#too bad i don't think i would actually be able to make it pensive

[yanderefan-kimi]

Was rereading something that I had recently written, trying to figure out why I was disatisfied with it and then realized.... this would be so much better as a webcomic

[ssahotchnerr]

SINCE WHEN COULDNT YOU LINK ANON ASKS ANYMORE ????

basically there was this post saying the bau had to cram into one car and op said they’d have to sit on aaron’s lap. it had me thinking about oblivious aaron and when reader says something like that he doesn’t catch on that she’s flirting so he says “but that’s illegal 🫤 and dangerous ☝️”

by default

wc; 1.1k cw; sexual tension, flustered aaron flustered aaron flustered aaron

leave it to morgan to get an injury. per usual.

to be fair, he had been heroic, intercepting the unsub just in the nick of time. but while doing so, he had landed obscurely on his ankle, twisting the absolute hell out of it.

as a result, derek ultimately had to take up the entire backseat to keep his foot raised- to prevent further swelling and in attempt to ease the throbbing pain.

but that meant, you were left without a seat.

the takedown had been sudden; the other half of the team were still at the precinct, as was the other suv. you paused as the realization suddenly entered your mind, your hand pausing still on the ajar door.

at the sound of aaron's familiar footsteps behind you, you turned- just enough so he was able to catch a glimpse of your face. the look on yours must've relayed a sense of troubledness, as aaron's usual stoic expression deepened, a quizzical look in his eyes.

"what is it?" his tone was balanced- calm, but a hint of urgency was merely present. as if he were ready to go from zero to one hundred at your request, whatever it may be.

you gaped at him. "i don't have a seat."

aaron's face changed immediately, displaying an internal oh as the realization of the current predicament hit him as well. "right..." aaron's voice trailed off, immediately racking through his brain for a possible solution. "um..."

"what's the issue?" dave approached the two of you, having just finished his conversation with one of the paramedics on scene.

"since hero man over here took one for the team," you tilted your head in derek's direction, who looked awfully proud at the title you've given him. "we're inevitably down a seat."

"hm. well i guess that's too bad." dave nonchalantly answered with a shrug of his shoulders. to hide his smile, he opened the driver side door and didn't waste a second getting inside, offering no further words or assistance.

aaron huffed out a breath through his nose, rolling his eyes at rossi's very apparent helpfulness.

a new idea flashed into your head- one that made you giddy and sweat at the same time. it exited your mouth before you could stop it; you chalked it up to the adrenaline still pumping through your veins from the unsub's takedown. any other time, you wouldn't be as confident or straightforward.

"i could always sit on your lap."

despite the fact he instantly froze, aaron did a good job at showing no emotion at your suggestion. just like you, the idea made him feel lightheaded in the best possible way, but would he allow that to show? absolutely not.

and so by default, aaron crossed his arms, his eyebrows drawn into a line. "that's not very safe."

"do you have any better ideas?" you arched an eyebrow, crossing your arms right back at him. "we're out of options here."

"the roof?" derek joked from inside the vehicle. at his statement, aaron didn't hesitate to push the door shut, silencing him for the meantime.

"it's only like, a twenty minute drive. it's fine, i'll be fine." you reassured him, searching his eyes with yours.

he deadpanned. "and it's illegal."

you waved off his statement, quirking an eyebrow in a teasing manner. "i'll wear my vest if it makes you feel any better."

his timid expression softened, as if he were actually considering your point, but it only took a moment for the pensiveness to return. he let out a sigh, pulling his eyes from yours. "no..."

"then...?" you pushed hesitantly.

aaron knew your suggestion was the most logical resolution. it was either that, or derive morgan from aiding to his injury.

and he also knew that you would be safe, in his arms. by no means would he ever let anything bad happen to you.

his eyes made their way back to you, only to be met with again, a raised eyebrow.

"okay, fine." he surrendered, loosening his crossed arms and letting them drop to his sides.

you made your way over to the passenger side of the car, aaron at your footsteps. when he took the initiative and moved forward a bit, opening the door for the two of you, your confidence instantly fizzled and nerves took it's place.

this was really about to happen.

aaron climbed into the suv first, taking his seat and buckling- the seatbelt wouldn't span over both of you, so his arms would have to act as your seatbelt- before holding a hand out to you.

aaron had had less than a minute to prepare himself for this, but he was certain there wasn't a value of time that actually could.

meanwhile, you exhaled a silent breath and took his hand, settling yourself onto his lap.

at the contact aaron's breath hitched, his cheeks warming. involuntarily, all his past fantasies came to mind, as they were vaguely as close to coming true than he ever thought possible. he had lost count at how many times he had pictured you being this close, and closer. the only difference now were the articles of clothing separating the two of you, and the fact two colleagues were inches away.

to sum it up, you were both equally flustered. for months, there was an unspoken... something between the two of you. something neither of you had acted upon it, or addressed. and this, it was crossing the nonexistent barrier the two of you had put into place.

neither of you were upset about it too, quite honestly.

with a racing heart, you leaned back against his chest, aaron's arms wrapping around your waist securely and holding your body tightly to his. you weren't going fly through the windshield, even at the smallest of brakes, not on his watch.

after a very nervous swallow, he checked in with you, "this alright?"

that immediately took you by surprise, and did not help in the slightest. the closeness of aaron's low voice directly at your ear, his warm breath spreading across your neck, had every part of you silently humming.

"mhm." was all you could manage, resisting the urge to move your hips further back into his.

"aw, don't you two look comfortable." derek gushed from the backseat, a low chuckle escaping him.

you peered back to give him the stink eye, while aaron chose to ignore him. but, your movement did exactly what you hadn't intended, pushing yourself further into aaron. he let out a small noise, his grip around your waist only tightening as he resisted to squirm in his seat.

aaron composed himself the best he could, taking two long, silent breaths, he cleared his throat. "rossi-"

"drive safe, take no chances." dave interrupted him immediately, shifting the gear into drive. his tone was almost wise, clear amusement in his voice. "i know."

[palms-upturned]

I’m not gonna jump in ppl’s notes over this bc lord knows I do not want to have a debate about it but seeing someone say “I have qualms about people calling Jean ableist for trying to fire Harry and in the same breath saying Harry is unfit for cop work” is really getting to me. I am practically on my knees begging people to actually engage with what disco elysium has to say about disability and addiction and ableism and policing and social murder because it’s not even subtextual, it’s as blatant and hand holding as it could possibly be. The 41st is an awful environment for Harry not bc him being disabled makes him incapable of doing his job, it’s bc the job is fucking hostile to his existence. Like, no one is “fit” to be a cop because they shouldn’t exist, firstly, and even Harry himself will say as much in the Ruby bad ending. But talking about Harry’s case specifically, we know that this job is part of what landed him where he is to begin with.

From the start of day 2:

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You mean why are you so tired? Too tired and *down* to even think? It *is* worrying, isn't it. You can't be a detective like this -- detectives need to be able to think.

YOU — Why is this happening?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — It's just that your heart has finally pumped all the *speed* out of your system, buster. Time to get some more.

YOU — Wait. What *is*... speed?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speed is a potent central nervous system stimulant. It kept you propped up all day yesterday despite your debilitating hangover. How else did you think you even got up from this floor?

VOLITION — You got up from this floor because of a holy vow you made sixteen years ago. With *me*. To wake up exactly 07:30 every morning until the day you die.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Don't be silly. There was no vow. You were high on speed. That was the only reason you got up. You can't *detect* without it, it's that simple.

YOU — No. I can take this. I am not going to go looking for speed.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Are you sure? Ready to live as this pathetic shell of yourself for days? Basically a week? Let's be honest -- two weeks, maybe three? You won't make it. Half the town will be dead by then. You will be fired.

YOU — That's a lie. I can do this without the speed. Half the town won't be dead... (Opt out.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Suit yourself, slow, sad shell-man. See how you do without your spark.

And from this talk with Kim in Klaasje’s room:

KIM KITSURAGI — "Amphetamine -- does it make you a better detective?"

SUGGESTION — Be honest. He's not grilling you, he just wants to know. Ask if he's ever wanted to take it too.

YOU — "Honestly, it makes me the detective I am. Have you thought of taking it too?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Maybe I should?" He lets out a little pensive hum, rubbing his shoulder...

DRAMA — It's not insincere. He's actually giving it thought.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Doesn't the... pupils and the gurning jaw, the sweating... doesn't it become tiring after a while?"

YOU — "I understand it's unbecoming but if I don't perform this job well I am nothing. It's the price I pay."

Harry knows that the cost of getting sober would be that the precinct would let him go. They’re not going to have the patience to deal with him slowing down from the combo of withdrawal and no speed to “keep him propped up.” Not when the reason that he’s stayed on the force this long and risen in the ranks is most likely because he manages such a massive caseload, as we find out from Kim:

YOU — "Is two cases a week a good case load, lieutenant?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Huh?" He raises his nose from his notes. "Two *complex* cases to undertake is a lot, yes. You *really* have to push yourself. I would not suggest it. Lest you start making mistakes."

YOU — "Two cases a week appears to have been my load, lieutenant. I'm not sure I completed them though."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Two?" He raises both eyebrows. "That's a lot. I didn't mean to say you're making mistakes, by the way. That was presumptuous of me."

And later:

KIM KITSURAGI — "This next row -- the one that wraps all the way around -- is your number of closed cases. *Closed* is good. It means finished. You've got, let's see..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Wow, more than 200!"

YOU — "Is that a lot?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "It's *quite* a lot, even for someone who's been on the force for nearly two decades. Usually clearing more than 10 cases a year puts you in the 90th percentile of *all* RCM officers..."

Despite the trouble Harry makes, he’s considered an asset so long as he closes cases. To the point where he wasn’t punished for drunkenly beating Burke unconscious and then injuring his knee so badly that he can’t walk anymore just because this allowed them to close the “unsolvable case” of Leslie and Burke. 41 and the RCM as an institution don’t care about Harry’s or anyone else’s wellbeing, they care about whether the pros of having him around outweigh the cons.

From the lazareth call with Gottlieb:

YOU — "Isn't there *anything* you can do for me?"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "What, you want me to do blood work for you again, tell you just how bad things really are *across the board*? You want another rundown of everything collapsing inside your body?"

YOU — "Yes. I want the truth!"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "You want the real, honest-to-god truth? Stop drinking, eat magnesium and vitamin D. Our station is not a retirement home. We don't have the funds to deal with *rock stars* past their prime."

RHETORIC — So it's political! You're being *neglected* because of political reasons...

NIX GOTTLIEB — "And no, I *don't* want to hear a *political commentary* on the topic. In fact -- I've got work to do."

If I were to quote every time Gottlieb was notably uncaring or said something blasé about how you probably didn’t have long to live, I’d have to quote pretty much every word of that dialogue. That’s the whole joke with Gottlieb. That’s just how it is dealing with doctors when you’re in Harry’s position.

From talking to Kim about Uuno:

KIM KITSURAGI — "We could take him to Remedie or Saint Batiste, but he doesn't have money for medical services. The Almshouse would turn him down..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "They don't do charity for people who're trying to kill themselves. Besides, he'll be dead in a few..." The lieutenant stops, listening to him.

RHETORIC — ... years? Months? Weeks?

“They don’t do charity work for people who’re trying to kill themselves” really sums up the absurdity of Harry’s situation and institutional responses to it. Harry isn’t seen as the kind of person in crisis who deserves intervention. He’s treated as a lost cause who deserves to suffer the consequences of his self harm, even though the unending crisis and the lack of response to it is what drives him to harm himself and hope that he “gets worse.” If he weren’t a cop, it’s unlikely that Kim would care about him any more than he cares about Uuno and Cuno’s situation. Harry’s job is killing him, but it’s also the only thing that gives him access to anything resembling a community or support network (at least at the start of the game). Again, that’s just the way it goes when you’re disabled.

From the second tribunal:

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is *not* a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here..." He gestures toward the scenery.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Hard-wired to the free market..." He nods confidently. "He just needed for it to end."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, Trant, thank you. That's... absolutely meaningless. I'm glad we brought you. Will he or will he not be able to work in the Major Crimes Unit? Is he a cretin now? I want to know *that*."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "He is *not* a cretin. And he *is* able to do work -- if not in his previous leadership role, then as a line detective."

YOU — "Line detective is good for now."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "For *now*?" He looks at you, then at Trant. "I misphrased my question. It should have been: Is he able to put his clothes on, and use the potty, or do we need to get him on a disability pension?"

Or, alternatively:

YOU — "He's wrong. I'm too far gone for work."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Agreed, Harry." He nods. "Just don't expect us to get you a disability pension. Cops who actually gave a shit are waiting in line. You're not gonna hog their seat."

Trant, who, notably, is technically a civilian consultant rather than a cop, (edit: and maybe even more notably, as someone pointed out in the tags, has had experience with addiction, too) suggests to Jean that Harry’s breakdown is a basically inevitable result of his circumstances and the systems that created them, and Jean’s response is that he doesn’t care and all that he wants to know is whether or not Harry can work or if he’s going to be “hogging” resources from other people who are more deserving of help because they “actually gave a shit.” He’s a mouthpiece here for the institutions that he represents and his ableism is blatant and heinous to drive the point home. He denies that Harry’s case is as serious as it is and accuses Harry of faking it, despite the fact that it’s happened (at least) twice before, and very recently:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "I believe you *drank*. People do that -- you especially. What they don't do is forget their *whole life* because of drinking."

JUDIT MINOT — "But, Detective Vicquemare," she interjects. "He *has* blanked out before."

YOU — "I have?"

JUDIT MINOT — "Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders." She pauses, remembering. "One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural."

REACTION SPEED — The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.

And despite the fact that even Gottlieb doesn’t seem shocked about it:

YOU — "I've lost my memory. All of it."

NIX GOTTLIEB — "With all the damage you've been dealing yourself with drugs and alcohol, I'm not surprised."

AUTHORITY — There is no surprise in his voice. Only careless superiority.

DRAMA — It's hard to say if he doesn't believe you -- or doesn't care.

(Considering that Gottlieb’s PSY stat is so high (he’s even eating one of the PSY boosting candies during the call), along with his uncaring responses to all your other problems, it’s more likely the latter.)

Jean also won’t believe that you’re sober even if you haven’t touched so much as a cigarette for your entire playthrough, and even when Judit points out that he’s wrong, he’ll double down and say that it doesn’t matter because you’re going to relapse:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Even the insect -- I don't care. But you're an *alcoholic*. And you've been drinking -- again. I won't let my life unravel because of this."

JUDIT MINOT — "Jean -- I think he hasn't. I can see it on his face..."

ENDURANCE — The bloating *has* gone down since you woke up that morning...

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, so he's stayed clear for what? A week?" He sighs.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "It's tough. One of the toughest addictions to overcome. Comparable *only* to heavy synthetic opiates. Even morphine is easier to kick than alcohol -- statistically. The odds are against him. Especially at his age."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — He nods. "He's too old. He's been like this for too long. I've seen him try many times. It's a farce by now."

SUGGESTION — They're leaving. They're all turning away from you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — No. You can figure it out. *Replace* it! Replace the alcohol with amphetamine. Or GBL! Fuck it -- morphine! Graffito removal agent! Anything. It'll buy you time. All you need is time.

Electrochemistry brings up yet another facet of Harry’s struggles with substances, which is the idea that some of them may be replacements for alcohol. He doesn’t have time or space to try to quit in any way that is remotely healthy. What he has are substances like speed that keep him from collapsing from the strain of it all so that he can keep showing up to work, and other substances that might (he hopes) help him wean himself off the alcohol.

The game explores all of these different factors of Harry’s struggles with addiction and the circumstances that keep him trapped in them exhaustively (and the fact that Robert Kurvitz apparently was recovering from alcoholism during the development probably contributed a lot to that). The structure and culture of the RCM are hugely responsible for Harry’s situation. He’s mocked and berated for being an alcoholic and told repeatedly to get his shit together without actually providing him with the means to do that. Instead, he’s not only enabled but practically forced to keep using just so that he can show up to work at all and not risk losing the only support network he has (even if it’s the shittiest and most unhelpful network imaginable). As Luiga (iirc) said, Harry’s biggest tragedy is that he’s incapable of quitting the force. Many of the reasons for that are genuinely just due to Harry being a class traitor and an asshole, but it’s also true that even if he did want to quit, there is no safety net to catch him.

And then Harry comes to Martinaise, a town that has been “orphaned” by the RCM and neglected by Revachol at large, left mostly to their own devices. It’s not like policing doesn’t still exist in Martinaise, and things are pretty dire for everyone in the community, but at the very least you can see that it is a community. Isobel houses you for free. In Kim’s absence (and after Gottlieb stitches and ditches you), Cuno and Garte take care of you when you’re shot. Acele responds to your breakdown on the ice by saying it’s okay to cry and that you can talk with her about it when you’re ready. Idiot Doom Spiral and co run to your aid when they see you drive your car into the sea and invite you to come drink with them just to stop you from doing it again. Harry discovers that life, while very painful and bleak at times, isn’t necessarily hopeless for the marginalized. You can still find solidarity and support outside of the system.

Meanwhile, if Harry in the end has no one to vouch for him and hasn’t stayed sober, that system will abandon him, a well-known suicide risk with at least one bullet hole in him and severe amnesia, with the promise of nothing but getting served a station call slip. The point is not whether or not Harry “deserves” to be forgiven or even whether he’s a danger to himself and others (to be clear, he is). The point is that this is a system that doesn’t care whether Harry and people like him live or die. That is why, even in a “good” ending where Harry is welcomed back to the 41st, the work won’t be sustainable. It’s going to kill him because that’s what it’s designed to do. The miracle of Martinaise was the realization that he doesn’t have to die. There are people who will help to keep him on this earth. They’re just not members of the fucking RCM.

It’s not a “gotcha” to say that if Jean (and the RCM, and the institutions of Revachol on the whole) is ableist for wanting Harry fired, then saying that cop work is unsustainable for Harry is also ableist. I won’t even say what I personally think of that logic because I’m trying to keep the tone of this post polite. Jean’s dialogue during the tribunal is meant to parrot every bit of ableist rhetoric that the system is built on and that keeps Harry trapped in this hellish feedback loop. He’s a mouthpiece for the general culture of the RCM, just like Gottlieb is a mouthpiece for the shit that addicts and the disabled have to deal with from the medical system. He thinks Harry should be fired because he’s a drunk and therefor a lost cause. The truth is that Harry needs to quit this job because it shouldn’t exist and because it is actively killing him.

In one of Martin Luiga’s articles about the process of creating the game, he brings up the concept of social murder, which is a term coined by Engels:

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains.

None of this is subtext. And all of it is intended to make players actually spare a thought for what it’s like for people in Harry’s situation in real life. For God’s sake, please engage with it. You have to try and understand what it means to be trapped in a life that is made unlivable and to know that your death will be ungrievable. That’s what this whole game is about.

Edit: I’ve seen some ppl say in the tags something like “yeah, I like to imagine a happy ending for Harry, but…” and listen. I am laying a very gentle hand on your shoulders. The point of this post was never to say that there’s no happy ending for Harry. The point is that the first step toward that ending is conceptualizing a life outside of the RCM. In Martinaise, he got a glimpse of what that might look like. Hell, in the bad ending, you can even say to Jean, “fine then. I’ll just live here.” There’s hope for him and for us. I promise.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Hiiiii, congrats on the milestone!! I REALLY like your writing and I've been going through your works for some time, but it's my first time actually requesting SKSNKXAK I'm sorry if this sounds pushy or smth. If it's alright with you, can I request a platonic scenario with reader and Malleus where reader is aromantic/aroace and trying to explain to Malleus that just cuz they don't like him romantically doesn't mean they like him less. Like yk something like "I don't wanna kiss you or get married and have kids and live happily ever after, but that doesn't mean you're not the most important person in my life and I wouldn't do anything for you". This probably implies unrequited crush on Mal's side, but he gotta get over it yk yk. Once again CONGRATULATIONS you'll be celebrating 1000 followers before you know it!❤

🚫 NO Angst UNLESS it ends with fluff/comfort 

Unrequited crush falls under the category of angst, since one of the sides gets emotionally hurt. And I feel bad writing about Malleus getting hurt/sad by us (MC/Reader).

However, you didn't specifically ask for the unrequited crush. You asked for an aromantic/aroace reader. I happen to be on the asexual spectrum myself, but I'm not aromantic. So, I wondered in what scenario he would like you but not be hurt/sad by the news. And the idea that crossed my mind was: "What if he found himself also aromantic/aroace with your explanation?" So this is what I wrote. I hope I portrayed it well.

And thank you so much! 😊 I'm glad you like my writing, and I hope you keep enjoying it.

I hope you and all enjoy this one

CHARACTERS: Malleus Draconia

TAGS: GN Reader; Aromantic Reader

WORD COUNT: 560 words

You and Malleus are getting closer. And that starts to worry you. You need to tell him as soon as possible, before his feelings get too strong. You don't want to hurt him.

It's not you who finds him. It's never you who finds him. He is the one who comes to you, always. And that is what happens. You see him in front of the Ramshackle Dorm through your window. And he is smiling at you. You just hope you don't turn that smile on your sad face.

You get outside, and head over to him. He greets you with "Good night, Child of Man" and a smile. You greet him back and ask him what is he doing there? Another one of his nocturnal walks?

He confirms, and starts talking about the stars and how beautiful they are that night, making you look at them too.

You decide to start by checking if he likes you that way. “Tsunotarou, do you like me? You know... more than... a mere friend?”

He chuckles “Do you genuinely believe that I would aloud anyone call me by a name like Tsunotarou, if I dislike them? Everyone but you would suffer serious consequences if they ever addressed me in such a way. I hope this is enough to show how special you are.”

You take a deep breath “I need to tell you something.” And you explain in your own way that you really like him too. Just as you are special to him, he is special to you. But you won't be able to express it the same way as others express it. But that doesn't mean that your feelings for him are less strong than the feelings of others. You try to explain it to him as best you can.

Malleus looks pensive, hand on chin and staring at nothing. You worry about his silence. “I don't understand. I mean, I understand the concept you explained to me, but I don't understand why you felt the need to tell me this.”

You explain to him that these kinds of things should be said before the other person's feelings get too strong to hurt them. And the last thing you want is to hurt him.

He smiles. “I certainly appreciate it. But you have no need to worry about that. The truth is that what you just described is the same as I feel for you. I understand that others can show their affection in different ways. But I also don't feel the desire to demonstrate mine in the same way as others. Do people think that that makes our feelings less... valid, perhaps?”

You tell him yes, and try to explain that because most other people feel the need for these types of displays of affection, they come to believe that if you don't show them, then you don't really love them.

He goes back to looking pensive, and a little sad. He sighs “How troublesome. But fascinating. Looks like I truly still have a lot to learn. Perhaps even about myself.” he looks at you, smiling “Worry not, Child of Man. My deepest feelings are the same as yours. And if any being dares to insinuate that they are not strong enough” he raises his hand in that menacing way. “I'll show them how strong pain can feel.”

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[makwandis]

i’m actually so curious what your roderich hcs are 👀 what do you think about when writing him and how do you see his dynamic with gilbert? with antonio?

Oh my gosh it's a big thing to answer UMMM I got dis

so I feel like roderich is femme fatale as a boy. Venus as a boy. He's antinous. He's beautiful. He's sensitive. He's very very demure. He reminds me of Scarlett ohara and he reminds me of Blanche Dubois. He reminds me of s delicate flower but watch out the flower is poisonous as fuck. I think overall yeah He's a sensitive, pensive, observant quiet gentleman with refined tastes and also like is a total bitch. He's gay as fuck. I love him. He's preminger from the barbie movies too lowkey. I always just picture like what would like a very beautiful man from antiquity or whatever be like what would happen to him ya know. I personally love roderich a lot cuz I honestly can relate to him a lot too. He's a nurturer, he's a kind soul, hes reserved , he's been hurt a lot, he doesn't trust easily, but he's a good friend to have.

As for him and Gilbert UM talk about toxic lol. Pruaus is my endgame and my fave Pru ship by far, I think Gilbert has been madly in love w roderich since he first saw him and roderich is the most beautiful boy Gilbert has ever seen. I really hype up rod being pretty NO UGLY AUSTRIAS THANKS lol. But Gilbert is insane and frankly so is roderich when he's around him. Roderich is usually quite reserved snd it's very hard to get a reaction out of him- he doesn't really yell when he's mad. Normally. Around Gilbert though? He just can't help it he becomes THIS FIRECRACKER he's feisty and sassy and will fucking slap Gilbert lmao. Gilbert has made him madder than anyone else on the planet and I feel he's an adrenaline rush for roderich that roderich is lowkey high key lowkey addicted to. Gilbert had also made roderich laugh harder than anyone else on the planet too. Gilbert just brings out all these extremes in roderich that can either exhaust him or he enjoys it a lot. They've had their ups and their many many many many downs. They have been terrible to each other but I think Gilbert has been worse. Roderich deserves better but Gilbert is the bad decision he can't help but make time and time again against all logic and reason and advice from his friends lol. But i think as Gilbert matures he's becoming a better and better decision for roderich. Retirement has done wonders for gilbert and roderich both lol. I love them so much.

Antonioooo and him I see as like- roderich was very young and stupid and toni was this smooth talking kind of older man who was able to schmooz roderich. Roderich and he were probably married and I think roderich wasn't very happy at first but ya know lay back and think of the emperor lmfao. Toni and roderich were also pretty toxic, I think rod has a thing for toxic masc dudes who are really jealous and intense and it is NOT GOOD FOR RODERICH. But toni is a Spaniard the dude is cheating. It was very up and down, very very toxic, and roderich was happy to get rid of him- but I think toni thinks rod is his "one that got away" which is just so dumb but I don't think the guy is very bright or introspective. Overall, roderichs ex, who sometimes still gets drunk and calls him, and Roderich really doesn't care about him anymore. I have met many dudes like toni, in spanish we'd call him un pinche mujeriego cabron or something along those lines... but he and roderich dooooo make a very handsome couple lol.

Those are my thoughts but feel free to ask for my discord I can talk about this all fucking day and night !!!!

[saturnaous]

🖌 💚 🌍 ⚡️ 🥀 🍄 🐷 😴

(I couldnt choose lol)

🖌 - Do you have/want any tattoos? YESSS Okay. I don't have any tattoos yet(my parents would never allow it at my current age. they both bullied me when I mentioend what I wanted onetime at dinner. so cruel </3 /silly), but when I can!! I have two that I really want. The first one is in relation to my friends and the fantasy world we're building and the main storylineof it(or just matching with them idk) and the SECOND ONE. Scott knows this. But my favorite comic that I've been following for years now has a weapon called a Holy Brick on a Rope that I want tattooed on my bicep SO BAD because it's great. Bicep specifically because. Becket lost his arm at his bicep. it's great. I want it so bad.

💚 - What’s your favourite colour? BLUE GREYYY. it's so good. kinda likea. grey periwinkle or something. teehee.

🌍 - What is your favourite accent? SCREAMS. Okay so I will admit. I am a big fan of kiwi accents. they are neat. otherwise I'd say an american southern accent. .. norm dialtown fucked me up. eee

⚡️ - Do you have any scars? As far as I'm aware, not really!! I have an extremely faint scar on my wrist from my brother attacking me onetime because I wouldn't get off the wifi. goodtimes(lie. shit sucked back then)

🥀 - Favourite animated movie? THIS IS SO HORRIBLE. . .why would you make me choose. . .screams. . . uhm. fuck. mmm. tbh I REALLY enjoy Michells VS the machines. it's super good I rewatched it a couple different times for debora and!! ohhh what were tjeor names. . .It might be The Wild Robot soon!!! it looks so great I'm so excited for it to come out. there's also the spiderverse movies. they're super swag. But shrug!!! I don't know there's so many!! hgouhgr. . . ohh now I'm thinking about the boy and the heron.. . .hrohrgoho. . . . SCREAMS. . . you can't do this to me. > > >FUCK NOW I'M THINKING ABOUT LIKE BOX TROLLS AND STUFF LAKIA STUDIOS I LOVE YOU. fuckkkk. FUCK KKKK DON'T MAKE MET HINK ABOUT THIS. SCREMAS.

🍄 - Do you have/want any piercings? I have basic lobe piercings!!! But I want many more. one of my dream piercings is a nose bridge one!! I fucking love them they're so swag. I want a bunch more on my ears and stuff too. . . Lips if I can but don't know if I would be able to do them!! because I don't wanna risk the option of not being able ot play clarinet anymore pensive. I think. eyebrows are super cool too!! And maybe a smiley if I could manage it. But I'm not too sure because I've heard they fall out anyways which is kinda lame but. SHRUG!!!

🐷 - What’s your favourite animal? THE JAGUARRRRRRR. They're so cool. All terrain cats that are TRUE kings of the jungle!!! love them to death!! The Mayans actually called their warriors jaguars which is super neat too. eehoo.

😴 - What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? fuck. . .probbaly just like. over 24 hours? nothing more than 48. I've never been a fan of pulling allnighters and shit. My ass likes to eep!!!! I fucking hate not being able to sleep at night it's the worst.

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch.10

Ch1 ch2 ch3 ch4 ch5 ch6 ch7 ch8 ch9

Summary: scary moms are scary

---

Nicole stilled.

Moms.

Well this just got a million times worse.

Surprisingly enough, Nicole could count on her fingers the times she had crossed paths with either of the Ladies. Lady Dimitrescu was often busy and not bothering with the staff. Most things that needed communicated went through the Steward. Mistress Esteria was, as some would call her, a ghost. She preferred her solitude or time with family so it wasn't unheard of for new staff members to take months before they even see her around the castle. Paired with Nicole's job that had her in the dungeons almost all the time, she never got an actual introduction to either of them.

Not that she complained. It didn't take a genius to realize that both women were to be feared.

I think I'd like to bleed out now.

"What about?" Her voice was barely audible, due to fear or pain was anyone's guess.

"... I don't know." Cassandra's quiet voice mimicked her own.

"Should I assume it is about your um… choice of partners?"

The realization that, to anyone outside Cassandra, she was little more than a maid turned butcher hit Nicole almost as much as the bullet that until not long ago was wedged into her flesh. Would they forbid Cassandra from seeing her? Or perhaps decide that Nicole has committed an unspeakable offense to their family and punish her? She gulped and Cassandra's reply wasn't of much help either.

"I don't know," she repeated.

Nicole sighed, a slow drawn out exhale, all too aware of the pain it would cause otherwise. "When?"

"Soon. They told me to let them know when you wake up."

Nicole just nodded and laid back into the cushions. May as well be comfortable before facing death. But Cassandra didn't move. Instead, she interlocked their fingers and brought Nicole's hand to her lips, leaving a kiss on bony knuckles. They stayed like that, silently, for a full minute before Cassandra got up and, with a be right back, exited the room.

Left alone, Nicole looked down at herself once more. To say she looked awful was an understatement. Definitely not going to rely on appearance to make a good impression. The painkiller was also yet to do its job and any movement still shot jolts of pain through her body. Wonderful.

It wasn't long before the door opened again and Cassandra came in followed by Lady Dimitrescu, her trademark hat making her look even taller and more intimidating than she already was. Immediately behind, Mistress Esteria took light steps, her long white hair flowing behind her like a silky mantle.

They looked so in contrast with each other, and it went beyond the almost opposite color schemes. While the Lady had the expression of a mother about to scold her child for carelessly running up the stairs and scraping a knee, the Mistress looked about to take out the bandaids. Her eyes, blue and gray, looked at her with something akin to kindness.

"What's your name dear?"

God her voice sounded like rivers deep in the forest. Flowing and ancient and just as powerful as she probably was.

"Nicole," she gulped.

The Mistress came to a stop right by the bed, tall frame bending down and grabbing Nicole's chin between two fingers. She moved her head from one side to the other and hummed.

"My my, what a pretty face. You've always had quite the taste in women, love." She looked at Cassandra who only nodded stiffly.

Then, she was up again and moving towards the other matriarch, who by now was sitting in an armchair. The Mistress leaned on the armrest, opting to ignore the many other places to sit and Nicole had to wonder for a moment if they were the clingy type. What an oddly human trait.

A long drag of a cigarette was drawn out before golden eyes finally fell on Nicole and the Lady spoke.

"I was actually surprised to learn about how… deeply Cassandra cares about you. To actually come to me and ask for help saving your life." She narrowed her eyes slightly, just enough for it to be a clear warning. "I sure hope such kindness was not wasted on you."

Sensing where this conversation was going, Nicole groaned internally. Of all things, she would rather not have the break my daughter's heart and I'll break your legs conversation with Cassandra's mothers while a damn hole in her abdomen was still sending waves of pain through her body if she didn't move just right. In her defense, the painkiller was yet to kick in and there's only so much holding her tongue she can do while in pain.

"With all due respect my Ladies, I'd rather throw myself off the highest tower in this castle than pretend to love Cassandra. Have you met her."

That got a snort from the brunette, who quickly masked it with a cough. The Mistress however laughed. A melodic laugh that, in another situation, would be the most soothing thing.

"Oh dear. While the reassurance is appreciated, we do trust Cassandra's judgement."

"For the most part," Lady Dimitrescu added, eyes still narrowed.

"And we would love to have you for dinner soon," the Mistress went on, ignoring the small glare from her wife.

Another drag of the cigarette. "Well anyways. We didn't come here for a welcoming party. We'd like to make you a proposal."

Judging by Cassandra's furrowed brows, she probably knew as little about this as Nicole did. A proposal from Lady Dimitrescu could either be wonderful news or a death sentence. She couldn't help a gulp when the Lady continued.

"Contrary to popular belief, I do care about my staff. At least those who prove themselves useful." The cigarette was finally done and now Nicole had the luck of having her full attention. "And, as you may have guessed, medical training is not particularly common around here. I do happen to want a castle physician, a position that could be filled by someone skilled that also has a good reason to do a good job and be loyal to my family."

Wait what-

Nicole blinked in confusion, an expression mimicked by Cassandra. Did she mean…?

Lady Dimitrescu raised an eyebrow. "Do you accept?"

"Y- yes." The words spilled from her mouth without a second thought. And why would she have second thoughts after all?

Lady Dimitrescu watched her for a long moment. Then, when she seemed pleased with her findings, she rose to her feet.

"Very well. We will discuss the technicalities once you're in a better state. Now try not to bleed out before you even start your job. And," she sighed, "you are expected at dinner as soon as you're able to join us."

The last part caused her wife's lips to turn into a warm smile. The Lady simply turned around and ducked out of the room while Mistress Esteria lingered by Cassandra. She whispered something only the brunette could hear and then leaned in to kiss her forehead. The Mistress had a couple inches on Cassandra, which meant she was towering over Nicole. Then, with a smile in her direction, she too was out of the room, leaving only the two of them to stare at the door in disbelief.

"Well that went… well."

"Oh for the love of Mother Miranda," Cassandra sighed in relief, hands running through her hair.

Her shoulders lost their tension when she came to sit by Nicole's side, a smile now present on thin black lips.

"Your mothers seem… lovely women."

"Shut up you were scared shitless."

There goes Nicole's attempt at being polite. Not that Cassandra was wrong by all means, but part of her wanted to be on good terms with her lover's family. Maybe it was simply due to her relationship with the brunette, maybe it was due to how her own family never seemed to care much for each other. Not the way the Dimitrescus did, despite how they were seen as monsters by most outside eyes. She didn't let herself dwell on it, instead she took one of Cassandra's hands and started to play with slender fingers.

"Are you hungry? I can ask Cynthia to fix something for you."

Nicole smiled at the effort to make her feel better. She would never get tired of seeing Cassandra's caring and gentle side, especially when she knew how ruthless she could be otherwise.

"In a bit. I'm waiting for the painkiller to fully kick in so I can actually sit up."

Cassandra nodded and looked to the side, seemingly lost in some kind of thought. Nicole wanted to ask what got the brunette pensive all of a sudden, but before she could, golden eyes snapped back to her.

"Also. Don't you dare jump in front of a bullet for me ever again. It wouldn't have hurt me anywhere near as much as it hurt you."

There was a subtle growl in her voice that would have scared any other person. But Nicole recognized how the anger was just veiled worry at how much worse their situation could’ve gotten.

"Sorry. I just saw him with the gun and panicked." There was a reason she didn't pursue her father's idea of becoming a surgeon after all, and pissing him off was only part of it. "And I'm glad you didn't get hurt at all."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, but her expression quickly softened. The big bad sadist couldn’t stay mad at her lover and Nicole almost teased her about it, but a gloved hand slowly caressing her cheek stopped her.

“I’m just happy you’re alive.”

[taxicabinmemphis]

I don't care what ship but give me a fic where two characters are interacting and one notice that oh my goodness their eyes are so pretty oh no they're so pretty oh no

tw swearing, making out (if it’s not making out and just kissing I’m sorry I have no idea how kissing works all I know is they’re in love mmkay)

post fwsa

The excitement of the day's events had yet to wear off. While Roman was much calmer than before, he was still giddy and happy. He had sunk out with Virgil to give Thomas time to fill in the other sides without Roman and Virgil interfering with their then-uncontrollable excitement. Now, they were in the mindscape commons.

Virgil fell on the couch. He maneuvered himself into a sitting position, immediately putting his head in his hands.

Roman laughed, sitting beside him. "You alright, Virge?"

"Alright?" Virgil asked incredulously, lifting his head from his hands a fraction of an inch. He made a noise too positive to be a scoff and let his elated open-mouthed smile show clearly on his face. "I'm fucking fantastic!"

Roman's heart stopped. He finally noticed Virgil's eyeshadow. It was purple, not black. A brilliant, glittering purple. And oh, stars above, was Roman gay.

He could only manage a short laugh in response, eyes still trained on Virgil.

The eyeshadow didn't just make Roman gayer, it brought out Virgil's eyes. Roman decided then and there that he could drown in those eyes for all eternity and call it an honorable death. Virgil's chocolate brown eyes, previously shadowed by the pitch-black eyeshadow, were now showing their unfathomable beauty to Roman in a way he was unsure if he could handle. He was torn between wanting to stare at them for the rest of his life and wanting to never have to look at and be caught off-guard by those eyes again. He was leaning towards the former because he knew it would be impossible to avoid seeing Virgil's eyes again, and now that he knew of all the heavenly wonders they held, he wouldn't be able to ignore their beauty, even if Virgil went back to black eyeshadow.

Despite being a prince and a warrior, Roman couldn't find the strength to look away. Any worries of Virgil taking notice of his staring either weren't there or were too far at the back of his mind for him to register their existence.

Virgil's laughing started to awkwardly cease. "What is it, Roman?"

Roman's trance was interrupted, the confused look on Virgil's face finally registering in his brain. He lifted his head a bit and blinked animatedly three times in succession, running over Virgil's question in his mind multiple times to make sense of it.

"Is something wrong?"

Roman finally realized that this was a result of Virgil noticing his staring. Wherever those anxieties were when he was entranced, whether it be in the back of his mind or nonexistent, were now loud and clear at the front of his brain.

"Oh! Uh...no. No. Nothing is wrong," Roman said, words speeding up as he spoke. "Everything is fine and nothing bad or out of the ordinary is going on."

Virgil looked unimpressed. "Seriously. Is there, like, something on my face?"

Roman opened his mouth to mention the eyeshadow but realized the eyeshadow was black again. Roman frowned.

"No..." he said pensively. "No, there isn't."

Virgil gave him an unreadable look for a moment, as if waiting for him to continue.

"Alright, what's up?"

Roman blushed at his forward tone, scratching the back of his neck. "Nothing, you just...your eyeshadow was...um...purple."

Virgil's eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "Was it? Huh."

"Yeah...."

Virgil suddenly looked worried. "Is there something wrong about that? I'm so-"

"No!" Roman exclaimed quickly, covering his mouth the second the word had escaped it. He had been a bit too loud. "Um...no. No, it was fine. Quite nice, actually."

Virgil blushed at that. "Oh, well...thanks. I think."

Roman almost swooned—Virgil looked so cute with a blush adorning his features and a cautious smile on his face. His eyeshadow may have been back to black but now that Roman had seen the figurative light, he was noticing just how stunning Virgil was. Of course, he'd vaguely acknowledged Virgil's attractiveness before, but this, especially with the pure ecstasy he was radiating, this was a whole new level. This realization was different.

Roman didn't know much about what he was feeling at that moment, and the only thing that seemed to be clear was his incredible desire to sweep Virgil into a passionate kiss.

"Roman...you're still staring," Virgil observed nervously. "Are you sure it's just that? Have...have I done something?"

Roman's face immediately fell into sympathy. "Oh, my darling, no. You have done nothing wrong, nothing near it."

Virgil blushed, likely at the pet name. "Then why are you staring?"

"Sometimes I can't help but appreciate beauty," Roman said thoughtlessly, "and your eyes, mi corazón, outshine all the jewels on Earth."

Roman wasn't exactly known for thinking before he spoke. This was a prime example of this, and of the immediate regret that typically followed. Roman hadn't meant to be that forward. He'd likely ruined everything he had with Virgil for forever.

Virgil's face was aflame. He put his head in his hands. He flipped his hood up and Roman could hear a muffled scream from within the fabric.

Well, there was no going back now. If he backtracked, he'd only make things worse. So, he rolled with it.

"What are you doing? While I know they are your eyes and you can do with them what you wish, I'm really hating being deprived of my view."

Virgil screamed again, higher.

"Are you alright, my dear? Is there anything I can kill for you to relieve you of your anguish?" Roman asked in concern.

A minute of silence passed, and Virgil slowly removed himself from his hoodie. His cheeks were still redder than Roman's sash, but he seemed to be in a place where he wasn't going to scream anytime soon.

“I’m okay,” Virgil said slowly, the words leaving his mouth over enunciated and like he didn’t believe what he was saying.

“That’s wonderful, Stormy Knight! However, it would be an honor to kill something in your na-”

Virgil grabbed Roman’s collar and pulled him closer, before putting another hand on his chest and leaning him backwards slowly. Roman was now blushing up a storm, looking up at Virgil weakly as he was taken off-guard and no longer had anything to say.

So, he started rambling. “I-Virg- um...I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined things. I just said something without thought, you know how I am, and I went with it ‘cause I didn’t wanna worsen th-”

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” Virgil growled harshly.

Roman’s words cut off and he looked into Virgil’s eyes, shocked and alarmed. He noticed that his anxious side had his hypnotizing eyes set on Roman’s lips. Roman gulped in worry and in discomfort at being looked at in such a way, but managed to stumble out a response.

“I...I mean... if, um, if you’re offering...”

Virgil crashed his lips against Roman, sending his back to the couch cushions and Virgil properly on him.

The kiss was passionate, searing, and had a fire so hot that no star could compare. While Roman might’ve been oblivious of his feelings for Virgil until a short while ago, this had clearly been building up for a long time.

When they separated, they were both panting and were staring at each other like there was nothing else in the world.

Roman smiled slightly.

“What?”

“Your eyeshadow...it’s purple again.”

Virgil smiled in return, before returning his lips to Roman’s.

~

That was so weird I’m sorry I have no idea how kissing works. They’re just in love, okay? I’m sleep deprived and have to go to math tutoring in ten minutes so please bear with me. I hope you liked it! Sorry these prompts are taking so long, I just have school as well as limited motivation and three ongoing wips.

[technicallyoneofakind]

*at a dilapidated Cafe in a destroyed town a little bit from Far Harbor after the events of Reformation*

Lucille (sole): *sitting across from Nick with her arms crossed in front of her. Her face is always covered by a sentry bot helmet but she still looks... pensive*

Nick: Something bothering you...? *pulling out a cigarette pack to retrieve a cigarette*

Lucille: Are we bad people...?

Nick: *pauses* Hm? What's got you asking that?

Lucille: I mean are we no better than the Institute now... we helped replace a man with a Synth duplicate to manipulate everyone into playing nice on the island...

Nick: ... *takes a moment to think... and light his cigarette*

Lucille: I tried to give Tektus a chance to escape...

Nick: *sighs out a puff of smoke* Tektus made his choice for himself the moment he drew his gun on us... As for everything else...? Well, it's not so black and white. I don't envy DiMA's position and I won't say I like what we ended up doing... or what my brother initially did. But from what I can tell, innocent lives were at stake.

Lucille: *nods but sighs* But was it even right for us to get involved, Nick? How did looking for a missing girl turn into something so messy...?

Nick: Kid, that's just the nature of this kind of work. One thing leads to another and suddenly you're in way over your head on a case you didn't intend to start. It gets real complicated real fast.

Lucille: ... So what you're saying is that you don't actually know.

Nick: *subtle pensive nod as he puts out his cigarette*

Lucille: A man is dead because of us. And your brother will never truly see justice for the murder he committed-

Nick: But hundreds of not thousands of people are still alive. That includes Kasumi, too. What's done is done.

Lucille: ...

Nick: Also, I take back what I said about removing my memories earlier. I wouldn't be able to truly reflect on my past accurately if I could.

Lucille: *sad chuckle* You would have probably erased the funniest story I've ever heard...

Nick: That is?

Lucille: Beeping to make four Raiders think you're rigged to explode.

Nick: *can't help but smirk* You're damn right and what a shame it would be.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Five - Consolation

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, grief, the aftermath of that death...all that Jazz! Plus a lil moment I’ve been fucking itching to include.

Chibs's breath was stuck in the middle of his throat, jutting thickly the more he thought about Opie cradling Donna's sallow cheeks as she bled out onto the gravel.

It'd cut deep, this one.

So many bodies he had bared witness to over the years. So many lives lost and souls snatched and whatever else right before his undaunted eyes--but nothing really hurt as much as that.

Because he knew what it was like. How it maimed a man. How it felt like his world was hurtling toward the chasms of hell during the moments after arriving at the scene and seeing his wife there. Dead.

Cold and dead and lonely. And completely gone.

Guilt resided, too. It was true tangible remorse for the simple proficiency of; that should've been me.

It happened with Diane--it happened to Chibs's wife, the mother of his kid, and the one true light in his life right after Isla. And it should've been him.

It was brutal, the way it happened tonight. It was fierce and heartless and Chibs knew in a flash that those bullets struck the wrong skull.

He couldn't bear the reverberation anymore, the gutturals from Piney's son who'd just lost his wife for no good reason during a drive-by in their quaint little town. The town that'd swelled wickedly with corruption these last few weeks.

Stahl was at the scene before he left. Looking pensive, actually. She looked guilty.

Chibs's basic instinct had landed the blame at her door--put the blood on her hands--but he kept his mouth shut for fear of what'd happen next. He didn't think that SAMCRO could handle this.

Because this wasn't a product of Mayan or Niner rivalry. He wasn't stupid--he knew that his President had something to do with this.

This was cultivated from the seeds sown by June Stahl, the pips planted so very deeply into the mind of Clay Morrow which forced him to believe that Opie Winston was a rat.

And he wasn't. He'd never sell his club out--no matter the damage, the pain inflicted upon him--and he'd never dream of pinning the fault on his brothers.

But he had to look a little bit closer to home if he wanted those answers. If he wanted to know just who sniped Donna--a completely innocent woman caught in the most ferocious of crossfires--he had to turn to someone that he knew was culpable of such activity.

Chibs's heart ached. It impaired him so very deeply that the only thing he could visualize on the ride back to Jax's house was her face.

Her face that dripped blood. Saturated crimson plagued his thoughts and forced his stomach to churn vociferously. He felt sick now.

He felt sick because Opie had lost his wife, Piney had lost a crucial member of his small family, and her kids had lost their mother. The woman that had worked so tirelessly to provide a life for them, to love and care for them unconditionally no matter what.

Opie was strong, he knew that--but he didn't know if he was strong enough to handle this. This crippling weight, this hurt and the idea of what could've been done differently.

Because so much could've happened to prevent this.

His tongue had become inoculated with bile, acrimonious ire for whoever the fuck was to blame for such unnecessary brutality--and, really, Chibs knew that he didn't have to look much further than Isla's favorite blue-eyed heathen this time.

And that broke his heart because of the pedestal she held that man upon. The pedestal she'd always held him atop, so fucking highly, too.

She knew that he was bad--an inherently bad human being--but he was just Tig. Her buddy. Clay's right hand that, really, he'd always count on. No matter what. And he'd always deliver the king's request, too.

Tig was the one that Isla called when her car broke down on the freeway and she needed to get home in time for Gemma's dinner.

The one she turned to for cheering up because he always knew how to crack a smile and get through to her.

The one that she strangely respected the most. Nobody really recognized what it was about that man that had Isla overjoyed when in his presence, she just was. And that was part of his charm.

But her father was anxious, now. Worried that she would take this news--if it came to light--badly. Because it was going to break her heart, regardless.

It was how she would handle it, which was the true hardship.

"Christ." Chibs's voice struggled to materialize, gesturing to his daughter passed out on Jax's couch. "How long's she been sleepin'?"

Mascara and eyeliner and whatever the fuck else she'd painted onto her face had started to melt away, trails of black and grey faintly running her cheeks.

"'Bout an hour." Gemma responded, sniffling back the putrid emotion she'd so obviously let flood the moments leading up to their arrival.

Jax's stomach was doing backflips at the thought of Isla crying herself to sleep in his living room--after everything that he'd put her through, too.

He feared that this was going to be the tip of the iceberg. That this was going to pulverize her sanity and compromise everything she had sought to fight off these last few days.

And he couldn't help but harbor those same suspicions as her father, either. Jax wanted to keep his mouth shut until he was certain that this was an inside job, but he was teetering toward that conclusion regardless.

It was the only viable explanation.

He, too, worried about what this would do to her. That finding out Tig was the potential culprit and reason why Opie's children were officially motherless.

"How's Ope?" She continued, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. Jax's head shook. "Oh."

"Not good, ma. But he's home now."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Yeah--I followed him back to make sure he got there in one piece. He wanted to leave the second the fuckin' ATF stormed in."

"Oh." Gem repeated herself, running her fingers through Isla's hair as she rested in her lap. "What about Clay? Where'd he get to?"

Chibs took a seat at one of the wooden chairs that'd been positioned around the coffee table, and Jax sank into the couch opposite the girls.

It was pitiful. Darkness enveloped them as Isla slept, innocently resting as the world shattered around her.

She wasn't oblivious to the happenings. She hadn't slept through it all, but she was done. Isla had been distant for days, had been fretting over the unimaginable and Gemma was worried that she was going to make herself sick if she continued the way that she was.

So she twisted her fingers and nails through the flowing waves of golden blonde, and soothed her the same way that she always did.

The same way that she found comfort as a kid.

He sighed. Exhausted. "Dunno. Last I saw he was with Tig."

"Aye." The Scot agreed with a nod, too. Hating the thought of Trager being responsible for something like this.

But it was merely a suspicion that Chibs hoped and prayed would get debunked sooner or later.

"Did he say anything?"

"Nah. He talked a little to Unser--seems to think it was a hit on Ope gone wrong--so, I guess they're gonna be lookin' into the Niners."

"Aye." Chibs spoke again, gesturing to Isla. "Did she say much when we left?"

"Not really--she just busied herself and cleaned up with Wendy. Seems like they're getting along now."

Jax smiled a bit, happy that his best friend and the mother of his child were starting to accept the presence of one another in Abel's life.

Truly, that's all he really wanted. That and his mother finally being able to turn the other cheek, and quit castigating his kid's mom.

"Did Clay leave before you?" Gemma asked, antsy. She was itching to get home, itching to see and comfort her husband because she knew that he was going to be fretting over this.

"I told you, the last I saw, he was with Tig. Dunno if he left after us, or if he's still there."

She looked away, smoothing her thumb over Isla's cheek.

"He'll be home soon--I should take off."

"Not on your own." Jax upheld, simply terrified of what could've happened to his mother had she left alone.

As far as Jax wanted her to know, this was bad blood between clubs. This was a hit put out on an innocent bystander because they knew it'd jolt SAMCRO--and it did.

It shook them to the very fucking core, jutting them repeatedly--mere moments away from crumbling and completely disintegrating into Harley Davidson dust.

And he really didn't want to admit that this was the work of his step-father and Alexander Trager. But he feared that was the only viable explanation.

"I'll--eh--I'll take her back." Chibs offered, getting up to ghost a hand over Isla's blushed cheek. "I was gonna take her home with me tonight, but I think she's better off stayin' put."

Jax agreed with a nod, smiling weakly at his mother. Though, she knew it was a coverup. A not-so-brilliant facade and attempt at showing that he was okay during this barbarous time.

"I don't wanna wake her." She mused, pushing strands of hair from her face. "She looks so damn peaceful."

Gemma hadn't a cozy moment with Isla for a while--not since she was recovering from a broken heart four summers ago.

The last time that she turned to Gemma--the same way she would as a child--for that motherly comfort.

"I know." The older man crouched to the ground, tracing faintly along her arm. Isla grumbled, slowly rousing. "C'mon petal, it's gettin' late."

He kept a hand against her, running this thumb over the freckled skin softly. Diane's crucifix caught his eye as she shifted, impairing him that little bit more tonight.

"What time is it?" She asked roughly, feeling a sting in her throat. Isla lifted herself off of Gemma's lap, rubbing at her eyes. "Is it late?"

"It's about one o'clock."

"Shit." Her hiss was sharp, galled that she'd been allowed to rest for so long whilst there was a literal wildfire sweeping its way through the club. "Ope--oh my god--Opie. Is he okay?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Jax was about to say before he even opened his mouth, and so tears ensued. Crystalline hues weeped and watered, and he was unsettled.

Unsettled because she was so strong in the face of such tragedy, rarely shedding any tears before an audience.

Unsettled because, up until the Kohn incident, Jax hadn't seen her cry since she was shot in the knee after three Mayans decidedly stormed the T M lot and strived to gun down each and every person on the premises.

He never forgave himself for that, actually. Because those bullets--though completely un-fatal and leaving a simple mark that, really, Isla referred to as her battle scars--should've been for him.

"He went home. To be with the kids." Jax cleared his throat, kneeling in front of her when Chibs got to his feet and gestured for Gemma. "He's--uh--he's in a bad way."

"Understandably." She mumbled. "Any ideas on who did this?"

Your favorite son.

"No. Clay thinks it might've been the Niners--shits been off since they decided to pull their fucking guns on us after the warehouse was raided."

"That was their rationale?"

"I guess so." He added. "It'd make sense. We lost their guns, so we lost a life--"

"But Donna." Isla argued, sitting upright. "Donna was innocent."

"We know that, love, but Laroy was probably under the impression that Ope was the one behind the wheel." Her father spoke over Jax, heeding his uncertainty. "It wasn't meant to be her."

Chibs had to blow his theory out of the water, firstly.

"A life is a life. To them, so long as they've got one of ours--someone close to us--they've succeeded with somethin'--"

"All they've succeeded with is leaving two kids without a fucking mother." Isla spat, throwing away the small blanket that Gemma had draped over her as she stood up. "And you've gotta stop being so fucking insensitive."

Jax stumbled backwards, watching her storm out of the room in her pretty little summer dress. He couldn't surmise whether following behind or leaving the woman to simmer alone, was the best idea.

It was a touchy subject, the loss of a parent. It was prickly and raw and it never ceased to strike Isla's heart. Because she understood.

She understood how much it hurt. The uncertainty of it all. Not knowing what to do next. How life changes more than what anyone ever prepares you for and, really, how nothing is ever the same again.

Isla knew it all too well. She'd been there, done that, and refused to go back. But with Chibs's life, his line of work, she was never granted that security.

And it wasn't particularly the security that she wanted, more so the knowledge of what--god forbid anything--would happen to her father. Because that's what bothered her the most about Diane.

She never knew anything about her mother's passing.

Jax got a pretty tight grip on the concept, too. But it was different with Isla--it was something she never quite grasped.

"A life is a life," Gemma mocked the insensitivity from the baffled Scotsman, shaking her head. "That wasn't just any life, Chibs. That was Opie's woman, the mother of his children, and one of Isla's oldest friends--she was family. She wasn't just a life."

His lips twitched before he exhaled sharply, knowing that she was right.

Knowing that his response was much too unsympathetic and heartless and, really, he was an idiot to forget how upset she got whenever something that pertained to the death of her mother was brought up.

"Your kid is grieving. She's grieving for Ope, for Piney, for Kenny and Ellie--for herself because this--" she gestured to nothing in particular, but he understood, "--is something she knows all too well, ain't it? Diane?"

"I know." Tersely, he responded. He pulled a hand through his hair. "I fuckin' know how she feels, but I didn't think she'd storm out when I said it!"

"Well, she's always been unpredictable."

"I know." His riposte was braided with anger, pure fury.

"Then why'd you say it?" Gemma jabbed. "Isla has been about six thousand miles away from us these last few days, and you thought that saying such a stupid thing wouldn't tip her over the edge?"

She was defensive of the blonde--always had been.

And Jax was sick of it.

Sick of the back-and-forth between the two. Sick of that holier than thou bullshit from Gemma--pretending that she wasn't thinking the same fucking thing--and sick of the way Chibs cared more to argue than to go after his daughter.

"Make sure Wendy stays if you two leave--I'm going."

"Where?" Chibs demanded.

But Jax just glared at him, stuffed his hands in both pockets, and walked straight out of the house.

It was cooler, now. The breeze had hit him square in the face the second he stepped over the threshold, and it was nice. To feel a little breeze that'd inevitably take the edge off of the lament sizzling away inside of him, was nice.

It was short lived, though. The second he realized that he couldn't see Isla--that she was completely out of sight--dragged him straight back down to earth, and the panic had set in.

He trusted her, of course he knew that she wasn't going to do anything stupid because she valued her life too much, and she wanted to do great things. So many great things.

But Jax also knew her too well. Well enough to know that the first place she would've thought about storming toward was the Clubhouse--the place that she'd find Tig.

And under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have rushed to get to her before she had a chance to get to T M. But the possibility of walking in and discerning Trager's inconsolable fury--his resentment and self-loathing--was much too great a risk for Jax to take.

He had to intercept.

He had to save her before she got the chance to set foot onto the property.

But, realistically, Jax was more than aware that Isla was probably already halfway there by now, and weaving through the unusual bustle of traffic in his small town just wasn't worth it.

"Shit." He growled, hopping onto his bike regardless. Saving a sliver of hope that he'd find her tonight.

He wasn't exactly optimistic, though. Because she'd already stormed four blocks.

Isla wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body--feeling the cold a bit more than what Jax had earlier--and hastily made her way downtown.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't fear the short walk toward the garage, but it was chilling. The thought of Donna's killer roaming freely, parading around that neighborhood, was daunting.

But she wasn't scared.

Or, at least, Isla wasn't scared until she heeded the red and blue flashing lights right in the middle of the intersection. The apparent murder scene.

Her heart sank, actually. The organ dropped to her stomach, pulsating slowly--barely--at the sight of Charming PD, CSI, and her. The group scattered, conversing, and speculating.

It was horrible. Sick.

She'd seen this before. She'd seen deaths and murders, and whatever came during the moments following. But she hasn't felt this way before.

The incapacitating throb. The discomfort and grief for such a horrendous--albeit freak--accident. And she wasn't stupid. She was as cognizant as her father and as empathetic as Jax, and she knew just as well as those two that this was not a purposeful attack.

Whether it was a consequence of Mayan or Niner misconduct, it was a wrongful onslaught that was about to cull an entire family. An entire charter.

If it hadn't already, that was.

She choked around the swell in her throat, padding along the sidewalk. She took her time, but she wasn't slow by any means. She had a place to be, and a specific person that she had to see--to talk to because she didn't know how to cope with this.

And it wasn't exactly her place to mourn for Donna. She hadn't been involved with her for some five years and she felt bad about the pair unable to rekindle their friendship. She felt bad about grieving the loss of Opie's wife--about taking the focus away from him.

But it hurt. It hurt so much--it sliced deeply, through flesh and tendon and bone--and she knew that Tig wouldn't judge her for this inveterate sorrow. He wouldn't see her as selfish or stupid for wanting to project her sincerities, her emotions.

Her heels clicked across the yard and she smiled a little bit when she passed Juice and Tig's bikes beside one another, letting her know that she wasn't going to be alone in there.

She was scared now, though. Because she hadn't talked about this yet. Hadn't talked about how she felt and how she was going to approach Opie the next time she saw him.

"Juice?" Isla squeaked from the doorway, waiting for him to turn around and run to her, or something. But he didn't move, didn't lift his head.

It was dreary inside. The lights had been dimmed, the men surrounding the tables and bar were downtrodden, and Isla felt as though she'd just walked through the gates of hell.

The vibrancy and boisterous nature of SAMCRO had come to a complete standstill, and she was actually yearning for the sleaze that usually enveloped the space.

Her sigh was defeated, forlorn. She sniffed as her nose ran, making her way to the bathroom to go and clean herself up--because she knew that she looked dreadful, and didn't want anybody to really see her that way.

"Is anyone in here?" She asked softly against the locked door, knowing that the answer was yes and that Tig was the occupant--but she persisted, anyway.

The mellifluous rhythm bled through the oak, jolting him still as blood poured from the gash in his head, and shattered glass surrounded his frame and the sink.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, glaring monotonously at himself in front of the mirror. Glaring at the fucking monster that was about to welcome Isla into open arms, comforting her because he knew that she'd need it.

"Yeah," He opened up, smiling down at her. "But I'm done, if you wanna--"

"What happened to you?" She put a hand against his chest, pushing him back into the room. Her brow furrowed when he didn't respond. "Tiggy?"

His entire body winced at Isla's soft touch. At the way her pink nails traced over the patch of skin on his chest, uncovered by his shirt--the shirt he was going to burn after tonight.

She gently gripped at his chin, turning his face to the right to get a better look at the incision on his left. Her eyes filled again, lips turned downward.

"Let me clean you up."

"You don't gotta--"

"I do." Isla cut him off, blinking away her tears. "If it doesn't get treated, it might get infected."

Like father, like daughter--always the first person to tend to an injury. She was so loving, so benevolent. Nothing like him, he thought.

Tig watched her maneuver around the tiny bathroom, admiring her desire to patch him up. To care for him and help make him feel better.

Not much would've helped at that moment, but she was trying her best.

"How'd you get over here?" He asked, leaning against the sink.

"I walked--"

"You walked?" Pissed, Tig spat. "Jesus fuck, Isla, you can't walk these parts alone, anymore."

She looked up at him from the spot she was crouched at, sifting through a small first-aid kit in the cabinet. "Who said I was alone?"

"Were you?" His eyes narrowed. She got to her feet, putting the small plastic box beside him, looking his face over a few times.

Her head shook. "Nope. Never alone with these thoughts."

Tig couldn't not chuckle at her response, but he was still worried about her. He didn't worry often--he was too selfish for that--but anything to do with his favorite blonde saw him panic like a madman.

"And the voices, too." She mused, breaking out into a genuine smile the first time all evening. "They always keep me real good company."

"Yeah?" Isla's head bobbed, cupping his chin again. "Me too--me 'n you don't seem to be too different after all, baby."

"Never said that we weren't." She poked her tongue out a little bit, surveying the damage. "Never said that we were the same, either."

"We're not the same." He confirmed, curling his hand around her wrist as she held an alcohol pad above his cut. "We are not the same, Isla."

Her head tilted, trying to discern what he meant. But she couldn't, and it caused an uncomfortable shiver to flicker down her spine.

"This might hurt." She whispered in an attempt to dissipate the small tension, gently running her thumb over his chin.

The other was--alongside her pointer finger--tapping the small antiseptic against the wound. She frowned the more he winced, though Tig's smile and hold on her wrist was still present.

"I like the pain."

"I know you do, Tiger." Isla joked. But she couldn't help wondering how the fuck he managed to do this to himself tonight.

Why he would do this to himself tonight.

"I don't wanna have to stitch your pretty face up," she pursed her lips and got him to hold the cotton in place.

"You think I got a pretty face?"

"The prettiest." Her retort was instantaneous, missing that usual glint of something resembling a joke.

She was serious--she wasn't engaging in that usual banter with him today. She was too run down for it, actually.

"Gonna have to give you a couple of butterfly stitches, if that's okay?" Isla looked up at him, holding out the small bandages with a smile. "It won't hurt. And they'll probably dissolve in, like, a week or so."

"Go for it. I love when you play nurse."

She lightly whacked at his chest, laughing as she got him to sit on the closed toilet lid to get a better reach. He wasn't tall, but neither was she. Isla needed him to lower his height if she wanted to successfully repair him.

The comfort, the aid and assistance had him forgetting about tonight--had her forgetting the real reason for her impromptu arrival to the clubhouse--but not forgetting about the newfound misery that encircled SAMCRO.

"You alright?" He asked when she hadn't made a movement, when her eyes seemed to focus on the shelves above the tank of the toilet. "I can do it myself, if you don't wanna--"

"I wanna." The smile she produced was fake--uncomfortable as tears rolled down perfectly blushed cheeks.

It broke his heart. Everything she was doing and saying--and even feeling because her pain was palpable--was breaking his heart and Tig felt like hell for doing this.

"I'm sorry," she stuck the first stitch to his forehead carefully, getting him to rip off the back of the second because her fingers were too shaky to get a solid grip.

"Don't be." He handed it to her. "It's been a tough night."

Her laugh was humorless, dull. "You can say that again, Tiggy."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She sent him an apologetic look, but he got it.

Isla trusted him with her life--for some reason--but she found it hard to open up sometimes. In regards to something this serious, she struggled to get a solid handle on her emotions and how to express them.

He understood her, though. Understood her well enough, her mannerisms and thought processes, and he just wondered if she felt like divulging her pain tonight.

She didn't, though. And Tig didn't particularly mind that. He didn't want to feel that twisted pang of regret, the vehement churn of his stomach whenever she said Donna's name--which she was yet to do, and she probably wouldn't at this point, either.

"I just wanna cry." She stated plainly, not even reluctantly anymore.

Like Gemma, he hadn't seen her cry for a long time. And it wasn't a nice visual, actually.

But he was supportive, and just wanted her to do anything that'd make her feel somewhat better--so he encouraged it.

Isla put everything down, gave his face the once over for the last time, and set herself on the tile with her back to the door.

"You wanna cry? Do it, baby. If it'll help, just do it." He assured, getting to the ground beside her. "I know you don't like doin' it in front of me, but I won't tell anyone, if that's what you want."

"You make me seem like a battle ax." Isla quipped, sniffling. "I don't care if anyone sees me cry--everyone knows that I do. It's just..."

"Showing vulnerability ain't a nice thought. I know."

God. She hated how well he understood her. How he knew what she was going to fucking say. All the time.

Tig wound an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Instinctively, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I get it." He stated mindlessly, pushing tousled blonde strands from her forehead. "But y'know you can always trust me, kid. I'll never tell anyone that you feel emotions--"

"I'm literally the most emotional person you all know." Isla protested weakly, hoping he didn't mind the feeling of her tears bleeding through his shirt.

He didn't.

"I just don't really like crying. It's not a true testament to my character--I'm supposed to be the happy one around these parts. The sickeningly optimistic Irish girl--"

"You can still be a crier, too."

"I know." She finally wrapped her arms around his middle as they sat together. "But people just don't take girls seriously when they cry. And I don't want my position here to be compromised, I guess. I don't want my dad, or Gemma, or Clay to think I can't handle being around the club anymore--because I can. And I always will."

"They wouldn't think different of you for that." He promised, rubbing circles over her shoulder the more he felt the navy cotton dampen. "This is a real tough thing, Isla, nobody is gonna chastise you for shedding a tear. They'd probably think different of you if you didn't cry."

"You think?"

He nodded.

"Crying shows that you got empathy and a heart. We all know your heart is bigger than..." Thick eyebrows crumpled together before he let out a little chuckle. "Bigger than Clay's ego. It's huge, your heart."

"Well, it's gotta be. If I wanna love all of you--warts 'n all--my heart has gotta be huge."

"Exactly," he drew out his response, earning a laugh and something reminiscent of an optimistic smile from her.

Trager never saw himself as the kind of man to make a girl smile or laugh after a little pep talk--after or before incredible sex, perhaps, but never as a result of his unusually comforting nature.

But he just had that effect on Isla--something she wasn't able to extrapolate verbally. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to comprehend, either.

"You've just gotta try not to make yourself too vulnerable, that's all, 'cuz people will get used to coddling you. And I know that's now what you want."

"That's what I mean." She frowned, pulling herself away a bit. "I don't wanna be seen as inferior for being able to cry about the things that you, or Gem, or dad, are able to keep a poker face over. I'm just...I'm just thin-skinned sometimes, and I'm yet to be desensitized to this stuff, I guess."

"You're not thin-skinned for crying tonight." He scolded, knowing that she didn't want to elucidate her thoughts about the happening, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Desensitization don't mean shit when you've lost someone you care about--it's always gonna hurt, sweetheart. Always. And there ain't nothing you can do to stop that."

He was the one with misty eyes, now. He was the one trying to bite back tears, trying to conceal the spread of his sadness--the uncomfortable soreness in his chest. In his heart that wasn't anywhere near as big and full as hers.

"You're never gonna grow immune to grief--I promise you'll always feel that. Whether you show it--how you show it--is another thing, though."

"You feel it?"

"Tonight?"

"In general."

She couldn't seem to recall the last time that she saw him cry--if she'd ever seen it, actually. Aside from this moment, of course.

Tears fell to the apples of his cheeks and she, without any reluctance, used the pad of her thumb to brush them away.

And he got it, now. The idea of showing vulnerability being a fucking liability. Because the pity washing over her soft, beautiful features made him feel fragile.

"All the time. All the fuckin' time."

"It really never goes away?"

"No." Tig sniffed harshly, forcing a smile. "But you learn to cope. You learn that it ain't the end of the world and that life just goes on after death."

"Profound." She chuckled once again. "That's some deep, deep shit, Tigger. Almost made me forget about how much I wanna hysterically break down."

"Do it. That'll make me feel better about my injury."

"Your self-inflicted injury." Isla stated knowingly, but she didn't clarify just what she meant.

Because it could've been an array of things, but he liked to think that she was just referring to his little forehead aperture.

"I like it. It makes you look badass." Isla held a hand out to Tig when he pulled himself upward, and she wanted to follow suit.

"Does it make me look hot, too?"

"Absolutely." Again, it wasn't laced in a tease. It was honest, and the small smile she produced was sincere. "Be careful with it, though. Try not to get it wet or anything, because it'll dissolve too soon--"

"I've had them before, y'know?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Isla rolled her eyes. "You're a super scary, malicious, calculating guy when you've gotta be. But I know that you're accident prone."

He curled his eyebrow upward. "Scary?"

"Totally. I've seen you hold a gun to a guy's head." A chill impaired her, frightening her. "Shits terrifying, Tig. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"You couldn't even if you tried."

"You think?" Her qualm was unexpected, almost challenging him as she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. "I think I could."

What's she playing at? She was sobbing two minutes ago.

Oh, I get it. This is her facade--actin' all care free, and shit.

Tig followed behind--every step--as she clicked along the wooden floor of the clubhouse.

"You couldn't. Trust me." He stated lowly, reaching for her hand when she stuttered a little.

Isla noticed her father next time Juice, drinking at the bar with their backs to the duo. She didn't want to see him, right now.

Talking to Chibs would've ignited whatever fucking fire inside of her that'd started to blaze out of control earlier tonight, and she'd worked hard to contain this inferno.

"What you can do, though, is turn your pretty little ass back around, and go get some rest in the dorm. It's been a long night."

She didn't refute, she didn't try to get out of it because she didn't want to. Isla couldn't bear the thought of waltzing past her father, talking to him about her tiny outburst, and resuming as normal.

Because she couldn't do that. Not tonight, anyway.

"Tig?"

"Uh huh." He responded, his eyes glued to the back of Juice's cut as he slammed yet another shot back.

Probably wondering what the fuck had gone down tonight.

"Can you stay with me?" Her retort forced his focus to land on her, and the defenselessness--sheer exposure--in her attitude.

It wasn't the simple fact of wanting to be alone.

She couldn't be alone. Not anymore.

Ringed fingers squeezed her hand reassuringly, guiding her into the back room, holding her close. Because that's what she really, truly wanted.

"'Course I can. Anything for you, Isla."

[ringmyheart]

Can I request Vin Jin boyfriend headcanons and some fluff? (You don't have to force yourself)

(This and the other vin jin rq were merged!)

Honestly the way I see it, it doesn’t matter if you’re a very calm person or outgoing person. No matter what this relationship is gonna end up being considerably chaotic

He ropes you into everything he does. Doesn’t matter if u r a design student or an architecture student or if ur on the opposite side of the school from him, u r practically in his class. Dating him is like signing a contract sealing away ur own life bc he makes it a point to be ALWAYS w u

In class he doesn’t gaf if the teacher has ur seat on the other end of class, he is somehow finding a way to sit next to u against ur will or not. And when the teacher moves u two away from eachother INTENTIONALLY bc of this, he is threatening whoever happened to sit next to u to trade seats w him. He will go as far as to dress up as them to make it look like they’re them to be next to u and he’s so dramatic ab it.... being away from u felt like u were star crossed lovers whom the world was fiercely against

And if UR against this cuz ur tired of getting in trouble in class, or if you reject any of his advances, he’s gonna be really, really, really offended. He will at first sputter and be kinda shy and embarrassed about it, before he goes “fine! Have fun on your own without me, the greatest thing in your fucking life!”

He move seats back and will glare at you periodically every five minutes to pavlov dog you so that every five minutes every day, even when he’s not there, you feel the burning stare of vin jin

If you’re his s/o, he’ll buy you a matching pair of sunglasses so ur the freshest looking couple around Seoul (they’re hideous and thick but he thinks u look fly)

The glasses don’t have nearly as many layers as his does for himself so u can see, and u wonder how he managed to make them just as bulky and if he did it on purpose to sabotage u. Like “did u make my glasses purposefully ugly so no one else will want me?”

U have to dodge a punch after saying anything like that ab his fashion decisions LMAOAO

He’s rlly proud of u two matching. With the glasses and anything in general. He’ll make you wear a jacket matching his, or the same shoes and he will stop people in the hall and be like “wait. Notice anything cool ab us today?? Cooler than normal??”

And when they don’t respond he boasts “that’s right!! Me and my other half r matching. Look at us and weep, losers.” He thinks u two look so good....... if ur enthusiastic ab wearing matching things too he is elated u have to pray that tomorrow he won’t show up w another “if lost return to Vin Jin” “I’m Vin Jin” pair of jackets or anything of the like bc it happens SO OFTEN

And on the topic of sharing when it’s cold he likes to share jackets and blankets w u. Ur desks r moved by eachother by vin jin himself and u two share one blanket over u and shiver bc he just likes it, sharing w u plus he’s slightly warmer. And yes if you guys had indivizual blankets you would be warmer, but u guys have to struggle together he doesn’t care what anyone says (yes even ur protests ur sharing that one blanket wether he has to wrap it around u himself and tear up the one u brought on ur own or what”

He is so blind in love that he cannot tell when u guys suck at stuff. Like if ur in the wrong he doesnt care ur RIGHT and he’s taking that to the grave. He can belittle u and call u out but if someone else says ur in the wrong it’s on sight

Will die protecting ur name even when ur the one who was genuinely wrong

He forces u to make a beat for him to rap to. He loves rapping and wants to enjoy it w u, so ur forcefed YouTube videos of how to beatbox so u can be his bgm and eventually u probably just start to enjoy it to

And u always start a beat and he starts busting out rhymes and it’s SO BAD. It doesn’t matter if ur good at beatboxing if vin Jin is on the track w u it’s gonna sound terrible he brings the quality down immensely but u two just cannot tell

Like after a two session ur like “omg... that was so good. We should go pro?” “Fuck yea we should we’re better than those posers” “we could rlly make it in the industry fr” no u absolutely could not

During the school festival, u sang with him and it was SO bad. Half the crowd is gonna have 2 be hospitalized but u two had FUN up on the stage

Like I said, he has absolute faith in u. All u do is right. If ur driving a car for the first time, he is going to be ur little hype man doesn’t matter if u suck. U hit a curb and he went “YES babe!! Ur killing it cant wait till u hit the road bby” Ur not allowed to touch a car for the next two years now bc he kept cheering u on when u we’re doing CLEARLY wrong things

On a plane u r looking for the bathroom like pensively and u see a handle and look back and r like “is this it???” And vin jin thinking u r all righteous will go “yea babe go for it” and u open it and u depressurizate the cabin immediately

Now both on like 5 no fly lists

He loves to do things with u, like I mentioned earlier, and things he wouldn’t do alone he’ll do w u. Like drawing alone?? Boring. Drawing w Y/N??!!! Who knows what could happen..... so much fun could ensue. Maybe he will draw u cutely. Maybe he will draw u so ugly u will be forced to engage in a fight.

He likes to play just dance w u and compete for the “greats/all star!” Little titles above, and it becomes like a Friday night ritual for u two to turn just dance on and just go at it. But sometimes he’ll get too intense and suddenly he’s actually fighting for the chance to beat u. Will trip u so u lose on purpose

He makes u listen to him sing and rap to u. And u try to leave and he hugs tightly and is like LISTEN IFS FOR U, DONT BE UNGRATEFUL and now u have to listen

He makes u a mixtape of songs he made himself and they are all considerably worse than “remember the times we had”. It’s uploaded on SoundCloud and all the comments r hate and u listen to it a lot bc u know he loves u sm he made u a mixtape ya ur gonna play that but everyone else hates it w a passion

Like the comments r like:

Daniel: well.... it’s definitely a song 😅 I’m glad you love (y/n) so much!

Duke: he’s not making it out the hood 😐

Zach: never let this man in a studio AGAIN

Mary: this should’ve stayed in the CD

(Y/N): love it! 😍

Zoe: kill your producer 💀

Mira: ...

He’s overprotective too

If someone looks at u for more than a second he’ll go “what?? U think she is hot, huh? I’ll kick ur ass fucking perv.... cmon babe let’s go”

Will throw his arm around u and streer u the opposite way of any potentially good looking ppl to keep ur eyes on him

Oh Daniel is coming?? What a coincidence u and vin Jin suddenly have to turn the corner to the other way of ur classroom for some reason

Eli is near?!!! Oh no u just got milk spilt in ur eye!! Oh no now he has to wipe ur eyes and u two have to leave the cafeteria whatever will he do

It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in u, he doesn’t have faith in other men. Like he thinks they r all competition, and doesn’t doubt ur loyalty rather doubts how good he can b for u

WILL beat someone up for u. If someone smokes while ur around suddenly his fists r swinging at them cuz even if u smoke or vape urself no one else can get that stuff in ur lungs but YOU or HIM!!

If ur crossing the street and a car almost hits u, it’s the cars fault and he’s kicking the license plate and cursing it out for almost touching u “stupid fucking piece of metal”

Is the type of boyfriend to call u when he knows ur in an Uber and be like “babe u got ur gun w u right?? Oh don’t forget ur BOMB and ur MACHETE!! Yeah just left the house I killed some ppl nbd haha anyways HRU what’s ur Uber driver like” so the driver of ur car won’t even think ab kidnapping u. He has got ur back even when u do not want it

He doesn’t want u to see his eyes, so he’ll tell you to look away so he can take his glasses off and look at u in full color in all ur glory but he never tells u WHY he’s telling u to look away u think it’s a weird thing of his, or he’s insecure ab his face which is partially true but really he’s taking his glasses off and just looking at u. Adoringly.....

He hates PDA. He loves PDA. Do u see his dilemma

Like he loves PDA but doesn’t want anyone seeing him vulnerable even u.... so he’ll hold ur hand and be like “EWWW WHAT R U DOING GET YR HAND OFF MINE”

If u take the lead THATS best bc he can blame it on u and it’s ur fault he HAS to lock fingers w u cuz u did it to him first and he has an excuse to touch u and v like u started this im just sending u ur own energy back 😤

The type to be just like blind, overwhelmed in love. Always thinks ab u, always wants to be w u, worries ab u a lot and frets over u without showing it.... he hates it and loves it to death. Despises it but wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world

Eats lunch w u in the cafeteria and if u sit w someone else u r the ultimate traitor and he will trash talk u to hide his hurt to Mary the entire lunchtime. Kinda possessive.... wants u to also only think about him

WOULDNT EVER fight u for real. Play fights occur VERY often, like pillow fights, tripping ur foot when u say a joke insulting him, grabbing ur collar but he would sooner die than lay a finger on u

Verbal fights happen a lot and if he ever like LOSES it he may lash out and almost hit u and follow thru. I don’t think he’d be able to catch himself that quickly, and if he ever did he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Literally until the day dies he will take it to his grave

He may not sputter out apologieswill just look at u incredulously and then at his hands because what had he done? What did he just do? To you???????? (Y/n))))?????? His (y/n)??? Light of his life?

Will apologize probably over text or through a note or call, and if u don’t respond he is consumed by regret and tries to find u instantly like runs back to ur place

If u forgive him he feels bad still, because does he deserve it? And he might just isolate himself for a bit bc he can’t face u and if it left a scar he is dead inside. It kills him, literally

I could go on w this but I’ll probably save it for another separate pair of hcs later 😭

If u guys ever break up he will fight for u again and won’t stop till ur back together like flowers in ur locker every day, chocolate give during lunch, etc. He wont ever give up hope that he can win u over again and be w u again. He would keep trying, when he wakes up his first thought is ur name in a cold panic bc he can’t rest easy till ur his again and he will try and show off and poorly serenade u and trash his price and be corny and cheesy to get u back

Will set up a performance w the school to let him rap w a mic during lunch for u and he’s saying bars like “(read in bad rapping voice w inconsistent beat) (y/n), love of my life, uh, without you I’d die, uh. Please won’t you take me back? Yuh, without you ima have a heart attack. (Wha!). (Y/n), love of my life, yeah, without you I’m in strife, yup! Please be mine again, (babe), I can never rest till then.”

If the embarrassment doesn’t make u take him back so he’ll pls stop, and when he stands up on the lunch tables to do a little performance doesn’t do it either, then the odd sincerity of his voice and pain in his look (even tho while rapping he sticks out his lower lip in a weird pout) definitely, hopefully will

U make everything worth it !! Truly the light of his life

I hope these were what u wanted, I just had fun w them and wrote stuff that came off the top of my head when I thought of VJ!! ❤️

[fragileizywriting]

writing this down so i don't forget!!! locker talk au fic that i'm going to write

luka comes home from work one day to see his dad inside the house. and just books it out of there. he blinks and he's in marinette's room, and he has no idea how he's even gotten there so fast-- he has no idea if he transformed to get here faster or he literally just ran all the way there-- either way. his girlfriend finds him curled up at the foot of her bed.

she's immediately worried, of course. luka has never looked so out-of-breath and winded since she's known him, allways able to keep his cool and calm and collected-- he sags on her when she kneals down next to him, forehead against her collarbone, all quiet and pensive.

there's a difference between her and luka. he's always so much quieter than her. especially now, as she feels tears soak into her tank-top, as she brushes her fingertips across his jaw, he's totally silent. she has no idea what to do.

"vai?" she asks softly, when he's somehow gotten her to sit in his lap. he hides his face in her hair, hiding away, arms wrapped around her like she's holding him down.

"i saw my dad in the house," he says after a long moment. she wipes his tears away with the closest edge of her blanket, behind them on the bed.

"i'm sorry." she didn't even know he had a dad. but it doesn't sound like he's on good terms with him. at all.

"i panicked so hard that i fled."

"you don't have to see him if you don't want to. you can stay the night, and the next, and the next. until he's gone."

"i want to see him. i do." he swallows. "i just get nervous."

"you? nervous?" she bites her lip when he sags on her again. her boyfriend is acting so differently than normal and she has no idea what to do... "is he... dangerous?"

luka smiles. "no. my dad has never treated me badly-- i just-- i don't know. it always feels like i'm disappointing him."

"tell me what's wrong, luka."

so he does. he tells her about how his father made him promise that he'd go to school before pursuing a career in music-- marinette never knew that his father was also into music. it makes sense, given that the liberty can turn into a giant music stadium on its own during practices, but she always thought it was more of anarka's influence over the two siblings. luka had promised that he'd go to university before seriously considering the band option, but kitty section had become such a massive hit when he was supposed to start that he just... didn't. she knows that. marinette knows that, and has never been bothered by it-- luka works really hard making sure that the band is always active and selling merch. they do pretty well for themselves, not exactly underground anymore, and do really decently in sales-- but it isn't what he'd promised his dad, is it?

"i'm waiting for the moment that my dad scolds me and tries to blacklist me from listings in order to try to convince me to go back to school. but this isn't just my band, though. ivan, and rose too, are in it-- and jules-- if we get blacklisted, they're going to have to go find actual jobs. i fucked up."

"do you think your dad would do that?"

"it's possible. if he really wants me to get an education first. you know, he's just trying to be a good dad if he does-- i get it, i promised-- a degree is more important than fans. it is. i just... i feel bad. so i'm hiding here. in your room. i'm sorry. i'm being a coward right now and i got overwhelmed so i ended up crying. i'm okay, i promise. i just... got scared."

"you know i love it when you're here," she smiles, blushing all over when he kisses her where his mouth is, just below the collarbone, where it's not quite her breast but not exactly anything else, either. "i want to have you here every day, if i could. keep you all to myself."

"run away with me so that my dad can't find me and lovingly blackmail me into going to school."

she laughs and hides in his hair at the idea.

"does he even have the power to blacklist you from venues?" she notices the silence that follows, pulling away to gauge his reaction. he looks embarrassed. "i mean, he's not like super-rich and famous or anything, right? it's not like one swipe of his finger crashes the stock market--"

"my dad is jagged stone."

she blinks. "huh?"

"my dad is the multi-millionaire--"

"--jagged stone."

his smile comes out a little stupid. "yeah..."

"you mean the guy i--"

"yeah."

"but i had his music on loop in the bakery for the entire week we were on shift together." not only that, but she loves his music! him and kitty section are the two top-played bands on her music playlists, and she knows every song front and back and side to side from each album jagged has released-- she never knew he had french kids! he's scottish, isn't he? oh gooseberries-- anarka is scottish, too! why are jagged's kids in france-- in paris-- she's dating one of them!!! and has had sex multiple times with jagged's son!!!

"correct."

it's hard to swallow. "and you didn't tell me to turn it off at any point?"

"why would i do that?"

"because i-- that's-- uhm! that's your dad?" she eeps.

"don't freak out."

"i'm a little freaking out."

"breathe. hey, hey-- breathe, beautiful. you're okay."

"oh, sugarsnaps, vai--" she squeaks harder, sucking in a breath so hard that it hurts the lungs. "that must've been so uncomfortable! you must be so uncomfortable when i play his music and hum it and talk about him and--"

"breathe. take a breath. it's okay, he's on the radio all the time," he laughs, nodding softly when she gasps for another inhale. "it's okay. i like his music. it's okay, i promise. we don't go on tours with him anymore because we're tired of it, but i used to go with him when i was younger."

"why didn't you say something? i must've been annoying you so much."

"of course not. i'm glad you like him, you know. i want my family to get along." something flickers on his face. "ah, shit, i just realized that my mom probably told him about you--"

she blanches. "m-me?"

"well, yeah. you are the girl i write my music about," he raises a brow at her. "everyone knows that."

"i--"

"he's probably going to want to meet you, if my mom tells him i'm dating the girl i've been writing about for years. definitely going to want to, knowing him. i'm sorry, fuck, i totally forgot to tell my mom to shut up about my relationships to my dad. he's nosy."

"oh gooseberries oh no, oh no, i fucked his son--" she squeals when luka barks out a laugh. "i can't look at him! i can't meet him! this is-- oh no, vai-- what have i done? is it... too late to run away together like you wanted to?"

[my-robot-heart]

Hi, Robot!

Your fics helped me a lot while I've been struggling with post-8x22 depression (which has been worse than any reaction I've ever had to the end of any other show I watched), so I was very excited when I saw that prompt list that you've reblogged, knowing that something fantastic was going to come out of it. And I was right: the prompts-inspired ficlets you've written today have been an absolute joy to read for me, especially the one I requested and the ones melbob and Pumpkin did)

(Besides, I found out that I absolutely adore drunk Red, whether he's hilariously boisterous or quietly pensive, and would actually like to see more of that side of him)

I'd like to end this ask with another prompt of mine – or, rather, an idea that came to me while I reread the list – but don't feel obliged to write it if you don't have enough time/inspiration.

The prompt I'm talking about is "i didn’t mean the things i said."

And the idea is that during one of her angry episodes Liz had thrown a lot of hurtful words and accusations at Red, blamed him for everything bad that's ever happened in her life – you know, the usual stuff – etc. and Red took it all silently, without a single complaint or attempt to defend himself. Later, once she's cooled down and became capable of thinking straight again, Liz felt guilty for lashing out at Red like that (because, rationally, she understands that not all of the hell her life has been through is because of him) and came to his safe-house to apologize and reassure him that what she told him while she was angry is not how she feels about him – hence the prompt phrase above – but the problem is that Red thinks that she was right, to a certain extent, that he is to blame for most part of the pain and the loss she's experienced and that he would understand her if she hated him and didn't want him to meddle with her life any more than he's already did. To think of it, perhaps, after Liz stormed off Red decided that it would really be better for her if he kept his distance – even though it would probably kill him – so by the time Liz arrives to apologize Red is already packed up and ready to go, to leave her – well, to leave her side, because he would make sure she was alive and well and safe even from a distance – forever and it’s up to Liz to convince him that she actually wants just the opposite?

Oops... That got pretty long... But I've just pictured it all so clearly in my head the words poured out themselves.

Omg Di 😂😂👏👏 are you... sure you didn't already write this yourself like this is beautiful????

Haha. I read it a few times and it just got me right in the feels. How about a tiny ficlet that comes right at the end of what you've described, because I feel like you already put in the backstory and it's just perfect.

Ps this gif has nothing to do with the fic but it's a fave and let's just agree with Red for a sec that yes, shipping IS his bizness. Lol.

Liz arrived at the safe house, breathless and not quite knowing what she would say. All she knew is that she needed to apologize before- what? She didn't want to think too hard about what. She carefully typed in the combination Red had made her memorize for just such an occasion and- the door didn't open.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and tried again. Still nothing. Okay she had one more chance to try and then the door and then it would alert Red that someone was trying to break in.

She typed in the numbers slowly. It didn't work. Shit.

She was just trying to decide if she should grab her phone or her gun when the door opened from the inside. Red was standing there, holding his gun.

"Lizzie- what?!" He hurriedly replaced the gun in his holster and typed a code into the lock. Then he ushered her inside.

"Sorry Red, the code wasn't working and I-" her eyes came to rest on a large piece of luggage. She looked from that to him. He-- he was... leaving?

"Yes I know the code wasn't working. I changed it before I left." He sounded tired.

"L-left? Red where were you going? And why didn't you-"

His face fell and she remembered why she'd come. What she'd said. And how she'd stormed off, declaring that she would have been happier if she'd never met his meddling, catastrophe bringing self. I wish I'd never met you. Those had been her exact words. Oh god. Oh no. But- he had to have known, hadn't he? He must have understood that this was just something she said when she was upset, but it wasn't how she actually felt. Oh god, he didn't know. He thought she meant it. And now he was-

"Oh no. Red, I- can we sit down?" She sounded desperate, even to herself. He saw this, and after hesitating he gestured to her to take a seat on one of the chairs. He sat on another.

"It's fine, Lizzie-" he began, and his voice was full of resignation. "There's no need to explain."

"Yes there is. There is a need to explain," she protested, trying to calm down and speak clearly.

"Elizabeth," he said then, and the use of her full name brought with it a sense of finality that scared her. "It's okay. You were right. About everything. I'm... a danger in your life. I never should have tried to have such an active part in it. I should have - I will be better able to keep you safe... from a distance. Dembe has the jet ready to leave this morning. Cooper had already been notified. He'll be able to reach me by phone, if needed. But otherwise- I will leave your life just as quickly as I entered it. And I promise, I swear, that you won't have to worry about my meddling or putting you in danger, because that's- well it's the last thing I ever wanted."

She watched as he tried to keep his expression neutral, but she saw the flash of pain in his eyes before he hid it, and her heart nearly broke.

"But that's- it's not what I want," she said softly. "I came here to apologize. And to- tell you something. Will you let me do that?"

He glanced at the time, before inclining his head for her to continue.

"First of all," she began slowly, "I don't- hate you. And when I said I wished I'd never met you, well- that wasn't true either. I know it's hard for you to believe, especially when I've said some... horrible things. But- I was just angry, Red. I was frustrated and scared and... I took it out on you. But the truth is..."

Here she swallowed nervously, wishing she'd had something to drink or hold, to distract her from.how her fingers appeared to be trembling. She clasped her hands together to try to stop it.

"The truth is," she said slightly more confidently, "You are the most infuriating, conceited, pretentious, annoyingly almost always right, beautiful, incredible, amazing man I have ever met. And the thought of you leaving because I didn't have the courage to tell you how I felt about you, how I've always felt about you, makes me want to-to- do this," and she got up from her seat and joined him on his, without thinking too much or too long, and kissed him.

She kissed him for a long time. At first, she felt him freeze beneath her, and she worried she might have gravely misjudged the situation. He'd been ready to leave, she remembered with worry. Maybe he didn't want her to-

But then. Then he responded. She felt his hands come up to the sides of her face, fingers lacing through the hair at the back of her head. She felt him relax and give in to what was happening, his mouth letting her in and responding in kind.

And she knew. She knew that she'd been right. About everything.

After a long moment she pulled away slightly, momentarily distracted by the patterns he was gently tracing along her spine. She let out a small sigh, and he stopped, regarding her carefully.

"Maybe-" she began, hesitantly, and he placed a kiss along her hairline.

"Yes, Lizzie?" He breathed.

"Maybe you should text Dembe and let him know you won't be needing the jet today."

He smiled.

[lucaslooksbrown]

Harvey

Date: Wed, 22 May 2019 13:39:09 -0500 From: gwen uni <unicorn2012111@gmail.com> Subject: Harvey Was A Bitch by Cutter09 gay adult/youth Please remember to donate to Nifty. The thousands of stories available for your reading pleasure is provided by Nifty, so give a little and get a lot. Cutter09 http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html You can find more of my stories listed on the prolific authors page under Cutter09 Harvey Was A Bitch  To say that we were surprised by the impact of Harvey would be an understatement. Being in Houston for years, and having worked on oil rigs in the gulf, I had survived many bad storms. But Harvey was a real bitch.  In my area of town there had been flooding a few years earlier that had come to within a couple of blocks of my highrise apartment. They had said at the time it was a once in five hundred years flood. So, with Harvey imminent, I stocked up on food, water, batteries, etc., and planned to hunker in and ride it out. I was even smart enough to get coolers filled with dry ice for perishables.  I expected power outages, and not being able to get out of the area for a few days, but Harvey decided that wasn't enough of an inconvenience.  I watched the storm from my window on the sixth floor. The wind and rain were incredible. The lights went out fairly early in the storm, and with the flashes of lightning I could see the trees swaying as much as a forty five degree angle.  Across from my building is a very nice subdivision with large houses set on large lots. Many nights I would sit on my balcony and watch the residents around their secluded pools, thinking they weren't being seen as they did all sorts of fun things. A lot of the women liked to sunbathe topless during the day too, and with my binoculars, I got some nice views.  As I watched the storm, I happened to look down at that subdivision. One house in particular, I had seen the lady of the house blowing her hubby poolside one night. I couldn't see the pool.  I thought the storm was just distorting things, so I got out my trusty binoculars. That's when I realized Harvey was a bitch. I couldn't see the pool because it was under water. The car in the driveway was only half visible too. The last flood hadn't even come close to these people's house.  I don't know what the difference was, but within five minutes, the half visible car was no longer visible at all. The water was rising rapidly.  I didn't have a lot of time to consider the situation because another situation knocked at my door just then.  "Oh thank God. I was afraid the whole building was empty," said the young teen boy at my door.  "What are you doing out in this storm?" I asked, opening the door to let him in.  He was a full foot shorter than me at about five feet two inches [1.55 m] tall, maybe a hundred ten pounds [50 kg], tousled light brown hair, big brown eyes.  "I live on the second floor. I didn't know how bad it was, until water started coming under the door. I tried to stop it by putting towels under it, but soon that was useless. It was up to my ankles when I decided to leave, I opened the door, and the water in the hall was already knee deep. I knew the first floor was flooded, so I decide to try and find someone else still in the building. I knocked on every door on the way up. Nobody's here. You're the first one to actually answer the door."  "Where are your parents? Do they need help?"  "No. My mom just married her boyfriend. They're in Paris on their honeymoon."  "They left you alone?"  "No. My grandmother was supposed to check up on me. When we heard the storm was going to be bad, she said she'd come pick me up.That was yesterday. I think something might have happened to her."  "Do you know your mom's cell number?"  "Yes."  Surprisingly I got a signal, and handed him my cell phone. "Call her and let her know you're okay."  "Mom?... Yeah, I'm fine... I don't know where she is, she was supposed to pick me up but I think something happened... I'm with some guy on the sixth floor... Just a second. She wants to speak to you."  "Hello."  "Hello. Uh... Who am I speaking with?"  "Brandon Duncan."  ""Mr. Duncan, how bad is it there?"  "Well, I'm afraid your apartment is completely flooded. The power is out, and the storm isn't letting up. I have food and water to last awhile, so I think we'll be alright."  "We've just heard about the storm, and were going to fly home, but nothing is landing in Houston."  "Don't bother. It's going to be awhile before the water recedes enough to get here even if you were able to land. Just enjoy your honeymoon as much as you can under the circumstances. I'll keep you informed if things worsen."  "Thank you Mr. Duncan."  I handed the phone back to the boy.  "Yes Mom... He does seem like a nice guy... yeah I'll behave... Ok, love you too. Bye."  "So, what's your name kid?"  "Blake."  "Well Blake, are you hungry?"  "A little."  "I doubt that Domino's pizza is delivering tonight, so how about some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"  He shivered as he nodded his head. I noticed his jeans were soaked halfway up his thighs.  "First, let's find you something to wear."  Leading him to my bedroom by flashlight, I pulled out an old basketball jersey from my bottom drawer.  "It might be a little big, but it will do," I said handing it to him.  Blake wasted little time in taking his jeans off. Then he removed his tee shirt too. I had the flashlight trained on him, and could see his tight white briefs in it's glow. The jersey fit him like a dress, hanging to his thighs. It was then I realized it was mesh, and I could see through it. He either didn't notice, or didn't care.  "Thanks. It feels good to get out of those wet jeans."  I made the sandwiches and poured the last of my milk into two glasses to go with it. At least it wouldn't spoil. I lit a candle and set it on the table. In its dim light, I could still see Blake's chest and and briefs through the mesh material.  After we ate, we stood at the patio door watching the storm ravage the city.  "May I use your toilet?"  "Sure. Down the hall on the left."  I started to lead him there with the flashlight, then had a thought.  "Wait. Uh... the plumbing is probably not going to work. We'll have to go down to water level and do our business in the water."  "Won't it go into people's apartments, including mine?"  "Afraid so. But they're already ruined, and that water is a sewer now too. You don't even want to know all that's in it."  He worked it through his head, and nodded."  I reached for some toilet paper. "Uh... I don't need that right now," he said.  I led him down the stairwell till we reached the water halfway up the second story.  "I never thought I would be doing this," Blake said as he tucked the jersey under his chin.  The beam of the flashlight was soon joined by a stream of urine from Blake. I slowly trailed the beam up the stream to its origin.  Blake had a thumb holding his underwear waistband down, as his other hand held his dick. It was soft, about three and a half inches [8½ cm], fairly thick, with a nice round knob. I could make out a few hairs at its base, and his balls were mashed against his cock by his underwear. I would imagine it being a really nice cock when hard.  When he finished, I turned to go back upstairs.  "Don't you need to go too?" he asked.  "I might as well, since we're already here."  I pulled the waistband of my sweatshorts down in front. It took me awhile to get my stream started since I wasn't in dire need. The whole time, Blake had the flashlight pointed at my cock.  We headed back upstairs after I finished. Blake broke the silence by saying, "I've never seen a dick that big."  "Your's is pretty big too for your age. How old are you anyway?"  "I'll be thirteen next week. You're not mad about me looking at your dick?"  "I can't complain, I looked at yours too. It's only natural. If someone is standing in front of you with their genitals on display, you're gonna look. Male or female, it's hard not to look."  "At school if you're caught looking at another guy's dick, they call you names," Blake noted.  "Yes, that does seem to be the case. It's the unspoken rule in any public restroom. But most guys are gonna look if they can get by with it."  The storm continued to rage outside as we watched from the balcony door. Blake seemed pensive, so I asked him if he was okay.  "Yeah, I guess. It just seems like this storm is never going to end. Do you think we'll be alright here?"  "We're about forty feet [12 m] above the water. If it get's this high, there really isn't anyplace safe to be. Most of Texas would be gone. If worse comes to worse, we'll move higher. This building has ten floors."  Later I showed him to the guest room and left him with a candle. I had barely settled in my bed before the door opened.  "Brandon, can I stay with you?"  "Uh... sure."  He approached the bed, and with the candlelight, I could see he had taken off the jersey. His briefs glowed in the flickering light as he sat the candle down on the bedside table.  He blew out the candle and crawled in beside me. He lay perched on the edge of the bed as if he didn't want to invade my space.  "It's okay to be scared, Blake. This is a really bad storm. A lot of people are scared right now, even grown men."  "Are you scared?"  "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared. But I know we're gonna be okay."  Blake moved closer and drew my arm around him, laying his head on my shoulder.  "Thanks, Brandon."  He lay his hand down between our bodies, and discovered I was naked.  "Brandon, are... uh..."  "What?"  "Uh... nothing, never mind. Good night."  "Good night, Blake," I replied placing a light kiss on his head. ***  It was still raining when I woke up, though some light was coming in the windows. Blake lay on his side, drooling on my chest. His morning erection poking at my hip, his hand on my own morning wood. I thought about removing it, but if he woke up at that moment, it might appear as if I was trying to place it there, not remove it.  I decided to just leave it and let him figure out what to do. I lay there about fifteen minutes until Blake began to wake. I feigned sleep as he looked up at my face. He then squeezed my cock, checking how hard it was I guessed. His hand slowly made its way down to the base squeezing it along the way. Then all the way to the head, still squeezing it, checking the length.  He stroked it a couple of times, causing me to moan slightly. This scared his hand away from me, and he rolled onto his back. So I rolled onto my side facing him. I still pretended to be asleep, as I lay my hand down on the front of his underwear.  He let out a moan as my fingers lightly gripped his cotton encased erection. I released it, then moved my hand up to his belly, to slip my fingers under the waistband. He made no move to stop me, so I proceeded down to grip his young cock.  "You have a nice dick, Blake."  "Um..Thanks. I thought you were asleep."  "I was until you played with my cock."  "I'm sorry. I woke up and it was in my hand. I just wanted to see how big it was when it was hard."  "Show me yours, and I'll show you mine," I said with a smile.  He understood the schoolyard humor, and reached for his underwear. Once free of confinement, I could see his dick was a little over five inches [13 cm] long and thick for his age. On his tiny body, it looked huge. He only had a few hairs, and a set of balls that I couldn't wait to run my tongue over.  He got impatient as I stared at his jewels. "Can I see yours now?"  I pulled the cover off us, and got on my knees in front of him.  Blake gazed at it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around it.  He looked up at me and asked, "Can I suck it?"  Thank you God for sending me this angel.  "Only if I get to suck yours too."  He leaned toward me and took it into his mouth. It had been twenty years since I had been with a boy. My best friend Aaron and I had messed around when we were about Blake's age. I have dreamed of being with a boy ever since. Now I had that chance, I was going to take full advantage of it.  I could tell he hadn't ever done this before, but he was very enthusiastic. He knew what he wanted. A cock in his mouth. He yearned to feel it, and taste it. He also wanted what was soon coming his way. A full load of man sperm.  He worked hard for what he knew was his reward. His lips and hand moved in sync, enticing the load from my cock.  "Do you want me to cum in your mouth?"  Blake nodded and picked up the pace.  "I'm cumming."  Blake's cheeks puffed out a bit as my first shot fired. He quickly swallowed, and coaxed the rest out with his hand. Swallowing twice more before slowing his motion. Then he just lovingly sucked on it.  The kid was a natural, and liked it. I had just given him his first taste of something he would crave the rest of his life. Even after taking his mouth away, he still stared at it, wondering when he would get to do it again.  That time would come soon enough, but first, it was my turn. I swooped down and swallowed his boy dick. My mind instantly flooded with the memory of sucking Aaron's dick. His silky hardness filled my mouth, reaching the entrance to my throat. Blake was so turned on by sucking me, he didn't last thirty seconds before I got a taste of his boy cream.  The worst of the storm had passed, but it was still raining. We didn't bother to dress as we went down the stairwell to stand side by side and piss into the water below.  We laughed all the way back to the apartment. Blake immediately reached for my cock. He already needed another serving of cream. Who was I to deny a budding cocksucker.  We were sitting on the sofa, when his face dropped into my lap. His lips wrapped around my cock, and he slowly sild up and down on it. He didn't seem to be trying to make me cum, it was more like he just wanted to enjoy having a cock in his mouth.  I leaned back and let him have his way. His head lay on my stomach as he nursed on my cock, almost like a baby with a pacifier. After a couple of minutes, he pulled it out of his mouth, and held it straight up admiring it. His hand slid up the shaft and swirled around the knob end before sliding back down. Then he put it back in his mouth to nurse on it some more.  "You really like my dick, don't you," I pointed out.  Blake nodded, then pulled away long enough to say "It's beautiful. And so big."  As he put his lips around it again, I slid my hand down to his butt. I squeezed his little butt cheeks before slipping my middle finger into his crack. He pressed back into my hand as I toyed with his pucker. This got him excited enough to start sucking my cock in earnest. His head bobbed up and down my shaft quickly and when he felt my balls tighten up, he took me into his throat for me to explode there.  I pushed my finger into him up to the second knuckle and worked it in and out. Blake grabbed his dick and stroked it twice before firing his load onto his stomach.  "Are you ready for some breakfast?" I asked after we had calmed.  I scrambled eggs on the side burner of my gas grill, and we sat down to eat. I had never sat and ate with a naked teenager, but hoped it wouldn't be the last time. Neither of us seemed bothered by it, in fact I think Blake enjoyed it as much as I. He had a constant smile on his face, and kept glancing down at my cock.  We were cuddling on the sofa when I heard something. A motor. I stepped to the balcony railing and looked down. There was a guy in a bass boat looking for people who needed rescuing.  I yelled down to him, "Hey! Is all of Houston under water?"  "Just about. You need help?"  "If it doesn't get any worse, we'll be alright. It would be hard to get down there anyway. We have food and water to last awhile."  "Ok. I'll swing by again in a day or two to check on you."  "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."  Blake had a smile on his face as I entered the patio door.  "What?" I asked.  "Nothing. At first I thought you were going to ask him to rescue us.  "Do you want to be rescued?"  "You already did," he said, and threw his arms around me.  Later I was teaching him to play the card game 'Spades', and he began looking a little pensive.  "What's wrong?"  "Nothing. I'm just worried."  "We're gonna be just fine. The rain will stop soon, then the water will go down, and you'll be back with your mom."  "That's just it. When they get back we're gonna move in with Lucas."  "He didn't live with you here?"  "No. He's rich, and has a really big house north of here."  "Oh? What's Lucas's last name?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't say Bishop.  "Bishop."  "Shit. He owns the company I work for. He's probably fifty years old. How old is your mom?"  "Thirty. I guess she's like a trophy wife or something. She's really pretty."  Now I was getting curious. "What happened to your dad?"  "Never had one. Mom's worked for Bishop since she was sixteen. He got divorced last year, and started dating my mom."  "Had you met him before they started dating?"  "Yeah, he's been to our place lots of times. I can't remember when he wasn't around."  Okay, things were getting clearer. There has always been rumors about Bishop and a young girl. So, putting the rumors with this information, I would guess that Bishop knocked up a sixteen year old girl, kept her and her son around, divorced his wife and now married the mother of his son, I also knew he only had two daughters by his first wife. Maybe he decided he wanted a male heir.  "Well, after this storm, I'm sure you would have to move anyway."  "You're right. I know. But now that I've met you, I don't think I want to move. I've never been so comfortable around anybody like I am with you."  He reached for my cock again. "I've never been able to sit around naked with anybody, or play with their dick, and let them play with mine, like I can with you."  "You know, I will probably have to move too. The lobby is gone, all resident services are gone, the elevator probably won't work for a long time. It will be at least a year before this building is habitable again. Maybe I'll check into a hotel near where you live, and we can still see each other."  This brought a smile to his face. "Will you really? You will still want to see me after all this is over?" He seemed surprised that I would want to.  "Of course I will. Why wouldn't I?" I asked.  "I sorta thought this was like a convenience for you. You know. Like, 'I'm stuck with this kid, I might as well get my dick sucked' kinda thing."  "I don't let just anyone suck my dick. You're a beautiful boy and I like you a lot. And you have a pretty suckable dick too," I laughed.  My cock had grown hard in his hand. He was staring at it while lost in thought for a moment.  "So... If I wanted to do more, would you?" he asked without looking away from my cock.  "More? Like what?"  He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I really liked the way your finger felt in me this morning..."  "So you want to try something a little bigger?"  Blake smiled and nodded at me.  "I'm pretty big. Are you sure you want to?"  "I trust you."  I used my fingers, then a couple of different sized candles, to stretch him a bit. With each progressively larger item, he moaned and groaned as his hole was widened, but he never said stop. In fact, he seemed to enjoy every step of the way. His dick receded at each step, then returned to rigid hardness as I worked the candle in and out.  Blake lay on his back, and I was poised at his opening when I gave him one last chance to back out.  "Are you sure?"  He smiled and pulled my cock to his hole. "Please fuck me."  I leaned down to kiss him as I applied pressure. All the prep work had helped, and I popped in fairly easily. Blake groaned into my kiss, and wrapped his arms around me. I moved slowly in and out, gaining ground with every third or fourth stroke. He moaned as I took possession of each additional inch of his chute.  At about six inches [15 cm], I tried just fucking him with that, but he wanted more. Bucking up at me, and wrapping his legs around me to pull me deeper, I gave in and slowly fed him the last three inches [7 cm] of thick cockmeat.  As my balls banged against his butt cheeks, Blake screamed out, "Oh God!"  I felt his dick throbbing between our bellies as he unloaded his cream there. When his orgasm passed, Blake's lips met mine again, and he humped his hips up at me wanting more fucking. I obliged, and started to pound him pretty hard.  This kid was born to be fucked. I've never had a woman who was as enthusiastic and responsive as Blake was. His moans of pleasure in my ear were just as exciting as his tight tunnel gripping my cock.  His second orgasm pushed me over the brink, and I unleashed my cum in his colon. I collapsed on top of him, and we both tried to recover.  "Are you okay?" I asked after a couple of minutes.  "Couldn't be better," he whispered.  I started to pull away. "Please don't take it out yet. I like the way you feel inside me."  Looking down at him I said, "Where have you been all my life?"  "The first fifteen years or so of it, I wasn't born yet," Blake laughed, causing his ass to squeeze my cock.  "Just for that..." I said, and jerked my cock from his butt.  "Ooh... That was mean," Blake complained.  "It's up to us old guys to teach you young whippersnappers a lesson."  He pulled me back for a kiss. "Lesson learned. Now put it back in me."  "Later. Let's get something to eat."  Blake made his way downstairs to our toilet, as I grilled steaks and roasted corn on the gas grill. The rain had slowed, but still coming.  "The water didn't get to the third floor, but almost. And I think it's gone down some."  He sat with a big grin and watched me going to and fro as I prepared our dinner. His gaze never far from my swinging cock. When I sat the plates on the table, he stood on his toes and leaned up for a kiss. I leaned down to kiss him, and his hand grabbed my cock.  "I feel like a girl on her honeymoon, and I can't wait till my husband fucks me again."  I didn't make him wait too long. As soon as it was too dark to see, we went to bed. Blake was so anxious, he practically raped me. He pushed me onto my back, straddled me, and impaled himself on my pole. In the flickering candlelight, I watched his face. There was nothing but pure bliss to be seen. His dick was hard and drooling as he rode me. He soon squirted out his first orgasm, and I flipped him over and fucked him hard. ***  The man in the bass boat returned, but we declined assistance. The water slowly receded, and we spent the time fucking and sucking as it did.  As suspected, there was nothing in his apartment worth saving. The lobby area was even worse, and I knew I was going to have to move.  When I heard the first cars moving down on the streets below, I told Blake he should get dressed.  An hour later there was a knock at the door. Blake's mom and her new husband were happy to see Blake.  "As soon as I heard your name, I knew Blake was in good hands," my boss said.  "How is that sir?" I asked, taking his offered handshake.  "I make it a point to know about my employees. I told Tammy to relax, that you would make sure Blake was safe."  I wasn't aware that Mr. Bishop even knew my name.  Blake's mom still had him in a strangling hug as Bishop said, "Pack a bag. There's no reason to stay here. You're coming with us."  Blake told of how scared he had been and that I took really good care of him. He loved telling how we used the staircase as a toilet.  "Just think Mom, you probably walked through my poop on your way to the apartment."  She turned to her husband and said, "I'm throwing these shoes away." Which brought a laugh to everyone.  Bishop's house is excessively huge and luxurious. I was assigned a bedroom next to Blake's. I was a bit apprehensive when Blake snuck into my room the first night. That didn't stop me from planting his face in the pillow and fucking the life out of him.  It was two weeks before I could get my stuff packed and moved. Bishop gave me a condo in the building across the street from our company headquarters. I got the impression it was where he had taken sixteen year old Tammy and put Blake in her belly. Probably spent many a lunch hour there with her since then too.  My new position as 'Head of Operations' pays double what I was making before, and Bishop never questions the amount of time I spend with Blake.  He has however mentioned how well Blake fills out a speedo, then adds "As I'm sure you know." I suspect he knows about our relationship.  He says Blake and I are like the two sons he never had. I know that I am the only one that isn't his son, and since Tammy is pregnant now, maybe he'll have another.  Yes, Harvey was a real son of a bitch to Houston, but it was great to me. The End © Cutter09 Please send comments: Cutter09 would love to hear what you think of the story! Do you enjoy having access to all the great fantasy material and also having a place to share your own stories without having to censer them for a general audience? Please donate to Nifty and help support and maintain this free service. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html