts, then pauses. “I think it will.”

Midoriya hums. He drops his head in his hands, and then scrubs through his hair. Eijiriou reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Please, Eijirou thinks.

Under his hand, Midoriya’s shoulders shake.

“I don’t want to bother you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”

“It’s not, it’s not, dude, just—you really don’t have to, but…” He swallows. He wishes Fat Gum were here, or Aizawa-sensei, or really any qualified adult. But they’re not and Eijirou is here and needed, so he has to try. “I know it’s been really hard. And you’re allowed to, uh, yeah.”

“It’s my fault,” Midoriya blurts. He launches to his feet, fists tight, and Eijirou feels like his hardening Quirk has turned inward when he sees the stricken look on Midoriya’s face. “All of it. It’s- it’s my—”

Eijirou stands, too. He feels—not enough for this.

“No, it’s, dude, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

“Sir… Sir Nighteye died,” Midoriya spits, “because I- I couldn’t, because I wasn’t—”

Fast enough, strong enough. He can’t breathe. Aren’t they the same?

“It’s not like that,” Eijirou croaks. “Come on—look, look at me, it’s not, you didn’t kill him.”

“I might as well have.”

When Midoriya’s knees give out, Eijirou grabs on and holds him up. Midoriya’s shaking bad the way Eijirou used to before presentations, and starts crying so hard Eijirou’s surprised he’s held it together until now.

“No… no,” Eijirou says as hands curl in his shirt. Can he feel Eijirou’s heart beating? “Midoriya, stop, you can’t blame yourself. It wasn’t you. None of that was you…”

He holds on. Midoriya does, too.

“I kept thinking like that too,” he whispers, and feels something in him crack. “That maybe things could have gone differently if I was a little better. But we- we shouldn’t… that’s not right.”

Midoriya sobs.

“I didn’t want him to die,” he cries, “I- I- we didn’t, but I didn’t want him… he wasn’t supposed to, he couldn’t—”

“Yeah.” Eijirou squeezes Midoriya’s shoulders. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” Midoriya agrees. He hiccups, and then they stand there.

“You know it’s not your fault,” Eijirou says after a moment. “You know that, right? You have to know that. It’s not your fault the same way it isn’t my fault the same way it wasn’t any of the heroes’ faults—”

Midoriya whines, and Eijirou says, “No. It wasn’t. It wasn’t.”

“I don’t know how to believe you,” Midoriya replies. “If I just… if I just… it’s different, for me.”

“You have to try. Because it wasn’t.” Eijirou thinks of the little girl Eri, carried to safety in Midoriya’s arms; he’d caught a glimpse of them as he was brought out of the compound. “You wouldn’t say it was my fault because I- I wasn’t strong enough or, or Eri’s fault—”

Midoriya’s head snaps up so fast it almost knocks against Eijirou’s jaw.

“No!”

“You can’t do that to yourself, then,” Eijirou tries, and as he’s saying it he thinks he’s telling himself too. “You don’t have to, um. You don’t have to believe me today. But… maybe tomorrow?”

For a second he thinks he’s said the wrong thing, but Midoriya meets his eyes. Red and swollen, painful, the pinching feeling Eijirou feels inside.

Eijirou couldn’t stand Rappa; he’s not unbreakable. But all it took, all he needed, was a moment.

Maybe that’s what it’s about. A single moment.

“Okay,” Midoriya agrees. “Maybe tomorrow.”

taglist: @happi-tree​ @soyoudneverguess​ @granny-griffin​ @zannish​ @liarielle​ @aroandanxious​ @gwogobo​ @honeyandsonshine​ @cinammon-cinner​ @ship-tost​ @gabs-2002​ @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear​ @weird-skittle​ @sapphire363​ @fr0znmang0​ @in-honor-of-you​ @cheese490 @anakinthetrashking​ @proheromidoriyashouto​ @lust-nd-love​ @firefletch​ @mamamiamia​ @frankiealexquin​

[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Twenty-Two

(Previous Chapter Here)

Apparently this chapter is too long for a singular tumblr post so I’ll post this and then reblog it with the rest-

Also watch me beat canon to death with a stick lol

Kai slams open the door to the bridge. “I have a new idea!” He proclaims. “I’m going to become the Emperor.”

He receives a bunch of blank stares at his statement.

Finally, after a long pause, Nya speaks up. “You’re going to what?” She demands in disbelief.

He can feel the wide smile forming on his face. “There’s an election coming up, and I-“

“Since when is that an electable position?” Jay blinks, his confused expression so intense it’s almost comical.

Nya opens her mouth to answer, but Kai keeps talking.

“Not sure, but it is. I did my research! Anyway, I’m going to become the Emperor and then order them to free Zane.” He explains. Honestly, he can’t believe they didn’t think of this sooner! The election is only seven months away, and it’s a great backup plan for if nothing else works.

Nya stares at him in shock. “I can’t even begin to explain how horrible of an idea this is.”

“I mean… it might work.” Jay defends. “There’s no harm in trying, right?”

“No. No, we are not doing this. Cole, Lloyd, back me up here.” Nya looks over at the two.

Cole looks up from his phone. “I’m already filing out the forms.”

“Wh- no!” She stands up abruptly. “No, this is a horrible idea! Do you realize how many things could go wrong here? We could-“

“You’re right.” Jay conceeeds. “With his recent arrests, Kai isn’t the best choice for this.” He winces as he looks over at the brunet, and Kai grimaces as he accepts the point.

“It should be Lloyd.”

The green ninja snaps to attention. “What?” He demands. “I- you- you guys don’t want me to be in charge, I- I wouldn’t be a very good leader!”

Cole shrugs. “I mean, you kind of already are.” He points out.

Kai comes over and sits on the table in front of the blond. “Look, either you do it or I do. What do you say?”

Cringing, Lloyd seems to be weighing his options, ignoring the shocked and upset look Nya has.

“... alright. What paperwork do I need to fill out?”

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

Zane grimaces as both he and Cryptor are taken to the training room. When both of them are brought, it means only bad things.

After being chained down, Zane recognizes Kyle standing there. With a glare, he decides to cut to the point.

“I’m not going to say it again.” He snarls. “I am equal to any human.”

Kyle sighs, rolling his eyes. "Get off your high horse, Original. That's not why you're here."

From beside him, Cryptor seems to be thinking about speaking, but instead glances over at Zane.

Very well. He can do the speaking for the both of them- and as of now, that will be expressing his confusion.

“It’s… not?”

"No. You're here because…" He starts to circle them, surrounding them like a predator analyzing its prey for weaknesses, his cold tone matching the action. "...Because you two have been keeping secrets. From me, from the facility. Isn't that right?"

They- they have not discovered his Falcon, right? That- no. This must be bluff of some sort! And Zane will just have to call him on it.

Silently wishing he had a faceplate to allow him to better express himself, he sighs. “You monitor us day and night. What could you possibly think we’re doing?”

The sly smile Kyle gives him is unnerving. "I don't know, you're gonna tell me. Aren't you, General?"

Cryptor suddenly tenses, and Zane looks over at him as his breathing picks up. The other nindroid is clearly scared, borderline panicking.

“I…” Cryptor trails off, but Zane realizes that he should speak before Kyle manages to convince Cryptor to tell him what he wants to know.

Forcing confidence into his voice, he stares the blond down. “No one is telling you anything- because there isn’t anything to tell!”

Kyle seems almost amused. "Oh, really now?” He walks back over to Cryptor and taps on his eye scope, the action clearly a threat of some sort.

Zane internally winces at the way Cryptor horribly fails at hiding his fear and the way he flinches back. “We… it- it wasn’t… yes. Yes, Ma-“ He cringes, cutting himself off. “... we’re hiding something.” He miserably admits.

Wearing a sarcastic smile, Kyle looks back over to Zane. "Wow, didn't see that coming." He mocks.

Annoyance creeps into him as he glares at the other nindroid. “Cryptor!” He quietly hisses out the name, staring in disbelief.

The blond shakes his head. "Not its name. It won't answer to that, anymore.”

Zane glowers at that, but Cryptor doesn’t deny it, which only serves to fuel his annoyance.

Kyle continues. “But what it will answer to is this-“ He pauses a beat before dropping his voice into a dark threatening tone.

“What are you hiding?" He snarls.

After hesitating a beat, Cryptor answers the blond. “... do I have to?” He tries weakly.

Kyle arches an eyebrow. "Depends, do you remember who's physical and mental integrity depends on you cooperating?"

Taking a deep breath, Cryptor seems to struggle for words. Finally, in a choked voice, he gets out, “You didn’t hurt him. You- you lied. He’s fine.”

A weak laugh escapes him as he ducks his head, and Zane frowns- or he would, if he had his face- as he watches him. Still, Cryptor continues.

“And… I- I know that because we were hiding a way to-“

Sucking in a deep breath, Zane realizes that- that Cryptor is actually going to tell him. He’s actually going to explain the Falcon?!

“No!” Zane interrupts him before he gets the chance to continue. “Cryptor, stop it!” He demands.

Still seeming amused, Kyle continues prompting the other into speaking. "A way to communicate, I presume. What might it be…?" He takes on an exaggerated thinking pose.

While his voice is shaking, Cryptor does try to answer him. “Zane has a-“

Panic taking over, Zane shouts out, “Do not!”

Who knows what they’ll do to his Falcon if they capture him! Likely cause horrible harm, if not taking him apart!

The excitement Kyle shows is terrifying. "Do it!"

“He-has-a-Falcon-its-mechanical-we-can-connect-to-it-digitally-and-“ Cryptor speaks rapidly, getting the words out fast enough that Zane doesn’t have a chance to stop him.

Fear sets into him once again. “No, you can’t just…” he trails off. He can’t argue, not now that Cryptor has already told him.

"That's enough, General.” The blond gives a gentle smile. “Hush."

Zane glares at the other nindroid as he nods and lowers his head. He knows that Kyle had made some form of threat before, but this level of obedience? It’s absurd!

The blond paces around as he speaks to Cryptor, ignoring Zane for the moment. "Since you were pretty obedient today, you're not gonna get punished for this." He stops, staring menacingly at them. "But to follow what you told me about him being fine- He's not hurt yet. And now that you won't be able to talk to him, you won't even know if he is."

Cryptor opens his mouth as if to speak, but seems to think better of it and looks away, pointedly avoiding Zane’s death glares.

He doesn’t have the words to describe the emotions building inside of him. Cryptor had- he had told Kyle! And so easily! He had barely tried defying him at all!

The blond redirects his attention to Zane."And you…" He pauses a moment as he glare. "Congrats."

Zane grinds his teeth, desperately trying to think of a way to divert Kyle’s attention and possibly save his Falcon. He can’t… while a simple design compared to him, that bird is all he has left of his father. He can’t let any harm come to him!

“Disconnect me, then.” He snaps. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find another way, another plan. I am not your slave, not a mindless drone! I’m not this ‘Original’ that you try to make me. I am Zane Julien, the white ninja. And that, you will never take from me.”

Kyle arches an eyebrow. "...Nice speech.” He pauses a beat. “I'm disassembling the Falcon."

Every circuit and wire he has is suddenly tensing up as he processes that. “What for?” He demands. “If I can’t connect to him, he poses no threat to you!”

"But you care for it, don't you?" Kyle smiles, an unnerving smile that carries a threat to it.

Zane can feel his power source heating up as he tries desperately to come up with a way to convince Kyle to leave him alone. “I- he’s a bird. That’s- that’s all.”

He takes a moment to breath and think before continuing. “Leave him out of this.” He snaps. “A- a bird is of no threat to you. Unless, of course, you and your organization is so weak that something so simple could stand in your way.”

Perhaps trying to bait someone as irritable as Kyle into becoming upset isn’t a good idea, but he’s hoping that maybe, just maybe, he can trick the blond into leaving the Falcon alone.

The blond snorts. "Uh-huh, yeah, I see that. But I raise you this. If it's truly 'just a bird', then you shouldn't be trying so hard to make me leave it alone. Why should you care if it's just a useless communication device?" There’s a taunt to his voice, but before Zane can think of a comeback, Cryptor is speaking.

The other nindroid’s voice is quiet and regretful. “His father made it, it’s all he has left of him.” He explains.

Zane can only stare. Why is Cryptor doing this?! He- Kyle did not even directly ask him about that! He had no reason to share that information! Now- now Kyle may-

A satisfied smile is on the blond’s face. "Now that changes everything. Congrats again, Original. You and General just won front row seats to the disassembling of your Falcon."

Beside him, Cryptor tenses up. “Me too?” He seems surprised and afraid, but at the moment, Zane is too upset with him to care about his fear.

"Yep.” Kyle smirks. “Have fun."

Feeling himself trembling, Zane speaks up, desperately trying to find a way to stop Kyle… but coming up empty.

“W- wait!” He chokes out. “You can’t- no, no, you…” He’s trembling, knowing that he would be near tears if he were human, fear taking ahold of every gear and circuit he has as his voice starts to break with his words. “... please, don’t…” He trails off.

“Don’t hurt him.”

His voice is nothing more than a broken whisper.

The blond has the nerve to laugh. "Why not?” He questions amusedly. “You clearly haven't learned your place, and this kind of punishment seemed to work on General. I don't see a single good reason why I shouldn't."

There’s a pause as Zane collects his thoughts.

His voice is quiet as he begins to speak. “Why not.” A weak, broken laugh escapes him. “Why not, you ask me.”

He looks up from the floor in order to look Kyle in the eyes as he speaks, voice beginning to rise in volume. “I have a better question.” He spits out.

“What the hell do you want from me?!” He shouts out the words, screaming them. “You take us here, you torture us, you try to convince us that we’re lesser, and for what?! Revenge?” He laughs a little, feeling his patience, his sanity, on the edge of breaking entirely. “This solves nothing! You fight fire with fire, you choose to cause suffering as though- as though that will bring back the ones you lost! I never meant to harm anyone! I was built to protect! And-“

Kyle’s voice is dangerous in a way that Zane has rarely heard, even in the voices of his most threatening opponents. "Shut the FUCK UP." The blond demands.

Zane glares with as much malice as he can muster. “No.” He snarls. “I wasn’t finished. You-“

"Close your fucking mouth.” Kyle snaps. “Was I not clear? You're asking me what I want from you, why I do all this? I'll tell you."

Zane scoffs. “Please, do!”

"I hate you.” The blond says simply. “And I want you to suffer. Yeah, it doesn't bring my lost ones back. But when I remember the terror on his face as he died in my goddamn arms, I feel really good about all this." His smile is threatening, a menacing expression that makes fear pool in his gut.

He stares for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. What does he even say to that?

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He waits only a moment before continuing.

“But if put in the same position…” Zane stares Kyle dead in the eyes as he speaks. “I would do it again. More lives were saved then lost, and I would have to be a fool to be willing to let so many suffer for your sake. Because it was never about him, was it?” He scoffs. “It’s about you. He’s not here anymore. What happens now has no effect on him. You use his death as an excuse to cause misery. You-“

“Zane?” Cryptor mutters, catching his attention. “Shut the hell up.”

"...You killed him.” Kyle’s voice is quiet, but no less threatening. “You killed so many people. Maybe even as many as you saved. And you never faced any trial."

Zane shakes his head. “The Golden Master would have killed everyone.” He argues. “I did what I had to do.”

He can feel Cryptor’s internal screaming at him, but he ignores the other in favor of staring down Kyle.

"What you had to do was to protect.” The blond snaps. “And you couldn't even do that right."

He- what?

Zane finds himself struggling for words, attempting to find a way to defend himself. He- he knows that he had failed, in a way, by...

“I protected as many as I could!” He shoots back, trying to keep his voice steady. “I was willing to die to protect those in danger!”

Kyle scoffs. "Being willing to die for something doesn't mean anything if you don't value your life enough to begin with. That's why you were the one to sacrifice yourself, right? You thought that, as an android, you were more expendable than your human teammates?"

Fear takes a cold grip on him as he processes the words.

“I- I am not-“ With shock, Zane realizes that… he doesn’t have a good argument.

His voice is quiet as he tries to come up with one. “I am expendable because the others have more use. It- it is not because I am a nindroid, it’s…”

He… doesn’t know what to say. How to defend himself. The- the others are more important than him, but- but that doesn’t mean that Zane is… that he’s…

Kyle shakes his head. "For something to have more use than something else, that other thing must be lesser. It's just logic.” He shrugs. “You said it yourself."

Zane finds himself looking down at the floor, breathing ragged, as he tries to come up with a way to deny the words. “No.” He chokes out. “No, that’s not what I…” He trails off, unsure of how to continue.

The smile he gets isn’t angry this time. No, it’s… almost comforting. "Think about it, alright?” His voice is reassuring, soothing. “You can't argue against logic."

Zane can feel himself shaking, his voice quiet and near breaking as he tries to say otherwise. “I’m not lesser, I’m not, I’m- I’m equal, I…”

Something seems to break inside of him as he realizes that it’s not Kyle that he’s trying to convince.

"Don't worry.” Kyle assures. “The confusion will be over soon."

Wordlessly, Zane gives a weak nod, not even sure what he’s agreeing to.

He’s not- not lesser, he’s just… sure, the others are more valuable, more skilled, more- more everything, but…

Kyle calls in some guards, but Zane can barely hear him. "Take them back to their lockers.” He instructs. “Someone will come fetch them when we find the bird."

Cryptor speaks quickly, clear fear in his voice. “It’s connected to us, I- I can call it.”

Zane can hear their voices, but he’s unsure of the meaning behind the words. He can barely process his own thoughts, much less the world around him.

[midwestharpy]

Hello happy! This is for the oneshot prompts, if you're still looking for things to write. I'd love to see the Voltron crew try to go the supermarket. Chaos will ensue and I think that might be fun to work with. You don't have to take this prompt if you don't want to though.

Sincerely,

cabin13counselor

Cross posted on AO3

“We’re not buying a cow this time, understand?”

“You can't buy a cow at Walmart, Hunk, for fucks sake!”

Lance stifled a laugh as Hunk and Pidge arguments started before they had even walked through the door. The team (minus Coran who was terrified of Walmart for some reason) had decided to go on a grocery run to show Allura more of Earth's culture. 

The war with the Galra had ended three months ago. The whole team had managed to settle down on Earth after everything was said and done. None of them were giving up on Voltron-the Galra weren’t the only people in the universe causing harm anyways-but they all thought they deserved a break, at least for a little bit.

Keith grabbed a cart from the return and pulled a pad of paper out of his pocket. It was one of those small flip books that grandpas and other old people carried in the front pocket of polo shirts, but he had just shoved one into his jacket pocket like it was normal for seventeen year old's to carry them around.

Lance thought it was kinda hot to be honest. Maybe that was just because it was Keith.

“Ok, we need...a lot of stuff actually,” Keith said, flipping a few of the pages in the notepad, “Who wrote down birdseed?”

“Are you not supposed to feed them?” Allura asked, leaning over Keith's shoulder to look at the list, “It was my understanding it was perfectly safe.”

“Well you can,” Shiro says, grabbing some apples and setting them in the cart, “But we’ve had to clean the lions four times in the last week, so I think you should stop feeding the birds.”

“But they’re so pretty! I don’t believe they’re making that big of a mess, it must be some other creature from your planet.”

“Allura do you remember those fuzzy worms from Kypen?”

“The ones that tried to eat us?”

“Yeah it's like that,” Pidge says, tossing a head of lettuce into the grocery cart, “Most birds won’t actively try to kill you but they are a nuisance.”

“I shall stop feeding them then,” Allura said, making a face, “I did not like those worms.”

“That got through to her?” Keith whispered to Lance, “I’ve been trying to get her to stop for weeks but the furry worms get her to quit feeding the bastards?”

Lance snorted, glancing over Keith's shoulder at the list, “There's a lot of stuff on here, do we want to split up for all of this?”

Shiro glances at the list and winces, “I’ll grab another cart.”

“Probably two,” Hunk says, looking at the list. They’re all crowing Keith at that point, who shoves them away with a growl.

“It's not my fault you all eat like pigs! I wrote down what you told me to!”

Shiro comes back with two more carts, handing one off to Allura, “Me and Allura can take one page, Hunk and Pidge another, and Lance and Keith can take the rest.”

Keith rips off the proper pages and hands them out to the others. Lance glances through what's left for them and nods.

“Most of that is in the freezer aisle or deli right?”

He's still leaning over Keith's shoulder and Lance notices the other boy is blushing a little-weird. 

He pulls back and jumps into the front of the cart, crossing his legs with a grin, “So, what's first on the list?”

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

“You paired Keith and Lance together on purpose, correct?”

Shiro blinks, turning to Allura. He was trying to find the brand of sauce Keith had written down (apparently Hunk got picky with his pasta sauces) and she was leaning against the shopping cart with her lips pursed into a frown. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well they obviously like each other,” Allura says, looking confused.

“Well yeah we all like each other,” he says confused, “We’ve been friends for years.”

“I thought Humans used the word “like” in a romantic connotation,” she says, taking the sauce from him and setting in the cart, “This is the correct sauce by the way.”

“Lance and Keith like like each other?!?” Shiro says, eyes widening.

“You did not notice?” Allura says, turning the corner towards the chips, “I assumed it was common knowledge. They are constantly together and Keith blushes every time Lance is within five feet of him. And Lance never stops talking about him!”

Shiro blinks, thinking back on all of their interactions with each other, “Huh. You know, I kinda see it now that you mention it. Do Pidge and Hunk know?”

“Well yes, they’re the first ones who noticed.” 

“Alright then,” he says, double checking that the list said seven bags of Doritos. Why did they need that many? “So what are we doing to get them to notice they like each other?”

Allura smirks, “Hunk said he had it under control. Pidge was laughing maniacally when he told me this so I would assume it involves explosives or someone getting arrested.”

“How did you get to that conclusion?”

“Pidge was wondering about bail costs,” Allura says, ignoring Shiro's shocked expression and grabbing the required seven bags of Doritos without complaint.

This was going to be an interesting shopping trip.

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

Pidge was going out of her way to make this an interesting shopping trip. 

Her and Hunk speed ran their grocery list, practically sprinting down the aisles. They were after all the shampoo and hygiene related stuff (an absurd amount of toilet paper, honestly) and had checked out after ten minutes of intense shopping.

It took another five minutes to load everything up and run back in the store and that's when the chaos started. 

Pidge had always wanted to know how easy it would be to climb the shelves in supermarkets, and it was easy to do the math or even just think about it, but it was much more satisfying to just do it.

Given that it was Walmart, no one really noticed Pidge hopping from shelf to shelf. They were too focused on the lady screaming at the manager about whether or not her furiously barking chihuahua was allowed in the store (it wasn’t).

She finally found the aisle where Keith and Lance were. They were pulling frozen pizzas out and shoving them into the cart while arguing about which lion was better, Red or Blue. It was an old argument with the two that had happened enough times that Pidge recognized the causal banter and lack of poison behind the words.

It was all intense flirting and Pidge was tired of it.

On top of the freezers the excess boxes. Pidge hid behind them and grabbed some of the smaller ones, uncapping a marker with her mouth at the same time. 

This would totally work. 

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

Keith jolted as something made contact with his head. It was a box with the Skittles logo on the side, and he turned trying to figure out where it came from. Lance was blinking, holding a similar sized box and utterly confused.

It was adorable.

Keith fought back a blush and looked back at the box. They were in the freezer aisle so he wasn’t sure where where a Skittles box could have come from-

Wait.

There was writing on the side of the box that definitely didn’t come from any of the manufacturers. 

HE LIKES YOU BACK DUMBASS SO KISS HIM BEFORE I STAB YOU

Keith blinked, looking from the box to Lance. His heart feels like it's going to break out of his chest. Keith frantically searches around him for someone who could have thrown the box but no ones there.

“Keith?”

He looks back at Lance, who's giving him a weird look, “What?”

“Is this true?”

“Is what true?”

Lance turns the box in his hands to face Keith and the same words on the Skittles box are written on the one Lance is holding. It's a box for Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers, Keith notices, but that's really not the important bit.

 “I-I don’t know what's going on,” he chokes out, practically whispering the words. 

Lance is still staring at him, but his face is breaking out in a smile. Suddenly he's taking confident steps towards Keith and cupping his face with his hands and-

And they’re kissing in the freezer aisle of Walmart.

Keith kisses him back, obviously, and he hears someone whoop in celebration. He ignores in and pulls Lance in closer, relishing in the contact.

“Hey! Get down from there kid!”

Keith blinks as a figure crashes down in front of him, scrambling into the cart. He barely registers that it's Pidge falling from the sky before she's gesturing for them to go. 

“Hurry before they arrest me!”

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

They make it out of Walmart without anyone being arrested, but it's a close call.

Lance is holding Keith's hand as they walk out, carrying the frozen pizzas and random frozen goods in their other hands. Pidge is skipping along ahead of them, smiling like a dumbass. 

“How did you know?” Keith mutters, leaning close to Lance's neck. It sends chills up his spine and he can’t help but green. 

“The handwriting on the box was Pidges.”

“Wait really?”

“Yeah, you didn't notice?”

“I...I was more concerned with being hit with a flying box.” Keith mutters, loading the bags into the back of the van. Hunk is waiting in the front seat and smiles when he sees Keith and Lances intertwined hands. 

“So Pidges plan worked then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pidge says, kicking her feet up on the dash. 

“Oh shut up Pidge, we all saw you jumping off the shelves,” Keith says, cuddling into Lance. He grins, swinging an arm around Keith's shoulders. 

“Hey is that Allura?” Hunk says looking out the window with a frown.

Lance turns and sees Shiro pushing the shopping cart towards them, running at a dead sprint. Allura is sitting in the cart, holding on for dear life. A lady with a chihuahua was running after them screaming bloody murder and being chased by two cops trying to placate her. 

“Start the car!” Shiro shouts, throwing grocery bags into the open trunk and leaping over the seat, “Start the car!”

Hunk does and they speed off, barely evading the shouting workers and cops. 

“What did you do?” shouted Pidge, holding onto the safety bars for dear life.

“A woman was yelling at us!” Allura says, frantically buckling her seatbelt, “Said something about unnatural hair colors and wouldn’t stop screaming and was very annoyed with us taking the last bag of rice!”

“Karen,” says the rest of the group, with Pidge beginning to cackle in the front seat. 

“Was that her name?” Shiro asks, double checking his seatbelt. This prompts Pidge and Hunk to explain the concept of a Karen to both him and Allura, but Lance tunes it out. He's too busy staring at Keith, whos smiling for the first time in a while. 

Yeah, it was a good day.

[merakiaes]

Satisfied - Finn Shelby

Pairing: Finn Shelby x reader

Requested: By @foggysportsbananawagon​

Prompts: #4, #27 and #43 from the smut-list. #29 from the kiss-list. 

Warnings/notes: REALLY BADLY WRITTEN SMUT AHEAD, I’M LEGIT GONNA BE NEEDING A BATH OF HOLY WATER! This is a combination of this, this, this, this and this request. I managed to get really many requests into one one-shot to save time. I really hope that’s alright. I’m really bad at writing smut, my vocabulary really sucks hahah. It’s not proofread so sorry in advance for any mistakes. I hope that you like it xx

Wordcount: 3923

Summary: After always getting interrupted, you and Finn have gotten really desperate for each other and smut ensues in his office. 

You and Finn had been together since you were both eighteen, having met when you moved to Small Heath with your parents and two younger siblings.

Your dad had served in the war with the Shelby brothers and apparently saved Arthur from his death more times than any of them could count, which resulted in your family getting taken in under the Peaky Blinders protective wings almost immediately upon first arriving.

Before coming there, you had lived in London, up with the snobs where your mother came from and you could say with a one hundred percent certainty already after the first day in Birmingham that you preferred it to the big city.

You met Finn the second day of your stay, along with the rest of his family, and although he was a bit shy and quiet to a start when Arthur first attempted to introduce you, you had clicked almost instantly, and you found his soft and innocent strangely alluring.

Unlike the way it usually was, with the girl being pure and the boy being experienced, you had been the one out of the two of you with the most sexual experience when you met and got together for the first time. 

Finn had been a virgin, and while you were no whore, you did enjoy partaking in sexual and intimate activities with the opposite sex.

You had only had sex with two guys prior; you boyfriend when you were sixteen, who had later moved with his foster parents to New York and some random guy who had chatted you up at the pub in London. 

Before, between and after those two guys, you hadn’t had sex with anyone else, but you had done other, more simple stuff with your fair share of temporary flings.

Moving to Small Heath, you realized, would make it a lot harder for you to get your sexual needs satisfied, as the boys your age there were as immature as your eleven-year-old brother and the men older were married with one to seven kids already.

So when you overheard Finn’s brothers teasing and pestering him about being a virgin and offering to hire him a prostitute, an offer that he immediately declined by storming out of there, face red with shame and fury, you jumped at the chance you had been given and got to work.

You had started off easy, leaving him lingering looks and touches and hoping he would catch on. But all he did was blush and turn the other way. Even when you started dropping more clear hints by openly flirting with him to the point where Arthur would notice it and urge him on, he did no such thing.

After a week of this, you got fed up and confronted him when he was alone, telling him without batting an eye that you could help solve his virgin problem and he could help satisfy you, also slipping out that he was the only boy in Small Heath that you would actually be okay with shagging.

If he had been flustered before, he was so ashamed he probably could have passed out when this happened. But still, you ended up taking his virginity and once he had gotten a taste of you, he couldn’t get enough, always following you around and practically acting like a needy little boy at the beginning of your friends with benefits relationship.

As more time passed, the two of you grew from teenagers to adults, Finn’s personality changing significantly with time, and for every time you slept together, the feelings you harbored for each other grew stronger.

You never put a label on your relationship but you had still made things pretty official by holding hands and kissing in public, and being attached at the hip wherever you went, so everybody knew you were an item. 

And about six months into your sexual relationship, you had shared your first ‘I love you’, so both of you knew you were stuck together for the rest of your lives.

Two and a half years had passed since you first decided to fool around. Finn had just recently turned twenty-one, him being a few months younger than you, and you were still going at it like restless bunnies whenever you got the chance.

But that was the entire source of the problem you were currently having.

You never got the chance.

For the past two weeks, you had been getting constantly interrupted by the people you regularly hung around.

First, Isaiah had walked in on you when you were in the middle of it in the morning, having been sent by Tommy to fetch the two of you for an early family meeting.

The second time had been in the middle of the night when you had both been sent home by the very same man, and Arthur had just barged into your bedroom like he owned the place with Linda at his side, saying Tommy had gotten himself into trouble – as usual – and needed Finn to come back.

The third time had been when everyone else was supposed to be at the Garrison. You had stayed home, Finn telling them that you had gotten a migraine just so you could get some time to yourselves and not be interrupted. But still, Polly, Lizzie and Esme had come to check up on you and keep you company so that Finn could go have fun with his brothers, successfully interrupting you once again.

It didn’t matter what time of the day it was, whether it was before the crack of dawn, at the middle of the day or at nighttime. It didn’t matter where you were, whether you were at home, outside, in the Shelby family estate on the countryside or in the bloody locker rooms of the boxing rings, someone was always there to interrupt your fun, needing either yours, Finn’s or both of your help for something they easily could have managed by themselves.

It was infuriating, and the lack of touch and release was slowly starting to take its toll on both of you, your moods having worsened significantly these past weeks.

Arthur and John had been the first ones to pick up on it when Finn had stormed into a boozer and angrily sat down on a chair, glaring the entire time, asking him if ‘his woman wasn’t giving him what he wanted’. 

He had said nothing, of course, not wanting to disrespect you by agreeing as it wasn’t even your fault in the first place, but still, he had wished that they actually realized that was the case and that it was their fault.

And you. Your father barely dared to be in the same room as you anymore, as you would lose control and start yelling at him the second he told a joke, leaving him slightly terrified as you had your mother’s temper; one he had learned early into their marriage was not to be tampered with.

It was definitely safe to say that your sexual drive was entirely too high for the amount of sex you were not having. And that went for the both of you.

But today, as if the Gods had heard your prayers, you had finally been blessed with an opportunity and you had wasted absolutely no time in jumping at it, sneakily pulling Finn out of the Garrison where the rest of your families would be holed up for at least thirty minutes.

Your house was too far away to be able to make it before they would notice you were missing, so you had had no other choice but to drag him towards his office building, the two of you hurrying inside, up the stairs, and into his office, only then letting go of his hand.

“Lock the door.” You rushed out through heavy breaths, out of breath from having ran all the way there from the Garrison.

Finn gave you a dumb stare to a start, but instantly caught on as he watched you start to tug your coat off of your body, his eyes widening slightly but nonetheless closing the door behind him, locking it.

“We’re doing it here?” He asked, his chest heaving up and down roughly and his eyes turning significantly darker just at the thought.

“Do you have a better idea?” You raised an eyebrow, finally getting your arm out of your heavy coat and throwing it across the floor, starting to work on the buttons of your blouse. “We never get to be alone.”

Finn took a step closer into the room, looking at you with an uncertain expression. “What if someone walks in?”

That’s what the lock is for, you idiot, you thought to yourself and had to keep from rolling your eyes. But his eyes betrayed his doubtful façade, causing you to just put on a playful grin as you started removing your shoes.

“Scared, Shelby?” You teased, pride filling your body as you watched his eyes started traveling your body as you let the blouse fall to the floor. “Don’t you want me?” You raised an eyebrow, grabbing at the thin material of your stockings and starting to pull them down your legs without lifting your skirt.  

Your tauntingly slow antics caused his breathing to intensify and his fists to clench at his sides as he stood by and enjoyed the show. 

“I want you so badly it hurts.” He answered, and his words were proven more than correct with the way he was clearly growing in his pants just at the mere sight of your hands running over your own body.

Letting your stockings drop to the floor, you stepped out of them and slowly backed up to his desk, now dressed only in your bra and skirt. 

“Then come here and take me.” You smirked, putting on an innocent expression and giving him a shrug. “Or maybe I’ll take Nick’s up on his offer and go have some fun with him instead.”

At your words, a dark glare instantly crossed Finn’s face, and he marched over to you all while tugging at the tie around his neck. “You’re mine and I’m not sharing.” He answered, his voice rough and determined.

You smirked at his response, and before you knew it, he had tugged you into him by your hips and roughly pressed his lips against yours, the feeling of his bulge pressing against your already aching core drawing a gasp from your lips.

Your hands instinctively went around his neck, completely undoing the loosened tie and throwing it somewhere across the room and wasting no time in getting to work on the buttons of his waistcoat.

You had to cut your movements short though, your fingers stopping right in their tracks as Finn moved his hand in between your legs, brushing his fingers directly over the place where you needed him the most.

“No panties?” He mumbled against your lips, his voice dark and slightly muffled, and you could feel his heart picking up speed against your chest just like yours was.

You moaned at the feeling of his thumb brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves, your lips breaking apart briefly and your eyes meeting. “I haven’t worn any in a week.” You admitted, breathless. “I’ve wanted to be ready.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at your words, and you moaned again when he suddenly pushed a finger into you, your eyes squeezing shut and your hands gripping at the back of his neck. 

“Ready is right.” He answered, almost sounding as if he was mocking you. “I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already this wet.”

“What can I say.” You breathed heavily, letting your forehead fall against his chest as he started moving his finger in and out of your wet center. “You do things to me that no other man ever could.”

And just like that, his brave façade was gone with the wind, your confident words being enough to have him back wrapped around your finger.

He pulled his finger out of you and returned his hand to your hip, pressing another kiss to your lips while you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

“If we get caught, I’ll kill you.” He muttered against your lips, but all you could do was laugh.

“I love it when you talk dirty.” You joked, tugging on his hair slightly and successfully drawing a small moan from his lips, which only got you going even more.

Without another word and without ever breaking the kiss, you pushed him back by his chest so that you could stand up from his desk, and slowly started to push him back into the room.

Your breaths mixed together as you walked, or rather stumbled, across the floor. Finn’s hands moved to your back, gently brushing your hair out of the way to start untying the laces of your bra, all while your hands moved back to finish unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt.

The articles of clothing fell to the floor in just a few seconds and you had to hold on to each other in order to not fall over on the boxes of paperwork Finn had sprawled over his office floor. 

You gripped at his bare shoulders as you changed direction, Finn now being the one to lead you over the room towards some unknown location while letting his hands travel your body.

You bumped into the corner of a table on the way and a sharp pain shot up the side of your thigh, but you couldn’t be bothered, only pulling him closer to your body. 

You turned around again so that you were leading, and just then, Finn’s foot got caught in something on the floor, sending him falling backward and you falling with him.

Luckily, his couch was there to save him, and you landed on his lap, straddling him. 

But even when you had tripped, you hadn’t broken the kiss once, only breaking apart for air for a second at a time before re-attaching your lips to each other’s, the kiss getting hotter and more desperate for every time.

You moved your hands away from his neck and back to the small of your back where you pulled down the zipper of your skirt, pulling it off and throwing it to the side.

Finn’s hands instantly moved to your butt, squeezing your flesh and pushing you down harder on his hardness, the feeling of the friction of his pants against your bare core drawing a moan from your lips.

You slowly grind down on him, your hands returning to his face as you attached your lips to his again after a second of air, and he instantly bucked his hips up to meet you, the feeling drawing another moan from you but also a small chuckle as it was now your turn to taunt him.

“Baby getting a bit needy?” You asked in a slight baby voice breaking apart from his lips.

He opened his eyes and glared at you, the darkness of his eyes causing the tingly feeling in your stomach to intensify. “Don’t tease me.” He muttered back, his jaw clenching as you ground down again.

You smirked, but wasted no time in reaching between you for his buckle, unbuckling and unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down, releasing his member into the chilly air.

He hissed at the feeling of your hand wrapping around it, his hands finding their way away from your ass to grip at your hips roughly as you wasted no time in lining him up at your entrance and sliding down on his length.

Your eyes closed at the feeling of him filling you up, and Finn’s head fell backward against the edge of the sofa, the hard grip he held on your hips only making the entire experience better for you.

Your heart instantly picked up speed and your entire core ached with desperateness as you were finally getting the release you had been yearning after for so long. 

Starting to move your hips in circular movements, Finn’s grip on your hips tightened and his head fell forward into the crook of your neck.

A moan left your lips as he moved one of his hands between your bodies and started rubbing at your most sensitive spot, and your hands moved up to his head to tug at his hair that was now beginning to get slightly curly with the sweat you were already building up.

Your mouth was starting to get dry from breathing so intensely, and in an attempt to wet it again, you moved your face down to Finn’s neck where you started placing kisses, licking and sucking at the spots you knew drove him absolutely crazy.

And that it did, his groans intensifying into your shoulder and his hands grabbing everywhere. 

You were both too horny and too desperate for your own good, moving faster and rougher than you ever had before in a way that almost made the whole experience animalistic.

Finn was so insanely needy, touch starved and submissive after barely having been paid any attention for weeks that he was a moaning and trembling mess under your touch as you rode him.

His hands moved from your hips and back to your ass, and you finally abandoned his neck that was now damp and hot with a mixture of his sweat and your saliva, your hands moving to grip at his shoulders as you quickened your pace.

By grabbing your ass, Finn then proceeded to add even more force to it by thrusting his own hips up to meet yours and pushing you down even harder, causing your head to fall back and your eyes to fall shut as you yelled out in pleasure.

“Oh, God, yes, just like that!” You moaned, sounding as if you were on the verge of crying with the intense amount of pleasure that rocked through your body at the feeling of him thrusting himself right into your sweet spot.

You moved up and down with furious motions and he met you halfway every time, his forehead now pressed against yours. You opened your eyes, to find that his were already open and staring at you through hooded lids and long eyelashes, the freckles on his face intensified ten times in his flustered state.

“Say my name.” He told you through heavy, ragged breaths, and you could slowly feel the familiar knot forming in the pit of your stomach at the sound of his raspy voice and the sight of his dark eyes staring into yours.

You opened your lips to do as you were told, but all you could do was moan loudly when he thrust into you again, your eyes squeezing shut and your head falling back as the knot got even tighter and tighter.

“Say my name.” Now he was more or less begging and judging by the way he was starting to shake beneath you, you knew he had to be just as close as you were.

“Finn.” You moaned out finally, one of your hands gripping at his shoulder and digging your nails into his skin while the other was tugging at his hair.

He groaned, the mixture of pleasure and pain getting him going even more, having you a moaning and trembling mess on top of him within the next few seconds.

“Don’t stop, Finn.” You moaned, tugging onto his hair even rougher and moving your hips furiously against his, your face burying into his neck. 

You moaned his name again, right by his ear, and that was enough to send him toppling over the edge, you not far behind and the two of you riding out your highs together.  

He twitched inside of you and you clenched around him, both of you moaning and groaning and holding each other close, which only made your orgasms even more intense and long-lasting. 

They must have lasted at least a minute before both of you fell limp where you sat, your chests heaving up and down and your skin sticking together with sweat and arousal.

You remained still for a moment, just catching your breaths and nuzzling each other’s necks while you regained some of your energy, before Finn finally moved you off of his lap so that he could get up.

He found his underwear right beneath the sofa and pulled it on, before venturing to the other side of his office, coming back seconds later with a towel.

Now laying down on your back in all your naked glory, you wasted no time in opening your legs for him once he got back to you, letting him clean you up from the mess he had made.

You scanned his face the entire time, smiling slightly at how concentrated he looked and absentmindedly playing around with the gold necklace around your neck.

A slight shiver went through your body at your core being exposed to the cold air in the room, goosebumps starting to spread over your body as the sweat also dried.

Once he was done, Finn tossed the rag to the floor and moved to sit back down, but stopped himself as he caught sight of his reflection in the painting above the sofa, turning his head to the side slightly and letting his long, slender fingers run over his neck for a moment.  

“You fucking branded me. I have marks everywhere.” He scoffed, glaring slightly and swallowing thickly.

But you only smiled proudly, watching your work with bright, playful eyes. “I regret nothing.”

He snorted, inspected himself for another few seconds before turning his attention back to you, parting your legs again so that he could kneel between them, his face coming up right above yours where you laid.

“You’re annoying.” He told you, shaking his head slightly, but all while brushing a piece of your damp hair out of your eyes, the other hand resting comfortably and innocently at your left breast.

You smiled, wrapping your legs around his torso and bringing your hands up to cradle his cheeks, bringing him closer to you. “But you love me.” You answered, pressing a light kiss to his lips.

He smiled into it, his hand stopping to play with your hair and instead coming to a rest on your cheek, cupping it. You held the kiss for a few seconds, lips just slowly moving together before you had to break apart for air.

Leaning his forehead against yours, he scanned your face with little to no emotion on his features, but his eyes glinting with playfulness as he answered. “Doesn’t make you any less annoying.”

You smiled, raising an eyebrow. “If you keep talking like that you might just have to fuck me another time.” You mumbled, gently scratching your nails over his scalp at the back of his head.

He shivered at the feeling and smiled, bringing his thumb up to pull it over your lower lip, his eyes gazing into yours. “Only you would get off by being insulted.”

Your gentle smile turned a playful smirk at that, your eyes mischievously looking into his. “Only by you, baby.” You responded innocently, pulling him down for another short kiss.

Once you broke apart again, he shook his head with a light laugh, but said nothing else, just getting up from the couch and pulling you up too, after which you helped each other get dressed and presentable, before walking out of his office and back to the Garrison hand in hand, finally, at least for the time being, satisfied.

[embarrassingresultofmyfreetime]

2020 Masterlist

Here’s a list of all the fics I’ve posted this year! (Listed by category, then chronologically:)

Link to my ao3 where you can read all of these: embarrassingresultofmyfreetime

~

Currents wips:

And They Were Quarantine Mates

An old disease has resurfaced on Earth- one which most humans recover from but is permanently lethal to Time Lords.

Because of this, the Doctor stays on Earth to make sure her humans make it through okay.

And because of the Doctor, the Master- against his better judgement- also chooses to stay.

Reluctant to leave the safety of the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor and the Master find plenty of ways to pass the time but it can be difficult to enjoy each other's company with so many things left unsaid.

Good thing they have plenty of time in isolation to work it out.

Word Count: Currently 88,172

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Spyfall: Battle For Humanity

This is a little number I like to call: Roleswap AU with Dhawan!Doctor and Whittaker!Master

It's sort of a rewrite of Spyfall p2 but it's better.

Word Count: Currently 5,688 (will be about 12k when finished)

~~~

-

Main fics (completed):

Please Tell Me Why Do We Worry

Summary: After learning about the final loss of Gallifrey, the Doctor takes some time to grieve and finds herself with surprisingly mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

To her surprise, a knock at her Tardis door soon reveals the Master not only alive, but in uncontrollable mental agony as he reveals that the Doctor's suffering has been amplifying his own emotions via their telepathic bond.

Note: (After so many kind and positive comments on this fic, I finally gained the confidence to start posting more! A huge thank you to so many people it means so, so much to me!)

Word Count: 5,068

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Second Chances

When Graham finds a teleportation cube offering an all-expenses-paid vacation, he, Ryan, and Yaz take up the offer and give the seemingly-distant Doctor some time to herself.

After the events of Skyfall 1&2, the trust between the trio and a certain timelord is shaken. However, when their vacation quickly becomes a nightmare, it's up to the Doctor to bring about peace on an upsettingly familiar planet.

Note: (A rewrite/fix it of S11 episode Orphan 55)

Word Count: 7,130

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All’s Fair In Love And War

Having escaped alive and alone, the Master dwells on his failure and uncertainty at what to do next.

Purely by accident, he runs into a version of the Doctor he's never met before and she gives him a much needed perspective on their relationship.

Word Count: 4,653

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Truth and Reconciliation

“I... I destroyed a lot of things, but not this... trove of secrets. This is what started it all.”

Missing Scene where the Master goes to Gallifrey and discovers the truth of the timeless child for the first time + alternate ending to The Timeless Children episode

Word Count: 7,563

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The Doctor Finally Gets Some Rest

(Ch2 update Missy pov)

The Doctor promised to guard Missy for 1000 years, but Missy doesn't mind returning the favor.

Word Count: 5,671

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I Wouldn’t Wish It On My Best Enemy

"Just deserts appeared to finally be served for the Doctor. All her running had come to an end, all the lives she's taken or caused had finally been assigned a numerical value, and all the morals she had once believed in seemed to crumble to dust right before her eyes.

A life sentence.

She had JUST BEEN TOLD she would never die, and the first thing the universe does is give her a life sentence.

What kind of cruel joke is that?"

Basically: The Doctor reflects on herself while in prison, the Master rescues the Doctor and actually helps her, and idk read the tags

Word Count: 4,629

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Brand New Reality

In an alternate timeline: The Master is killed in the Time War but the Doctor finds a way to salvage his oldest friend's mind by binding it to his Tardis and building him an android vessel as a way to interact with the physical world.

The Doctor also manages to save the Time Lords from their war- but he is still a renegade in their eyes. As punishment, the High Council uses the Doctor- and by extension the Master- as their personal diplomats/field agents.

The Master isn't too happy about being trapped on the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor is fed up with being the equivalent of a dog on a leash to the Time Lords, so in a moment of anger and also pure luck- they break out from their world and end up on a parallel one with a very different version of their universe and very different versions of themselves.

(Shalka!Universe Doctor and Master meet their modern counterparts- the Thirteenth Doctor and Dhawan!Master)

Word Count: 10,148

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The Imposter(s) Among Us

The Doctor has been searching the universe for the Master, but it's only when she takes a break to help a damaged space vessel that she runs directly into him!

The Doctor has a hundred and one things to ask him, but there's no time for any of that now. The ship is barely functional and if the mysterious murderer doesn't get to the Doctor first, then the trigger-happy crewmates might throw her out the airlock before the killer gets a chance.

Word Count: 12,655

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My Dear, Doctor…

The Doctor investigates an anomaly to find that her previous self has stood up their oldest friend for the umpteenth time.

Confused as to why the Doctor can't recall ever receiving Missy's invitation in the first place, the Doctor goes searching for answers and ends up finding far more letters than just one…

Word Count: 6,657

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Series:

And They Were Happy Au Parts 1-4:

Part 1: Dinner and a Show

All his lives, the Master had always believed that he and the Doctor could hold on for about the same amount of time. He always imagined that when they reached their last lives, they would both give all this up and spend their retirement years bickering and raising bees or whatever. The Master didn't particularly like bees, but he had always imagined that the Doctor did and as long as they were together, that was enough to satisfy him.

What he had discovered in the Matrix had proved his ideal endgame impossible.

The revelation that the Doctor was The Timeless Child meant that the Doctor would always live on. They would always evolve and survive no matter what happened. The Doctor would always race to people in need; and now, they would never have any reason to stop.

(AU where the reason the Master wanted the Doctor to kill them both in The Timeless Child is bc he's on his last life)

Word Count: 5,120

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Part 2: Dinner and a Show One-Offs

"The Doctor did her best to space out her visits with O. For every couple adventures she had with her 'fam', she would stop by his home once or so. Sometimes she let months slip by, because she knew that the longer she waited, the less of O's limited time she used up.

She felt guilty to calculate it, but if O was already in his mid-thirties and he lived a full human life...

Suffice it to say, she wanted it to last for as long as possible. She had never had a situation as stable nor as safe as she now had with O. After everything they had both been through to get to this point, she refused to jeopardize a single moment.

For all the pain the Master had caused her, O was well worth the wait."

(By popular demand, a continuation of 'Dinner and a Show')

Word Count: 10,926

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Part 3: Unjustifiable

O- having no recollection of his actions as 'The Master'- returns to being Earth's Horizon Watcher.

O is proud of his work and he cherishes the Doctor's frequent visits, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that she's been keeping more secrets about his past than he had theorized.

To make matters worse, the arrival of an advanced species of aliens on his doorstep brings with it a whole new plethora of problems. Something terrifying resurfaces when O hears they're searching for a Tardis and things go terribly wrong.

Word Count: 23,870

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Part 4: Found Family

The Master finally gets around to seeing the universe in a more peaceful way and runs into a young woman looking for her father.

Word Count: 3,663 (Will possibly be updated at a later date, but complete for now)

~~~

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Oneshots Inspired by others (specific inspiration in the beginning notes of each):

All Alone In The Dark

While heading back to Earth, the Doctor hears someone calling for her help.

She tracks it back to the Master- injured yet alive- and finds him trapped in his own head, reliving his last confrontation with The Time Lord Council before the destruction of Gallifrey.

Word Count: 1,926

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You Again

The 10th Doctor and Missy each escape their last canon appearances believing that the other is dead for good.

So imagine their surprise when they run into each other at a party in the 1920's.

Word Count: 6,943

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Sick Day

The Master has everything set up for his latest evil scheme but when he tracks down the Doctor, he realizes his best enemy is in no condition to fight. So the Master does what any good nemesis does and takes care of him.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Word Count: 2,807

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Prompt: "Right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge!" "Can I pick?"

The Master’s Tardis had traced the call seven minutes in advance to this exact time and location. He pushed open his Tardis door to find himself in front of some no name bar with graffiti scrawled on the side, situated in front of an empty ravine. He was on Earth, and there was probably a similarly ramshackled city around him, but he didn’t so much as spare it a glance.

The Master’s steps were determined, his jaw clenched, and his hands shaking despite his signature device in hand.

He had been on the other side of the universe, licking his wounds like any old villain would when disappointed by their latest nemesis showdown. It all made his blood boil to have caved so soon. To come back and HELP the Doctor.

The Doctor still had O’s number and her call was scheduled to be made in exactly seven minutes. A hysterical, agonizing call that begged the Master to intervene. He wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing the Doctor in so much despair, or the disappointment that hearing her in such agony somehow didn’t lessen his own.

Word Count: 2,410

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The Beginning and The End

Prompt: First Doctor, Dhawan!Master, Gallifrey, and the dialogue: "I know my words mean close to nothing for you. But I do, in fact, love you very much."

Basically Theta (Academy Era Doctor) accidentally runs into the Master on a burning Gallifrey

Word Count: 4,499

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Kisses Like That

The Doctor's never understood why humans enjoy kissing so much- but a certain, somewhat familiar woman piques his interest.

(Missy goes back in time to give 10 a lil kiss)

Word Count: 1,885

Spyvember 2020

Collection of short fics I did inspired by Spyvember prompts (from Tumblr)

Word Count: 15,506 (6 separate chapters)

~~~

Thank you to everyone who has inspired me, commented on my work, read any of my writing, and overall has just supported me in any way this year!! Thank you for keeping me motivated and helping me improve as a writer!

My best wishes to you in the new year! <3

[a-secondhand-sorrow]

growth in the grey areas

The @sincerely-us​ gift exchange is always SO much fun to participate in, and I’m so happy to share my gift on this summer’s holideh. As a fun little surprise for @thatfriendlyanon​... we are 2 for 2! thank you for your gorgeous prompts and I hope I could do them justice 💜 (here’s an ao3 link!)

***

Imagine, if you will, a dollhouse.

Imagine the façade first; imagine perfect white siding, trimmed and shaped plastic shrubs, pristine windows with freshly-painted sills. Now travel inside, moving past stickered-on wallpaper and furniture you are free to arrange at will. See the people living inside, their hair perfectly shaped and mouths curved into perpetual smiles. Nothing is complicated or difficult - there are shadows and there is light, and they never mix. There is Good and there is Bad, nothing beyond.

Imagine, if you will, that the Murphy family’s house is a dollhouse.

It truly has every appearance of one, from the shrubs to the wallpaper to, at first glance, the people inside; carefully curated with a precision only money can buy, packaged together in a box to nod your head at as you pass in the store and not look at much for longer.

Now, if you will, crack the dollhouse open right down the middle.

You’ll first see the house, as impeccable as always, but the people inside are not congregated together in the kitchen as they were before. Only the newcomer remains in the kitchen, far less of a newcomer than he thought of himself. Slide your eyes to the left, over to the other half, and you’ll see gray hair slicked back carefully and a painted-on shirt collar recently undone from hands worrying it standing over a box of memorabilia, a permanent crease molded between his brows. Slide them up over floors and walls to see hundreds of pages clutched between an ever-impeccable hand, another hand pressed to mouth to stifle something while seated on a bed that is not her own. And, finally, locate the final person, doll, pawn - over the grid of plastic that separates all of them, find her one room over, curled into a position you didn’t know she can manage, her hands pressing to her face as though they alleviate building pressure. Imagine, if you will, them - that whole picture.

If you understand what it is to be falling apart inside a picture-perfect life, you may begin to understand what it is to be a Murphy.

I. something shatters

Evan read once that, after a sonic boom, all is deathly silent. Surprisingly, that isn’t because all machinery and living beings present are completely destroyed; no, the silence is from the explosion itself. If the force is powerful enough, it will create a vacuum where air levels are so low that sound doesn’t travel. You could curse, you could scream, you could beg to go back in time for a minute or an hour or a year and it wouldn’t matter. Your lips would move and no sound would escape. That was what true silence was.

He passed physics as a freshman, so of course he understood that concept in theory, even if there was always a part of his brain that never fully registered just how awful and harsh and real that vacuum could be.

He never understood until he uttered those words, those explosive words, in the Murphy’s kitchen over the sounds of phones ringing and the people he’d grown to love breathing and speaking. He never understood until they rode the explosion out and away. He never understood until he was left in the aftershocks, no air left for him to speak with.

He wishes he’d understood that before, that kind of choking silence. Of course, that may just be guilt. Heidi always says that guilt is the most unproductive emotion - it’s useless, he can hear her say in his mind in between sniffles, you can’t go back and change the past - but he knows he has no hope of curbing the swell of it inside of him all the same.

His ride was, originally, Zoe. How funny that seems looking back with hindsight. Not even an hour before, he’d felt that he belonged enough to have a guaranteed way back to his house, to monotony and crushing stability. He’d been able to rely on that tiny routine.

Without it, he feels liable to break apart and shatter into a thousand pieces.

He still has to get home, though, and so he curbs that particular impulse and accepts the fact that he’s just ruined the only good things in his life. (You were bound to ruin them when you first lied to them, something in his mind says, which is nothing he doesn’t know already.) He never sat down, so save for a brief pep talk (or mental beration) to his feet to get them moving he manages to make his exit from the Murphy household swiftly. Evan walks the whole way home, and he knows that he must pass some landmarks - trees, houses, even Ellison Park is on the path back. But when he reaches his front door, he can’t remember anything about the walk. The only thing that reminds him of the walk he just made is his aching feet. And, of course. the house in front of him.

Heidi’s car is out front, and he’s not sure whether to be terrified or relieved. He’s not given a chance to settle on one or the other before his right hand is cold on the handle of his front door as his left stays firmly planted in his pocket. The interior of the house is maybe a degree or so warmer than the outside air, and the contrast lands softly on his cheeks for a moment as the door clicks shut behind him.

His mother sits on the couch in the living room, only ten or so feet from the door. She’s still wearing her scrubs, but her laptop is on her lap all the same. Their eyes meet, and Evan knows he won’t be able to brush past her and get to his room. The suspicion only confirmed when she opens her mouth, and that’s when he finally places the expression on her face; shock.

“Have you seen this? The note that Connor Murphy...?”

Evan nods, finally closing the distance between the living room half of the room and the entrance part. His limbs warm the further in he walks, but his hands continue to fiddle with his sweatshirt hem all the same, his neck bowed. He can’t bring himself to meet Heidi’s eyes.

“It’s all over everyone’s Facebook.”

She looks back at her computer screen.

“Dear Evan Hansen…” She shakes her head slowly, letting out one long sigh like a deflated and punctured balloon.“Did you… you wrote this? The note?”

Evan nods again.

“I didn’t know.”

“No one did,” Evan says, taking a tiny step forward. He gestures with one hand in the rush to assure her, still at the level of his hem.

“No, that’s not what I...I didn’t know that you...that you were…” Her voice can be so soft, so gently imploring, almost tenuously polite even to her own son. Like she’s terrified of saying the wrong thing, and she knows how to cushion her words in case it goes wrong. Hearing something that sounds so similar to his own brain pains him for a moment. “...hurting like that. That you felt so...I didn’t know. How did I not know?”

“Because I never told you.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

He shakes his head, bowing his neck further and pressing his lips into a line.“I lied. About...so many things. Not just Connor. Last summer, I just...I felt so alone…”

She speaks again as she always does, right in front of him when he needs her presence - soft, supportive, her voice gravelly with how serious it is. “You can tell me.”

Shaking his head against the building pressure of tears, Evan chokes out “you’ll hate me.”

“Oh, Evan.”

“You should. If you knew what I tried to do. If you knew how I am, how,” the hand gestures return with a vengeance, emphasizing nothing in particular. “...broken I am.”

“I already know you, and I love you.”

That gets him to break. He’d been slowly edging forward towards the couch throughout the conversation, but with that, he drops to perch on the edge of the cushion.

“I’m so sorry,” is all he can say, and Heidi takes his hands with a gesture that makes him feel more seven than seventeen, and it’s then that the vacuum around his throat finally lifts and he falls apart.

***

He feels like a goddamn fool.

Larry should be - well, he should be furious, shouldn’t he? This kid waltzed into his life, his family’s life, to build up some fairy tales about what his son was supposed to be and then he has to go and tear it all down just when they need them the most. He should be blind with a white-hot rage, like the one he’d felt when they got the call that early September day. He should be breaking things and making shout-filled phone calls.

Anger can be quiet, he reassures himself. Anger can be silent. Anger can be standing up from a table and staring down someone who lied without saying a word. Anger can be walking so that your steps make no noise against the floor and keeping heavy eye contact, being the last to leave the room. Anger can be leaving a kid who made a mistake to fend for himself when he was practically the son you never really had an hour before.

Larry passes a hand over his face with perhaps more force than necessary.

God, he’s not angry. He’s just a fool.

Connor’s been buried six feet under the ground for over three months, but Larry still half expects to hear him call him a fool to his face. Or probably some expletive-riddled alternative. When the words never come, he appears strangely off-balance. He tilts right where he stands in the garage, driving his fist into the nearest object - conveniently, a wall. His knuckles crack on impact and he regrets the eruption immediately but still, he doesn’t shed a tear for either the punch or for his son.

Apparently missing Connor turned Larry into some faded and worn version of his outbursts.

That thought sobers him right up, and he takes a deep, controlled breath in response. The movement reminds him of his daughter, how she does the same over almost every family breakfast and trying conversation. He’d be admiring her self-control if he wasn’t lacking so much himself. Still, he manages to calm himself enough that he lowers his fist from the wall, wincing all the way as his skin snags on the rough concrete. He turns back to his previous task. Any given member of the family would scold him at the sight of the baseball memorabilia, a fact that he knows well and has tested one too many times. The cards are an addiction he can’t quite kick, but it’s a preferable one to pulling out the whiskey in his desk drawer. Or whatever the hell Connor had been hooked on. Dealing with the memorabilia is easier than dealing with the mediocre reaction and the stew of feelings he has. Breaking down into tears would be easier. Flying into a blind rage would be preferable. Instead, he’s just sedentary and mindlessly occupying himself.

Larry knows that he should be joining his girls, trying to be strong, to kick away habits in favor of human connection. He should be allowing himself to process grief in a natural way, as the grief counselor said at the very beginning of this whole nightmare. In so many ways, he’s right back at square one. But at least this time around, things are not as hazy. With Evan and his stories and his emails - things were better, happier. But they were fuzzy, too. Now he’s wide awake, but he can’t find it in himself to tear away from the all-consuming sorting and looking and sorting and looking that the garage requires. The task is a thousand times emptier without Evan asking questions and filling up the negative space in the garage in a way he rarely filled up any other rooms, but it’s a distraction and a release, and Larry - who has always, always been a fool - takes the piles of Orioles cards under his hands for the blessing and curse that they are.

***

“I deluded myself to think that - to try and justify it as though maybe, maybe I wasn’t the only person who craved a normal life - who craved being accepted, being part of something bigger than myself. It’s no excuse, I know that - there is no excuse. But I hoped that I was helping other people when really all I was doing was bolstering myself. I hoped that maybe I wasn’t the only broken person.”

The only broken person.

From the moment Evan spoke those words, Zoe hasn’t been able to get them out of her head.

So many other parts of his speech present themselves for her to mull over, to cry over, to scream and be furious about. After all, quite a bit of deceit was revealed. The freshness of their presumed break-up, their family tensions being aired for the whole internet to see, and, of course, Evan’s backdated and misread and completely and blatantly nonexistent relationship with Connor all battle for dominance on her heavily-weighed mind, but above all are those echoing words.

The only broken person.

When she reaches her room, where she’d run out of force of habit rather than any real intent, she collapses back against her door. It clicks satisfyingly against the frame. She barely hears the sound before she’s cringing away. Something about the combined sensation of the door moving and the unexpected sound clash in her mind. Zoe expects the door to crash open at any second, and she chokes on tears and sobs and the stilted, heavy air in her room as she tries to put as much distance between the door and her as possible.  

It takes a moment for reality to return to her, and she stills halfway between her door and her bed, the hardwood floor biting into her calloused fingers and sensitive palms. Her head aches, her heart aches, and all she can think is the only broken person, only they’re not in Evan’s voice, they’re in hers. The words drip with so much Murphy family venom that she can feel them trail a burning path down her throat and brand themselves into her upper mouth until her vision fills with little white dots.

But Zoe is nothing if not resilient. She has always been the last one standing, the strongest and sturdiest, the one with the best poker face who is willing to play the game. And so Zoe pushes herself up in a wave, hands to elbows to give herself the momentum needed to move upwards. Once she finds her feet she staggers forward towards the bed. She can barely see in her darkened room. The only light comes from the stars outside her window, but they’re blurred around her tears. She curls onto her duvet without crawling underneath, bunching it between her arms as though it could be another person instead of just fabric. For a moment the blanket might be Evan - she’s grown so used to his weight beside her that lying without him is cold and lonely by contrast. And a moment later she can even imagine it’s Connor like it had been when they were little kids. No matter what she thinks, however, it really is just cloth.

It’s a step up from lying on the ground, at least. A small comfort in a day that has been filled with anything but.

She’d told him she loved him in this room. On this bed, this duvet. He’d told her that he loved her, and she’d felt safe, certain for the first time that no one was on the other side of the door. That they were truly alone in her room, the rest of the world falling to the wayside. He’d murmured the words into her lips, peppered them across her face with her freckles, spoke them each time with a reverence deeper than any devotion she’d ever heard until she was incapable of doubting the truth in the words. Not a single moment passed where she doubted that she was loved while they were together.

In the aftermath, she has to doubt every single moment, and that somehow makes everything worse.

So much hurts. There is a Connor-shaped hole in her that he punched into her himself, one that Evan expanded and twisted with his declarations that Connor really did love her, that he didn’t want to hurt her. And there’s a new Evan-shaped hole in her chest and in her bed and in her soul that she never would have expected existing in August. Her phone won’t stop ringing, either, and the ringtone her friends picked out as a joke about how bubbly Zoe was is starting to repeat so incessantly in her head that she’s ready to crawl right out of her skin.

She could put her phone on do not disturb, but instead, she throws it as hard as she can across the room. Some part of her, the part of her that shadowed Connor incessantly and took some sick pleasure from the familiar rhythm of her parent’s fights, wants desperately to hear the phone shatter. But it’s thrown from an awkward angle, so her hopes aren’t high for destruction. All the same, when she hears it buzzing against the floorboards she is disproportionately disappointed.

Zoe wants to scream. She wants to get up and really shatter her phone like Connor and Evan shattered her family. She wants to settle on her heart and her soul by feeling either love or hate and not some jagged mix of both. Mostly, though, she’s tired. She has always been the strongest of all of them, the last one standing, the ever-composed and happiest, but her legs are beginning to shake under the strain of standing stock-still. For the first time, she thinks she understands why her family takes to shouting under the slightest duress. Anything must be better than leaving everything she experiences to weigh on her chest until she holds so much that the pain of it all starts to jolt her.

Maybe the most suffocating part of the whole situation is that she knew all along. Knew that his lies were too good to be true. Knew that Connor would never say those things, even if he didn’t hate her (and now she’ll never know whether he did.) Knew that Evan’s stories, for all their sincerity, didn’t hold up to any given timeline. From the moment he sat at her dinner table and fumbled over a conversation about the wretched skiing trips, she knew not a word that came out of his mouth was true. If she looks back, she knows she never really believed him. But instead of saying anything, she kept her mouth shut just like she always did. She swallowed her pride and his lies because they went down easier than the idea of never knowing for certain, of living the rest of her life in limbo over what Connor thought of her. They hurt less than the idea that she’d helped lead to his demise.

She knew all along, but she went along with his story all the same because the cracks in her sentry became more pronounced day after day, the chest-crushing anxiety that sometimes made her wonder if her heart finally succumbed to a heart attack and the blatant disregard for her own physical safety as she moved through her day only multiplying into dizzying numbers. She splintered under the constant pressure and the unrelenting lights like she never had before, and she was seconds away from falling to the ground before Connor died and even closer than that when Evan walked into their lives. Before that dinner, she had wished with a futile hope - one she couldn’t remember using since she was small - that Connor hadn’t taken so much from her, including the only way out. His pain overshadowed everyone else’s, and once he was gone nothing was left to hide hers behind. Evan’s lies eased it, propped her up. Maybe that’s why she grit her teeth, flashed a smile, and accepted it.

Connor may have been broken, and Evan too, but they were far from the only ones.

Zoe curls further into her bed, searching for something solid to grip onto, before she pushes herself upright just as she always does.

***

Cynthia runs out of tears sometime around the fortieth email.

It was bound to happen at some point - she can only physically produce tears for so long, after all - but she can’t help but feel hollow as her eyes dry and her breaths begin to steady out. Her head begins to grow heavier with the familiar fatigue that follows crying, but none of the satisfaction follows it. No resolution to the truth that made her cry appears. She wishes she would just continue crying instead of sitting still and empty on her son’s bed.

Instead, she turns another page and reads until her eyelids dry out and her eyes catch on them as she moves them back and forth, left to right, as though her life depends on that one action.

Now - now she can see it. How much each one of these, even the ones from ‘Connor,’ just drip Evan all over. He’d had her fooled, he truly had, but now that she knows he wrote them she can’t unsee it. The words are a little too stiff and structured to be her son’s. They are so much like Evan himself, pieced together to try and make others happy while sacrificing his own happiness.  Common sense dictates that she’d miss that at first when she barely knew him (and barely understood Connor). Now that she knows him so well-

Well. Maybe she doesn’t really know him at all. That’s the thought that really stings.

Cynthia looks up from the page. Her daughter had made it a foot or so into Connor’s room without Cynthia hearing at all. A pang of guilt hits her as she takes in Zoe’s bloodshot eyes and eerily still features, save for the bottom lip being worried between her teeth. She’d been forgotten again. Cynthia had forgotten her again.

The severity of the guilt feels dampened, somehow, but she’s not quite sure why.

Zoe doesn’t say anything. Where Cynthia is so accustomed to Connor’s explosive words, Zoe is always silent, something Cynthia never quite wraps her head around. The opposite is also true, of course. Where she is used to Connor’s weighty silence, Zoe always manages to surprise her with a sarcastic mutter or an occasional scathing sentence. Only since his death has her voice ever raised above a normal speaking tone when speaking with her or Larry, and only then to scold Cynthia for defending Connor.

Something has to replace Zoe’s occasional shouting at Connor, Cynthia supposes, but the earlier guilt crawls back and kills the thought.

Instead of speaking, Cynthia just watches as Zoe crosses the line of bookshelves on the front wall and nestles herself comfortably on the floor between two of them. The location is an odd choice, but Cynthia can’t find it in herself to be surprised.

(Of course, Cynthia wouldn’t know that that spot is where Zoe always used to sit, mostly in middle school before Connor completely tore their relationship to shreds. Back when Connor would let Zoe sit and do her homework while he drew or read instead of chasing her out of the room if she so much as crossed a foot in front of his door. She wouldn’t know how many hours Zoe spent quietly consoling Connor and curling up to sleep on the floor in the months before Connor kicked her out and she was forced to sleep in front of his door instead, just so he knew she was close.

Zoe stopped halfway through freshman year. She had to. But the habit of sitting nestled between the two bookshelves remains two years later.)

Cynthia doesn’t speak. She doesn’t know what she would say if she did. She just sits, and Zoe sits near her. After a beat, Zoe holds one hand out expectantly. Cynthia divides about a fourth of the emails off the top of her stack after only a moment of deliberation to hand them to her. They look so large in her daughter’s hand, and Cynthia is abruptly reminded just how young Zoe is. She recognized the same fact the night that Connor - well. Zoe had a similarly lost edge in her eyes that night. Cynthia had looked into those eyes, the eyes that Zoe and Connor shared, and that's when Cynthia realized no one had ever taught her this. She’d read her fair share of parenting books once Connor started to go downhill, but no one prepared her for that moment. For the look in Zoe’s eyes when she realized Connor was gone, when Cynthia was the one to tell her for good. No one can ever teach you how to handle that.

That was the first time Cynthia realized just how young Zoe truly was since normally she was so carefully guarded and built up that she seemed several years older. But Cynthia had let herself forget, again, how young and small her daughter was.

Now Zoe, the version Cynthia is truly seeing for the first time, flips through pages at a rapid speed. Her eyes scan over every line.

“I can’t believe I read these,” Zoe whispers. Cynthia can’t tell if Zoe meant for her mother to hear it or not. “I can’t believe I…”

“Believed it?” She offers, bitterness curling into the words. They’re nasally, probably because of all the crying. Zoe doesn’t respond, just flips another page with a light scoff.

They read in silence for some time. A shadow falls across the doorway. When Cynthia glances up, it’s to see her husband leaning against the doorframe. His lips are in their same perpetual thinned form, his forehead creased and the corners of his eyes hardened.

No one taught her how to fix any of this. She should know how, shouldn’t she? It should be on her to fix this. Not a group of teenagers who can barely hold themselves together while they scatter, no, it should have been her to provide that for them. She should have taken on their burden, their pain, because that was her job. She was too caught up in her own grief to save theirs and so they acted rashly and painfully, just as she has done by trusting them, just as Connor did - she can’t let this all happen again, not when circumstances are so dire. She must fix everything for them.

But Larry is in Connor’s room, instead of hiding away downstairs, and so when he holds out a silent hand for more papers she relinquishes half of her stack without much thought. And the three of them stand their ground, flipping through fabricated pages silently but together. They are closer together than they’ve been in years.

It’s a start, maybe.

Cynthia - for all that has been torn away from her day by day, second by second, as Evan’s lie crumbled apart slowly - can hope.

***

II. and slowly, quietly, imperfectly

Heidi insists on a session with Dr. Sherman first thing the next day.

It’s a Saturday, so he can’t really deny her request. And she’s already bartered for the whole day off, or so she informs him.

That early winter chill fills the air, the one that makes him feel weirdly like a little kid. Everything is cold enough that snow should coat the ground and purify the landscape, cover in every broken crevice in the ground until the world is a blank slate. But it’s too early for that kind of snow, and he has to settle for greying skies and cheek-stinging wind. The weather is perfect for curling up under the covers with someone you care about, or for visiting your therapist and probably crying until your throat hurts.

But Heidi held him close for so long the night before, and when she’d pulled away it was only when he’d initiated the separation. She had only strayed away from him to make him the matzo ball soup she always made him when he felt sick, anxiety-based or otherwise, as a little kid. Eating it is like stepping into little Evan’s life for just a blissful minute, and for that time he remembers just how much she loves him. It tastes like he thinks caring about someone feels, and Evan is certain he won’t be able to argue with his mother again.

Maybe that was her intent all along with the soup. That would’ve been a pretty impressive con.

Almost all of the Dr. Sherman session is spent spilling his guts of every secret he’s kept over the past few months and chose not to share. All Dr. Sherman does is regard him over his steepled fingers for a moment, nodding all the way. He thought saying everything out loud would make the guilt in his stomach curdle and choke, which it did - he had to stop several times just to catch a breath when recounting everything, and he’d swear he was seconds from passing out or throwing up or something - but by the time his session is over, his soul feels a bit lighter, too. Like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. He’s been experiencing the same sensation since standing in the Murphy’s dollhouse of a life to tear it to the ground - like for once, he can sit up a little straighter and nothing will come crashing down on him. Fewer things can crumble from the sky when everything is already lying on the ground in the rubble.

Heidi’s car waits for him outside - he sees it from the window of Dr. Sherman’s office - but when he finally exits with slightly bloodshot eyes he sees her sitting in the waiting room. She doesn’t fidget like Evan does, her entire body almost wearily still at most times, but he catches her teeth biting at the edge of one nail before she’s up and facing Evan and Dr. Sherman, composed as ever.

Afterward, she’ll ask all kinds of questions about his meds and how the session was and if he’s really okay. But for then it’s kind of nice to just have her there at all. Evan isn’t naïve enough to hope that she’ll be back again, but for that moment he draws strength from her arm looped in his and the warm car he knows is waiting outdoors.

“I’m a bad person,” he says once he’s buckled up in the passenger seat. Before Heidi reaches over to take his hand, he doesn’t realize his hands are shaking. “I’m a terrible person. I knew that, I did, but I couldn’t realize how much - just how terrible.”

“You’re not,” is all Heidi says.

“I am. I did terrible things, and I can’t fix them.”

“You are not a bad person, Evan,” Heidi repeats, a little more forcefully. “I’m your mother. I know you. If you gained something from this situation it was...accidental. You’d never have done this if you didn’t want to help them.”

“But I didn’t,” he parrots, ignoring how completely she understood his motivation without him explaining it to her. “I mean - I wanted to help them, but I knew what I could gain. I...I knew I was hurting them but I did it anyway. I never helped them.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her other hand reaching to cup his left hand. “The world isn’t so binary, Ev,” she finally settles on. “This may have been bad, but you’ll find a way to balance it out. Just because this hurts now doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person forever. If you were truly bad you wouldn’t feel like this.”

He shrugs, trying to hide his burning eyes.

“You’re a...a good person, with a kind heart,” she says, pushing past Evan’s noise of disbelief. “You did something bad. But I know you, Evan. You’ll make it right. Life is messy and complicated, but you love so fiercely, Ev, and you care so much. You’d never want to hurt someone. That doesn’t make you bad. No one is really bad or good, anyway. We live in a complex, dark world, and you’re about as good as they come.”

At last, he shakes his head to break the fog around it. “You have to say that. You’re my mother.”

With an airy laugh, she withdraws her hands, choosing instead to wrap them around the wheel. “Maybe so,” she says, her crooked grin returning. Evan smiles back at her.

***

A Jazz Band concert is scheduled for the next week.

Zoe practically begs off sick. God, she wants to beg off sick. She doesn’t want to plaster a smile on her face (because she can’t do that without thinking about him) and she doesn’t want to look out to the audience and see her parents looking politely interested but privately bored (because that’s him all over, too) and she really doesn’t want to play guitar in front of everyone.

That’s him, too. Both hims. Every all-consuming him in her life.

But if there is one thing Zoe has inherited from her family, it’s the all-consuming need to arrive where she’s supposed to at the time she’s supposed to. Her parents did, too, so they drive her and wait for the performance. Half-asleep, her feet make the journey backstage with her guitar case clasped in hand. She nods absently to some of her classmates, at least the ones who are nice enough to acknowledge her with some warmth. Between the letter and her relationship and subsequent breakup with Evan, most had taken to ignoring her or sending icy glares in her direction. Any true confrontations normally take place behind a screen, but Zoe is still distinctly shut out from most of the school.

As she pulls her guitar free from the case and begins tuning it back to standard instead of open D, as she’d tuned it for the sake of an earlier song and was too lazy to change back, a girl who plays sax compliments her outfit. That comment is probably the nicest direct thing anyone has said to her since the letter came out. Though Zoe only abstractly remembers picking out an appropriate outfit and applying her festive winter makeup, she scrounges up a smile and thanks her classmate all the same.

The smile untucks something from the corner of her brain, and suddenly she’s extremely hopeful Evan won’t be there.

He has no reason to be, she reminds herself when trailing out towards the stage. He has no reason to be, she repeats as she sits and everyone settles on stage and in the audience. He has no reason to be, she reminds herself as they launch into the first song after the director’s brief remarks. Don’t look. He has no reason to be here.

She looks anyway.

Zoe hopes that’s not his outline lurking towards the back of the theater. She really hopes he wouldn’t put them both through that. Zoe has to be at the concert, of course, since she has no choice. But Evan - Evan was at liberty to make the decision to stay home. Evan could stay away from this experience and spare them both a bit of pain. God knows they both have more than enough hurt to last a lifetime. For him to see her now would be too familiar, too intimate. After all those hours in her room, him tracing her movements with his eyes and applauding enthusiastically after each and every song - tracing the curve of the unconscious smile with his eyes while she played and then tracing it with his own mouth, both their hands tracing everywhere, every outline, every happy little smile line - him being in the same room is too much.

She knows it’s him. Not realizing the figure is him is probably impossible, when she knows - knew - knows him so well. But she pretends she doesn’t recognize him all the same, letting her eyes fall back to the other side of the theater, a stupid little fake smile tucked in her lips and her fingers plucking out the familiar melody.

This is one of her first Jazz Band concerts without Connor. Although he normally sank so low in his seat that Zoe assumed he was sleeping, he was always present. And in her haste to forget Evan she remembers Connor all over again, because the two are forever and always linked directly in her mind. One doesn’t come to mind without the other lurking just behind.

She half-expects to see Connor in the audience all the same, but when her gaze falls to her parents, they are only the two figures visible.

Her fingers never slip on the strings, but she forgets where she is for a moment. Instead, she is back in her room, Connor sunk low in her beanbag, clapping politely as she strums a basic chord progression. If she strains she can remember his eyes, how they softened and narrowed to see her, like looking into a mirror as always. Gentle, almost, although the word is laughable to her now. And then a fresher memory, when Connor’s eyes fill with steel and snatch the guitar from her grasp - the siblings are quiet now because Cynthia and Larry are asleep, but his words carry with the harshness laced through them. Anger, too. Not his normal anger, not senseless, not splintered doors and screaming “fuck you” and the bitter scent of destruction, but instead something edged in concern, like an overused washcloth and a scabbing wound and blood sharp on her tongue from biting her cheek. Her memory is blurred because she was tipped over that hazy edge of intoxication where everything was cause for giggles and everything was a thousand times more consequential, but his eyes are clear where everything else is soft at the edges. Her intoxication causes his angry eyes - she drove herself home alone well past midnight, and he took it upon himself to be concerned. She has her own anger couched between giggles. Don’t pretend you don’t do this all the time, Connie, I’m just trying to be like you, you know, that’s all I ever wanted. And Connor’s strained voice just barely reaching normal volume, stone-cold sober for once, saying take that fucking back, you don’t want to be me, I’m a fuckup and you’re- when Zoe, startlingly honest in a way only being high can provoke, replies oh but I’m already as good as dead on my feet so I might as well do as you do, what’s the point in pretending I’ll ever be okay while you destroy yourself, can’t I want this-

Connor takes the guitar from her hands and smashes it to pieces against her dresser before she can finish, and then she’s back on stage with applause filtering through her ears.

***

Evan stands in the back of the auditorium, watching Zoe play guitar with an intensity he can’t remember watching her with before, and suddenly it’s difficult to breathe.

Evan is no stranger to panic attacks, but this is not the same throat tightening that panic brings him. Panic is sharper and quicker, but this is all-encompassing and gradually taking over his lungs in a new and more frightening way. Tearing his eyes away from her, striking on the illuminated stage as she always is, he makes his way out of the double doors and into the empty hallway before he can even begin to understand why his breaths are difficult to come by. Guilt is a familiar force behind his pricking eyes, and he falls back against the (blessedly empty) corridor wall with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, his head tilted back to hit against the stone wall before the rest of his body. Guilt. Shame. Longing. Love. All of them are spurred from the sight of Zoe for the first time since the confession, and they make a bitter combination burning down his throat like the unwanted sting of alcohol. They’re just as all-consuming, too.

Evan brings his hands to his face and just tries to breathe.

(It’s difficult because he used to breathe the same air as her. As often as she’d taken the air from his lungs she’d gifted it back to him, easing the painful jolt of being alive with a small smile and her hand in his. He’d stolen hers in return, cut her off mid-song to feel her breath in a hot puff against his lips until it hitched in anticipation of his lips pressing to hers. Those safe moments where they breathed easier even though they shared almost every breath, every joke and giggle and sentence buried into each other’s mouths. She made it so easy and natural where now there is only difficulty. Just seeing her makes it impossible to get air into his lungs. It’s difficult because he’s reminded that he loves her too much to be healthy and he’s lost the right to do so.)

Once he catches his breath he pulls his phone out. He doesn’t have a ton of options, but he hesitates all the same. Finally, he sends his mother a text, and she responds at once, so she must be out of class.

Leaving is probably the safest option for everyone involved.

He leaves his haunt outside the auditorium doors, opting instead to make the trek outside and wait. As soon as he’s out of the door there’s a shock to his system, the cold night air washing over him like a bucket of freezing water. He breathes the air in anyways, and it goes down easier than any of the air indoors had. From the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of silver. His mother’s car.

Evan meets her halfway, jogging to meet the car and open the door quickly.

“Hey,” she says, hesitant and cheery all at once. Her class must have gone well. She opens her mouth again as though to speak, but the words die on her lips. When Evan is silent, she tries again. “How was…I mean, did you talk to-”

“It was fine,” he cuts off. His voice is soft out of fear that if he gets louder he’ll get emotional. “I didn’t. I saw them, but I didn’t... do anything.”

“That’s okay,” she hurries to say. “That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart. It’s probably better that way.”

Evan nods, tilting his head to hit the window pane.

“I guess you just want to go home?” Evan nods mutely for a second time. “I’ll order a pizza or something, yeah? That sounds good?” With Evan’s third nod and a subsequent little smile on his face, Heidi nods herself and finally shifts back into drive.

***

Admittedly, they have a little difficulty focusing on high school jazz band jazz, but Larry and Cynthia make the attempt valiantly anyway.

In normal times, or times of pride instead of grief, both of them excel at small talk. Be it career schmoozing, dealing with extended family, or interacting with anyone from Connor and Zoe’s schools, it’s a necessary evil for almost every aspect of their lives. They have small talk down to a fine art, always ready to uphold their image and chat with a friendly face.

It is not normal times, but they try anyway.

The first parents they see avert their eyes and hurry through the theater doors before either of them open their mouths. The air is stiff with all the eyes on them, but the gazes are quick to drop away when they glance around as no one is keen on making eye contact. Cynthia goes out of her way to say hi to one of her friends from the Parent’s Association, but when she’s only met with a strained smile and a wave, the Murphy parents wordlessly decide to cut their losses and just find seats.

By force of habit, they sit leaving one seat open on the aisle. Neither says anything about it, nor do they move to fill the seat. Better to leave it empty than to pretend they didn’t wish it was full.

As far as Larry is concerned, the concert can’t be over quickly enough. That urgent coil only grows in his chest when the kids file out and settle down on stage. No one exactly looks like they want to be at a Jazz Band concert because they are a bunch of high schoolers on a Friday night with better and stupider things to be doing. Impatience threads through everyone, and as an event the concert appears to be doomed.

Cynthia’s gaze bounces between the students on stage, but Larry focuses on his daughter, his vision practically tunneling to her. Her eyes steady on a point towards the back wall, but her smile doesn’t waver throughout. Larry absently wonders if she’s employing the technique she used in middle school back when she had terrible stage fright, where she focused her attention on a focal point in the back instead of looking around the audience. He can’t blame her if she is. But towards the bridge of the song (at least, Larry thinks it’s the bridge. He never can tell with jazz) her eyes slide along the rows of seats until they land right by him and Cynthia. Zoe’s face tightens almost imperceptibly, her grin thinning just the slightest bit. A shadow passes over her eyes, and Larry’s sure that if he weren’t her father he wouldn’t notice. Her eyes divert a moment later, but the shadow won’t get out of Larry’s head.

It's the closest he has seen to Connor in a long time.

The rest of the evening passes without incident, which is all they can truly hope for. They greet Zoe in the hallway afterward. Larry is a little late, as he made the trip back to the car for Zoe’s bouquet. When he nears Cynthia, he can see that she’s finally gotten ahold of Zoe. Her eyebrows pinch together just slightly as her hands lightly rest on their daughter’s elbows. Still, Cynthia practically radiates pride, and neither Zoe, Larry, or the other students and parents are heartless enough to take that away from her.

Larry presents Zoe the bouquet with very little ceremony, simply bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. Zoe rolls her eyes when Larry straightens, but her unconscious smile is back all the same.

“Congrats, kid,” he says, gesturing to the flowers.

“It’s the same thing I’ve been doing since middle school.”

“It’s damn impressive-” Larry starts, but he never finishes the sentence.

“Didn’t you help arrange some of those?” Cynthia presses with little preamble. “That’s a first.”

“I mean, kind of?” Zoe replies, making a vague hand gesture towards the auditorium. “It was a first, yeah, but I didn’t really do-”

“Nonsense, I’m sure it was all your-”

“I really didn’t-”

“Either way,” Larry cuts in, raising his voice just a little to cut off their identical, increasingly frustrated tones and scrunching faces, “We’re proud of you, Zo’.”

“We are.” Cynthia seizes her in a sudden hug, and Zoe pretends to gag again, but Larry is pretty sure it’s at least seventy percent for show.

***

III. it all mends

Zoe drives herself to the orchard.

She can’t even get out of the car. She doesn’t think that’s why she drove there at all, really. She didn’t really intend to get out and exist in that space - the one that screams The Connor Project all over and hides Evan in every shadow. She didn’t really intend to do anything, after all, except for getting in the car. Her hands guided her to her final destination.

Maybe the intention, all along, was just to see it. She hasn’t even seen the outside, and that strikes her as wrong, for some reason. Because a dull ache won’t leave her chest, and seeing the orchard will either ease it or transform it into a sharp pain. At this point, she’s willing to take either over the constant, infuriating, numbing guilt and grief slowly gnawing away at her.

It helps a little, and a little goes a long way.

Even though she just sits in the car, the air is easier to breathe, somehow. Knowing that something new, something with the possibility of a future, came out of the Connor Project Fiasco is...nice. What they did wasn’t completely in vain. Something will live beyond Connor, beyond all of them, that shares his name.

A kind of karmic balance is in that cycle, Zoe thinks. For all the pain Connor caused her, something beautiful will share his name forever. Other kids can go to the orchard as they did, grow up and older and more mature. Maybe those kids will gain just an ounce of joy from the growing trees and emergency-landing lake. Maybe the bad things he did don't have to mean he’s remembered as bad forever. Maybe this orchard will be the grey area in Connor’s memory, where black and white mix and mingle and lay out some kind of future.

That grey area can live in her, as well. Because Connor was the brother who made her life a living hell with his fists and his raised voice, but he was also the brother that taught her the constellations and drew her doodles of flower-wielding superheroes as an apology until he hit middle school. He may have given her nightmares throughout her teen years, but before then he was the one to chase them away with an arm slung around her shoulders. He protected her and made her need protection all at once, and at that moment outside the orchard, with her head cradled in her hands as she sits in the driver’s seat, Zoe realizes she doesn’t have to remember him as one or the other. The good and the bad of what he was can be simultaneously true.

It’s that thought that accompanies her home safely and in relative peace.

***

Evan lies sprawled on his bed.

In terms of sitting down, sprawling quite different from what he’s used to. Normally he is a huncher rather than a sprawler, always sitting with his legs crossed or folded and curled over a book or a laptop instead of lying horizontally.

In that context, he’s definitely branching out in this new horizontal - or really diagonal - position, all across his bed at an obnoxious angle. He takes up space in a way he never used to, and for once, his spine doesn’t curl reflexively as though in a shell. A journal is nestled under his fingertips, the possibility for creation only seconds away. He’s sure the succulents nestled around his room in little bursts of green help ease the flow of oxygen into his lungs.

It’s a nice day.

It’s nice to let it just be a nice day. He’d never appreciated nice days before, really.

“Lazy day?” Heidi says, popping her head into his doorway. He nods absently, bent over a page with a pen clenched in his hand, before he really looks up and smiles at her. She smiles back. “I’m leaving for a shift in five. Enjoy it!”

“I will,” he promises, his voice quiet and steady. She smiles again.

“You’re like a cat, always curled in the sun,” she comments with an easy finality before leaving his room. And, well. Evan can’t really dispute that fact.

***

When Cynthia drives to the orchard, Larry is absorbed in his phone on the passenger side and Zoe gazes out the window in the back. They used to make that drive all the time, and something about the path is achingly familiar. As with all familiar things, it makes Connor’s absence clear as day to Cynthia. At this point, that ache is almost comforting to her. Though never quite gone completely, missing him has begun to dull out into something not as noticeable. She almost feels guilty that the experience has eased for her; some part of her thinks every day should be as painful as the first was. Maybe that’s what Connor would have wanted, or maybe he would have wanted to just disappear from their minds completely. She’ll never know, and she refuses to make up her mind about it, so she leaves herself to be guilty alone.

Once the familiar gate of Ellison park comes in sight, Cynthia parks the car in record time. They each grab an assortment of items and hurry past the plaques by the entrance. The day is too nice to spend fighting back tears.

Larry spreads a picnic blanket, and Zoe lays out their food with a practiced precision and a critical eye for plating. For once, nothing plastic hides in their movements. They really appear natural and relaxed. If Cynthia didn’t know better, she may say they look happy.  

It may be the closest they ever get, though what that says about them Cynthia doesn’t know.

The Murphy’s are content to eat in silence. None are particularly adept with words, and fighting would only sully the beautiful afternoon sunshine. That’s why no one argues when Larry pulls a book free and flips it open. The same applies to Zoe popping in a pair of earbuds and scrolling idly through her phone. (Cynthia almost lets a snarky comment slip about enjoying nature instead of her music, but she bites her tongue at the last second.) That leaves Cynthia to enjoy the park, and she does so from her spot seated criss-cross on the ground. She gazes out to the horizon line. Saplings dot the bright sky, new life growing where destruction and deadeends once dominated. Their tiny frames stand in silhouette against the blue, and Cynthia's eyes burn a little with the contrast.

Change buzzes in their air and clings to her skin, and for once it seems like a good thing. A positive thing. Loss brought them to that point, and loss will trail them for all their future days, but the product of their grief is also the reason those trees will fight year after year and grow into something large enough for someone to climb and find comfort in. Some kind of balance is in that, isn't there? Some kind of benefit to living in the grey area between past pain and future hope. She and Zoe catch eyes over the edge of Zoe’s phone, and Zoe gives her a tiny smile. Her freckles, inherited from Cynthia, wrinkle a little in response to the movement.

“It’s balanced,” she says softly, as though she read Cynthia’s thoughts. In the afternoon light, she almost looks like Connor used to. Cynthia, as Connor’s mother, will never see the similarities end. But somewhere in Zoe’s eyes is hope and life and a bright, albeit tumultuous, future. She will never see that in Connor’s eyes, although the two sets are so identical they were often mistaken for twins.

Cynthia nods, and her responding smile is genuine and strained and a little bittersweet.

For once, the ground is even beneath their feet, and that may be enough to go forward.

[bakudekuficlibrary]

Hey, do you have any fics where Deku calms Bakugo down from a panic attack or some sort of anger episode? Or vise versa?

I payed more attention to fics that focused solely on the requested idea or had multiple scenes of it. (and boy was there a decent amount!) If you know of longer fics that include this idea (even if it’s your own XD) feel free to reblog or reply with them so people can find them in the notes c:

-Jay 

30 Works.

Dark Side of the Sun by Synnie( T | 51,597 | 20/20 )

Staying up too late playing video games, Kirishima wasn’t expecting to get an urgent call begging for help. Next thing he knew, he was letting his classmate Izuku Midoriya take refuge in his apartment - without consulting his always angry roommate.

SeriesPart 1 of Dark Side of Space

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Past Abuse | Self-Harm]

Can We Not? by vulcanhighblood( T | 32,740+ | 17/? )

Journalist Midoriya Izuku stumbles across Ground Zero brutalizing a vending machine. Unfortunately, he can’t just walk away from a Pro Hero in dire need of caffeine. So when a hero on the brink shakes him down for coffee, only to offer a coffee date in return…? Well, he doesn’t refuse. (He does, however, get said hero’s number, and ends up spending a lot more time with him than could have been predicted based on that first encounter.)

Grief Counseling by Merrywetherweather( E | 48,279 | 19/19 )

Katsuki remembered the first time he had failed to save someone, watched helplessly in horror as an elderly man had been crushed beneath the girth of a thrown car. He had already propelled himself forward to grab a small boy when he noticed, too late, the car fly by overhead. Two other heroes had been on the scene at the time and had assured him.

There was nothing that could have been done.

Most of class 1-A had already gone through a similar experience. The only one left with a clean track record in the rescue department had been Deku.

Well, except for today.

A slowburn fic where Kacchan tries to convince Deku to take advantage of the grief counseling provided for free to heroes experiencing their first failed rescues. Lots of flirting. Healing their relationship comes first. The romantic bit where they fall helplessly and stupidly in love comes after.

[PSTD | Panic Attacks]

Dream Sweet in Sea Major by showtiime ( M | 122,562 | 22/22 )

The day of the Hero Incident ends much more horribly than anyone could’ve imagined, but only Izuku knows that. He thinks as long as he forces himself to push through it that he can get over it, but of course, that’s not how things go. His mom, friends, teachers, and even his childhood friend-turned-rival take note of his odd behavior and try to help, but he refuses to talk about what really happened. How long and how thin will Bakugou’s patience go until Izuku finally confides and accepts the help he needs?

(in this fic, Shigaraki takes more from Izuku than he should’ve, Katsuki comes with the class that day at the mall, and there are still finals to be taken. Plenty can happen in only five to six weeks.)

(playlist)

[Rape/Non-Con | Underage | Abuse | Dissociation | PTSD | Panic Attacks | Suicide Attempt | Self-Harm]

Paper Moons and Glass Stars by Soundsoftherain( M | 82,948 | 18/18 )

The last time Katsuki had seen that mess of green hair had been during the summer after their first year of middle school, a boy sculpted from the purest sunlight sadly waving goodbye as he moved away.

That had been seven years ago.

Now that mop of wild curls was straddling his lap while scantily clad in black, leaving little to the imagination. The shy boy he once knew was now the star of Paper Moon, a strip club he’d been unwillingly dragged to by his friends. But through the muffled music one thought overwhelmed the raging whirlpool of his mind.

…What the actual fuck?

SeriesPart 1 of Glass Stars

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Panic Attacks | Stalking]

be loved by bonnia( T | 5,403 | 1/1 )

They sit there, in the darkness of the common room, about a few centimeters between them, but miles apart. Somehow, the quiet is companionable. More than it has been in many years. Katsuki knows he’s responsible for the rift between them, and he knows even more that it can’t only be Deku who attempts to mend it.

“Hey,” he says, after a while, and Deku turns to him in question, but Katsuki refuses to look his way. “Touch me again.”

(or: the kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands)

[Panic Attacks | PTSD]

2,645 Miles by mynameis152( E | 131,839 | 38/38 )

Izuku wants so badly to get to the other side of the country without his parents realizing he’s missing. He just wants to find out who he is.

Katsuki is desperate to make it to Los Angeles without being caught by the police, desperate to fix his mistakes.

Neither know what to expect, but on a roadtrip across the U.S. involving four fugitives, two oblivious runaways, a high risk crime ring, and a police taskforce, the two will discover that there’s more in store for them than what they originally thought.

SeriesPart 1 of Guide Me Home To You

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Panic Attacks | Attempted Sexual Assault]

As One by semiautomatichearts( G | 2,508 | 1/1 )

Katsuki knows Izuku as he knows himself, as he knows the worn pages of a treasured book, the creases within his own hand.

He sees when something is wrong, and reaches across abyssal expanses, past the maw of his own pride, and he heals.

[Panic Attacks]

What’s up danger by The_Crafty_Cracker( M | 2,220 | 1/1 )

Because apparently,The fic where Deku punches a bigoted entailed asshole Alpha in the face wasn’t an appropriate title.

Poor Katsuki has his handful with his mate nearly getting arrested, again!

P.S there is also a joke about a quiche.

Super Mario Maker by Pop_Rocks (v_love)( E | 3,734 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is smart, and a nerd, meaning that when the entire class decided to take on the aspect of buying Super Mario Maker for the collection of games in the common area that he became sort of a living legend when it came to designing the levels.

Some were just joyous well designed little prank-type levels, others were difficult — but not impossible — and the rest? Well, those were impossible.

For all but one.

His Kacchan.

————

In which Bakugou rages.

SeriesPart 4 of Kacchan and Deku’s Shenanigans

Out Of Darkness by Arrival_Of_Dawn ( M | 78,364+ | 18/? )

Izuku Midoriya is legally dead for forty two minutes at the hands of a new villain, Nightmare. They are the longest forty two minutes as Izuku finds himself trapped in his own personal hell. He may have come back from nightmare induced death, but that does not mean the nightmares are gone. They haunt him at any given moment and neither he nor anyone else knows how to save him.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Panic Attacks]

Twenty-Four by SharkbaitSekki( T | 15,874 | 1/1 )

Izuku gets himself kidnapped, and Katsuki is dragged into it with him as they face villains with particularly terrifying illusion Quirks.

It ends up being a living nightmare, but Katsuki can’t bring himself to regret following Izuku into it all. Because between the pain and the terror, between the lies and the illusions, between life and death, at least they can always hang onto one another. Even if everything else is fake, they know that they will always be real.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence] 

Chapter 26 of an entire month for the broccoli boy and the shouty boy by Kasplode( T | 23,200 | 30/30 )

Acute fear pollutes his body, concentration increasing exponentially with each shallow inhale he breathes.

Deku, standing just in front of him, knocks at the familiar door to Midoriya Inko’s apartment.

They’re having dinner with her tonight. Introducing Katsuki as Deku’s boyfriend.

[Panic Attacks]

Someone to Stay by Maru_Chan( M | 5,462 | 1/1 )

He hears Izuku’s jeering laughter again and even when he can’t see him any longer, his last words ring loud on Katsuki’s ears, heavy and final like a sentence.

“Goodbye Kacchan, maybe you can try again in your next life”

And then everything is dark again.

It’s dark, he’s cold, he’s numb and he’s alone.

And it’s everything he deserves.

[Panic Attacks | PTSD] 

saltwater fears & saltwater tears by writedeku( T | 4,540 | 1/1 )

It’s not that Katsuki hasn’t hurt people before, but this is the first time he’s seen something so irrevocable. So tangible. Izuku will look back, ten, twenty years from now, and he’d still see the scar in the mirror, and still be a scared little boy in pain all over again, crying in the hallways.

(The middle is a time that makes Katsuki feel proud and ashamed, all at once.)

SeriesPart 3 of the saltwater saga

[Bullying | Past Abuse | Panic Attacks] 

What’s Mine But Only You Can Have? by masteremeraldholder

( T | 9,480 | 1/1 )

“What’s mine… but only you can have?”

Deku’s face softens, his eyes wide, mouth a little ‘o’. Baku’s stomach turns, maybe he shouldn’t have said it, maybe he should’ve listened to the quirk-stealers and kept his fucking mouth shut, but he knows that he couldn’t have even if he tried.

He’ll never get tired of Deku and his annoying antics, his patient nature, his shit ton of freckles, and if that’s what it means to love someone, then he’s gladly in it with Deku.

SeriesPart 2 of Schizophrenic Bakugou

[Panic Attacks | Self-Harm | Ableism]

Words to Never Say by InkspillsNotebook( T | 2,586 | 1/1 )

Regardless of how much time has passed, Izuku is still unable to hear those words without fearing that he’s lost the most important person in his life.

SeriesPart 7 of Drabble Expansion Pack

[Panic Attacks]

[Abandoned] Chapter 4 of Angry Kids by MrJokerBoy( T | 9,251 | 12/? )

Deku has a nervous breakdown and here comes Kacchan to the rescue 

[Panic Attacks] 

Chapter 1 of Things You Said: Bakugou/Midoriya by AutisticWriter( T | 3,100 | 2/2 )

A collection of one shots written for a prompt list. 

[Self-Harm | Ableism | Transphobia]

{Curator’s Note: This chapter depicts Bakugou assisting Midoriya through a meltdown, not an anger episode or panic attack.}

A Classical Storm by oceanswrath( T | 1,400 | 1/1 )

In that moment only the two of them existed, a force to be reckoned with greater than the storm raging outside. 

[Panic Attacks]

The Bonds that bind by EloFromMars( E | 2,818 | 1/1 )

Izuku is excited, tonight is their anniversary. He had planned everything. Or so he thought. 

[PTSD | Panic Attacks]

Only Us by yoichipines( T | 3,105 | 1/1 )

“What if it’s you, and what if it’s me and what if that’s all that we needed to be and the rest of the world falls away…what do you say?”

A Katsudeku fanfic very much inspired by ‘Only Us’ by Laura Dreyfuss and Ben Platt? Sign me tf up!

[Panic Attacks]

No Matter What by Empress Explosion Murder (LdyFcknNoir)( M | 4,393 | 1/1 )

BNHA Angst Week Day Seven: Roses/Time

-or-

“I-I’ve failed you… He escaped.” Katsuki rasped out.

Any remaining strength in Izuku’s body fled, and he melted to the ground on legs that were no longer able to hold him up. His body began to tremble violently, his teeth cracking together with the force of his shaking. Black edged around his vision as he couldn’t pull any oxygen into his lungs, air rent from his lungs completely with just five words.

SeriesPart 7 of BNHA Angst Week

[Past Rape/Non-con | Panic Attacks]

Yeah I’ve Got Issues by Abitginger( T | 2,782 | 1/1 )

One-shot written for BakuDeku month of wonder, day 2:festival/apology. A little late but such is life ~

Izuku and Katsuki go on an undercover mission at a festival.

[Panic Attacks]

to be made of flesh and steel by bluntforcedrama, gutsdumpster( T | 635 | 1/1 )

Bakugou learns his triggers, his tics. He’s kind of psychic actually since he tends to know when something is about to happen. Or maybe it’s Izuku’s fault for making it so glaringly obvious: he gets nervous, hands twitching more than usual as his eyes follow any sudden movement around him. Sometimes his breathing becomes labored and he swallows down more inhales than exhales and Bakugou will have to thread his fingers with Izuku’s, as if to say calm down, I’m here.

Or: Izuku is an ex-soldier struggling with the mental and physical repercussions of such heavy combat, and although Bakugou doesn’t know exactly what it’s like, he’ll still do everything he can to help.

[Panic Attacks | PTSD | Implied/Referenced Homophobia]

I know you wanna (slip under my armor) by Herbalmint( T | 3,528 | 1/1 )

Life just keeps developing new ways of beating Bakugo down. (Katsuki has a panic attack)

[Panic Attacks | Dissociation] 

In Your Arms by EmbretheWorld( T | 3,771 | 2/2 )

Bakugo’s freaking out, and no one really knows what to do, but Yagi and Aizawa are really grateful that Midoriya is there. And Aizawa is really good at comforting people too.

SeriesPart 3 of You Melt My Heart

[Panic Attacks]

Chapter 2 & Chapter 7 of Standing Together (Pride Month) by EmbretheWorld( M | 17,972 | 29/29 )

This book will be filled with multiple ships that I will write and post on a daily for Pride Month. Each chapter will be based on a prompt. Hope you enjoy!

I ended this book early because I couldn’t find any motivation to write in it anymore.

SeriesPart 6 of You Melt My Heart

[Panic Attacks]

Anxiety by MistyBlueJay( T | 3,530 | 1/1 )

Izuku and Katsuki go to the mall, the Bakusquad joins them in a mini shopping trip. It’s a crowded day and Izuku falls behind, panic ensues.

[Panic Attacks]

In Weakness there is Strength by DarcyIncarnate( Not Rated | 3,011 | 1/1 )

Five times Izuku breaks and Katsuki picks up the peices, and one time Katsuki isn’t there to help. 

[Panic Attacks]

[altumvidetur]

Hotch/Reid Fic Recs

Previously: Haikyuu!! Fic Recs, DCMK (Kaishin) Fic Recs

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

When it comes to Criminal Minds, I only had one OTP, one that’s been carrying me through the first seven seasons and which will, hopefully, carry me towards season 11 (and what am I going to do once Hotch leaves the show? I have no idea). So, here are my Hotch/Reid fic recs:

A Kiss Is..., by bowie28

For a Renaissance man such as Dr. Reid, a kiss can mean a lot of things.

First Kiss, by Lenore

To solve the case of who's targeting gay couples, Hotch and Spencer need to go undercover. But first, they have to practice.

Making Whoopee, by kuriadalmatia

12 days was the longest Hotch had been away from Jack since Haley's death. He's not adjusting well.

P is for Pie, by kuriadalmatia

Spencer knows what Aaron is doing: offering up a piece of himself—a very private piece of his childhood that never talks about—so that Spencer has the opportunity to reciprocate.

Nothing In Between, by travelinthedark

Aaron doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be anymore.

5 Mandatory Events at the FBI Regional Training Seminar, by travelinthedark

“Hey guys!” Jeff’s voice is just as upbeat as it was when he was telling the entire conference room about the wonders of community stewardship and his volunteer work as a ‘Big Brother.’ It’s also just as loud, and Hotch wonders if the guy realizes he doesn’t have to shout at people who are less than five feet away from him. “Are you ready to come up and add your ideas to the aspirations board?”

Conversations in Transit, by travelinthedark

Three conversations about (or sort of about) the way that Hotch and Reid are together.

Your Shadow at Morning, by travelinthedark

Aaron's world is a mess, and it falls apart more every time he tries to fix it.

Q is for Queen Bee, by kuriadalmatia

The last thing Reid remembered as he was speaking gibberish to Kimura as they raced to the hospital. Losing the capacity for language was terrifying...

L is for Lipstick, by kuriadalmatia

Aaron finds a cache of lipstick-imprinted business cards tucked away in Spencer's desk. He doesn't react well.

Catatonic, by bowie28

Spencer Reid is a man of habit.

The apple and afterward, by Lenore

What if Reid hadn't managed to kick his Dilaudid addiction? What if he needed a job on the side in order to afford his habit?

Five Times Spencer Reid Kept His Hair, and One Time He Didn’t, by bowie28

Why Reid finally had his hair cut. 

Love Songs, by Gorgeousgreymatter

(Summary by me: Hotch pining for Reid, both of them getting together and being cute.)

The Tradition of Sprigs, by kuriadalmatia

Hotch holds the sprig of mistletoe by the stem, cocks an eyebrow, and waits for an explanation. Because, in the four months Spencer Reid has been on his team, Hotch knows that there’s going to be one. What he doesn't know is that it will become a tradition.

The Best for Last, by blythechild

This is a gift fic based on the prompt: "It's Hotch and Reid's first Xmas together and Hotch wants to get Reid a gift that he never received as a child - Jack suggests asking Reid’s parents about what he’d like."

House Call, by blythechild

Jack is ill and wants to be comforted by Reid instead of Hotch.

Not Included In The Brochure, by blythechild

[Crossover with Sherlock (BBC)] Sherlock was standing over the body… Sherlock finds himself in the middle of a B.A.U. investigation, much to his delight and John's frustration.

Something Less Ordinary, by blythechild

A year after Reid voluntarily leaves the F.B.I., Hotch discovers that Diana Reid is dead and he must find his former colleague and friend in hopes of setting a few things right.

we’re reeling through an endless fall, by bittereternity

lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life. Back then, Spencer had replied, "I love you too. I love you very much." This could be a love story someday. [spencer reid, aaron hotchner, reid/hotch, reid/maeve]

Five Dinners Series, by Daylyn

(Summary by me: Hotch and Reid’s getting together, plus some moments during the series.)

The Moment In-Between, by Daylyn

In the Criminal Minds novel, Killer Profile by Max Allan Collins, there’s a scene where Prentiss sends Reid to wake up a sleeping Hotch and Hotch enters the conference room a moment later looking rather mussed. This is what happened during that missing moment in-between.

The Secret Marriage, by blythechild

Hotch has a new ring, Reid has a new tattoo, and everyone is wondering about everyone else's secrets.

yesterday’s seven thousand years, by bittereternity

“What if I can never love a child?” “If it’s your child, Spencer, he will be the easiest person in the world to love.”

Reid thinks about the idea of a child in his life, and turns to Hotch for help.

the lies we weave are oh so intricate, by bittereternity

Maybe they were always supposed to fall apart, because there was nothing stopping them from being happy. In a world where everyone is Dominant or submissive, Aaron Hotchner meets Spencer Reid, who simply wants to be neither. In the process of getting to know him, he never expected to a. fall in love b. fall in love with his team member and c. fall in love with a man so infuriatingly unwilling to reciprocate.

Written for the Criminal Minds Big Bang 2013.

Vigil, by red_river

"Part of Hotch knew Reid was an FBI agent, and perfectly capable of taking the bus. But the other part couldn't imagine letting him - not after this case, of all cases." Post LDSK, Hotch gives Reid a ride home, and which leads to pizza, old TV, and helping him face a few of his demons. Episode tag, S1E6, "LDSK." Friendship or pre-slash.

Refuge, by red_river

"She’s my mom,” Spencer murmured, and Aaron couldn’t help thinking how young that word made him seem. “But sometimes it’s like there’s…almost none of that person left.” In the aftermath of the Fisher King, Hotch flies to Las Vegas to bring Reid home, and tries to make something new out of all their broken pieces. Episode tag to S2E1, "The Fisher King;" friendship or pre-slash.

Call me whatever, I just want to be yours, by surrenderdammit

“Let’s get dinner, just the two of us, next time,” Aaron comments, helping her into her coat because he is ridiculous like that, and he is apparently partial to the fond exasperation he gets in return, which is usually in the form of her huffing or rolling her eyes.

A love story told in parts, from the first time they met to the first time they fall into bed together.

Serendipity, by red_river

"You've been watching over him." In the aftermath of a difficult case, Hotch searches for a way to lift Reid's spirits, and someone notices. Episode tag to 2x13, "No Way Out."

I Hope You Kept the Receipt, by blythechild

[Crossover with Sherlock (BBC)] Hotch and Reid get trapped in an elevator with Sherlock Holmes. And then Sherlock does what he's best at: pissing people off.

Speechless, by blythechild

[Crossover with Sherlock (BBC)] Reid has an uninvited guest at the worst possible moment.

Desert Mirage, by merle_p

Long story short, there is a high probability that he is doing it for altogether selfish reasons, but when Reid looks at him with an expression of such sincere, helpless gratefulness, he cannot find it in himself to regret.

Twice Shy, by blythechild

Seven years ago, Hotch and Reid had a brief affair. Now, Hotch wants to try again, but can they make it work with less impediments and more baggage? (Spoilers through season 10)

Three Letter Agency, Four Letter Word, by merle_p

The NSA is interested in Spencer Reid. They are not the only one.

Late Nights ‘Verse, by EloquentDossier

Summary by me: Hotch pining for Reid, Reid probably pining for Hotch, a lot of UST and people being dense.

Time-Out ‘Verse, by EloquentDossier

Summary by me: Hotch and Reid’s cute shenanigans.

Chain Reaction, by EloquentDossier

"(Mon 12:20 pm) Which is why you text the stranger instead of talk to coworkers.

(Mon 12:20 pm) Yes. (Mon 12:28 pm) Is that weird?"

xxx

A dialogue-only AU in which Hotch texts what he thinks is Rossi's new number but is actually the slightly eccentric stranger whom Hotch knows only as "Spencer." What follows is something neither man could have ever quite expected.

Golden Letters ‘Verse, by EloquentDossier

Summary by me: Soulmates AU in which everyone gets a tattoo with a sentence that their soulmate will eventually say.

Bright, by EloquentDossier

"There were several things in Aaron Hotchner's life that had never made sense to him. He didn't understand why nearly everyone in his family (minus his son Jack) couldn't quite fathom why he felt drawn to the BAU. He didn't get how so many people in the world had such depraved mindsets. And he wasn't entirely sure why he still hadn't drug-tested his team's tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. (He was also confused about her relationship with Derek Morgan, but he wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole.)

But what baffled Hotch the most was how someone who was as intelligent as Spencer Reid could be so inherently oblivious."

xxx

Written for the prompt: I've seen a lot of oblivious!Hotch fic, but how about Reid being oblivious of his own feelings for Hotch? Hotch is aware, and reciprocates. Fluffy journey of realization maybe? Bonus for Garcia being helpful.

Affinity, by margarks

Right now just a couple of drabble about the way Spencer and Hotch see each other, but it seems like I might add on to these, so I created this series.

Psychosexual Developments, by dissolvedingirl

Hotch and Reid, between all the moments you see.

Limbo, by kehlee

There's a place in between kissing and dating; there's a place between heaven and hell. This is it.

Just When You Least Expect It, Just What You Least Expect, by blythechild

Hotch has been Reid's boss for ten years, and his friend for almost as long. He thinks he knows him pretty well, but a random event during a random case has the chance to change all of that. It's just a matter of whether Hotch can accept it or not.

In Two Hours (And Not a Minute Later), by dissolvedingirl

Reid finally decides to confront Hotch about those intense looks he's been giving Reid for years.

The Wall, by blythechild

Hotch can't decide what he finds more shocking: going out clubbing at 50 or seeing a phone number he knows scribbled on the bathroom wall...

You’re the Boss, by blythechild

Hotch finds himself in the unfamiliar position of relying on Reid for guidance in their kinda/sorta/not really relationship. or Why casual sex is never all that casual.

This One Is Not Like The Others, by blythechild

(Summary by me: Tentacle-Monster!Reid. It’s way better than it sounds.)

Beneath, by blythechild

Everyone is exactly who you think they are until something comes along to throw your perception off track. After ten years, Reid and Hotch discover this for themselves.

Breaking Point, by EloquentDossier

There was this thing about Aaron Hotchner's voice.

Reid couldn't quite pinpoint when it had started. Perhaps it had always been there, hovering just beneath the surface and waiting for him to recognize it for what it was. Or maybe it had simply been a recent, sudden development. For once the "when" wasn't as much of a concern as it typically would be. No; instead Reid was more interested in trying to discern just what he was going to do about the fact that Hotch had discovered it so quickly. Possibly even before he himself had.

xxx

In which Reid really should have just admitted he liked Hotch's voice when he realized it.

Birthday Woes, by EloquentDossier

It didn't bother him when the call came in. Really, it didn't. Or at least not initially.

xxx

In which the team gets called away on a case and forgets Hotch's birthday.

Of Cowboys and FBI Agents, by severity_softly

Aaron catches Spencer in the act.

In the Silence, by Brumeier

Posted to LJ Comment Fic for Kink prompt: Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, silence is a big kink for Hotch

Two Seconds, by blythechild

Time catches up with Aaron Hotchner when he realizes that the person he's always wanted - Spencer Reid - is actually beyond his reach.

Maybe Tomorrow, by orphan_account

The one where Aaron Hotchner wasn't in love with Spencer Reid, until suddenly he was.

Give and Take, by blythechild

Everyone has human moments and for some reason Reid is hiding his. Because Hotch is who he is, he decides he needs to figure out why.

Shepherd of the Damned, by Deejaymil

They're called to Alaska on a desperate last-ditch effort to find seven missing hikers. They don't even think twice about going. This is their job. They put themselves in danger every day to protect the people that need them. But never like this.

They number six. It begins with one.

It's not going to stop until they're all consumed.

See The Love There That’s Sleeping, by blythechild

Reid didn't know that when he leapt into a burning building his life would change forever. But love is sneaky that way.

December 1st: Mistletoe or Give Us a Hug, by NimueOfTheNorth

Spencer may say he is getting enough cuddles, but Derek knows better. A mistletoe makes a convenient option to test both arguments. Derek gets quite a bit more than he bargained for.

Come Undone, by EloquentDossier

When Spencer Reid forgot to take his suppressants two mornings in a row, it really shouldn't have been a big deal. He had them in his bag at the hotel, and as long as he took one that evening, he'd be fine. What he couldn't have prepared for, however, was the lab the latest victim worked at going into an at least twenty-four-hour-lockdown while he was in it.

When Aaron Hotchner was asked to aid his subordinate through what would otherwise be an agonizing heat, he'd had several reservations, one of which had been the consent issue: Omegas couldn't legally consent to sex during a heat unless it was twenty-four hours in advance. With every concern rebutted logically (because of course the Bureau had an Agent Consent form in case of emergencies), he finally agreed.

Of all the possible repercussions, however, neither man expected the one they received.

xxx

Or that one time no one expected the Alpha to accidentally bond to the Omega while the Omega remained unaffected.

Fireproof, by blythechild

[Crossover with Supernatural] Hotch and Reid's friendship ends suddenly when Hotch abruptly quits the Bureau and disappears. But Reid won't let him get away with it.

Halcyon Mine, by Deejaymil

What if a lonely boy meets a friend in a lonely quarry... and what if he loses him without warning?

unmoored, by 28ghosts

“When it’s kids who end up our killers, you know,” Reid says, unprompted, pulling his coat close against his body, “I always end up feeling...bad, you know? I feel bad. I know I have no cause to, not really. I’m not one of them.”

Hotch stops for a second, walking down the airfield. The cold Virginia air whips around him as harsh as judgement. He’s surprised to see Reid, ahead of him, slow to a stop, head tilted back towards the gray sky.

“Let’s get a drink sometime,” Hotch says, before he can overthink it. “If you’d like.”

Indispensable, by Deejaymil

Dave's a damn good guardian angel, one of the best. And being one of the best means he gets the worst jobs: the important, the clumsy, the reckless, the difficult-to-keep-alive. The indispensables. But he's never before quite had anyone like Spencer Reid.

Within the first two seconds of meeting his new charge, the kid gets hit by a car; it really only goes downhill from there. His only consolation is that Emily is having just as much trouble with her new charge, Aaron Hotchner.

If only they could somehow combine their assignments...

Acutely Us, by Deejaymil

This is the part where a story is told. There are ferrets, mistakes, birthdays, apologies, and dances. There is Spencer and Aaron and Jack and the life they make together.

And it all begins with a goat.

Rise Again, by blythechild

Aaron Hotchner has been on the run for five years, but that all comes to an end on a beach in Australia.

Religiously Unaffiliated, by ghoultown

(Summary by me: Hotch/Reid with Reid deliberating about his atheism.)

Don’t Make Me Talk You Down, by ghoultown

The night was heavy because it was humid on top of the bridge in between highway I-90 and I-80, the semi-trucks that passed messing with his balance, almost toppling him over if it hadn't been for his grip on the railing.

Rain, by orphan_account

He almost died today, and Hotch is determined to ensure it doesn't happen again.

Against All Odds, by ghoultown

Spencer is upset because the way he and Hotch met and started dating wasn't as special as Hotch and Haley's story. Hotch begs to differ.

Under My Protection, by ghoultown

Hotch and Reid never met. Reid is in danger. The government puts Hotch in charge of Reid's safety.

Empty Places, by Mystical_Magician

All wishes have consequences, and when Spencer makes one to save lives, he knows and accepts the price. The rest of his team does not. What the mind forgets, the heart remembers, and in Foyet's wake they all know that something is missing. Aaron Hotchner refuses to ignore the aching, empty spaces.

Genuine Need, by NimueOfTheNorth

It would have been nothing more than Aaron buying Spencer a cup of coffee. Good thing Garcia is there to pull the right strings or those two would be lost.

Swan Song, by Deejaymil

At some point they’d become caught in each other’s orbits, lost in a sea of almosts. Neither of them realized that their time was finite, not until their world turned to flames and threatened to tear everything apart.

For Spencer Reid the grief was too big, too impossible to believe that four BAU members and a treasured friend had fallen in an instant. When faced with the opportunity to get back what he’d lost, he has to decide if it’s fate or madness that beckons him.

For Aaron Hotchner, madness would almost be welcome. At least then the world would become logical again, turning the impossibility of what had happened to them into something tangible. But even madness doesn’t change the fact that they’re trapped.

They’re not even sure if anyone is still looking for them.

i hope you’re waiting at the end, by soloecal

Sometimes, Spencer thinks too much. Post Season 12.

-

A month later, on a singularly insignificant night, Spencer sits Hotch down after dinner, and presses a ring into the palm of his hand. “This isn’t working,” Spencer says. “I think we should break up.”

Expiration Date, by blythechild

He goes to Vegas to meet a friend but ends up married. The time-honored way to make these kinds of mistakes is to do it while incapacitated, but Hotch waits and does it sober instead. An interesting choice...

Conclusive Proof That You Have a Terrible Boyfriend, by blythechild

Hotch is proving he's an awful boyfriend. Via text messaging.

He’s A Bad Boyfriend Too, by blythechild

Aaron and Spencer have a relationship issue that Spencer thinks is best solved via drunk texting. This is a sequel to Conclusive Proof That You Have A Terrible Boyfriend.

Apodyopsis, by NimueOfTheNorth

If he is forced to listen to boring lectures for three days, Spencer really can't be held accountable for his imagination going wild, now can he. Reality might proof even better.

(i know you’ve tried) but something stops you every time, by wintrs

Prentiss can't help but overhear Hotch and Reid's conversation on the jet.

Faces, by blythechild

Every three days, a man wakes up in a different body. There's no controlling it and no way to prepare for it. All he can do is make the best of his new face with the time he has.

First, by orphan_account

The first time Aaron tells Spencer he loves him is an accident.

L’Homme Mystere, by orphan_account

Even if he’d been waiting for this in a state of barely contained arousal since early this morning, when Aaron had bumped shoulders with him at the coffee pot in the breakroom and whispered in his ear about how he had a surprise for him later that night... well.

Spencer wasn’t that kind of guy.

How to Get a Hard Pass, by Deejaymil

There's an FBI trainee named Spencer Reid in the class Hotch is teaching, and that'd all be just fine if Hotch wasn't completely distracted by wanting to be in Spencer Reid instead. But there’s no way he’s going to give his student an inch - or eight - until he’s good and ready to do so on his own terms.

Spencer Reid has other plans.

The Longest Road, by Deejaymil

They’re taking the longest road to get there, but, in the end, it doesn’t really matter. What they are to each other has always been inevitable.

A Horse Named Rabbit, by Deejaymil

Aaron Hotchner is riding West on a borrowed horse, hiding the man he used to be behind a shortened name and a beard he only sometimes thinks of shaving. His desire to keep on running until he hits the setting set is waylaid by an unexpected meeting with a man on a mule who says he's looking for his lost luck.

When they part, Hotch realises that's a mistake. There's something about Spencer Reid that reminds him that he's more than just a man on a horse going nowhere—that he was once the kind of person who could help a stranger find what he's looking for. There's just one problem with that.

When Spencer had said he was looking for his luck, he’d never mentioned that he planned to steal it.

for mortals: there is a share, by ifnot_winter

Reid could find no precedent in his experience for so gentle a seduction. Or so effective.

+

An exploration of moments and intimacy through three consecutive fragments of text paired with fragments of Sappho's lyric poetry.

the safety of objects, by ifnot_winter

Fumbling his glasses right off the edge of the table, he managed not to step on them en route to snatching up the phone as the third buzz gave way to ringing. Bending to retrieve his glasses, he caught his shoulder on the corner of the nightstand and managed to press the answer button, cutting off the shrill electronic wail mid-ring. "Damn--Hello?" Glasses shoved firmly into place, he watched the cufflink skitter in concentric, diminishing circles across the scuffed polish of the hardwood floor and come to a leisurely halt a few feet away.

"Reid." Hotch.

+

Somehow the fragments of Sappho struck me as a great mental framework for CM fics. This was the first completed result, mostly an attempt at exploring Reid and flexing rusty writing muscles.

Pretty, by blythechild

Hotch thinks Reid is pretty and then is forced to explain it.

Good Enough, by blythechild

Aaron has plenty of kinks, but he can't figure out Spencer's.

[welllpthisishappening]

To Be Totally Locked Up By You

It’s not a big deal.

So, Clarke and Bellamy are sharing a Spotify account. They share plenty of things already. An apartment. A school. Buying rounds at the bar four blocks away. This is basically the same thing.

Until. Octavia tells them about the playlist. Joint music and both of their listening habits on full display, some ridiculous algorithm that leaves Clarke, quite suddenly, feeling more exposed than ever, sharing emotions and feelings, all set to a soundtrack.

—-

Rating: Teen Word Count: Nearly 8K AN: It’s happening! Admittedly sooner than I expected (I’m still only in season five, but the feelings. I’ve got them) and this is almost too autobiographical to be entirely fair, but I wrote this in like…four hours. So, here it is. Long-time Bellarke fic-reader, first-time Bellarke fic-writer. With lots of thoughts on Bellamy Blake’s curls. Joining a new fandom is exciting and terrifying.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—-

“Why are you and my brother sharing a Spotify account?”

Clarke nearly breaks the pencil in her hand. She lifts her head slowly, not entirely surprised to find Octavia staring expectantly at her, arms crossed tightly enough that it’s very likely doing permanent damage to her ribs. 

Possibly her lungs. 

It’s been a very long time since Clarke took those anatomy classes. 

“Well,” Octavia prompts, one eyebrow arching perfectly. “Yes or no question.” “How did you get in here?” “Did you not hear me come in?”

Clarke makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she can rest her chin on her knees. She’s genuinely impressed with the state of Octavia’s right eyebrow. It appears to be defying gravity. 

She doesn’t really know enough about gravity either. 

Maybe she should make a list of the things she doesn’t know. 

That seems inevitably depressing. 

And Octavia is very clearly not going to move until she gets a response she wants, that stupid eyebrow and a pile of papers resting against her hip. Her phone is just barely hanging on in her back pocket, the soft vibration barely audible over the music coming from Clarke’s laptop speakers and the creaky pipes in their bathroom. 

Bellamy is in the shower. 

Clarke is at least sixty-seven percent positive Octavia planned her ambush that way.

“How do you even know about Bellamy’s Spotify account?” Clarke asks, burrowing further into the corner of the couch. “And seriously, did you pick our lock?” That eyebrow should be studied. 

“I have a key,” Octavia drawls. “Obviously. So, your lock is fine and you can stop trying to deflect the important part of—” “—Why are you here?” Octavia gnashes her teeth, but there’s not really any threat there and Clarke only huffs slightly when she tosses her sketchbook on the coffee table. Because she knows that expression. The phone stops ringing. Only to start again. 

“How many places are you going today?” Clarke asks knowingly, pointing at the open spot next to her. 

There’s another round of huffing and flailing legs, Octavia’s left foot nearly colliding with both of Clarke’s knees, but that’s also impossibly familiar and nearly comfortable and—

“He thinks I should have a wedding cake,” Octavia mumbles. “Like an actual cake. Apparently it’s very historic—” “—Oh my God what an idiot.” “—There’s ancient nonsense involved and something about how that proved you were rich or something—” “—In Rome?” Octavia hums, eyes falling closed like she’s resigning herself to the horrendous ordeal of her older brother buying her a wedding cake. And, really, it’s almost nice. That’s a lie. It’s better than nice and just as expected as Octavia’s flailing limbs. 

Because for as long as Clarke Griffin has known Bellamy Blake, since she met Octavia in an intro to stats class they both hated, she’s known several things about him. 

One, he loves his little sister. More than anything. Two, he likes taking care of people. Octavia, especially, but at some point that also started to include Clarke, which is another nice thing and another vaguely overwhelming thing and—she doesn’t think about that. It is fine. Three, that same protective streak makes him certain he has to do things and provide things and that means driving Octavia crazy with possible wedding ideas. 

And that leads to thing four: he’s an idiot and a nerd in an endearing sort of way that makes Clarke sure he didn’t have to look up that fact about Roman wedding cakes. 

It also makes Clarke smile. 

She ignores whatever happens to Octavia’s face. 

“In Rome,” Octavia echoes. “Anyway that’s what we’re doing. Traipsing around the city and taste-testing cakes and—” “—That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.” “Stop interrupting me, it will not distract me from my ultimate goal.” “Which is?” Octavia props herself up on her elbows, ignoring Clarke’s groan when she moves. “Do you know how expensive real wedding cakes are?” “That feels like a trick question. In Rome or—” Octavia sticks her whole tongue out when she responds, a noise that Clarke is sure will get stuck in her head for the rest of the day, The shower shuts off. 

And Clarke’s mouth doesn’t go dry, per se, but she’s only momentarily worried that everyone in the apartment can hear the way her heart speeds up, falling into rhythm with her perfectly curated Spotify playlist and it hadn’t been much more than a suggestion, a monetary decision that made sense because—

“Jesus fuck Bell, put clothes on!”

Bellamy grins, another shift of eyebrows that Clarke is genuinely starting to resent, rivulets of water falling down either side of his face and dripping towards the towel wrapped around his waist. “Did you break in here, O?” “Used her key apparently,” Clarke mumbles, hoping the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks isn’t obvious. 

Because thing number five Clarke has always know about Bellamy Blake is that she’s kind of..into Bellamy Blake. In a passing sort of way. That’s just happened to linger for years.

It’s his hair. 

It’s far too curly. 

It’s not—it’s more than that, it’s things one through four and a whole slew of other numbers she hasn’t come up with yet and how easy it’s been to live in the same space, both of them looking for roommates at the same time, mixing lives and remembering to buy creamer and always keeping an extra box of strawberry Special K in the back of the cupboard for breakfast-type emergencies, but Clarke likes to lie to herself and—

“Right, right, right,” Bellamy chuckles. “Well, she’s also ridiculously early.” Octavia scowls. “And standing here. Having a conversation you’re not actually a part of. Or invited to.” “Wow. Scathing.” “Do you wander around your apartment naked all the time?” “That’s not what’s happening. Obviously. Also, I live here. Why are you here so early?” “Just super psyched about cake.” “You’ll want to practice that some more before we leave. You might insult the baker in Brooklyn.” “You’re going to Brooklyn?” Clarke balks before she can stop herself, another noise out of Octavia that cannot possibly be good for her throat. 

“The bakery got really good reviews.” “Oh my God you looked up bakery reviews.” Bellamy tilts his head, more drops of water that are equal parts horrible and far too distracting to be fair. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“No, no, I am not even remotely surprised that’s exactly what you did.” Endeared, maybe. Perpetually. But not surprised. 

Clarke doesn’t say that. 

Octavia is far too busy swinging her feet back on the floor, a slightly different look than earlier and Clarke glances down to make sure her stomach hasn’t actually dropped. She’s still retained enough anatomical knowledge to know that it is supposed to stay in her body. 

No drop. 

And yet. 

She can’t stop the butterflies or the nerves that rise up the back of her throat, another expression she’s far too familiar with. 

“Fine,” Octavia snaps. “We will go to Brooklyn. We will taste test all the cakes—there better be hummingbird cake—” “—Who do you think I am, O?” Bellamy mumbles. It gets him a well-deserved eye roll. 

Clarke’s going to bite her lip in half. 

“You and Clarke are sharing a Spotify account!” Bellamy blinks. Once, twice, runs his fingers through his hair and maybe it’s just a Blake thing, this seeming ability to twist their bodies in wholly unnatural ways. “Do you know what that looks like?” “Like I wanted to save a couple bucks a month? So it would be easier to do cake-type things?” “Phrase that differently,” Clarke suggests, but Bellamy just smirks and the towel thing is really starting to become a problem. The whole liking him is becoming a problem. But she’s just as unsurprised that this is what Octavia wanted to talk about as she was that he looked up bakery reviews, so. 

“Also,” Bellamy adds, “Clarke already had Spotify premium. It made sense.” Octavia shakes her head. “You’ve got to live together to be on the same account.”

“I thought we already covered that you have a key to this apartment. The one where Clarke and I live. Together.” “It looks romantic. It looks—” Octavia waves a pair of clearly frustrated hands through the air. “—Domestic. Partnered and, like joint playlists and—” “—You know he gets unlimited skips now, right?” Clarke interrupts, a desperate attempt to end this conversation and, maybe, get Bellamy to put a shirt on. 

“Don’t forget the no ads,” Bellamy grins. “That’s been a godsend.” “What an old sentence. Also, you’re a podcast dweeb.”

“Informed, princess. There’s a difference.” “Yuh huh. Whatever.” “As always, your arguments are well-structured and articulate.” She flips him off. He grins. Octavia makes a noise previously unheard by human ears. 

“You two do know,” she hisses, “that everyone is talking now and—” “—You all need to find a hobby,” Bellamy groans. “And I did not tell you this to make you lose your mind.” Clarke perks up, something in the back of her brain startling at that particular string of words. “You told her?”

“Yeah. I mean—well, I know it’s not a ton of money saved, but it’s something and…” He trails off, dots of color on his face and eyes that are suddenly very preoccupied with the floor. “It was nice of you to offer. So, I looked up Brooklyn.”

The music gets louder. 

Clarke is sure. She’s not sure how, but it seems to swell, the beat settling under her skin and in between her ribs, wrapping around a stomach that refuses to stay where it’s supposed to, flipping and flopping and feeling and, for a moment, she forgets Octavia is there. 

For a moment she smiles at Bellamy and he smiles at her and there’s no smirk, nothing except the way his eyes crinkle slightly, half a head tilt and damp curls falling and it’s good and great and then—

Octavia coughs. Pointedly. 

“Alright,” she sighs. “Well, I think it’s dumb and you guys should opt out of the joint playlist. It’s the absolute worst and definitely embarrassing.” “What?” Clarke asks. 

“Do you not know?” “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Does Bell know about your secret Jonas love?” “What?!” Octavia throws her whole head back when she laughs, a sudden shift of emotion and the water falling off Bellamy’s elbow is starting to leave a small puddle on their floor. “Lincoln and I had it at first,” Octavia explains, “when we got it.” “You don’t think it’s a little hypocritical to be judging our Spotify purchases when you’ve got your own family plan?” Bellamy mutters. Octavia ignores him. “It’s some algorithm or something. I don’t know how it works, only that it takes all the songs you listen to all the time and turns it into a playlist that the entire family can listen to. In this case, that’s you guys. It’s very telling. About you know—you personally.” “I know Clarke personally,” Bellamy reasons. 

“Do you, though?” “I really don’t know how many times we can talk about this apartment.”

“You don’t have to. Because you didn’t know about the Jonas Brothers, did you?” “I really don’t—” “—Exactly,” Octavia says. “Music is...emotional. Certain songs for certain feelings, things that were playing in specific memories. It’s—it’s a whole new avenue to getting a person. Listen to this. Clarke, tell me the truth, how long did you spend making this playlist?” Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. Not long, but it’s all kind of the same theme...Fleetwood Mac, Clapton, Jefferson Airplane. Good music to draw to.” “What’s the name of it?” “Of the playlist?” Octavia nods. Clarke scrunches her nose. “Music to sketch and avoid stress to,” she grumbles. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bellamy’s staring at her. Gaping. Like he’s never seen her and it would be overwhelming even with a shirt on. As it is, Clarke swallows back the emotion taking up residence in the back of her throat, ignoring just how exposed she feels and— “You’re stressed?” he asks softly. 

“Not really. Just end of the quarter and you know parents at the school—always think their kid deserves a better grade and I’ve got meetings all next week. So. It’s—” God, she’s going to kill Octavia. And write a strongly worded letter to Spotify. “I knew you guys were going out today. The music is a lot of my dad’s favorite stuff. Calms me down.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything else, a blessing and the single worst thing in the world, but the ends of his mouth curl up slightly and Clarke should stop looking at his mouth. Octavia grins like she won something. 

“You should put clothes on Bell,” she says. “Don’t want to miss the baker in Brooklyn.” He salutes, all sarcasm and snark, eyes flitting back towards Clarke’s before he and Octavia leave and she lets the playlist repeat three times. He brings her back a slice of cake. 

Octavia texts them both the next day. 

Bellamy grumbles, cursing under his breath about the sanctity of Sundays and Clarke resists the urge to make jokes about the New York Times crossword puzzle or his obsession with finishing it every weekend. 

She reads the text instead. 

Octavia Blake, 11:42 a.m.: I think you guys should stage a bet. A music bet. About the joint playlist. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:43 a.m.: Stop calling it that.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Bellamy murmurs, not lifting his eyes from the newspaper. There’s a pen stuck behind each one of his ears. 

Octavia Blake, 11:45 a.m.: No. I won’t. It’s weird and you guys are weird and if you're going to commit to Spotify, then I think you should bet to see who can control the playlist. 

“Don’t answer,” Bellamy suggests. 

Clarke grunts. 

Clarke Griffin, 11:46 a.m.: What kind of bet?

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: You guys can set terms. But basically see who can annoy who first with their musical tastes and seize control of the playlist. 

“Why is your sister so violent at all times?” Clarke asks, but Bellamy just fills in another clue and it’s an admittedly interesting idea. She’s nothing if not perpetually competitive. 

Octavia Blake, 11:47 a.m.: One musical genius to rule them all.

She kind of forgets about the bet. 

Or, whatever. 

Clarke’s too preoccupied with those meetings and the Wallace family continues to be the worst family at Mt. Weather, old money and far too many expectations, even for art elective classes that she promises won’t affect your child’s changes at the Ivy League, I swear, and her spine does not appreciate the way she’s sitting in her desk chair. 

She’s got a free period, is seriously considering slumping forward and taking a nap when she hears footsteps moving through her doorway. And Clarke’s got every intention of telling whoever it is to fuck off, but she also knows those footsteps and she can hear a soft beat playing in the background, so her curiosity is piqued. 

“Have you listened to it?” Bellamy asks, brandishing his phone and his tie is a little crooked. 

“What are you doing here?” “Isn’t this the same conversation you had with Octavia?” Clarke rolls her eyes at the same time he drops onto the corner of her desk. She lets out a noise — a warning about paint and half-finished projects she’s got to move to the back of the room, but Bellamy just gives her a steady look and the beat is coming from his phone. “Plus,” he continues, “we just got back from the Museum—” “—Did you geek? “I was a responsible adult figure, princess.” She hums, doing her best to infused as much disbelief into the sound as she can. It’s an old nickname—older than the joint lease and breakfast emergencies, a past Clarke doesn’t always like to think about because they hadn’t always gotten along, but at some point the word had lost its sneer and gained its own look she’s started to covet just a bit. 

She really needs to move those eleventh-grade acrylics. 

“So, like on a scale of one to three-thousand, how much did you geek, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “I’d never been to the Morgan. 3,000 B.C.! They had stuff from 3,000 B.C.! Scrolls and artifacts, actual jewelry. That is—” “—Old?” “Ancient,” he corrects. “Proper ancient.” “I’d give this geek out a two-thousand, six-hundred and forty-seven. Out of the previously discussed three thousand.” “Yeah, that seems about right.”

“And you had a soundtrack to go with it?” Clarke asks, nodding towards the still-musical phone. 

“Kind of. Spotify caught up.” “To?” “Us.” It takes a moment for Clarke to figure out what he means, but then she’s taking a deep breath and trying to remember what she listened to in the last five days. A ridiculous amount of My Chemical Romance. 

It’s been a week. 

“I didn’t peg you for pop punk,” Bellamy laughs. “Or is MCR a different genre? I was never really sure how that worked.” Clarke groans, sliding further down her chair until his smile threatens to stretch the muscles in his face. She can’t flip him off in school. 

“I think, technically, they’re more power punk,” Clarke says. “Or maybe emo—depending on what album the algorithm picked up on.” “What have you been listening to more of?” “Mostly Welcome to the Black Parade on loop.” “Is it Wallace? All your stress and—am I missing out on jam sessions?” “God, not if you call them that,” Clarke exclaims. He blushes again. She may make a list of all the times she can get Bellamy to blush. “But kind of. You’ve had those Model UN meetings after school, so I’ve been blasting music when I get home. I think Pike’s going to rat me out to the super eventually.” “Yeah, well, he’s a dick neighbor. So.” “And my options are limited. No scream-singing in the car when I take the Subway every day.” “You could start singing on the Subway.” Clarke chuckles, sitting up a little straighter. Her spine appreciates it. “Showtime on the downtown six.” “You might be able to make some money. Learn how to flip on the polls.” “I’d donate it to your cake fund. Also, did you call them MCR?” “Is that not right? O went through a very serious Hot Topic phase when she was in high school and I remember some of the lingo, so—” “—You are seriously the oldest man alive.” “Who’s your favorite Jonas Brother?” Clarke scoffs, the song changing and she doesn’t think it’s one of hers. “Frank Ocean?” “A genius.” “You know we don’t have to do this. The sharing playlist thing. It’s—well, O was being crazy, especially with that bet idea, and there’s got to be a way to opt out of it.” “Do you want to opt out of it?” The question seems to hang in the air around them. 

And Clarke isn’t sure why it sounds impossibly important, like some line they’re crossing and can’t come back from, but she can’t shake the feeling or the admittedly lyrical genius of Frank Ocean. She turns the music up. 

“It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” Bellamy asks. “Seeing what changes it picks up on and how the playlist evolves with what we’re into.” “Please stop talking about the playlist like it’s a sentient being.” “Fair, fair. But, uh—what do you say?” “To?” His fingers find the back of his hair, pushing curls away from his eyes and he’d left earlier than her that morning. That explains the glasses. He only wears his glasses when he’s tired. 

Clarke knows that. 

She knows...a lot about Bellamy. And not. Nothing about Frank Ocean, at least. 

She’d like to. 

She likes Frank Ocean. 

She loves—

“If we only listen to the playlist, we’re not going to change it,” Clarke points out. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.” “At the risk of giving O any credit, it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? That we keep listening to our own music during the day or night or whatever, but when we’re coming home from school we listen to the joint playlist. See what happens with it.”

“And are we trying to influence the playlist?” “That’s up to you, I guess.”

“Yeah, ok. Try to influence the playlist, see what we can force the other person to listen to and—” He tilts his head, a forced casualness that makes Clarke widen her eyes. “—Whoever eventually seizes control of the playlist with the majority of their songs by...O and Lincoln’s wedding wins.” “Wins? Wins what?” “I don’t know. Something at home. Or one of us can just pay for the other’s Spotify account.”

Clarke twists her lips, considering it. Bellamy’s eyebrows fly up expectantly. “Yeah, ok. We judge the playlist based on what we hear when we’re leaving school.” “Makes sense. And what happens if we leave school together? You going to share headphones with me?”

“Only if you’ll join my showtime brigade.” “Good name.” “Is that a yes?” He grins — another one of hers, which is vaguely possessive and a little insane, but Clarke’s heart is doing its best to beat its way out of her chest as well, so she figures the whole thing is kind of a wash at this point. “I will definitely join your showtime brigade,” Bellamy promises. “If only because I’m pretty confident in my ability to flip from the top bars.” “No you’re not.” “I’ve got upper-body strength you couldn’t even imagine.”

“Sure, sure. When do we start with our musical experiment?” “Today.” “Today?” “Today,” Bellamy repeats, as students start to file into the hallway and Clarke’s not all that upset with how her free period turned out. “I will pick you at exactly 3:15, Ms. Griffin. Be prepared for an introduction in modern classics. And 90s hip hop.” “I’m going to listen exclusively to pop punk for the rest of the week.” “May the algorithms ever be in your favor.”

“Idiot,” she calls, but he’s already walking away and none of her students look remotely surprised.

Raven slides the glass across the bar without a word. She doesn’t have to use words. Her face is judgmental enough. 

Clarke sighs. “What?” “Did I say anything?” “Did you have to?”

Raven waggles a finger, more opinions and very obvious thoughts and Clarke knew it was only a matter of time. She blames intro to stats. It’s how she met Octavia, after all. Which is how she met Bellamy, which is how their friends group grew and evolved and there’s been good and bad and this bar and she’s fairly certain Raven has a very detailed bet with both Monty and Murphy about her and Bellamy. 

They all know about the Spotify playlist. 

“I guess not,” Raven admits. “Has anyone ever told you that your psychic tendencies are both terrifying and impressive?” “Not in so many words, no.” “What about your weird flirting rituals?” Clarke downs the drink — not sure if it’s actually meant for her and not worried either way. It burns the back of her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thump, right next to her ever-expanding knowledge of Bellamy’s musical taste and his determination to shift the playlist. He’s been listening to nothing except It’s Tricky radio for the past three days. 

She’s got to figure out how to fix this. 

On several levels. 

“It’s not flirting,” Clarke argues. “Or a ritual. That’s weird.” “You’re telling me.” “Buy me another drink.” “No,” Raven says. “Tell me about the ritual.” “Stop calling it that!” Clarke’s voice rises of its own accord, drawing more than a few curious glances and Bellamy looks up from where he’s talking to Lincoln and Octavia. She smiles. She doesn’t mean to. 

Raven cackles. 

“Oh God,” she mumbles, the words barely that, “so, how screwed are you? Like ballpark.” “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Have you figured out that he secretly loves the Goo Goo Dolls?” “How do you know that?” “You don’t?” “Oh my God,” Clarke groans. 

Raven reaches a hand out, a move that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but feels far too heavy when it lands on Clarke’s forearm. “Slow down on the liquor, Griffin. You’re a lightweight. And I know that because the one night I was there—don’t make that face.” Clarke definitely makes a face. She’s a little buzzed. Cage Wallace is setting up a meeting with the school board. About her art classes. “Anyway,” Raven adds, “I was kind of...looking to get out of there quick, but he had music playing and—” “—He played music while you guys were hooking up?” “Nah, he let me shower. He was reading.” “Oh my God.” “Anyway. I don’t think he knew that I could hear the music and it was definitely an entire Goo Goo Dolls album. Straight through. Not even a mix.” “Huh.” “You act like you’re not fascinated by that.” “Should I be?” Clarke questions, but it’s another badly formed lie and the energy under her skin is starting to make her restless. 

Raven nods. “Yes. Eventually that’s going to show up on the playlist too. I know. Or you could ambush him with the Goo Goo Dolls.” “What a sentence.” “Matchbox Twenty?” “Those are two different bands.” “Similar genres,” Raven reasons, Clarke waving down Miller for another round of something, anything. “And I’m trying to help you, here. Rule the playlist, rule the world, right?” “Or at least part of our roommate budget.” “Say roommates again like you don’t want to make out with his face.” “Jeez.” “Not an objection,” Raven points out at the same time Miller decides to show up. Clarke does her best to melt. It does not work. 

“It is not,” Miller adds. “And—just in case you were looking for some more information. He’s been asking about your musical tastes too.” Maybe Clarke is drunk. 

She wishes.

“Why?” “Search me,” Miller admits. “But a lot of it seemed to revolve around your favorite Jonas.” Clarke refuses to look at Raven for the rest of the night. 

It goes. Days, weeks, the rest of April. 

The music keeps on playing. Or, whatever. 

She listens to more My Chemical Romance. Bellamy goes through a pretty serious ten-day spiral over Weezer that leads them both down some 90s-alt rabbit hole, both of them bobbing in rhythm while they do the dishes on a Thursday night. 

At one point Octavia threatens to ruin it all, grabbing Clarke’s phone while they’re at the bar and announcing, “I am getting married, so I pick the music.” It ends with Carly Rae Jepsen on loop and a playlist that refuses to recover for the next two days. 

Clarke comes home to Bellamy humming Run Away With Me while he folds laundry in the living. She spends no less than five seconds processing that before she starts matching socks. 

They play the song fourteen times in a row. 

He counts. 

And she learns things. Raven had been right about the Goo Goo Dolls and Clarke girts her teeth when Bellamy asks “why are there so many Frozen songs on here now,” but that leads them to debating the merits of twisting traditional mythologies in Disney movies until Monty tells them to “shut up and drink.”

So, they do. 

And then, May happens. 

It’s not that Clarke often finds herself stressed enough to burst into tears as soon as she closes the apartment door behind her, but her stomach is churning and between self-important parents at school and her own parents—parent, singular—she’s an emotional, exhausted mess and—

“Oh, shit,” she sighs, sliding onto the floor. She hasn’t listened to the playlist all week. And she knows Bellamy won’t really care, but Clarke has started to depend on the structure and the ever-increasing knowledge and while she might not admit it, Arcade Fire probably would have done a pretty good job of psyching herself up for an afternoon with her mom. 

As it is, Clarke spent the better part of the last six hours listening to backwards compliments and questions about that school of yours and not-so-humble brags about the cardiac center at Lenox Hill and the “opportunities you passed up, sweetheart.”

That sentence played on loop in Clarke’s head the entire train ride home. 

She sniffles, a quick lip of suddenly dry lips because she’s started breathing out of her mouth too and—

“Clarke?” Her head bumps the door when she snaps it up, Bellamy standing there with curls that desperately need to be cut and glasses and he’s wearing socks. It makes Clarke’s pulse speed up and slow down at the same time. 

She’s very glad she’s not a doctor. 

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, rushing into her space and there are already tears on her cheeks. She hates that. Bellamy drops in front of her, knees cracking and a hand on her shoulder, staring at her like she’s going to fall apart or break in half and neither is true. Clarke is just mad. 

Pissed off, really. 

She’s angry at her mom and the cardiac center with its looming benefit, Clarke’s lack of a date some black mark on the whole thing, apparently, far too many veiled suggestions that her own choices are less structured and real, because Clarke has made her own choices since she was eighteen and hated stats and she’s got a schedule and she can’t believe she forgot about the playlist. She’s harping on that. “And how was the esteemed Dr. Griffin today?” Bellamy asks knowingly. Clarke isn’t sure what sound she makes at that, but it might just be the audible version of gratitude, and he grins. 

Exactly like she wants him to. 

“Chock-full of opinions as always.” “Mmhm, I figured. You want to talk about it?” “Not really. She just—” Clarke grits her teeth, fighting against another wave of disappointment and could have been and every one of her muscles tightens when Bellamy’s lips ghost over her forehead. 

That’s absurd. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. Or her. Quick displays of affection when things went well or things went bad and she can remember every single one. Which, honestly, is pretty telling, but she spent most of the day lying to her mom. 

This shouldn’t be any different. 

This is the complete opposite. 

“Go ahead,’ Bellamy mutters. 

“She’s just—God, Bell, she’s the worst and she’s so positive she’s right and I’m wrong, but she doesn’t even have the decency to really tell me I’m wrong and—” Clarke runs out of air. Bellamy brushes away the tears on her cheeks. “They’ve got this gala coming up and she wants me to come. She’s getting an award.” “Prestigious.” “Self-absorbed,” Clarke corrects. “The hospital she works at is awarding her for her work at the same hospital. I know it shouldn’t get to me. I do, but she kept talking, like she was going down a list of make Clarke feel like garbage and—” “—You don’t deserve to feel like garbage, princess.”

“Tell me mom that.”

“Here, give me your phone.” Clarke’s skull can’t cope with much more of this, but there’s an earnest edge to his voice that she’s never heard before and her phone suddenly feels impossibly heavy in her pocket. She pulls it out, willing her fingers not to tremble. 

It takes him exactly twelve seconds to start playing music.

There’s no Arcade Fire. No Goo Goo Dolls or 90s hip hop. 

“Fleetwood Mac?” Clarke whispers, Bellamy’s soft hum of agreement in her ear and she’s sure, eventually, they’ll get up. She’s not in a rush. “If you play Landslide,” Clark warns, “I will cry even more.”

“I can cope with that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds like another thing in a way that things shouldn’t be things. Not with roommates and weird bets and—“You know I do have some rhythm. I could...if you don’t want to show up to this thing by yourself.” Clarke doesn’t pull her head off his shoulder. She’s not sure when her head landed on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” “It wouldn’t suck so bad.” “That's not true at all.” “I’m serious. We could make fun of people. Come up with ridiculous backstories. Wow them with our Fred and Ginger ways.” “You sound very confident in your dancing talent.” He kisses the top of her hair. 

“That’d be nice,” Clarke says, voice a little scratchy and she’s not sure if that’s because of the day or the week or how goddamn comfortable his shoulder his. “And you’re going to ruin the playlist algorithm with this.” “I’ll live.” “Good.”

Dr. Abby Griffin’s eyes get very wide when Clarke and Bellamy show up at Gotham Hall. 

They dance. They drink undoubtedly expensive champagne. They dance some more. 

She smiles. 

A lot. 

And Bellamy doesn’t ask before handing Clarke one side of his headphones as soon as they slide into the Uber back home, her eyes fluttering shut while the music drowns out the sounds of the city on their way home. 

She gets really annoyed with him one week and plays the original Broadway cast recording of Cats every night while she’s asleep. 

He hates that she can’t ever remember to turn the AC off when she leaves the apartment. So, he plays Bizet from Carmen every time she walks in for a four-day stretch. 

It takes another two days for the playlist to realize neither one of them is mad anymore.

At some point around Memorial Day they both realize they love Ben Folds. 

Bellamy plays a ridiculous fake piano. 

Clarke sings the Regina Spektor parts on all their duets. 

They blast Killer Queen on a Saturday afternoon in June after Cage Wallace’s kid graduates. 

Clarke stands on the couch, hands thrown in the air and something akin to joy leaping up her spine, Bellamy shouting lyrics from the kitchen while he blends...something. 

It presumably has alcohol in it. 

Or, more alcohol. 

It’s a celebration. 

And it doesn’t take long for Pike to start banging on their shared well, but neither of them move to to turn own the music, just sing louder. Bellamy grins when Clarke throws a pillow at the wall, shouting “take that dick,” like Pike can hear them over Freddie Mercury. 

She almost falls over. 

It is...patently stupid and inherently romantic and Bellamy is impossibly solid behind her, cotton t-shirt not doing much to distract from the planes of his chest and—

“What was that about upper body strength?” she breathes.

Bellamy laughs into her shoulder blade, nosing at the top of her shirt, and there must be hair in his face, but he doesn’t seem all that upset by it, which is only messing with her head a little bit. His fingers splay across her hip, tugging Clarke back to the floor. 

His glasses are falling down the bridge of her nose. 

Clarke presses up on her toes, suddenly aware of how much bigger he is than her and how clear his eyes are when he looks at her — more earnest energy and a flick of his tongue between his lips, like he’s waiting for whatever she does next and only a little impatient. 

“A solid save.” Bellamy barks out a laugh, head falling close to Clarke’s, and it takes everything in her not to card her fingers through his hair. That lasts about four seconds. 

If even. 

Her calves are still aching, but she doesn’t back down and she doesn’t think and for one of those four seconds she’s absolutely positive Bellamy is going to kiss her. He doesn’t blink, just stays impossibly still, except for the flutter of his fingers and the way they push under the hem of her shirt and—

“Turn your fucking music down!”

They both jump back, like they’ve been shocked, Clarke wincing when her legs slam into the front of the couch. 

“Are you ok?” Bellamy asks, but she’s already nodding and any sense of joy has rather quickly morphed into something much worse. Regret. That’s the word for it. 

She’s neither a doctor nor an English teacher. 

“Fine, fine,” Clarke stammers. “I, uh—I’m going to turn the music down, ok?”

“Nah, Clarke—fuck that guy, c’mon, it’s…” “It’s really loud, Bell.” He’s setting a record for not blinking, she’s sure. He stares at her—a little appraising and just a hint wary, the moment drifting away as the song fades out. Clarke swallows. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy agrees. It still doesn’t sound like the words he’s saying. “What do you think about celebratory David Bowie?” “Good call. You going to keep mixing?” “10-4, princess.”

“Idiot.” He grins, a quick twist of eyebrows and squeeze of his hand, but Clarke can’t help to think that the end of the school year may also be the end of something else. 

Octavia’s getting married in two weeks. 

Her dress is blue. 

And it makes her boobs look great, which Clarke isn’t focused on, but Raven’s mentioned it enough that eventually she agrees and she’s happy. 

Octavia is getting married. 

It’s sunny. It’s warm. There’s already music playing, soft and melodic outside the door where they’re waiting, Raven’s far-too-knowing stare boring into the back of Clarke’s head. 

“Don’t do that,” she warns, and she doesn’t have to turn to know Raven rolls her eyes. 

“I’m still not saying anything.” “Again, you didn’t have to.” “The experiment ends today, right?” “You say that like you don’t know. “And what did we learn?” Clarke turns around. It’s a mistake, she knows, but part of her has also been dreading today, which is pretty fucked up. All things considered. Octavia looks gorgeous. 

She’s got a five-dollar bet with Murphy that Bellamy will cry. 

Bellamy’s definitely going to cry. 

“You’re supposed to learn something in an experiment,” Raven says. “Even one as weird as this one. With all its flirting. You seriously haven’t made out with him yet?” “No.” Raven crows, Clarke grimacing at the admission that isn’t really that because everyone knows and she’s always known and—she bets he looks very good in his tuxedo. “Oh, god you’re an idiot,” Raven exhales. “But seriously, did you learn things? That he—”

“Yes to the Goo Goo Dolls. Slide is a very predictable favorite, but it’s been on the playlist since the get. He knows way more lyrics than he should. O had a pop punk phase too and he’s way too confident in his own rhythm, but sometimes he’s good at dancing. His mom used to listen to a lot of ballads and Karen Carpenter makes him feel emotions, but mostly at Christmas, so that hasn’t really affected the playlist and—what? You’re doing that thing with your face.” “Am I just?” “Nothing’s going to change, Rae,” Clarke cuts in. “We’re going to keep our musical preferences and our separate playlists and one of us will pay for no ads.” “Seriously, tell him how much you want to kiss him.”

“Shut up.”

And the photographer sounds like he’s on his way back. With Octavia. Who certainly does not want to hear about Clarke’s unrequited feelings for her brother. On her wedding day. 

Priorities, Clarke’s got them. 

“We had some fun and—well, O was kind of right. It was like getting a chance to…” “See into his music-loving soul?” “I really like Arcade Fire now.” Raven hums noncommittally and Clarke can practically hear the gears in her mind turning, but she’d been right about the photographer and maybe they’ll all just cry over Octavia. 

She’s beaming. 

And there will be hummingbird cake at this reception. 

“You guys ready?” Octavia asks. 

Clarke nods, ignoring Raven’s expression. “Definitely.”

He cries. 

Clarke gets five dollars. 

She doesn’t have any pockets in her dress. 

That feels like a sign. 

Strictly speaking, Clarke hasn’t been to too many weddings. A family friend when she was a kid. Her mom’s. This one. 

And yet. 

She’s positive that this is the most beautiful wedding she’s ever been to or could ever go to and part of that is because of the music and part is because of how often she’s noticed Bellamy smiling and most of it is because he keeps glancing her way. 

It’s a very blue dress. 

She’s still holding a five-dollar bill. 

And there is a whole schedule — toasts and more tears, posing for photos and ignoring the way her stomach flutters when she spends an inordinate amount of time glancing Bellamy’s direction. Octavia laughs. She and Lincoln flit from table to table, a hint of tradition in a wedding that is still them and this family and—

“You want to dance?” She’s sitting at the head table, a glass of half-finished champagne in front of her and they haven’t cut the cake yet, but Clarke figures that's soon. Bellamy doesn’t blink. Again. One side of his mouth tugs up, fluttering his fingers in her space until she feels her own smile stretch and maybe her stomach should just be studied. 

There’s color on Bellamy’s cheeks. 

Clarke never got around to making that list. 

“Don’t leave hanging, princess,” Bellamy says. “They’re playing good music.”

He’s not wrong. 

It is good music. It’s...oddly familiar music. And Clarke had been too happy to really notice it before, but now that she’s listening, she hasn’t heard anything that’s not hers and—

“Oh my God, you idiot.” He laughs. Loud. And honest. And one-hundred percent hers. The sound sinking into the very center of her, where everything else she’s ever loved has taken root, a foundation for the rest of it, for all of it, for a family. 

A Spotify premium family plan. 

“You keep complimenting me like that and—” “—Did you do this?” “Did I do what?”

Her hand finds his, warm fingers and slightly callused skin. Clarke can’t stop shaking her head. It’s absurd. It’s vaguely romantic. 

“Is this…” she starts, but Bellamy smirks and she’s a lost cause. 

In a far more romantic sort of way. 

She jumps up, closing the already minimal amount of space between them and, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. He might still be smirking. Clarke can feel the curve of his lips as soon as hers land on them, a little cautious at first, but that lasts about one verse of whatever Jonas Brothers song is playing and then it’s all mingled breaths and an arm slung around his shoulders, fingers in his hair and the sudden swipe of his tongue. 

Clarke arches her back, desperate to feel as much of him as she can, like that will ground her or remind her that it’s really happening. 

He tilts his head, changes angles and cups her face. It’s soft and bruising and a perfect contradiction that leaves her pushing up further in her heels, pulling on Bellamy’s curls until he groans against her and she’s going to think about that on loop for the rest of the night. 

The room spins. 

Clarke’s only seventy-two percent certain she’s not the one spinning. 

It doesn’t seem to end. They don’t seem to end. She can’t tell where his hands stop, moving across the expanse of her back and tracing across skin, as if he’s memorizing every shift, every way she rocks against him, trying to fill the space with him and them and— “Oh my God, finally,” Octavia cries. 

Clarke snickers, Bellamy’s head dropping to the curve of her jaw, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Still smirking. “Huh,” he muses. “Look at that.” “Don’t be smug,” Clarke chides. “I’m wooing you, was that not obvious?” She leans back, expecting a wholly confident expression, only to be met with something slightly hopeful and a little young and yearning and, really, the only thing to do is kiss him. Again. So, she does. Again. 

And it’s good and great and exactly what she thought it would be when she thought about this, far more often than she ever would admit to. 

But it’s also...something else. It’s the perfect chord and a well-constructed bridge and the song she wants to play on repeat forever, a favorite she knows she won’t get sick of, until the melody finds its way into her memory and her. 

Full stop. 

“Yeah, it was,” she whispers. “Is this—” “You know when you first offered to go half on this premium thing, I really was in it for the money.” “It’s like an extra ten bucks a month,” Miller yells. Both Octavia and Raven swat at his side.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Bellamy admits, “But I wanted to help O and I was sure this would help and then the playlist thing came up and I just—” He shrugs, another brush of his fingers over Clarke’s arm. “—Well, it was...you know you hum under your breath? Constantly. Every song. Even the ones you said you didn’t like. And you’ve got drawing playlists and I can’t believe how strongly you feel about All Time Low.” “They’re good,” Clarke shouts. More than a few members of the peanut gallery let out exasperated sighs. 

Bellamy kisses her hair. “I know. I know. And that’s been—the first time O talked about you, I figured you were some uptight—” “—Am I still being wooed? I am a fun person!” “Let me finish. You were old money and plans and structure and I thought I had to hate you on principle. But then. Clarke, you’re—ok, yeah, you like some structure and plans, but there’s so much more and it’s...every single time you start dancing to David Bowie I think I love you a little more.”

She’s not sure what sound she makes. 

An exhale and a sigh and a give — into the feelings and the want and he’s not done. 

“So, uh, it hasn’t been easy. It took a lot of repeat plays. But yeah, to answer your question. This is the playlist and it’s our playlist, with...mostly your music because—” He scrunches his nose. It makes the freckles more obvious. “You’ve gotten under my skin, princess. So has your music. And the Frozen soundtrack isn’t that bad.” “Get that in writing,” Octavia demands. 

“Shut up, O,” Bellamy grumbles. She flips him off. The photographer takes a picture. “Anything to add?” he asks, an undercurrent of misplaced nerves that she doesn’t understand at first. She hasn’t said anything back. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s—” she starts, shaking her head and she kisses him before she answers. Third time’s the charm, or something. "I love you too.”

There are cheers. And louder music. A ridiculous bass line and shutter snaps and—

“We going to dance?” “Did I not ask first?” Clarke hums, already tugging him towards the floor and she’s got high hopes of his hand never leaving hers. For the rest of the night. If not longer. “Semantics,” she says. “C’mon, this is definitely a good song.”

Her favorite Jonas Brother is Joe. 

She tells him while they’re tugging clothes off, stumbling down the hallway of their apartment. 

“Don’t mention that again.” “10-4,” Clarke laughs, but the words get caught between them and she very quickly forgets about anything other than the noise Bellamy makes when she moves her hands into his hair. 

They never opt out of the family playlist. 

And it takes a few weeks for the algorithm to catch up, but eventually it’s a pretty even split, his and hers and theirs, all perfectly curated in replayable format. 

[baseballbitch116]

Run - Chapter One

Introduction: Paul and Y/N started a family together just after Breaking Dawn pt 2. It is now seven years later, and they have two sons and a daughter together - Dakota(7), Jace(5) and Aiyana(3). Forks was mostly peaceful for the last few years, but that’s changed now, and the pack’s children are in danger...

This will be a multi-chapter series following Paul Sam and their families, as they attempt to keep them safe from the vampires hunting them.

Word Count: 2.4k

Parental supervision suggested for children under the age of 15, this story will contain adult themes and violence

Masterlist

Prompt List | Submit A Request

Things in Forks have grown increasingly tense as vampires began to arrive again. You had a fairly peaceful handful of years after the Voltori came planning to kill Bella’s daughter. The town was basically vampire-free, besides the Cullen’s. There were still some encounters every so often over the years, mostly with wandering ones passing through town, usually resulting in them being scared off by the pack without incident. But then something changed about a month ago.

The pack stumbled across a clan of multiple vampires that had been hunting in the area, and they got much too close to the Reservation. One of them happened to see Sam’s son, Kai, and that started an entire scenario. According to what your husband Paul informed you, the vampires expressed an interest in eight year old Kai, and that was why they kept coming back, no matter how many times they got chased off. The pack had even managed to kill one of them, but it didn’t stop the rest from returning.

You have been on edge for days now, your children’s safety being threatened is your absolute worst nightmare come true. The vampires kept returning to the Reservation, even letting it be known to the wolves exactly what they were after, and the horrible things they were planning. Apparently, they wanted to kill all of the children of the pack, to prevent the possibility of any of them being shape-shifters like their fathers - they want to wipe out their enemy. 

Tonight was going fine. The men were out on patrol late again, leaving you alone at home with your three children. The idea that there were blood-sucking demons out there right now trying to kill your husband and hunting your children was nearly enough to give you a panic attack - but you needed to be strong, for them.

You have been inside all day - too scared to leave the house - and forbidding the children from doing so either. They did not know about the Pack’s abilities, nor did they know that vampires existed, and you wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. It was growing increasingly hard though, with your eldest son asking why you seemed scared and why they weren’t allowed outside.

Whenever Paul was actually home - which was rare now - he was tense and angry, constantly looking out the windows and going over the perimeter. You miss your husband more than anything, you feel more vulnerable than ever with him gone, but he had no choice.

You were cooking dinner when you saw it standing out there, looking right at you through the window, a terrifying smirk on her face. You dropped the bowl that you were holding, startled and terrified by her closeness. “Dakota!” You scream for your eldest son, trying to think of some way to fight her off. Where the hell were the guys? You ran from the kitchen as soon as you saw her, abandoning the broken bowl on the floor and running for your children.

You tugged on Dakota’s arm, dragging him into your bedroom and pulling him down onto the floor, putting a finger to your lips to tell him to stay quiet. “Don’t say a word.” You mutter with tear-filled eyes, standing up and closing the curtains hastily, glancing out quickly to make sure she wasn’t watching. You knew that you had limited time, probably less than two minutes if you were lucky before she broke inside. “Call your father, tell him mom said to get home as fast as he can. Quiet.” You whisper, then run out of the room to grab your other children. “Mommy what’s-” Your middle child, Jace asks, and you quickly put a finger to your mouth and run past him to where your three year old daughter sat on the floor.

You lift her hastily and take your son’s hand, jumping when you hear a bang. You pull him along as fast as you can into your bedroom and open the closet door, pointing urgently for them to hurry inside. You hand Aiyana to Dakota and crouch down to their level momentarily, brushing a hand over your daughter’s cheek. “I love you guys.” You whisper, a tear slipping from your eye. “No matter what you hear, no matter what.” You start, emphasizing your last words, glancing at the door once more, wondering why she hasn’t broken inside yet. “Do not come out. Do not. Stay as quiet as you can. Stay here.” You demand sternly, leaning over to press a kiss on each of their heads quickly then shutting the door as quietly as you possibly can and locking it.

Another tear escapes as you feel defeated, walking as quietly as possible out of the room. How are you, a human with no abilities, supposed to protect your children from a vampire? You crouch down when you near the windows, keeping a close eye out for any signs of intrusion, and hesitantly crawl to the counter, avoiding the kitchen window and the glass on the floor. You grab the biggest knife that you own and try to think of what you should do next. She knows you’re in here, and she knows that the kids will be with you, so should you leave them by themselves and hope she won’t find them as quick? Or should you go back to the room in case she gets in there from the window?

You hear a loud animalistic roar that sends you jumping to your feet, relief washing over you. They’re here. You hear a female scream and another loud growl. You hesitantly step over to the window, looking at the horrible scene right outside of your door. You recognize the black and silver wolves to be Sam and Paul, and rage boils up inside of you when you see the vampire starting to get the upper hand. You panic, wondering where the other guys are, but they aren’t here - you are.

You run outside, knife still in hand, and watch in horror as you see Sam go crashing into one of Billy’s boats. You jump and cringe at the sound it makes under him, hoping that he is okay, but he doesn’t get back up - not fast enough. You see her get her arms around your husband and that is when you can’t take anymore. “Hey!” You scream, your knife at your arm as you watch her head snap up and that terrifying grin reappear. You were about to cut yourself to draw blood and distract her, but apparently, you calling out was enough to throw her off and Paul to get out of her gasp, pinning her down long enough for Sam to come charging and bite her head right off of her body.

You sigh in relief as you feel the adrenaline leaving your body, the fear being replaced by a gratitude for your husband. This was a close one, much too close. She was right outside your home, a few minutes longer and you would have been a goner… You make eye contact with Paul, still in his wolf form, as he stares at you. You drop the knife to the ground and collapse onto your knees, overwhelmed by the last five minutes. You feel him brush his head against your face and you lean into him momentarily, before you fear that there could be more here, and you stand back up, running back inside to check on the kids.

Thankfully, when you unlock the closet door, the three of them are huddled inside together. The terrified looks on their faces are quickly replaced by relieved ones as they run into your arms and sob hysterically. You sit on the floor and just hold them, tears strolling down your cheeks as you hold onto them and let yourself soak in just how much you love them.

After a minute or so, Paul comes jogging into the room, startling you. “Daddy!” They exclaim and your two eldest run into his arms and sob for him. You close your eyes and hold Aiyana close against your chest, rocking her and whispering that she is okay in her ear. When you reopen your eyes, Paul is watching you, hugging his boys against his bare chest. You lock eyes and you force yourself to look away.

You aren’t mad at him, but you can’t help but feel angry. Your children are in danger because of what he is - you hadn’t thought that you’d be dealing with this sort of scenario when you first married him. Yes, you knew there would always be danger, but you never thought specifically directed toward your children.

Much to your dismay, you guys had to inform your children that there were dangerous people out there that you needed to hide from. You left it to Paul to sit down and talk to them, you couldn’t do it yourself. You love Paul, so much, and you don’t regret marrying him in the slightest - but this was too much to handle. Your children are in danger, and you need to protect them at all costs.

While Paul sat in the room explaining what he could to them and trying to calm them down, you sat on your sofa in the living room, head in your hands. What could you do to keep them safe? They couldn’t be here anymore, they needed to be somewhere else until the bloodsuckers were dead.

Your heart jumped when you heard a knock at your front door and your head shot up, greeted by Sam, Emily and their two children at your door. He gives you a solemn look, taking a small step inside and off to the side for his family to enter. His eyes leave yours and fall outside, glancing around before he closes the door behind them. Emily exchanges a look with you and you sit up in your spot, unable to say anything. Your heart feels too heavy as you look at her sleeping son in her arms. Jayden is only a year and a half old, and those bloodsuckers out there are trying to kill him too. For what? There’s no definite that your children will inherit the gene, they don’t even know what their fathers are - but that doesn’t matter to those vampires, apparently. 

Nobody speaks, not even the children. You pat the sofa for Kai to come sit, standing from your spot for Emily and the baby, giving him a little stroke on his cheek when she passes you. They are like your nephews, you’d die for Sam’s children, just like your own. You see Sam’s gaze fall to the floor, and you follow his eyes, realizing you haven’t cleaned up the glass from the bowl you dropped. You let out a huff and grab your broom, beginning to sweep the broken glass into a pile. “We’re going to figure this out.” Sam speaks aloud, looking between both you and his wife. You want to believe him, but you can’t right now.

You nod distractedly as you bend down to gather the glass and toss it into the trash can, a million thoughts rushing through your head as you try to decipher what you can do to keep them safe. A door closes and everyone looks toward the hall, seeing Paul walk out, his children following behind him. He put on a light navy blue shirt now, and he looks less tense, but still not relaxed. He walks over to your side, pulling you into his chest, and it’s almost enough for you to break down right there. But you hold it together, for the children, and hug your husband back, breathing in his comforting scent that you have come to know over the years.

When you pull away, Sam dismisses the children, telling them to go play in Dakota’s room. You feel uneasy about them being out of your sight, opening your mouth to say something, but Emily stands and says that she’ll go with them. You close your mouth and let out a breath, your nerves are beginning to feel shot with all of this worrying.

“Was she alone?” You quietly ask once the children are out of earshot. Sam runs a hand through his short black hair, not responding right away, which basically answers your question. She wasn’t - that’s why the other’s weren’t here. They were chasing after more of them…

“No. Jared and Leah were after one, and the rest found another. The woman was the only one that we killed, the rest got away…” Sam explains, glancing down the hall to Emily who is listening as she leans against the door-frame, supervising the kids.

“We can’t stay here.” You mutter, turning to face your husband, distraught. He makes a face, clearly not on board with leaving, but you aren’t backing down. You turn back to face Sam, who exchanges a look with Paul. “It is not safe for them. This was too close. What if you guys hadn’t shown up when you did? She was right outside my window.” You exclaim in a hushed tone, tears threatening your eyes once more. Paul puts a hand on your shoulder and you just shrug it away, heading for the front door and storming outside.

You hadn’t left the front porch, too afraid to go any further without Paul by your side. You sat there and allowed yourself to let out the horror and sobs that you had been holding in - not just today, but since this all began. It’s only getting worse, you aren’t going to continue to get lucky. You needed to protect your kids, and if Paul won’t leave… Then you’ll just have to take them somewhere without him, despite how much that would hurt you.

After a while, you heard the door open from behind you, and knew that it was Paul who sat down beside you without needing to look. “I can’t lose them…” You choke out, looking out toward the road through your blurry vision.

“We won’t.” Paul speaks sternly, as if he is stating a fact.

“If we stay here, we won’t know that for certain. They know where we live now. How are we supposed to sleep? How are we ever supposed to be apart?” You question, turning your head from where it rest in your hands to look at him. He doesn’t respond, and you know that he sees your point.

“We will figure this out.” He reiterates, but you just scoff and look away.

“Right.” You mutter, wiping away your tears with your sleeve and taking a deep breath, gathering yourself.

“Y/N.” Paul starts, but you don’t let him continue, instead standing up and heading back inside to check on the kids without another word.

| Next >

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Well, there is Chapter One of the Paul Lahote x reader fanfic I was planning!!! I actually have so many great ideas for this series, I hope that you guys will enjoy it as much as I know I will! I am also planning on writing a PREQUEL for this series about Y/N and Paul when they met and he imprinted and all that good stuff!

Please let me know in the comments if you guys enjoyed this and I should continue <3

@curadopordeus @supervalcsi @namelesslosers @queengummybae @4wallswalls @horselover1994 @beewritings @queenkrissy11 @justdidabadthing @fangirlanotherjust @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @llevame-a-la-lunaa @comphersjost@fangirlsarah16@emogril@tmntnerd2016@seokmin97 @lookinsidemyhead@gryffindorshadowhunter@hopegallifreyasong @mistyrosemimi@bbooks-and-teas @lukes-legs-are-life@dizzydest1206 @limbozqueen@porter1204@mayakblack@mcscuse-my-french-bitch @katpatrova17@awesome-monica@proud-slytherin-ghost @elisha-chloe @alligator-person@kawaiislimetoadfarm@taylorswiftloverforever13@loki-thehobbit @animeislife518 @icantstopreblogging@fancyxfangirl@gold-raven-123 @a-dorky-book-keeper@theandroid-sent-by-cyberlife@chaindeyes @mixedmoony @classyasssuperbitch@bribribrianna678@honeysam2002 @shycupcakealissa@wolfbloodlovers @molliebobs

[catsandstrawberries]

Real Family 8

Pairings: BTS x teen female reader, platonic love

Warnings: Language, neglect, descriptions of a panic attack and past child abuse 

A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in so long, hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. Also, I PROMISE Yoongi gets better but for the next few chapters he's going to be a jerk..I'm sorry but I can't imagine him feeling ok with reader living with him at this point in time. 

Summary: It’s not blood that makes a family. It’s love.

Masterlist 

The week after they had given me my own phone they had automatically became super busy. They were always leaving early in the mourning and coming home late at night, I didn't really expect anything different considering they were idols. Sometimes they would invite me to come with them to dance practice, I thought it would be fun until I saw all of the hip rolls and thrust in their choreo. Dancing like that in front of the girl who's living with you and trying not to be too sexual is weird.

So for the most part I stayed at home, and indulged in the Netflix account Jungkook made for me. Honestly, most of my days were spent eating and watching the show called the Office. In the past week I had watched seven seasons of the Office and finished Parks and Recreations. Both of which made me cry at some point from laughter and sadness. Taehyung also helped me set up an Instagram and Twitter, and sometimes we would send each other awkward selfies when he had some downtime at work. Apparently, Namjoon had even started an Instagram called the BTS family, and I later found out that the day I was supposed to get coffee for Bang, led to him yelling at the boys for not using me to my promotional potential. Or at least that was my guess and when I told Jungkook my theory, his widened eyes and exclamation of ‘you're not a promotional tool to us!’ told me my hunch was right. 

All the boys had the password except for me to the Instagram account, which was a little aggravating but Namjoon also had to sit me down and talk to me about how I would need to be responsible in what I posted since I gained about 8 million followers on Instagram. The Bts Fam account was also just cringey photos of myself. There was one of me from the photo shoot, one of me and Tae, the rainbow shot of the boys and one of me sleeping on the couch. I messaged Jin asking (begging) him to delete it because I was drooling in the photo but in response, he sent me a laughing emoji.

Currently, I was watching reruns of the office since Hoseok asked me not to watch the final season without him. I refused to hold back my laughter as Kevin spilled his chilly onto the floor or when Stanley talked about his love of pretzel day. But as soon as the door slammed shut followed by a silence I immediately muted the show, calling out, “hello?” Even though I knew the house was pretty top security, doors slamming and the silence always scared me. “Just me (Y/N)!” Namjoon poked his head out from behind the wall, looking up from his phone and tucking it in his pocket. “You're back early,” I stated turning around on the couch and leaning my head against the frame to get a better view. “Yeah practice got out earlier and they decided to give us off till Monday.” He sounded so relieved but it was only Saturday, it was sad to think they had to work so hard just to get one day off. Instead of crushing his dreams though I simply smiled. “That's great.” I then noticed the quiet in the building, “what happened to the boys?” He flopped down on the couch next to me, “they went to get food-.” I immediately groaned, “Not salads again!” BTS comeback was in a few months and of course, they all were expected to diet and one of the first and only things Yoongi had said to me this week was, “If we're doing it so is she.” He didn't even say it to my face or address me, so our relationship wasn't really getting anywhere. “Sorry.” He smirked, words not matching his emotion. “Actually, when the boys get back we all should talk.” I gulped, turning off the Tv and turning to Namjoon. “Is s-something wrong?” I stuttered, despite the fact I was getting more comfortable with them I was always waiting for something wrong to happen, expecting it. Maybe this was it. Namjoon opened his mouth but the loud shouting of Hoseok prompted him to roll his eyes instead. “(Y/N) you better not have watched the last season without me!” An annoyed sigh followed by a wack came from the other room. “Can you quiet down Hoseok, anyways we have to talk to her remember.” Jin's strict voice startled me, what was so important? Jimin soon filtered into the room ruffling my hair as he passed by then jumping over the couch to sit by me. After he had done it at the photoshoot it kind of became our ‘thing’. Even after plentiful whining from Tae and Kook about how they wanted a ‘thing’ too. The rest of the boys flooded into the room, Jin handing me a bowl of greens and vegetables, the only thing slightly appealing was the boiled eggs. I tried not to act too ungrateful, even a salad was better than no food, but why did I have to diet with them, stupid Yoongi. Once everyone had settled down and Jungkook handed me a fork, all eyes were on the leader. He twiddled slightly with his thumbs as he spoke, “So (Y/N), I got a message from the state the other day about them sending a social worker to check up on you. Apparently, it's routine for them to see your lifestyle, how you're adjusting and everything.” I practically sighed in relief at his words, if this was the news then I had nothing to worry about. I suddenly perked up as a thought entered my head, “is the social worker Katie?” I honestly missed Katie, even though we fought and got on each other's nerves she was the closest thing I had to a mom. Jimin chuckled next to me and I blushed from my sudden excitement, stuffing a large piece of kale into my mouth. “The email didn't specify,” his tone then turned serious, “but, (Y/N) I was doing some research and they said if the meeting didn't go well you could get revoked from our parental rights.” Of course, I knew this, since it had happened in the past, but was he really worried about that?  “Namjoon it's nothing to worry about, the state would only take me away if I was in an unfit home. Like the last place I lived at they drank a lot, called me names, tried to…” I faltered off just as Jimin had tensed from beside me. “I-I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry.” I hung my head in defeat, that wasn't just something I'd blurt out why did I feel so inclined to bring it up now. “Anyways, you guys will be fine, I have a roof, food, The Office.” I chuckled but this time no one laughed with me, all eyes downcast or glaring into the distance. Clearing my throat I started to eat more of my salad, “you guys will be fine, when is it?” My question caused Namjoon to blink a few times before looking at me. “Tuesday. We’re supposed to have a practice that day but I convinced Bang to let us leave for a few hours.” Jungkook let out an audible ‘yes’ followed by an ‘ow’ as he was smacked by Yoongi. “Is that all we had to talk about?” The nervous look on Namjoon's face only deepened and my stomach started to twist. “No. We enrolled you into a private school.” I gulped the remaining food in my mouth hanging my head in my hands once again letting out an annoyed groan, “you start Monday.”

When Tae had offered to take me to Target to shop for school supplies I did not question him. I thought he was just trying to do something nice. But as soon as the car pulled up to the mall Tae started to head for the store that screamed expensive in big glowing letters. Gucci. “Tae I can't go in there, isn't that for like expensive people?” Tae turned towards me, pushing his sunglasses up once they started to roll down the rim of his nose. His black and red checkered bandana pulled his hair back and the black Gucci shirt and jeans did nothing to hide his appearance or physique. “Don't worry so much, we’ll just make a quick stop then leave.” I grumbled under my breath, I doubted Tae could simply just make a ‘quick stop’ at Gucci. The security guard in front of the store gave Tae a nod followed by, “welcome back, Mr. Kim.” Jesus how many times had Tae been to this store. The guard gave me a side eye but didn't mention anything as I walked closer to Tae. The insides of the store were terrifying, everything looked expensive and I worried that if I touched something I would somehow fall 5 million into debt. The store was lit with a soft yellow and white glow, a set of purses in a glass case covering an entire wall, a full room of shoes and mannequins with strange looking sweaters were placed in the oddest of places. Turning a corner I almost jumped when seeing a mannequin holding a Gucci bag in one hand and a strange interpretation of a Kimono on the body. Trestles and chains hanging from the shoulders.

“Tae can we please get going soon, am I even old enough to be in a store like this?” Just as I asked, I walked by a set of baby clothes all pricing over 1,000 dollars. “Don't answer that,” I grumbled while Tae openly laughed at me. “Why don't you go wait outside while I check out,” before I could argue Tae was raising an eyebrow at me. “I'll be quick I promise.” Taking him for his word I exited the fancy store, casually leaning by the wall and taking out my phone.

Not even five minutes after walking out of the store Tae was done, meeting me outside a bag in hand. “What did you get?” I asked but he simply brushed off my question, “just some stuff. Here I got you these.” He placed a pair of sunglasses over my eyes, “you'll need them the more we go out in public.” Pulling a black mask from his pocket he quickly placed it over his mouth, “let's go.”

Once we had gotten to Target, Tae of course immediately got distracted. “(Y/N) these would look so cute on you, look!” He was like a kid in a candy store, shoving clothes in my hands and carrying me throughout the department. “Tae, why are we looking at clothes when I have a school uniform?” Tae turned towards me taking the clothes out of my hand and placing them in a handheld basket. “Don't think I don't notice the seven pairs of clothes you rotate through in a week (Y/N). I'm not an idiot.” Despite the cloth, over his mouth, I heard every syllable, and I looked away in annoyance. “Besides I can't let my kid go out in public without the proper clothes.” He turned away for a moment muttering something about how he wished it was Gucci, but the only thing I cared about was how he described me as ‘his kid.’ “Go try these on.” He handed me a big basket of clothes, “all of them?” Tae glared at me, before sighing. “Seriously (Y/N), please go try them on.” I glared at the ground as I walked towards the dressing room, not missing the smirk that passed Taehyung's face as I muttered, “only because you said please.”

After a full-on argument with Tae about how I didn't need 12 pairs of jeans he finally gave in and let me choose half of the clothes out of the pile he gave me. So the original fifty items soon turned into twenty-five. Shopping with Tae was seriously a hassle. Every time I remotely looked at something he would be breathing down my neck asking if I wanted it. Sure it may seem nice but it was also annoying. So far he had shoved Yankee Candles, fairy lights, and some supplements into the basket for my room, stating that ‘I needed to decorate.’ He tried to grab more especially when we got to the room decorating section with sheets, mirrors, hangars, couches and the fancy led lights. I had to drag him to the school section which was odd because that was the ONLY reason we were supposed to go to Target and we seemed to buy everything except for school supplies. As soon as we got to the aisle Tae’s nose scrunched up in disgust, “I hated school.” I glared at him and he quickly realized his mistake, “I mean school was fun...yay, learning.” Tae walked over to a pile of fancy looking notebooks and binders and simply swiped them into the basket from the shelf. “I actually met Jimin in high school.”

“Really?” I asked slightly in awe, everyone always talked about how once they graduated they moved on from there high school friends. “Yeah, Jimin got picked on a lot for his accent so I always tried to stand up for him. That's how we became friends.” He turned back towards me a smile on his face, “I know school can be rough, but try giving this one a chance.” I smiled and nodded throwing a pack of pens into the basket. If only I had known exactly what would happen at my new school.

[smkkbert]

Time for a story - When you know

As soon as Felicity had gotten out of her car, she saw Laurel standing in front of the large shop windows of the bridal boutique. She was sitting on the hood of her own car, looking at the five wedding dresses that were exhibited in the shop windows. Except of a fond smile, a deep frown was visible on her face though. She didn’t look like the happy bride-to-be she should be.

Locking her car, Felicity strolled over to Laurel. Her friend and stepsister – at least almost – flashed her a brief glance before she turned back to look at the show windows. A long sigh fell from her lips, making Felicity frown as she sat down next to her on the hood of the car.

Felicity gave Laurel the time she probably needed. Hence, instead of saying anything, she just followed Laurel’s gaze towards the shop windows and looked at the wedding dresses.

Pursing her lips, Felicity realized that they were quite different from all the three wedding dresses she had gotten married in so far. Admittedly, two of her dresses had been maternity dresses as her second wedding had taken place while she had been pregnant with Tommy and she had gotten married to Oliver a third time while being pregnant with Addie. Even her first wedding dress, the one she had worn long before she had become a mother of five, had been quite different from the wedding dresses she was seeing now.

For the break of a second, Felicity wondered which of these dresses she would pick for her next wedding. She did owe Oliver one after all as he had proposed to her during their last anniversary. Quickly, she pushed that thought away though because wasn’t about her.

Today was all about Laurel.

“Afraid?”

Laurel took in a deep breath and, without looking at Felicity, she asked, “Why would I be?”

“Getting married is a big thing,” Felicity told her and smiled amusedly. “I have to know. I got married thrice.”

“Always to the same man.”

Felicity couldn’t help but smile at those words, feeling her chest warm with the bare thought at Oliver.

All her life, watching her mother work at several casinos after Noah had just left her overnight, Felicity had thought that she would never get married. At the young age of seven years, she had given up on love because she had been sure that love just destroyed her. She had never really looked for it.

When she had met Cooper, she had thought that he was her one great love. She hadn’t been able to fight him off of fight off the feelings she had had for him. She had given love a first try because she had thought that she and Cooper would do everything different from her parents. She had thought that they were it for each other.

After Cooper’s apparent death, Felicity had thought she had given up on love once and for all. She had been through the same thing that Donna had gone through with her father, just that it had felt a thousand times worse.

It had taken years, up until the moment that Oliver had been lying in the back of her car with a dangerous bullet wound, until she had finally been able to see that Cooper had never been her great love. What she had felt for him during the months they had been together had been barely a fraction of what she had felt for Oliver during the few weeks that he had come to her for tech advise. That moment, it had all become so very clear.

She had never felt for anyone the way she had felt for Oliver. While it might have taken them a lot of time as well as some detours to realize what they were feeling for each other, they were as happy with each other as they could never be with anyone else. You only found that kind of love with one person, and Felicity had found it with Oliver.

Just like Laurel had found it with Tommy.

“So, what’s going on?” Felicity asked, pushing her elbow into Laurel’s rips. “Did you finally realize that it was a terrible idea to ask my mom and Thea to come with you for wedding dress shopping?”

Laurel frowned at her. “They came with you when you were shopping your wedding dress.”

“My first wedding dress,” Felicity reminded her. “Thea chose my second wedding dress alone, and I ordered my third wedding dress online with the help of William.”

“I know I have been there when you bought your first wedding dress, but I barely remember.”

“Oh, I remember,” Felicity mumbled, but she smiled at Laurel comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it thought.”

If Laurel wasn’t worrying about the fact that Thea and Donna would take over this appointment to show her wedding dress, she wouldn’t remind her of the terrifying memory she had about choosing her first wedding dress. Laurel didn’t have to be told how terrible it could be to have two fashionistas with her as she was choosing her dress. She would barely have any say in what wedding dress she would choose.

“Now,” Felicity asked, cocking her head, “why don’t you go in to find your perfect dress for what media says is the most important day of your life? Are you sad because your mother couldn’t come?”

“No.” Laurel frowned briefly. “I mean I would have loved to have my mother here, but I think she knew what my wedding dress was supposed to look like before I was even born, so maybe the dress will match my taste more if she is not there.”

Felicity pressed her lips together and rolled them into her mouth. It took a lot of her to bite back the comment of how her mother would not be any different. For Donna, Laurel was her daughter. It was the same way for Felicity with William. Although he wasn’t her child biologically or legally, he was her son to her.

“If it’s not your mother’s absence or Thea’s and my mother’s presence,” Felicity asked and cleared her throat slightly, “what makes you worry so much?”

Laurel took in a deep breath, and her the muscles in her shoulders tightened. She seemed visibly uncomfortable to talk about this, and it told Felicity everything that she needed to know. The person that Laurel needed right now was Sara and not her mother. In Sara, Laurel would trust even with her darkest thoughts. It was what sisters did.

Felicity had never really had a sister. With the way she and Laurel had met, Felicity working as part of Oliver’s crusade while his ex-girlfriend had been in the dark about all of it, it had been hard to build the kind of relationships sisters had even after their parents had started dating. That Laurel, just like everyone else on the team, had turned against Felicity when she, unlike everyone else, had believed that Oliver was still alive had just added to it.

Felicity knew, without any doubt, that she and Laurel would never have what Laurel and Sara had had. Their bond had allowed them to work through the fact that Sara had been screwing Laurel’s boyfriend behind her back.

Whenever Felicity remembered that the guy, who did this to these sisters was her husband, she felt a cold shiver running down her back. She knew that, though it had technically been the same person, Oliver was not that guy anymore. Oliver, the Oliver Felicity had gotten to know and had fallen in love with, would never do something like that.

“I am not exactly worried,” Laurel whispered eventually, her voice so low that Felicity could barely hear her though she was standing right beside her. “I am just thinking.”

“About what?”

After years of being married to a brooding, trauma-burdened man and after months of being in therapy, Felicity knew exactly how to worm something out of someone. Asking question after question rather than commenting on anything would eventually prompt people to say what you wanted them to say or what they needed to say.

“About all the bad choices I have made,” Laurel whispered, her voice still so very quiet like she was afraid of letting them out. “There have been so many.”

Without saying a word, Felicity just took Laurel’s hand and held it, giving her the time that she might need to open up or decide to keep those thoughts for herself. She could only hope that Laurel made the choice that was right for herself at the end. She shouldn’t feel urged to share something with Felicity that she wasn’t ready to share or would eventually regret sharing with her. She shouldn’t be burdened with the heaviness of bearing her thoughts all alone either.

Felicity knew how much Laurel regretted a lot of the choices she had made. Back when Oliver had just returned from the island, she had been torn between what she had felt for Tommy and what she had once upon a time had thought she and Oliver had. While it had been Tommy, who had eventually ended things between them, Felicity knew that Laurel had struggled with her choice to try things with Oliver again instead of fighting for Tommy.

Years after Tommy’s death, Laurel hadn’t been ready to open up her heart for love again. She had felt like the way things between her and Tommy had gone down made her undeserving for love. It had taken her so very long to finally realize that making a one decision didn’t mean that you lost all right to love and be loved.

For someone with Laurel’s intelligence, it was almost funny that it had taken her so long. After all, she was friends with a man who had cheated on her several times. His cheating had actually included screwing her sister and fathering a child. Still, Oliver had found his great love and built a family. If he deserved love, why wouldn’t she deserve it too?

“Why didn’t I see how much I loved him and how good he was for me all those years ago?” Laurel asked. “We lost so much time because of-“

“Malcolm Merlyn,” Felicity interrupted her. “You lost time because of Malcolm Merlyn and the Undertaking.”

“And because of my uncertainty of whether or not I should try figuring out if there is still something between me and Ollie,” Laurel insisted. “You can’t say that that didn’t have an effect on the time we have lost.”

“Okay, you lost a week,” Felicity replied, rolling her eyes slightly, “and you might have lost a month if Tommy hadn’t died. That doesn’t change that you would have realized that Oliver was in no way ready to be in a relationship back then and that you and him could never be what you hoped you could be one day. At the end of the day, rather sooner than later, you would have realized what was right for you and you would have asked Tommy to give it another try.”

Laurel nodded slowly. Felicity could almost see the story Felicity had just told her unfolding in front of her eyes. The smallest of a smile played on her lips.

When she turned her head to look at Felicity, she looked slightly more relaxed than she had been before. Maybe she didn’t yet believe what Felicity had told her, but she did have some doubts about her own opinion now.

“Why didn’t I know sooner?” Laurel asked her. “Why didn’t I know that he was the one back then? Why did it take me so long when Tommy knew it from the first moment on?”

Felicity smiled. She kind of knew what it was like to know that you had found the one, while the other was still dangling I-don’t-knows and maybes. Maybe it wasn’t the exact same because Oliver had known that she was the one for him. He just hadn’t felt ready for a relationship after everything he had been through.

“I think that the easiest and truest answer to that is that the heart is not as predictable as the head, and it easily gives in when the head tells it to do so. You thought that you had to give Oliver a try first because you have been given another chance. Your head told you what was rational, and your heart just kept quiet and decided to follow your brain’s suggestion.”

Again, Laurel nodded slowly.

“When you know, you know,” Felicity continued, shrugging her shoulders. “For some, it’s sooner. For some, it’s later. You needed a little more time, but that doesn’t mean that your feelings for Tommy aren’t real. They are just as real as his feeling for you are.”

Laurel took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Felicity could almost hear her thinking about this. She would probably need some more time to really understand it, but she did believe Felicity that she was right. For now, that was all Felicity knew she could do.

With a soft smile on her lips, Laurel squeezed Felicity’s fingers. She turned towards her.

“Thank you, Felicity.”

“You’re welcome,” Felicity replied and winked at her before she nodded towards the boutique. “Should we go in now?”

Laurel took in a deep breath and nodded her head. “I think I am ready now.”

Felicity bit down on her tongue, biting back the comment that she certainly wasn’t ready for choosing a wedding dress with the help of Thea and Donna. Nobody was ever ready for that.

* * *

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[tigerroseblue]

Seven Deadly Sins Prompt: "I Don't Understand"

Hey! So, I really wanted to do a Meliodas x Liz romance angst oneshot to #5 "I don't understand", #2 "I'm sorry", and #16 "I forgive you". This is set before Liz begins to trust Meliodas and she says something while angry with him (for what, y'all can probably guess) that was the wrong thing to say to him. Warning: talk about slavery, and Meliodas just being Meliodas and being a ball of angsty sunshine.

Liz sat in an empty bedroom, lost as to what the hell she was doing or what she even should be doing. Actually, what she should be doing was trying to escape her jailor, which happened to be a short, blond, naive, perverted boy. Who was also apparently the Grand Holy Knight of Danafor. How in the world a seeming 12 year old became a Grand Master was beyond her. But instead of doing what she should be, she was sitting in his bedroom, in his empty house, wondering what the hell just happened.

"You idiot!" She screamed at him for what seemed like the millionth time since she had arrived in Danafor. It had been a month since her raid on the Kingdom of Danafor failed and she was made into a prisoner. A prisoner that was saved from execution by the Grand Master of Danafor himself and was now living with the perverted bastard. "Stop it! I'll beat you senseless!"

He had the audacity to laugh, holding his hands up, open palmed. "Ah, calm down. No need to get so worked up." Liz felt her face heating up. "Shut up!" She screamed. "How dare you?! You're only after my body! I'm your prisoner! Nobody would say anything if you did something, especially since you're the Grand Holy Knight," she spit out the words like a curse. "You're no different than the others! You all want to use me and after you're done, you'll probably give me back to those soldiers to execute!"

She really should've stopped there. Meliodas had stopped smiling and his hands had dropped to his sides. He had no weapons on him that she could see, but that didn't mean there weren't any she couldn't see. And she still didn't know his magic power. But she had always had trouble controlling her mouth. It had gotten her in trouble countless times with the slavers when she was younger and with her superiors when she was older and sold into the ranks of the Holy Knights.

"I'm not going to do that," he interrupted her quietly. "I know you were a slave and I understand how horrible that is, but you shouldn't be so reluctant to trust. You've nothing to fear here." Liz stopped speaking, shocked he knew her secret and terrified. As a slave, he could sell her back to her country and make a nice bit of money. Forget being killed by the Danafor knights, she'd rather that than go back. So, with all the terror running through her, she snapped.

"YOU ASSHOLE!" She screamed. "You don't understand anything! You've never been held against your will, forced to do another's bidding, always having the threat of death hanging over your head! You've never had everything that makes you a person stomped upon, until you're not even sure who you are anymore! You've never been treated like less than a human being, like you're the dirt they walk upon! You don't know what it's like...what it's like to wish you were dead!!"

He slammed his drink down on the table, making Liz jump and tense. Getting up from his seat, he left the table, and went out the door, slamming it behind him as well. And he never said a single word. Just left her sitting there at the dining table, feeling as if she had crossed a line she didn't even know was there to cross.

And now she couldn't sleep. She wanted to just say that it was because she was worried he'd come back and try and do something to her as revenge for her ill words. But she wasn't fooling herself. In her heart, she felt strangely guilty and worried, not for herself and what the Holy Knight would do when he returned, but for the boy himself. She found herself getting up and walking to the door. He had warned her not to leave the house without him, since there were plenty of knights who still resented her for her attempted raid. But she wasn't worried about them right now.

She walked outside. The moon was full that night, not a cloud in the sky and the stars shined bright. It was a beautiful sight. She went around the house, drawn by something she couldn't explain. The backyard was empty and shadowed by the trees around them. But she kept walking, past the tree line. There was a clearing and standing in that clearing, was Meliodas.

Liz stopped and stared. He held a sword in his hand and was slicing away at an invisible enemy. He was shirtless and she was surprised at the amount of muscle he had. She was amazed by how fast and precise his movements were, how much strength he possessed. She couldn't image he knew anything about being a victim.

She didn't know if he knew she was there. He hadn't paused in his training, nor given any sign he was purposely ignoring her. "I don't understand," she said out of the blue. Meliodas stopped, but still didn't turn to face her. There was an strange air about him, like he was waiting for something he knew she would say. She then realized that his blonde hair had actually been put in a small ponytail to keep it from getting too soaked with sweat. The rest of him, however, was covered in it and she knew he had to be cold. It was beginning to turn seasons and fall was right around the corner, turning the night chilly.

"You're so powerful," she continued. "Even if I'd never seen you before, you're the Grand Master of Danafor. You may look like a 12-year-old, but you obviously have more power in your pinky finger than most have in their entire body. And although you act so laid back with your subordinates, they clearly respect you. They know you're the one in charge, even if you never give orders or assert your power over them. And right there–I've never seen such amazing swordplay. I've never seen your magic nor have I heard about it, but it must be impressive. So...I don't understand how you can understand what it's like to be lesser to someone else."

"Appearances are deceiving," he told her. There was an unreadable tone to his voice, one that matched the strange air around him. She suddenly realized that he was older than she had orginally thought. That he had seen things, done things, that she couldn't fathom. And that scared her. She didn't react well to the unknown. "You're right. I don't really take charge here. The knights are a capable bunch. Give them someone that acts as a gathering point for them all–and someone to fill out paperwork–and that's all they need. Also, I wasn't born here."

She blinked. With how familiar he seemed with everything, she had assumed he had been here his entire life. "In fact, I only arrived here five years ago. I was never planning to become a Grand Master, but the last one was a dirtbag, honestly. After I defeated him, I was asked to become the new Grand Master and decided why the hell not? And as for never being on the losing side..." He grew silent and still. Liz stiffened, sensing something she couldn't place. It was familiar, but she couldn't tell where she had encountered it before.

"Well, as I said, appearances are deceiving. Being caught and sold in a slave market is but one of many ways to end up serving a cruel and heartless master you can't escape. Sometimes you're born into slavery, which I'm sure you've seen before. Sometimes you end up a slave not to a person, but to a fate you can't avoid." He took in a deep breath and spoke his next words so softly that she strained to hear him. "And sometimes you're born into a situation where you're a slave to both a person and a destiny. Where you're powerful, but you can still do absolutely nothing but smother what makes you you and do whatever you're told. You could fight against one, but the other would just pull you right back and things would be worse from you daring to attempt to escape. Where you want so badly to scream, to fight against it, but that proverbial chain around your neck that keeps you tied both to your fate and to your master just keeps tightening and its strangling you and your soul, but you can't do anything and the fact you're so powerless in that when you're so powerful in everything else is almost the worst part of it all."

He finally turned to face her. Liz couldn't help but stare at him. His hair shined in the moonlight and the blade still in his hand glinted as well. His muscles gleamed with sweat and she noticed goosebumps on his arms. But his eyes...they were dark. They showed a lifetime of hurt and suffering and loss. They showed the exact same thing her eyes showed her in a mirror. "Never forget," he continued, "there is always someone more powerful, more skilled, than you. And sometimes there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. But even if it's pointless to fight, you still do. Cause that's better than lying down and letting them use you."

He then walked past her, towards the house. She stood frozen, taking in everything he had just said. She had greatly misjudged him and she felt horrible for it. She didn't know if he could hear her, but without turning around, she whispered a very soft, "I'm sorry." He must have heard her, because the next thing she heard was him cheerfully asking her whether she was going to come inside or not. "I forgive you."

[seldo]

Becoming American

Today I became an American citizen.

The ceremony itself is, well, very American. Me and 854 other soon-to-be citizens assembled at the Paramount Theatre in Oakland, clutching our precious green cards and the flimsy single-page letter we received in the mail saying we had passed all the tests needed to become citizens. As we filed in, a choir of elderly volunteers on stage sang various patriotic songs, with more enthusiasm than talent.

At the door, you hand them your green card -- a terrifying event; my green card is a precious document that cost me 5 years and well upwards of $25,000 in fees to acquire -- and in exchange you get a tiny American flag on a stick, and an envelope. In the hallway, a massive team of USCIS officials work in parallel to process all 855 applications at once, so that by the end of the ceremony they can hand you a certificate of naturalization.

A USCIS official who had obviously done this many, many times -- there are two ceremonies per month, and he looked like he'd worked there a long time -- ran through the program. We'd hear how to register to vote, how to update social security, how to apply for a passport. Then we'd be led through the Oath of Allegiance, which is the actual point at which you become legally a citizen. He encouraged people to feel free to clap and cheer, and the audience responded enthusiastically, frequently accompanied by waving all the little flags we'd been given.

He had a bunch of little jokes, obviously time-worn. He talked about all the countries participating, and rattled off welcomes in Spanish, then French, then -- prompting gasps of increasingly impressed surprise -- Chinese, Hindi and Taglog. These corresponded to the biggest countries of origin -- China was the biggest, then Mexico, Nicaragua, India, the Philippines and Canada. He listed all the countries participating in alphabetical order and got people to stand up when their country was called.

He thanked us for coming to America and strongly encouraged us to register to vote. He skirted as close as I can imagine he was professionally able to pointing out that America has a lot of problems right now, and a bunch of new voters might go some way to fixing that.

Then somebody came on and sung the national anthem -- we were encouraged, but not required, to sing along, and the crowd enthusiastically joined in -- and then we administered the oath, which took all of 45 seconds. Then a second, even shorter oath for those who intended to apply for a passport that day. Then a video message from Madeleine Albright, talking about how proud she was to have risen from refugee to Secretary of State, a second video from Donald Trump, who unconvincingly espoused the virtues of immigration, and then another very patriotic video of multi-cultural people waving flags.

Then they played "Proud to be an American", which is an aggressively condescending and arrogant song, but yet again most of the crowd sang along enthusiastically. Then the officials who'd been frantically printing certificates in the hall filed in and very efficiently handed them out. There was a lot of cheering, more flag waving, tons of selfies. And that, about 2 hours after we'd started, was that.

The ambivalent American

Growing up in my family, America was not the shining land of the free. Americans, according to my family, were definitely The Worst. They were loud, boorish, arrogant, rude, uncultured. My family, who watch every televised sporting event of any kind up to and including sheep herding trials, would not watch American football, baseball, or basketball. Liking American TV and movies was considered letting people down. As a child, even liking Mickey Mouse was considered shamefully unpatriotic.

But of course we did watch American movies and TV, because that was most of what was available. We consumed American culture while vilifying Americans all the while. There was no shortage of hypocrisy in this.

But the rest of the world and especially the Caribbean has a lot of very justifiable reasons to be unenthusiastic about American hegemony. American drug policy is responsible for political and economic disaster across all the countries south of the border. American culture is, in fact, violent, materialistic, and full of unhealthy and contradictory messages about bodies, food, beauty, religion and more.

So when my career took me to America my family were genuinely aghast. You want to move to *America*? But there are Americans there! It'll be awful! How can you stand being surrounded by Americans all the time? I tried to explain that not all Americans are like the terrible Americans who take cheap vacations to the Caribbean, and that there are many parts of America that are beautiful and cultured. My family, whose primary experience of America is visiting some relatives of ours who live in south Florida, were unconvinced. America, as far as they were concerned, was an un-ending series of strip malls, shitty chain restaurant food, and rednecks.

I arrived in the USA in 2007, and worked hard as a volunteer to elect Barack Obama in 2008. Here was a vision of America I could be proud of: diverse, caring, cultured, humble and respectful of the rest of the world. Obama's presidency had a great number of flaws, but I was a fan all the way to the end.

Having originally planned to stay only a few years, I hung around. I swapped between a few visas and, after five years and a huge amount in lawyers fees mostly paid by my employers, acquired a green card. You have to wait 5 years after getting a green card to become a citizen, so I had a few years to decide if, in far-off 2017, I wanted to become a US citizen. Then the 2016 election happened.

A flight to safety

A week after becoming president, Trump signed Executive Order 13769, usually called the Muslim Ban. Quite apart from the horrifically cruel and transparently bigoted nature of the order, it included a side-effect that was particularly horrifying to green card holders: the ban apparently applied to us too. Green-card holders were initially denied entry. Some were coerced into signing documents that forced them to relinquish their precious green cards.

After fighting so hard and so long to get our green cards, the idea that they could be stripped away was unprecedented, shocking, and filled me and my fellows with fear. There was a mad rush to apply for citizenship. Green card holders who'd been sitting on the cards for years not applying for citizenship suddenly were desperate for the additional security it afforded. Unable to apply until August 2017, I watched helplessly as the queue for citizenship lengthened from 3 months to a year. Equally fearful, I applied as soon as I could.

So now I find myself a citizen. It's a hard time to feel excited about that. The country is sliding into fascism (though in fairness so apparently is much of Europe). Inequality is rising. Racial injustice is omnipresent -- though, again in fairness, it was always there and has just recently become visible. There is much that is broken about America.

It would be easy to rationalize my citizenship to myself and my now even more horrified family as a mere administrative convenience, a security device to keep this dangerously capricious administration from summarily deporting me. But easy as that would be, it would be false.

More American than I thought

There is, as I kept telling my family, a lot to like about America. There's natural beauty, friendly people, culture. There is a sense of possibility, an openness to trying new things that I never found in the seven years I lived in the UK. There's institutions and a respect for the rule of law that Trinidad, though it will always be home to me, increasingly lacks.

There's potential to America, potential it's not currently living up to, but that remains tantalizingly close. A new generation are rising who genuinely value the diversity that makes America better, who understand that there is virtue and strength in taking from the richest to help the poorest, who realize systems like healthcare and gun laws that make America a horrifying outlier amongst rich nations can be changed for the better.

The day after the election, I was walking through downtown San Francisco and passed through one of the many spontaneous protests that were happening that week. A woman in the crowd handed me the small pink button in the picture above. It says "freedom protector". You're supposed to wear it to indicate that you will fight to keep others safe. I knew I couldn't wear it, because I couldn't fight. Even being near a protest was a risky thing for a green card holder.

But I held onto it. I kept it in the pocket of my favorite hoodie like a talisman, for the 21 long months between the nightmare of election night and today being finally safe from the whims of a dangerously unhinged executive. I was not a freedom protector, but that was the day that I decided I wanted to be. Tomorrow I get to wear the badge. Finally safe, tomorrow I can start protecting others.

I haven't become American just to stay safe. I've become American because after 11 years, Americanness has seeped into me. I'm choosing to be here because I want to help. I'm choosing to be here because I am, no matter how bad things are right now, fundamentally optimistic about the future of the country. I think America can be better, and I think I can do something about that. And that's a very American way to think. from Seldo.Com Feed https://ift.tt/2MVpmk2

[shireness-says]

Scurvy and Milestones

Summary: Growing up is hard. Doing so surrounded by a bunch of pirates who won't stop to think before they speak doesn't make things any easier. ~2K. Also on AO3.

A/N: It’s my birthday, so here’s a party favor for you all. That’s how this works, right? 

I really enjoy writing Tiny Henry, so here’s a little follow-up to Killian Jones and the Lost Boy. There might be a few more of these if all goes well.

Many thanks to @awkwardnessandbaseball, who keeps reading through these and telling me they’re adorable. You’re a delight, babe.

Rated T for mild swearing. Enjoy!

Killian Jones is proud to captain the most loyal crew on the seven seas. It’s not every day that an entire ship full of sailors willingly give up their way of life, all because the captain decided to move his life in a different direction. But that’s what had happened when Killian gave up piracy to stay on the straight and narrow for Henry, the little boy who had stolen all their hearts, and most days, he couldn’t be more thankful. However, other days he just wants to screech about how boneheaded they all are.

Today is one of the latter.

It hadn’t started out that way, but then again, they never do. Things are actually good; it’s been almost a year since the change-over, and while he and Emma still aren’t married, Henry is happy as a clam and growing like a weed, and the new import and trade business he’s engaging in has proved profitable and welcomed by the locals. They’d actually just gotten back from one of their trips two days prior, laden down with all manner of fabrics to trade - something the townspeople have proven especially excited about. Yesterday had been dedicated to downtime and family, joyfully letting Henry recount every single moment of the past two weeks, but it’s back to the grindstone now, focusing on the various repairs, maintenance, and upkeep that needs to be done to keep any ship in prime condition.

They’re actually winding down for the day - there’s a few more extensive, but still minor repairs that need to be executed in the hold, but everything has been put back in its proper place and set to order, the ropes neatly coiled, the cargo hold emptied and scrubbed. He’s just about to suggest that they all swing by the Red Wolf or Rabbit Hole when he spots Emma striding down the docks carrying Henry with a terrifying look on her face. Killian’s a smart man; he knows well enough that her scowl means he won’t be dropping by the tavern anytime soon.

As she strides up the gangplank, he starts to be able to hear Henry’s cries, and his wariness turns to dread in a heartbeat. Gods, it’s only been hours since he last saw the boy, but Henry’s at that age where he’s into absolutely everything and attracted to trouble like metal to a magnet - anything might have happened.

“What’s happened, love?” he asks Emma urgently, tone and eyebrows alike relaying his frantic concern.

“What’s happened,” she replies, barely tempering her furious look to carefully shift Henry into his arms, “is Whale is a damn idiot, and I might run him through myself.”

It’s a non-sequitur, to say the least, but Killian is too concerned about Henry for the moment to concern himself with whatever his ship’s doctor might have done now.

“What’s the matter, lad?” he asks as gently as he can muster through the worry. “Are you hurt?”

Henry nods, the tears suddenly coming back in a rush. Oh, this is bad, this must be very bad if Henry’s in such a state. Out of the corner of his eye, he can spot Emma fixing Whale with a death glare, the man having wandered closer at the sound of his name and currently blanching in the face of her fury. At any other time, it’d be wildly amusing, but Killian is too concerned to give the spectacle more than a passing thought.

“Well what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I’m dying!” Henry bursts out suddenly, trying to burrow his little body into Killian’s chest like he can hide from the words. Killian, in the meantime, is thoroughly confused. The only information he’s received is that Henry is apparently dying, and Whale is an idiot in this regard. He just can’t see what the connecting information is yet, and Emma’s too far gone in her own frustration and anger to provide what that is.

“Why do you think you’re dying, Henry?” he asks. It seems the best way to get to the bottom of… whatever this is.

The lad tearfully opens his hand to reveal a tiny object that it takes Killian a moment to realize is a tooth.

“You lost a tooth, Little Mate?”

And that’s enough to send Henry into another fit of tears. “I didn’t eat my orange!” he sobs, which does not illuminate the subject in the way he seems to think it does. It must mean something to Whale, however, as he starts trying to back away before Emma stops him with a dirty look. They’ll deal with whatever he’s done later, after Killian finally gets to the bottom of this mess.

“I don’t understand, Little Mate. Why does losing your tooth mean you’re going to die, and where does the orange tie in?”

“Because Whale said if I didn’t eat my fruits and sauerkraut, my teeth would all fall out and I’d die of scurvy!”

Oh.

It suddenly all makes sense, and Killian could just throttle the man if not for the fact that he can’t afford to lose his ship’s doctor, and Henry would probably be even more traumatized. Emma’s practically seething, about to attack, a feeling Killian strongly shares. But the boy is still here, ensconced in his arms, and this isn’t the time or place to confront the imbecile Killian calls his surgeon. That will have to wait until later. It’s with no small effort that he forces himself to remain calm and smile down at Henry instead of outright exploding.

“You’re going to be just fine Henry. I lost all my baby teeth when I was around your age, and they grew back just fine. I know yours will too. Isn’t that right, Whale?” The last word is practically hissed at the man in his barely suppressed anger.

A visibly nervous Whale frantically nods before responding. “That’s exactly right, Henry, nothing to worry about, this is entirely normal.”

As Henry looks up at Killian with questioning eyes - gods, it still gets him, the way this little boy views him as the ultimate authority on everything, looks to him for confirmation and reassurance - he does his best to put on a comforting smile. “See, lad? Nothing to worry about. Dr. Whale says it’s completely normal.” After receiving an accepting nod from Henry, he spends another couple of minutes soothing the lad and drying tears before shifting to set the boy back on his feet.

“In fact,” he continues, smiling all the while, “this is very exciting! Look at you, you’re such a big boy now. I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you, Uncle Will?”

Henry perks up at the mention of a celebration, and Scarlet is smart enough to take the hint: distract Henry, and Killian will deal with whatever idiocy Whale has been spouting.

“Well of course!” Scarlet adds in. “In fact, I think this might warrant a trip down to the bakery. What do you say, Little Mate, want to go see about some pastries?”

“Mama too?”

In truth, Emma had been looking more like her afternoon plans included giving Whale a piece of her mind, and maybe a smack in the face, but she visibly softens when Henry asks his question. It’s only recently that he’s switched from calling her “Emma” to “Mama”, and Killian can just see her melt each and every time. “Of course I’ll come with, Henry, unless you want to have your outing with just Uncle Will?”

Henry shakes his head forcefully, prompting a smile form Killian. “No, you come too, Mama.”

Emma smiles, that soft smile she reserves just for the lad, and with one more look at Whale that could flay flesh from bone (and an only slightly less terrifying look at Killian that he takes to mean “You had better fix this”), the little party is off, Henry holding one each of Emma and Scarlet’s hands and chattering away about his favorite pastries, once again the enthusiastic little boy they all know and love.

Killian takes another moment to watch the small party make their way down the docks before rounding to face Whale. There’s a small amount of gratification to see how the man’s nervousness hasn’t gotten any better, and that the rest of the crew is viewing him with similarly angry and incredulous expressions.

“Would you please explain to me, Dr. Whale, why the hell you’d tell a child something like that?” he demands, finally letting the fury creep into his voice. Henry is his son, and it’s Whale’s fault that Henry was sent into near hysterics, thinking he was going to die because of some stupid, misguided comment that obviously sunk in much further than anticipated.

“Would it help if I told you there was a good reason, at the time?” Whale offers in a hesitant voice, and no, it really does not. Killian levels the other man with a look he hopes conveys exactly how unhelpful that statement is.

“Look, it was that first month he was with us, and he was being picky about his food, so I just said it to get him to eat his portion, alright?” the doctor says defensively. “I didn’t realize he’d take it to heart so much! Or, you know, not realize he’d lose his teeth naturally.”

“He was a four year old kid, you idiot. What did you expect?”

Whale just shrugs, which is about par for the course. The man may be a brilliant doctor who managed to keep an entire ship of pirates patched up, and a decent worker in the meantime, but he’s severely lacking in common sense and still unsure about how to interact with small children. This incident only deepens Killian’s resolve that, if he and Emma eventually have other children, they absolutely must be kept from spending time alone with Victor Whale for fear of the kind of ridiculousness he might put in their heads or scar them with. He probably ought to mention that to Will and Belle as well, come to think of it.

There’s definitely a part of Killian - the piece of himself that’s devoted to being a fiercely protective parent - that wants to inflict bodily harm on Whale for scaring his son like this. A punch to the face would be awfully satisfying, and it’s tempting. But Killian resolved to be a better man when he gave up the pirate life almost a year ago, and overreacting violently is part and parcel of the way of living he’s made an effort to walk away from. That doesn’t mean he can’t make Whale pay, and in this case, there’s no reason it can’t be literally.

Killian allows himself one more moment of unchecked fury towards the idiot before letting it out on a heavy sigh and jerking his head towards the gangplank. “Come on, you bloody imbecile, let’s go.”

Whale looks shocked. “You’re not going to, I don’t know, make me walk the plank or scrape barnacles or something?” he asks confusedly, hurrying to add “Not that I’m complaining…”

Killian smirks. “Oh no, I think a different sort of payment should suffice. Since Henry’s lost a tooth, he’s owed a gift at his bedside in the morning from the fairies. And you’re going to pay for it.” The steely glint in his eye expresses an unstated last clause: it won’t be anything cheap either.

Whale must hear the message loud and clear, because he sighs resignedly, shoulders slumping, and leads the way down the gangplank.

------

Henry never again worries about losing his teeth again, but that may have something to do with the intricately carved wooden ship, just like Papa’s, that he receives from the tooth fairy that first time. Two weeks later, when the second one pops out, it’s back to the toy store for Whale - a course that will become very familiar to the doctor in the coming months and years.

And if Killian and Emma try to limit Henry’s time with Whale in the future, well, it’s not entirely unwarranted.

[wtfneopetss]

Masterpost of Padfoot’s OCs

This is long because I have a LOT of pets... So I’m gonna put it under a read more. Including their current customizations/any artwork associated with them. Going to group them by character storyline, starting with my one-offs. AKA not really developed characters set by themselves or with one or two other pets.

Stand Alones/No Real Character Development/Need to work on:

Amethystira aka Sis. Affectionately called my Queen of Bones. Sis was adopted as a baby xweetok and started being trained for the BD back when the obelisk was starting to be whispered about. She had a character along with some other baby pets I had but I scrapped them all but hers, adopted out the three other babies and morphed her into a pirate draik. Then I was sick of looking at her as a pirate draik so I painted her green. Then I realized I didn’t actually like draiks so I started zapping. Then the lab decreased a few of her stats. I didn't want to waste NP so I started fucking around in DTI and customized a Transparent Blum and decided I needed her. She’s also my booktastic books pet and will eventually be my gourmet pet. She doesn’t have an actual character yet, unfortunately. 

Current HSD: 1735 Currently training: Defence, supplementing with FQCs. Booktastic Books read: 138/161 JN Estimated Cost to Complete: 36,760,000 NP

Alaeri. I got Alaeri from Happy Zappers (idk if they even exist anymore, but they were like ZYDP) on April 4th 2013. I really love chocolate pets. Back when Neoschool was a thing here on the Neotag, Alaeri was a small part of it, but she doesn’t really have a character. Just that she’s a laid-back, outdoorsy lesbian. That’s literally it.

Efflie. I created Efflie 5 years ago and used an FFQ on her. I love aishas, I love chocolate pets. Her homepage is also home to the UC Trading Guide /~Efflie. She’s Alaeri’s girlfriend. But she’s more uptight and prissy. And that’s about it for her character.

Axella. I created a custom for a halloween guild challenge and fell so in love with it, I had to create her. I adopted Axella recently after seeing him UFA and shot off a quick NM app. He needs a gender change which I’m too lazy to send him to another account rn, but he’ll get it. Aside from that, no character at all.

Oracle Story Line

Oracle is being totally reworked right now. It was originally a storyline that I worked on with my friend Jezza who had a place called New Earth with her OCs. Oracle was founded by New Earth scientists on a planet far-yet sorta close by- and terraformed. Things went south in New Earth and all communication was cut off from Oracle. Oracle flourished for a quite some time and then had a crash in their stock market which prompted a civil war. When the dust cleared, Oracle was seized by the four remaining wealthiest families who promised to rebuild Oracle into her former glory. Unfortunately, they did not and they split Oracle into four quadrants to be headed by each family. Ravaged by the civil war and now basically a dictatorship with each quadrant ruled by a family, a rebellion begins to form by a group of the citizens, held up by two idealistic young adults. After nearly 30 years of fighting what seems to be a losing battle, these two adults are captured, tried for crimes against the land and executed. Their only child, a daughter who ran away in her teen years, is now called upon by the remaining rebels to become the new face of the resistance and give hope to the remaining members.

I’m reworking this with some friends to be set in a Neopian-centric land. I think what we’re going to do is make Oracle a province of Moltara, since it’s a steampunk post apocalyptic setting, and we’ll work in the Oracle lore with Neopia lore.

Drisit. I’ve had Drisit for longer than my 6 year old daughter has been alive. When I was pregnant with Lily, I got REALLY back into Neopets. I used to frequent the gifting boards back then (they were a lot different than they are now) and at the time, I really liked white xweetoks. So a user, who’s UN I still remember, gifted me Drisit. (I was able to later repay her by gifting her a female rb draik) Drisit is the pet that inspired me to create neo OCs and start doing art of my pets.

Drisit is the daughter of the fallen rebel leaders. As a child, she was trained in fighting by her father and in advanced military tactics by her mother. They groomed her essentially to take over the rebellion when she was old enough. Resisting their demands, Drisit ran away at sixteen years old. She survived on the streets, but just barely. For the poor, Oracle is a very hard place to live. But it gave her street smarts, sharpened her reaction time and many other things. After hearing of her parents death, Drisit returns to her childhood home to find it vacant. After a few days of staying there, mourning, the rebels made contact with her, asking her to return, to be the new face of the rebellion. Conflicted about it, Drisit does return and quickly finds herself as the head of the rebellion.

Symblor. I adopted Symblor from an UFQA board. She’s getting a complete customization overhaul. Depending on how the steampunk aisha looks, she may get that or she may just be painted silver. 

Symblor is Drisit’s right hand woman. She was sold by her parents to a group of bandits at a young age for drug money. After being put through many many horrors she was found by Drisit’s father near death. Drisit’s father was able to essentially keep her alive by turning her into a cyborg. The government that rules Oracle has outlawed cybernetic enhancements so it’s very hard for her to find replacement parts when her rudimentary parts given by Drisit’s father start to fail. She’s terrified of being caught, tried for treason and executed, so she’s mostly behind the scenes. Very intelligent and cunning, Symblor devises most of the rebel attacks/missions. She’s the one who contacted Drisit after her parents death and the two became quick friends. She’s a few years younger than Drisit.

V5S aka V. V was another UFQA acquisition. I love chocolate pets a lot. They’re fun to draw :3

V was an orphan found as a young child by an elderly couple who owned a bakery in Oracle. The bakery was passed down through the family and was once very prosperous many many years ago. Now, however, it is quite run down although V still provides treats when she can through illicit means (stealing stuff so she doesn’t always sell stale bread lawls) V is quite the risk taker and mostly uses her bakery as a front for the rebels to have meetings in her basement. She’s also the one in contact with Ave’s palace being the go between with Ave and Drisit (more on Ave later). She’s also skilled in medicine and often patches up the rebels after a skirmish. Her character needs much development however.

messr_m00ny aka Moony. I created Moony before the conversions. He was always destined to be a werelupe like his namesake, Remus Lupin. I took a hiatus before conversions and came back and unfortunately, had not painted him before then. Eventually I just sucked it up, despite preferring the UC version and made him into the werelupe he was always meant to be.

Moony is one half of a bandit duo. He’s the talkative, charming one. Growing up on the outskirts near the roughest part of Oracle, he had to steal and conive to survive. Although he has a way with the ladies, often seducing them for information, he is indeed very gay. Depending on how steampunk lupes look, he may get a repaint. Unsure.

Trelm was a stuck pet. I adopted him and painted him Stealthy myself. He’s the second half of the bandit duo and Moony partner, both in crime and romantically.

Trelm used to be a wisecracking, never serious, always jolly type. Despite having it hard growing up, he tried to hold onto a positive outlook. He and Moony found each other as young teens, orphans who grew up on the streets of Oracle. The two were always out for adventure, getting into scraps and fights, stealing, all sorts of illicit things to survive. And they were fairly good at it as well.

Until they met with the wrong group of raiders. After a fight that they nearly lost, Trelm had his throat cut and vocal chords severed. With some quick thinking, Moony got his partner to the bakery he had heard of where the  owner was able to save lives. After this, Moony decided for the two of them they were done with their banditry ways and were talked into joining the rebels by V. Trelm is now mute. He’s petpage also hosts the UC/BD trading guide, /~Trelm.

Iramkayim aka Iram. Iram is a funny story. A long long time ago, I came up with a character set in Oracle for an UC Grey Lupe that I was applying for. The owner eventually disappeared and I still stalked the Lupe for years. I saw him on a new account and apparently, the old owner had returned and traded at some point. Into a permanent home *sad face*

So a few months ago, I happened across a user adopting out their UCs. It was the lupes owner! He wasn't one of the ones that were UFA but I mailed the owner and told her I had applied for him and was wondering if she would be willing to trade. Instead, she offered to let me adopt! I was over the fucking moon. I had loved and watched this lupe afar for six or seven years.

Well. Long story short, he was from a compromised account, TNT reversed the adoption and the real owner got him back. Which is bittersweet. I’m glad she got her accounts/pets back, but he was once again in a permanent home.

So I started rethinking things. The character I made was very tragic, which is why I wanted an UC Grey Lupe. They are sad. But then, after thinking about it, while his character is tragic he’s ready to fight. Mostly because of revenge. So I decided on an UC Mutant Lupe cos they’re designs are fucking awesome.

So meet Lieutenant Iram Kayim. Iram grew up in the worst place of Oracle with poor excuses for parents. He fought throughout his life, always in some sort of trouble and as he got older, spending nights in jail. He was ruthless. Catching the eyes of some government officials, he was eventually drafted into their military. Quickly rising through the ranks, eventually, Iram becomes one of the inner circles most trust, often tasked with dangerous and immoral tasks.

Until he meets a young woman, the daughter of a man in the government. Iram falls in love with her, who softens his heart and makes him rethink his cruel ways. Eventually, they have a child, a daughter. Unbeknownst to Iram, his wife is secretly involved with the rebellion, a close confidante to Drisit and before her, her parents. She is able to give them information she learns through her father and Iram. One night she sneaks off to be a part of a raid, her daughter following closely behind her. She dies and Drisit finds Brenna, their daughter, crying over her mother's body. Trying to escape with Brenna in her arms, the two are shot and Brenna dies. Iram finds out the next day at work and immediately goes into a rage, and after inflicting some damage on one of his coworkers, quits his job.

He begins to drink his life away, living in the house, haunted by the ghosts of his wife and daughter until one day, Drisit shows up and offers him a proposal he can't refuse. Fueled by revenge, Iram becomes a soldier for the rebellion and eventually, he and Drisit fall in love.

CountessAvenge aka Countess Avenge aka The Countess aka Ave. Ave was my longest goal on Neo. It took me many years of trading to finally achieve her.

Ave is the daughter of one of the four families. She grew up not knowing the plight of the Oracle people. In fact, the only time she ever ventured beyond the castle gates was the day of her wedding. She was entered into a prearranged marriage to the leader of one of the four families. After the wedding took place in Ave’s castle, she journyed by carriage to her husbands palace and her heart broke at seeing her fellow citizens as she traveled across the land.

Once she reached her destination, Ave vowed to somehow, someway, change circumstances for her citizens. End their poverty stricken lives and give them and their children a future. Little did she know her new husband was a cruel man who delighted in his power. Growing depressed, Ave thought of ending her life since, as far as she could tell, she would not be able to help her people. Until she meets V, who is delivering some baked goods to the castle once a month. After talking in secret, V convinces Ave to supply the rebels with invaulable information.

Ave is the reason I am reworking Oracles storyline to be included in Neopia. Eventually, she meets Elle. Elle is the character my friend Coral has for an UC RG Kyrii she hopes to own one day. The two fall in love and carry out a secret relationship. Since the story is being reworked, I don’t have much info on the two yet, but they are hands down my OTP.

Twins of Shenkuu (and other characters)

These characters are based in Neopia and are RP’d with two of my friends and their characters. We’re working on getting a hub up at some point. There are actually two character groups involved in this, the Twins being the first.

Juni_Kava aka Juni. Juni was the crown princess of Shenkuu. Her father is Princess Lunara’s brother. We’re still working on the lore. She’s the only daughter with six brothers, one being her twin. Chase is the stand-in name for her twin, an UC Fae Wocky that my friend Gromit hopes to have one day.

Juni was born with a magical ability to influence air/mist. She was in line for the crown, along with her twin. Juni always followed her parents instructions, excelling at anything she tried. It was always thought she would become the next Queen. 

Until one day she is approached by the Moon Pheonix, a legendary creature that many stories were told of. However, everyone chalks the Moon Pheonix up to just that, a legend. Kyukuon (an UC Fae Pteri owned by my friend Coral) is the Moon Pheonix, charged with being a protector of sorts. It seems the Guardian of Shenkuu, another creature thought to be that of legend, is dying and Kyu has been tasked with finding the next Guardian. Unbeknownst to the twins, they have been observed in secret for quite some time by Jo, (UC Fae Xwee owned by Gromit) who is Kyu’s apprentice. When the time comes, Kyu makes contact with Juni and explains the situation to her, explaining that she is destined to be the next guardian. Fashioning a secret gateway between realms that will connect Juni to the castle and her family, Kyu convinces Juni to come with her to begin her training, leaving her brothers to vy between themselves for the throne.

AdaWong aka Ada. For generations, Ada’s family is one of the families tasked with protecting the Queen and King of Shenkuu, along with their descendants. Her mother and father are the current guards to the King and Queen and Ada was born at the same time as Juni. Growing up as best friends, Ada’s destiny was always been that she would become Juni’s protector. Eventually being sent off in her teenage years to begin her training, to a very very secret place, Ada and Juni are devastated to be separated. Secretly, they were in love but knew they could never be together due to Juni’s responsibility to the throne and the inevitable marriage and children she would eventually be expected to produce.

When Ada returns to the palace, she finds her friend gone and must make the decision, should she stay and become the protector of whichever brother inherits the throne, or follow her true love into an unknown adventure. Ada’s character has much to be worked on, but I think it’s a no-brainer what she chooses to do.

KittyRTM aka Katrina Rose aka Kitty. Kitty was born into a well-respected, but slightly lesser noble family. The family was known worldwide for providing some of the best produce from Faerieland, but they were most famous for their position in working alongside and assisting Queen Fyora. They were growing strong in Faerieland and were accumulating power through both their high ranking position with Fyora, and their thriving industry, but when Faire's father unexpectedly passed, things changed for the worse for Kitty and her family. Faire's mother had to sell their many farms to keep the pride of the family, the High Garden Estate, secure within the family.

There is quite a lot going on with Kitty’s family and it’s waaay to much to type up here. But if you’d like to know more, I’m currently in the process of changing my former project page for an UC Fae Aisha into her actual character page located on /~KittyRTM. I am very much in love with her character.

The Supernaturals

These pets also cross over into the Twins storyline and are RP’d with Coral and Gromit. They arent as prominent as the above characters and are also their own stand alone group. Many of them need character development.

Stariea aka Star. Star was an apprentice of Sophie the Swamp Witch when she was young and also worked for a time under Jhudora. She ties into the above characters through Sil and Jess (an UC Dari Eyrie and an UC Dari Lupe) that are owned by my friend Coral. 

Star is an exceptionally talented sorceress. She is feared by many, but instead of actually being malicious, she’s moreso out for herself than anyone else. After leaving Jhudora due to a disagreement, Star greatly dislikes the dark faerie and will do whatever she can to disrupt or irritate her. She still has a good working relationship with Sophie, however. Star is accompanied by Bonnie and Clyde, her bearclops. Bonnie was a meowclops and Clyde was a bearog. After an experiment gone wrong, they were fused together. They’re about the size of Jhudora’s pets, Daisy and Sarah. 

She is also accompanied by Bernard, a swamp ghoul she picked up on her travels. Bernard is not his real name, Star doesn’t know it. Although she treats him as a lowly assistant, he is quite terrifying in his own right, but he sticks with Star because she’s one of the few he’s crossed paths with that doesn’t run screaming from him on sight.

Falxo is a necromancer who was captured by Jhudora with the hopes that she would learn his magic. Disfigured due to her many experiments, since he wouldn’t just give up the information, Falxo and Star became close when she worked under Jhudora and Falxo was her prisoner. In fact, Falxo (alone with Sil and Jess, although Star doesn’t like Jess) was the reason Star rebelled against her teacher. Helping the three escape, Falxo opted to stay with Star. He’s somewhat silent and keeps to himself. The two are in a relationship and enjoy learning from one another. His character needs to be worked on as well.

Morovo aka Oro. Oro is akin to a crossroads demon. She’s able to make deals, promising fame and fortune to those that summon her. All she asks in return is something very simple, their soul. She meets Star when she’s summoned during an experiment Star and Falxo are attempting. Her character also needs heavy work.

Solariasae aka Solar. Solar is a young, clumsy witch who hounds Star to take her on as an apprentice. Her character will most likely be further developed based on what happens after The Wraith Resurgance. 

tocanini aka Toci. Toci is a druid who strives to protect all life. That’s literally all I have for her. Sorry Toci. We’ll work on you, I promise.

Spiritox aka Spirit. Yea Idk about him. He’s bad. But that’s all I got. Does magic. Or something. 

Liliaise aka Lili. She summons stuff. Idk anything else. Just that shes gonna be involved with all the above pets. 

Ryzzal and his partner Trikil (more on her next) are also tied into the Twins and Supernaturals through my friend coral’s pirate eyrie, Izi. Ryzzal ran away at a young age from his fathers home due to fear. He’s biologically male but is nonbinary. Fearing his father would find out, Ry left home. Eventually he ends up on Krawk Island, securing a job as a wench that serves the Food Club. He’s the prettiest girl in the room and has a slight fear of being found out to be male, but is generally accepted. Flirting around with the pirates, Ry loves his life. He still needs much development and I’ve never had a nonbinary character, so please don’t crucify me if I write him wrong. I’m always looking to learn more and happy to take critiques and suggestions!

Trikil aka Trikky aka Trik. Trik is an adventurous pirate who is always on the lookout for new treasure and adventure. She’s a regular on Krawk Island, especially since she met her partner Ryzzal, after frequenting the Food Club for fun and drinks. Although she isn’t always around, she has come to call Krawk Island home and looks foward to returning just as much as she looks forward to engaging on her next adventure. Sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. Her character also needs work.

The Space Explorers

These two are completely on their own, not touching any of my other pets. I do have a slight work around with @grobleen’s character, Cregan and some interaction with my friend Shanna’s space based pets. If you have spaced based pets, get at me! I’d love to expand this to include your pets as well!

Nirohean aka Niro. Niro is a fun loving bounty huntress. She can either be found bebopping around space looking for her next bounty, or stopping in on a nearby planet looking for the next party. She’s talented at her job, but loves having fun as well. She takes bounties that are interesting to her and isn’t ALWAYS on the side of the law, although she tries to be. She’s accompanied by her childhood best friend and pilot, Criliu and her Mechanized Laboratory Assistant Ridgewell that Criliu built for her. Ridgewell is a mixture between Portal 2s Wheatley and Fallout 4′s Cogsworth.

Criliu aka Cri. Cri is Niro’s best friend and pilots her ship. He’s a huge tech nerd and helps Niro with her bounties often by hacking into things and getting her information that other bounty hunters aren’t privy to. While Niro is an extrovert, Cri prefers to be alone with his ship and his gadgets. He’s secretly in love with Niro, but doesn’t know how to tell her.

Exhales Whew. That’s a lot of OCs. A lot of them need a lot of work. But I’m always open to friendships/relationships with other people’s OCs. Feel free to ask questions or whatever else with any of these babs!