#wallace is too tired for this family's shit

[nuklear-sauce]

Good luck drawing like 17 Paul’s just in different outfits

Idea courtesy of this post!

I headcanon that Wallace drinks Chai, usually iced, Daniel loves hot cocoa and shares it with Richie, and Boy Jerry drinks hot water.

The caramel frappe is just there to calm him down

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Sinus Rhythm

This is the last part of my Sean Wallace childhood friends to lovers anthology series.

No obligation to read tags: @darklydeliciousdesires @lovemissyhoneybee @daydreaming-belle

Contains: Injury, medical inaccuracies, fluff.

1.4K words

There are some things Sean can't forget.

They didn't know if the car accident was a planned hit or really just wrong place, wrong time; all they knew was that Sean's ribs were broken so badly they needed to be set with plates and screws, that he missed shredded lungs by the miracles of millimetres and that he had a concussion that would require serious monitoring.

There was an anxiety you couldn't name, and the smell of disinfectant and sickness blended together to form a thick patina on the walls that made your skin crawl. The doctor wouldn't let you into his room to wait with him, that was for immediate family only, Billy told you he get you the moment Sean opened his eyes. The ticking clock in the waiting room seemed to mock you, the seconds passing into minutes, which eventually bled into hours until you took off your jacket to use as a pillow and curled into a ball to get some sleep on the rock hard chair; it was going to be a long day.

****

When Sean awoke, he only had a vague idea of what was happening, all he really knew was that he was in a hospital and that his side ached like he had done ten rounds with an ogre. There was a man sitting by his bed he almost knew, like his identity was dangling too far away to reach but then again, everything felt like that right now.

He must have been someone because the second Sean asked who he was, the man paled and rushed to get a doctor. The doctors told him it was post-traumatic amnesia, that in twenty-four hours, he should be back to normal, then there was a click from one of the machines attached to him, and a pleasant warmness lulled him back to sleep.

When he woke again, the name he now knew was his brother was still with him, sipping on a coffee as he read the paper. "Your brain still all empty?"

He shrugged. "Mostly." He looked around, it was a nice room, one only the wealthy could afford. He could see people passing by through the window along one wall, the mix of nurses and doctors growing boring, that was until a woman walked by in civilian clothes, and his heart rate monitor beeped just a bit faster. "Who is that?"

Billy looked up from his newspaper at his tone and chuckled when he saw your tired face. "That's y/n. You don't remember her?"

Sean shook his head. "No, but she's the most exquisite creature I've ever laid my eyes on. Please don't tell me she's your girlfriend?"

He held back a laugh, an evil idea forming in his mind. "No mate, I'll go get her, try not to pop a stitch."

He watched through the window as Billy talked to you, your face awash with so many emotions and he was overcome with the urge to wipe away the wetness that was gathering in your eyes. He did his best to straighten up as you walked in, the doctors had his bed in the raised position to take pressure off his ribs, and he was grateful that it meant you weren't looking down at him when you sat on the edge of the bed. "Billy said you can't remember shit."

His brain was screaming at him to say something, but he was so struck by your beauty that he found himself rendered mute. "Sean."

He blinked. "Yes, but as I'm sure my brother told you, I'll be back to normal by tomorrow. Now who are you?"

You nodded. "Billy didn't…" A glance at his brother showed he was barely holding back a smile. "Who do you think I am?" You didn't want to say it was payback for the fright he gave you, but it was.

He grinned. "Well, you must be my girlfriend." You had to be, there was no other reason for this strange feeling in his chest.

You shook your head, and a lump formed in his throat. "We've been best friends since we were six." No, that couldn't be right, there had to be something more, especially when your hand linked in his and it made him feel like the whole world was sucked away. "You're stone off your gourd and hurt. You'll remember everything in the morning then you can go back to giving me shit for my taste in men."

You turned to Billy and raised your eyebrows. "Can I speak to you outside for a moment?"

He stood up and left but as you went to do the same, Sean stopped you, grabbing your hand and holding on for dear life. "Please don't go, I don't want you to leave."

You squeezed his hand and smiled. "I'll be back in five minutes."

He let you go with a frown and you went outside to talk to Billy. "I get it, but really dude?"

He grinned. "He almost died, now's a good a time as any."

You sighed. "We were just happy being cowards, why do you need to interfere?"

He shrugged. "Because I don't want sister in law I can't stand. Mother's going to push him to marry sooner or later, better it be to the woman he's been in love with since he was a teenager."

Your eyes went wide. "It's really been that long? I thought…." It grew obvious Sean had feelings for you months ago, but you had both been dancing around it, for what reason it was hard to say.

He slapped a hand on your shoulder. "Yep, now get back in there before he hobbles out to get you. I'll go home and get you a change of clothes so you can freshen up."

He raced away before you could say more, and you returned to Sean's bedside with a sigh. "What do you want to know?"

He grinned as best he could. "Everything."

****

Things came back in slowly, fading through the fogginess of his mind until the memories felt real. But Sean didn't stop you from retelling all your favourite stories from your friendship if only to hear them from your perspective. The heart rate monitor's beeping was infuriating, the flash of sound letting the whole world know each time he had a rush of emotion. It went on for hours, Billy sitting guard outside to make sure no one walked in to interrupt, he even shooed away their mother.

But the more the amnesia wore off, the more it became clear to him how close he was to dying. He wasn't a man to take things for granted, not after everything he had to do to get his London back in his family's hands and yet, you still remained unaware of his feelings, even though he caught you looking at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He took a deep breath, unwilling to betray his nervousness with the audible untick of his heart. "Y/n, I have to tell you something."

You knew it was coming, the way he was looking at you made that much clear. "Yeah?"

He took your hand in his, his thumb drifting over the backs of your fingers as he gathered himself. "I have been lying to you." He took another deep breath. "The last thing I thought about before I passed out was that I was never going to get to tell you the truth and I must remedy that now."

You held up a hand to stop him, placing your hand on his cheek before leaning down to kiss him. He accepted, his lips soft as he linked his fingers in yours. "You don't need to say anything, I know, I love you too."

He kissed you again, firmer this time, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as you fight the urge to grab at him. But the second he went to do more, his side lit up like someone had stuck his ribs on the stove. He did his best to hide it, but you pulled back with a smile. "We should stop."

He was positively miffed, like someone had yanked his favourite toy away. "The second I'm back in fighting shape we are going to.."

You shook your head to stop him. "I know."

He grinned and slowly shifted across the bed so you could sit next to him on his uninjured side. "You can stay here tonight, with that we're paying them they can't complain."

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'd like that."

Fin

[canaidliafail]

curse that ravens fire

eivor x f!reader 🌿 PART 1

reader is Petras Younger sister who just arrived at the settlement. [ 2k words ?]

MDI

[ warnings : will eventually have sexual content. for now theres only mentions of hunting animals / not too gory but might still be upsetting to read] Its also a little enemies to lovers type of deal

The tip of your arrow was perfectly aligned with her throat just like the edge of her axe with yours

You could feel her breath, hear her heartbeat and you saw a bead of sweat roll down her forehead. Neither took initiative to move forward or pull back not trusting each other’s intentions

“Eivor Wait! That’s my sister!” You heard Petra call out and you both pulled back the tension you shared falling flat to your siblings cries. She ran towards you and stopped few feet away bracing her hands on her knees breathing heavily

“Gods! I can't believe you got in trouble already” She mumbled worried and Eivor sheathed back her axe

“This is your family that was visiting?” She asked looking distressed

“Yes!” She yelled more so to cover up for her lack of oxygen than to scold anyone.

You looked at the stones on the ground and scoffed,kicking one with little force to show your despair. This was a horrible first impression you were leaving on someone you assumed to be important for the settlement.

“Thought you all only hunted animals”

“We do!” You yelled and she growled looking at you “Do I look like a stag?”

“You could with that mug of yours!” You spat back enraged. You weren't even pointing at her. She just happened to be in your line of sight when you were waiting for a wolf to come out of a cave only for this crude norsewoman to turn up.

Naturally, the timing was off and then things escalated without the two of you realizing

“Calm down, please! EIvor excuse my sister's behavior. She's probably just tired from her trip” She said and yanked you from your arm. You decided to stay quiet knowing her tone indicated you weren’t getting away without a harsh scolding

Eivors upper lip twitched and she took a long sigh.WIping the sweat of her brow and scarred cheeks she looked away “Take your time getting settled. I should go to the longhouse and speak with Randvi”

And with that she took off. Petra glared at you “What were you thinking?!”

“That I found the mythical wolf!”

She shook your head “Gods, what an awful misunderstanding that must have been then. Come. You’ve embarrassed me enough” You frowned, crossing your arms and slowly walking behind her.

“Is Wallace here as well?”

“No. He went to sharpen arrows. Might be back for the featbuff though. Don’t worry youll catch him tomorrow morning at worse”

You nod deep in thought. Four days of walking,eating dry rabbit meat and sleeping in cold,wet,murky caves. Depending on who you offended today you would have to prepare yourself mentally to go through that all again, should they decide to send you back home

“So…Who’s Eivor?”

“The Jarls sister”

Shit

Maybe you could pack some soup and hopefully steal a better coat.

“Don’t worry. She doesn’t hold many things to heart. However your loud mouth might make her eventually” She said, her tone heavy with a warning

Watch your tongue or Ill cut it for you

“Understood”

Petra lended you a fresh set of clothes , rich in color, The blue and sea hues that royalty usually wore, with the soft fur of a rabbit decorating the edges and shoulders giving a nice fullness to your structure

“Did you just get this?” Recognizing it must have cost a fortune, you felt bad being the first one to wear it. She smiled “You can make it up to me by sewing me a new one tomorrow”

You felt out the leathers of the belts and the edges admiring the craftsmanship “Who… did this? Its form is crude but it looks nice”

“Our blacksmith. Has a fine set of hands,right?” She said with a wink and you shook your head letting go of the fabrics.

“Let's just go to this feast. I’m starving for some decent food” With a small nod she walked out of her hut. Quickly snatching a small knife and sliding it beneath your coat you followed “You live very close to the Longhouse”

“Our services were deemed important to the clan. Comes with it I guess. Which by the way, don't relax too much. Tomorrow you'll have to talk with Randvi and Eivor.tell them what you will provide if they are to let you stay”

Expected

You thought. Which is why you were so eagerly hunting down that wolf. If you truly found that legendary creature, its fur would’ve been the final addition to the armor you were planning to present as an example of your skills. Now you need a new plan. Curse that raven

You gritted your teeth in spite.

when the two of you walked in the hall you saw faces warm up to your sister's presence greeting her and exchanging handshakes “Petra! Tell us a story!” One yelled across the room and she raised a hand motioning that she’d join them soon

“First, formally apologize to Eivor. Ill be waiting for you over there” She ordered and you looked at her like a kicked cub

“You’re joking?”

“Don’t be difficult”

“Don’t be ridiculous then!” You hissed and she glared at you. Her eyes left yours to see Eivor exit the map room “There. Go” and with that she turned you around grabbing your shoulders and giving you a push forward as she went the other way to go find her companions

Curse these traditions and formalities that your families followed. You stepped around the dancing Vikings and tried to avoid bumping into any drunk ones who chugged on ale making your way closer to the throne where Eivor leaned against the wood,deep in thought.

You stopped before walking up the stairs hoping she would notice you first. To your relief she did. Cocking a brow she gathered herself and made her way to you “Yes?” She asked and you felt sweat run down your spine. You started pushing at the skin on your fingertips with your nails trying to come up with something to say.

She smirked, baring her fangs almost as she took a step closer “For all that barking you surely came with the tail between your legs now” She bit in what she thought was playful banter which you, took horribly wrong

“Excuse me?!” You stopped fidgeting suddenly feeling the gravity pull at your feet

“Petra sure knows how to handle her siblings. With Wallace often running off, she does a good job keeping you two in place” You suddenly felt like she was referring to you like some dog that needed a leash and you’ve never felt more enraged by a woman

“Fuck you and your spineless clan” You hissed and turned away not bothering to hear what else she had to say knowing you would be soon sleeping on the streets.

The winter breeze hit your cheek, in a soft caress, soothing the heat that burned your skin.

Your head jolted the other way and you saw a door.

The longhouse had more than one exit

You smiled, all tension and anger evaporating immediately. You could go hunting now and apologize in the form of a well crafted coat the way you initially intended. If you couldn’t get in Eivors good graces anymore you were certain the Jarls wife would consider you.

You pushed some men around and made your way to the door finally leaving the suffocating building

You stopped right out the doors and took a second to catch your breath, the whole gathering spiking up your anxiety. What you had in craftsmanship you lacked in social skill. You tried to reason with yourself that you wanted to make a good impression and that you weren't sneaking out from embarrassment alone. Out of shame for letting anger so quickly get the better of you.

You saw a stack of bows and arrows lodged by the entrance, damp by the snow.It would have to do. You grabbed a set and began your short journey to the snow and stone covered entrance of the wolf cave. You were sure you heard the crunch of another pair of footsteps behind you. You turned to look. Someone must have been following you

However, not wanting to risk the idea that they were after the same wolf you picked up your pace and reached the cave sliding first and looked around. It was eerily quiet, your pants disrupting the peace.

Trying your best to watch your step you climbed the walls trying to reach the other end of the path which would hopefully lead to a makeshift home by the animal.

You heard rumbling in the distance. Wet and filled with aggression. You were noticed.

You pulled an arrow and your bow in haste but were ultimately thrown to your front when you felt four pairs of heavy joints push at your back.

You yelped in fear realizing how greatly you miscalculated the size this beast would have.Not ready to give in you pushed your weight against the ground abruptly covering your exposed neck with your hood and trying to roll over on the other side.

Knocking it off balance wasn’t as easy and your thoughts were starting to get cloudy from the grim realization that you might die after all. You tasted copper and the stuffiness of your nose clearly indicated you were bleeding.

Well. I did land headfirst

“Duck!” You heard a heavy voice command and you did. The next thing you heard was the weighty thud of something crashing with the wolves ribs and thrusting it on the other side. It howled in pain and you quickly rose to your feet running to the other side of the cave pulling out your knife which seemed unnecessary when a figure landed in front of you covering your line of sight.

Eivor wolf kissed

Oh the irony of it all

“Must be dead” she mumbled and you finally took a careful look at the wolf. That something that made it clash with the rocks behind it, was Eivors sharp axe.

Oh the poor creature never stood a chance

“That was barbaric!” You whined and she glared at you “Is that how you thank someone for saving your ass?” She mocked and you rolled your eyes “Oh I was doing fine”

You quickly tried to wipe your bloody nose probably smearing it across your face and hopped over to the wolfs side

“This is awful. How am I to properly get its fur now”

“Fur?”

“Yes. I am a tailor. It's what I came to do here seeing as you clearly lack those. Seriously, how old is that vest you are wearing?” You said and scoffed in disgust to which she took little offense

“It does the job!”

“And I” you pushed against the wolf's skin and with the other wrapped your fingers around the hilt of the axe “Can make it do an even better one” and pulled it out of its skin making sure it wouldn't rip it any further

You gently held its head in your palm and connected your foreheads whispering a thank you for its sacrifice and with one deep breath pulled it up and mounted it on your shoulders

“Do you only show respect to animals?”

“They are the only ones who have earned it out of me” you stopped and looked at her, or what you could make out of the woman since the Caracas was blocking your vision

“Did you follow me?”

“I wanted to Say some things. Next thing I know you are getting yourself into trouble under my clans watch” she grabbed her discarded axe and made her way next to you helping you carry the animal by sharing the weight. You studied her face, noticing how the lines on her forehead softened and deepened. Her jaw tense.

She tried to blow a few loose strands of hair out of her face in a very child-like way and she refused to meet your eyes. Her breathing was uneven not from fatigue but from nervousness. All of that made you truly reconsider her character

She struggled with normal interactions as much as you did. This was her way of trying to get close to you and apologize . With actions

You smiled, earnestly now, wanting to impress her more than ever “Oh you'll learn to love me”

[animalkingdom-an0nymous]

False God- Sean Wallace

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise.

Warning: A violent, smutty NSFW Sean Wallace fic. What if that last day ended differently? What if Sean made it out with his wounds? And what if there was someone from his childhood who haunted him just as much as he haunted her?

Subject: Sean X Y/N

Growing up, Sean Wallace and I were one in the same. We liked the same jokes, ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut the same way- in triangles- and our only real difference was that I was an American. Our fathers, both legendary crime bosses in their own right, were great business partners and made each other filthy rich. We were dangerously similar.

Until we weren’t.

I’d been in America when Finn Wallace was murdered, and I’d stayed in America during the aftermath. My father had cared deeply for Finn, but the world we lived in was fucking brutal, cold, and my dad would never risk my well being by allowing me to go to the UK to be with Sean.

Hearing about all of it had been a nightmare, though. Hearing about murders and the carnage, communities and families wiped out when Sean locked the city down. My heart ached for the boy I once knew and feared for the man that was, and then, just as quickly as it all blew up, the flames went out. All was quiet.

Sean Wallace was dead.

Or so the world thought. My father, who had an in with Billy and Jac, knew the truth. The Wallace family had connections within the police force- cliché, right?- and when a few of their own found him lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out from his fucking face, they quickly pronounced him dead at the scene. I didn’t know the ins and outs, didn’t care to, because the life I lived now was so far from the life I was forced to live as a child. All I knew was they got him out of there and Sean Wallace, as London knew him, was dead.

I needed him to stay that way.

It had been nearly a year since then, nearly a year since I last had the nerve to ask my dad about him. I think he knew how I felt, knew I had gone to great lengths to distance myself from him and my mother and the hellish, brutal life they created. But that didn’t mean my dad didn’t love me. I knew he did in his own, twisted way, and I knew he caught on to the hurt I felt whenever Sean’s name was mentioned.

So he stopped mentioning it.

Billy and Jac were stateside and living under different names, that much I knew. I had yet to see them, but I knew they were close enough to drive to because my mother had made sure to mention in her last email that their “home was beautiful and they think it was quite rude of you not to come around and visit, Y/N.”

It was bullshit. Billy and Jac didn’t feel any type of way about me, we were never close. That was reserved specifically for Sean and me. And look how well that turned out.

I was haunted by the ghost of a man I didn’t even know anymore.

He was labeled as a terrorist and maybe that’s what hurt more than anything. I could never scream from the rooftops how much I fucking loved him because that’s crazy. Because who could love a terrorist? Who could love a man that had murdered, cheated, stolen to get his way? And if I did love him, what kind of woman did that make me?

It was a thought that had been in my mind on replay all day long, the musings drifting into the night as I drove towards my childhood home. I had made the agreement with my parents- namely my father- that once a month I would return home for dinner. It was nearly a two hour drive but one that I committed to because if I didn’t I knew they would show up at my apartment. And what twenty-something year old woman wants her parents showing up at her apartment unannounced?

The gravel ground under my tires as I pulled my all black BMW into the driveway. It was already dark and I knew my mother would have something to say about me showing up late, but at least I showed up. Sure, I was still wearing the navy blue pantsuit I’d worn at work all day and I usually changed whenever I had dinner with them, but my mind was occupied tonight. By thoughts of Sean. By thoughts of Sean getting his face blown off. Did it hurt? Did he remember? Would I ever know?

My father met me at the door. Six foot three and wide like a linebacker, the man was not to be messed with. He was no nonsense and the only people he smiled at were me and the people he was going to shoot right before he shot them. You can do what you want with that information.

“My little angel,” he said and reached for me, taking both my hands in his and bringing them to his lips. It was a simple gesture but one he did every single time. It was the one constant my dad ever provided me. “How was the drive up?”

“Traffic wasn’t too bad tonight, but I ended up getting out a bit later than I thought I would.”

He swung an arm around me as we made our way through the marble foyer, my heels clacking against the floor. “My art gallery owner. Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

I raised my eyebrows. He was feeding me bullshit, both he and my mom wanted me in the family business more than anything, but from the time I could voice my opinion I let them know. No. I would be taking no part in the family business.

Not that I didn’t know my shit. I knew my way around a gun shop and had a better shot than half the men my dad hired to protect us. I hit harder than my first two boyfriends and let everyone know that my last name was still my last name and not to fuck with me. I knew I was untouchable.

That didn’t mean I was embracing the lifestyle.

“Yeah, business is going great, I even hired someone part-time to help out.”

“Background check?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Of course.”

“Family ties?”

“Her name is Mindy and she’s from a farm in rural Kansas.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows, one of the rare times my father ever looked shocked. “She doesn’t even know what our last name holds, does she?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

He laughed his hearty, deep chuckle and stopped us at the bar cart outside of the dining room. As always, he grabbed two tumblers and threw a handful of ice in each before adding to fingers of whiskey. Our favorite. One of our few commonalities. “Proud of you, kid.”

“Thanks, dad.”

I was about to ask him how his week was when my mother’s voice drifted in from the balcony. She liked to drink her wine out there at night, before dinner. Just one glass, but it was a ritual she followed religiously. Her voice was somewhat raspy, a little cold, and I could hear her laughter as though it was wrapping around me like a vine.

But that was the thing; my mother drank her wine outside alone. That was her time. So who was she laughing at?

I glanced over my shoulder at my father to find him looking as though he was at a loss for words. It was so rare that he was speechless, a man of his stature always held a level of composure that was sometimes shocking. But not this time.

“Dad, wha-“

“You’re going to want to finish that drink, angel.”

My blood ran cold at his words. His tone was low, suddenly serious. The lighthearted moment from before was gone, something dark and heavy in its place.

I should have listened to him and finished the drink because as soon as I turned around I was met with the coldest, most pristine set of blue eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that I once swore I would drown in someday.

Sean Wallace was standing eight feet in front of me. It was the first time we had seen each other in years, the first time I’d seen him since he was… dead.

His face was… fucked. Marred by the bullet that ripped through his left cheek on that fateful day. The skin was raised, almost burn-like, and left a medium sized indent in what would otherwise be a perfectly symmetrical face. His left eyelid held a little lower and it looked like he tried to cover up the other, minor scars with the facial hair that littered his jaw and around his mouth.

But even with the new, broken face, Sean Wallace was still the most breathtaking man in the room. His suit was impeccable and fit him like a glove, the stormy gray matching the storm that seemed to be raging in his eyes. His tie was a navy that matched my own suit and it felt like the universe was pointing at me and laughing. It felt like that bitch was having the time of her life watching me suffer.

“I…” I started, unsure of how to finish.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I know this” he held a hand up to his face “is a lot to take in.”

I already shook my head, my stomach turning at the thought of him thinking he was ugly. “No! No, I… I, I’m, I wasn’t-“

“Best private schools in the state and she still has that damn stutter.” My mother’s cutting voice ceased my own and I bit at the inside of my cheek. She came around the corner in all her glory, designer dress, perfect manicure and not a hair out of place.

She made me fucking sick.

“It’s nice to see you.” I finally managed to get the words out, although I didn’t know if I was talking to Sean or my mom.

“Jesus, Y/N, you couldn’t even change first?”

“I think she looks great.” Sean’s voice caught everyone off guard and even my mom turned to look at him. “Beautiful, really. You always looked great in a suit.”

I knew he was referring to my high school graduation. Sean was two years older and had flown in to see me graduate. My mom, ever the lady, was determined to force me into a nightmare of a ball gown while I wanted a simple, chic suit. Sean had been there for the entire screaming match, laughing at my mother as she tripped over the dress she had been hellbent on making me wear.

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged my lips and nodded at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded in return and said nothing else.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” I felt my dad’s hand on my back as he ushered me into the dining room. My feet felt like stone blocks were attached to them as I walked, feeling Sean directly behind me with his eyes burning holes into my suit jacket.

We all sat in silence with the ghost of my past sitting directly across from me. Sean made no secret that he was staring at me and it reminded me of the ignorant young boy I once knew. Sean knew he was handsome, powerful, and could easily get his way. He held himself with the confidence of a man who had everything and it seemed a gunshot to the face didn’t change that.

“You’ve managed to stay under the radar.” I noted as one of the maids poured red wine into my glass.

“Y/N!” my mother scolded.

I raised my eyebrows and didn’t glance in her direction, my eyes holding Sean’s. “What? Are we supposed to sit here and pretend everything is normal? You want me to ask him about the weather?”

“Y/N…” my father’s tone held a warning in it.

“No, she’s right.” Sean spoke up as I took a hearty gulp of wine. “Facial reconstruction had me laid up for a bit. Reconstructing an entire cheekbone can be tricky. And expensive.”

I nodded. “Especially when the entire cheekbone belongs to a dead man.”

The room fell quiet with even the staff scurrying to disappear. My mother was glaring at me and I was sure my father was too, but I didn’t care. I’d spent my entire childhood and teen years caring about and loving Sean only for him to cut me off when he became Finn’s minion and then fake his own fucking death a few years after. He got so caught up in the Wallace life, in the life I thought we both hated, that he forgot about me. And I was angry about it.

“I deserve that.” His accent was the same as always. Smooth. Elegant. The best that private school could buy. “I should have reached out sooner as I knew my siblings were in touch.”

My mother, the martyr, was quick to reassure him. “Sweetheart, you don’t owe us anything. We’re just so happy you’re alright.”

She was so warm with him, a complete contrast to how she acted with me. It was a constant reminder that she always wanted a son and ended up with me instead.

My father opened his mouth to speak when his right hand, Marcus, walked in with a phone in his hand. His face looked pinched, stressed, and my father immediately stood. “Excuse me.”

Sean nodded politely and turned to my mother, but she was already standing and following behind dad, sensing his stress.

“Should we be concerned?”

I shook my head, my eyes still trained in the doorway. “I doubt it.”

Things were quiet then. Too fucking quiet. So quiet I felt like I was suffocating. I took a sip of wine. Then another. Another until my glass was empty and the bottle was taunting me from the center of the table.

“You have every right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” I was instantly defensive.

His smile was small, but it was there. “You always were a shit liar.”

“You were always a good one.”

His smile disappeared then and I was soon sitting across from the gangster that was always lurking underneath. Sean could do cool, calm, and collected. But he could only hide the angry, arrogant Wallace traits for so long. 

“I… can’t remember the last time we were face to face.”

I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. “Christmas. Six years ago. Kingston.”

His smile- God, that fucking smile- reappeared. “You threw a drink in my face.”

“You called me a spoiled fucking twat.”

“You were acting like one.”

Now it was my turn to smile. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. My early twenties were filled with vodka soda fueled arguments and boyfriends that my family- and Sean- hated. I was so different, that girl doesn’t even seem real anymore.

I was about to respond when I heard shouting coming from down the hall. My father’s office.

Sean and I stood at the same time, both of us sensing a certain level of danger. My father rarely ever shouted, it had to be something catastrophic for him to raise his voice like that.

Entering the hall, I quickly grabbed my bag next to the bar cart and produced my glock before tucking it into my waistband. Sean watched me silently the entire time. He was getting a little too comfortable with staring at me.

“Always prepared.”

“Family business, right?” I shot back at him over my shoulder as we neared my father’s study.

“No, no, fucking No! What do you mean they’re all dead? An entire fucking warehouse of people and they’re all fucking dead?”

My heart stopped in my chest. That was… impossible. The warehouses were untouchable, no one knew where they were unless they were part of our inner circle. Our microscopic inner circle. Which could only mean one thing…

It was an inside job.

“Fuck.” I spat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Y/N, something’s happened.” My mother appeared in the doorway as we approached.

“Who did it?” I asked, getting straight to the point. “Any ideas?”

My dad was seated behind his wooden desk, a desk so large it was fit for a king. When I was a child I would spend hours in there reading on the stuffed leather couch while he worked silently. It was one of the few places I felt “safe” growing up.

“Kensington’s dead.” Our eyes met.

Rodger Kensington was my father’s longtime business partner and someone who was like an uncle to me. He’d been there at my prom, my graduation, and when I took my first steps. He was… family.

“Shit.” Sean’s word was quick and quiet, but then I remembered he knew Rodger too, and he knew what this meant.

“What about Sherry? The kids?” I was desperate to make sure their little ones were alright, they were all so young.

“They’re fine. They weren’t home, they-“

My father never got the words out as one of the staff walked in. I had turned at the sound of him entering the room, just barely meeting his eye as he raised his arm, a small handgun pointed directly at the man whose home we were in.

“Y/N!” My mother screaming my name like that would haunt my nightmares for months after.

A single shot rang out and my ears rang, a gasp leaving my lips as I reached for the gun in my waistband. But it wasn’t there.

The man was dead, a gunshot to the temple with crimson blood spilling all over the Italian wood floors. And then there was Sean, standing at my side with my gun pointed straight ahead, a dead look in his eyes.

It was all dangerously quiet and I could hear my own heartbeat, but only for a moment. Because as soon as I took a single breath, shit hit the fan.

My mother released a blood curdling scream, Marcus rushing to her side and grabbing her as she collapsed. My father, stoic, stood and walked over to the wardrobe near the window, swiftly pulling out guns and rounds of ammo. More security rushed in and I stood next to Sean, everything moving in slow motion. I could hear voices, hear my dad barking commands at his security who acted like his soldiers.

“There’s blood on my shoes.”

“What?”

What? Did I just say there was blood on my shoes? But it was true. My expensive cream suede shoes had blood splatter on them and I was ninety percent sure there was bone fragment near my heel.

“Blood. On my shoes.” My voice sounded far away.

Sean was suddenly in front of me and tucking my gun back into my waist while everyone shouted around us. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Bought them at the store on fifth, yeah?”

“How the fuck did you-“ I stopped, putting two and two together. “Have you been watching me?”

Sean’s face changed then and he straightened his shoulders. Our height nearly matched but only because of my heels, and I knew his gesture was dominant, authoritative. “I promise we can talk about that later, but-“

I pushed past him and walked towards my father who was barking orders into a phone. “Did you have Sean keep tabs on me?”

“Y/N, this isn’t the time for you to complain about your independence.”

I slammed my hand down on the wooden desk the same way I had watched him do it so. Many. Times. “Answer me!”

My father, all six foot three of him, stood tall and looked over me even with a desk separating us. “Watch yourself, young lady.”

“What the fuck is going on that you hired someone to watch me? That you hired Sean to watch me? What aren’t you telling me?”

He paused for the briefest of moments while everyone moved around us. I could hear safeties being turned off, my mom screaming down the hallway, and feel Sean standing close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“I’ve known for a bit that someone on the inside was giving information to Merkov brothers. Rodger and I spent months sifting through the weeds trying to figure out who it was. We had a break last night, I was going to tell you everything-“

“Four black SUV’s were spotted five miles from the property. Moving quickly. We need to go.” Marcus had appeared in the doorway sans my mother, his face wiped of anything sort of emotion. In fact, Marcus may have been the most emotionless man I had ever come into contact with. I would even venture to call him heartless.

“Shit.” My dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “I promise I will tell you everything, angel.” He looked at me, the desk separating us. “But right now you need to go and it can’t be back to your apartment.”

“Dad, I…” I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t go back to my apartment in the city, there was most definitely a hit out on my family, including myself, and Sean Wallace was back from the fucking dead. My day was going from bad to worse, my life blowing up in a twenty minute time span.

But I knew my last name, knew the weight it carried. I knew I had a certain responsibility to handle my shit and handle it well, with my shoulders back and my chin up.

“Where am I going?”

He was already on the move and I was on his heels, following him down the winding hallways of the home I grew up in. It was the same house that was sure to be shot to shit as soon as those SUV’s showed up.

“Harbor House.” He barked over his shoulder. “You can drive down there in the charger. Tinted windows. Marcus, have Anthony load a bag into the car. Ammo, guns, everything she’ll need.”

“No one knows where Harbor House is except us.” I reminded him. His business partners may have known about the warehouses and my father’s permanent residence, but Harbor House was for family and family alone.

“I’m not taking any chances, Y/N, not with you. Sean will accompany you and you’ll stay there until you hear from me. I’ll call-“

“What?” I cut him off. “Sean’s not coming with me.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.” He repeated.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sean cleared his throat behind me and I refused to look at him. I knew he was offended by what I’d said, but quite honestly I was offended by everything he had done since stepping foot in my parents’ home that day.

“This isn’t about what you need or want, Y/N. He’s going with you.”

I was about to fully lose my temper when shots rang out through the house. I reached for my glock and turned the safety off, immediately ducking behind a marble pillar with Sean’s hand on my elbow, holding me still.

There was yelling and gunshots, some of the housekeepers screaming bloody murder from the second and third floors. There was no way those SUV’s were already on the property, no way. It had to be someone else.

Someone had burned our entire fucking family.

“Dad!” I yelled as a bullet whirred past my head.

“Y/N, go! Now!” I could hear him but I couldn’t fucking see him. Marco was beating the shit out of a man dressed all in black, ripping his gun away and firing off a round into his chest. The smell of blood and gunpowder burned my nostrils and I winced.

“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed so loud my voice cracked.

“Sean!” My father shouted. “Get her the fuck out of here! Get her out now, kid! Now!”

I glanced over at Sean, warning him with my eyes not to touch me, but it was too late. He ripped the gun from my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist, tugging me backwards.

“Sean, no!” I screamed, trying to pull away.

“We have to go, Y/N.” He dragged me down the hall while I fought him the whole way , dragging my feet and scratching at the suit clad arm wrapped around my waist. He finally stopped at the side door at the end of the hall and yanked it open before tossing me in.

I stumbled across the cold concrete of the garage and caught myself against the car I was supposed to be leaving in.

Sean locked the door behind him and turned to me, my gun still in his hand. “In.” He motioned to the car.

Still the same, bossy man he always was. Without responding, I turned and made my way across the expansive garage, shoving a table out of the way and yanking open the drawers of a metal cabinet.

“Y/N!” Sean was losing his temper and we were losing time.

“You took my gun!” I finally screamed back, practically growling at him as I picked up twin Berettas and tucked them into the back of my waistband. I grabbed a rifle to throw into the backseat, and one more Glock since Sean had unceremoniously stolen mine and left me empty handed.

He was staring at me as I made my way back to the car, his chest heaving. God, he still looked good. A gunshot to the face only amplified how rough and beautiful he was. Dumb fucking asshole and his dumb fucking face.

I grabbed the keys from the wall and tossed them to Sean who caught them with one hand.

Show off, I thought to myself sullenly as I got into the passenger side, my heart leaping out of my chest. I was about to leave my parents to potentially die. My childhood home was being torn apart, half the staff that knew me since I was a child were now lying dead in the same house they’d dedicated their lives to. It made me sick.

“Just focus on driving.” I told him as the garage door began to rise. I could already see the shadows of feet on the concrete leaned halfway out the window, my nine millimeter raised. One shot to the knee and a man fell, a second shot between the eyes and he was done.

The second man was smart, moved off to the side and just out of aim, and Sean floored the gas pedal while I kept watch.

“Your left.” I said quietly and pointed the gun in front of him, sending shots flying out of the driver’s side door, taking out the second man who had been waiting for us.

“Three of them in front of the gate.” Sean nodded towards the gate at the side of the property, all of them holding assault rifles and aiming at us. “Duck.” he commanded with the car still in reverse.

“What?”

“Duck.” I felt his hand grab at the back of my head he shoved me down, my forehead nearly knocking against my knee as he picked up speed. A loud blast blew out the back windshield and then there was a loud, violent thunk.

His wide palm was still resting on the back of my head, grip so tight it made my scalp prickle in a way that annoyed me. My body had no business getting turned on while in the midst of this shit.

When the tires squealed against the gravel and we went surging forward, I sat back up. I could see smoke coming out of the windows, bullet holes in the brick and mortar. It was a fucking war zone and we were on our way out, leaving behind my family and any shred of sanity I had left.

Fuck.

* * * * * *

The ride to Harbor House was almost completely silent. Sean, ever the Brit, would curse out other drivers every now and then even though ninety percent of the mistakes were his own. Maybe I should have insisted on driving, but at the time the only thing I could think about was whether or not my parents got out.

Although we were never close, I didn’t wish death on my parents. Sure, I resented them for bringing me up in a life of chaos and violence and I’m well aware they caused me a lifetime of trauma, but that didn’t mean I wanted them dead. Definitely not murdered.

It was nearly midnight by the time we arrived. Harbor House was in an exclusive neighborhood and every home had a gate. It had been years since I was last at the house, but it held the only fond memories from my childhood. Harbor House and the Wallace house always felt like home to me. Strange that I was sitting next to a Wallace and not a single shred of me felt comfortable or at home. It was strange, when we were kids he was always my safe space.

I punched in the code and black iron gates opened up, promptly closing with a loud clang behind us. The property itself was a sprawling estate with a two floor home as well as a large yard, pool, and separate guest house. It was on the edge of a cliff and overlooked the Atlantic. Isolated. Safe. Private. The kind of place my family relied on to keep us safe.

“Pull the car into the garage, we’ll get a rental tomorrow.” My voice was monotonous. I felt so drained of every emotion other than pure exhaustion. I was covered in blood, my clothes smelled like gunpowder and sweat, I needed a hot shower.

Sean silently pulled into the garage and killed the engine. We sat there quietly for a moment, so quiet I couldn’t even hear him breathing. If he had any blood on him, I couldn’t tell. From this angle he looked every bit the GQ model. It was only when he turned his face to look at me that I got a glimpse of the mauled left half and got angry all over again.

I was angry at my parents for birthing me into this.

I was angry at whoever burned us.

I was angry at Sean for disappearing from my life in favor of violence. But I was so fucking angry that he had let it go so far that the world thought he was dead.

I almost wished he was.

“There’s five bedrooms. I trust that you’ll find one far away from me?” I phrased it like a question but we both knew it wasn’t.

He gave a curt nod.

The house was exactly as I remembered it. It even smelled the same. Hardwood floors, light walls, French doors leading to a beautiful deck. A kitchen so modern it would make Gordon Ramsey cream his pants. It was the homiest home my family had. It was my haven.

Only now Sean was here to cast a shadow over it.

“There’s plenty of clothes in all the guest bedrooms. My parents like to be prepared for every emergency, you know that.”

Sean nodded as he closed the door that connected to the garage. He locked it and was quick to set the code. The code that he definitely shouldn’t have had.

“How did you-“

“Your father.”

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. “My father gave you the codes to Harbor House?”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes narrowing. “He gave me the code for the gate too, but I was polite enough to let you do it. That’s something, innit?”

He was being a smart ass, pushing my buttons on purpose simply because he could. Or because he’d had enough of my attitude. Either way, I wasn’t having it.

“You must be so fuckin’ proud of yourself. You still have an in with my father even after the shit you pulled in London. My father, Sean, not me. You don’t have shit with me and you made that perfectly clear.”

He squared his shoulders and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I sat on the edge of a beautiful cream colored sofa. I couldn’t wait to sink into it tomorrow with a good book.

I quickly fingered at the straps on my heels and kicked them off while mentally preparing for whatever speech he was about to throw my way.

“I’ve really had enough of you talking to me like I’m some shit person. Enough, Y/N.”

I stood back up, hating that I was smaller than him now as I turned on my heel and headed up the stairs. “If you hate my attitude so much then leave me the fuck alone and let me take a shower in peace.”

* * * * *

My shower was hot and relaxing and everything I needed. As soon as the steam surrounded me, I was able to calm down a bit, and once the hot water hit my skin I was able to sigh in relief. Washing off the blood and grime left me feeling like a whole new woman.

So new, in fact, I briefly forgot about the bane of my existence showering down the hall.

Sean. Showering. Sean in the shower with water dripping down his chest and into that perfect V of his hips. Sean’s hot, wet body pressed against mine. Sean’s-

“Can you not?” I said to my reflection as I ran a brush through my hair. Even when I was angry at him, violently angry, it was impossible to deny that he was attractive.

We never hooked up, not even when we were young. But there was always something there. We flirted. We toyed with each other. We got into nasty arguments. People noticed, my friends made comments. I always ignored them and played it off and said it was because we knew each other forever and just connected that way. They all argued that it was more.

I ignored them.

After changing into a comfortable pair of loose cotton pants and a long sleeved shirt, I made my way downstairs. The windows were open and I could hear the waves crashing against the cliff side. My favorite sound. It gave me peace. It soothed me.

The kitchen was empty and I grabbed a bottle of red wine with every intention of drinking the entire bottle. After pouring a rather large amount into the pristine crystal stemware my mother bought, I threw my head back and took a long, large sip.

Ugh. That’s better. I closed my eyes and took another sip, getting lost in the sound of the waves and the dark, cherry taste of the wine. A moment of peace after all the bullshit I had to endure tonight.

It was only when Sean cleared his throat that I realized I wasn’t alone. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing black sweats and a white t-shirt. Simple. Clean. Comfortable. If this had been a few years ago I would have been aching to curl up against him.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” I said as I grabbed my glass and bottle, preparing to go out back.

“You told me you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” His words cut like a knife to my retreating back and it made me pause, not yet turning around. “You fucking told me you were done.”

I knew what he was referring to. The last time we spoke had been over the phone, maybe four years ago. It had been a normal night with normal conversation and normal “I miss yous”. Sean had truly been one of my best friends and closest confidants. And then the conversation turned ugly when he informed me his father was sending him out on a seriously violent, potentially fatal, mission. Our argument had gotten vile and I said horrible things. He did too, including telling me to “stop acting like a girlfriend because you’re so fucking lonely”.

That had been my breaking point. He reminded me so much of Finn then. He dressed like him, spoke like him, became a carbon copy of him, and I was having none of it. So I had told him to fuck off and lose my number, to never call me again, to pretend I was dead.

It was the one time Sean listened to me and the one time I wished he hadn’t.

To this day, I got embarrassed when I thought about what he had said to me. The way he screamed and the way he humiliated me. Maybe I was lonely, maybe it came off as clingy, but my intentions were always good and I never thought I was a burden to him. But after that last conversation I spent years telling myself that’s exactly what I was. A burden. I checked in too much, my double texting him probably got on his nerves. Constantly complaining about our families when I knew how fortunate I was to live such a lavish life made me sound spoiled, he got tired of it. I spent years convincing myself there was no possible way he missed me and I didn’t miss him either.

“Do you even remember our last conversation?” I turned slowly to face him. “Do you remember what you said?”

He took a step forward and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Of course I do. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it- you. I’d been out drinking with my father-“

“And then turned into him?”

“Oh, fuck off then.” He shook his head, his frustration evident as he rounded the marble island in the kitchen. An expert, he seemed to know where everything was. The glasses. The whiskey.

“I’m not wrong.” I defended myself.

Sean laughed and the sound was hollow, sarcastic. He took a sip of whiskey before turning to me with a cold look in his eyes. “And I wasn’t wrong that day either. Was I?”

I scowled at him to mask the absolute hurt I was experiencing. My heart ached. He’d known he was hurting me. He didn’t care. He remembered and he didn’t care.

“Oh, fuck you, Sean.” I whispered before quickly pushing through the french doors and stepping onto the deck.

“Oi!” Sean shouted as I slammed the doors behind me, taking off down the steps, wine glass in hand.

“I’m not done talking to you.” Sean was hot on my heels.

“The conversation is over.”

“Like hell it is.” I felt long, thick fingers curl around my elbow and then he was hauling me back against him. “You say what you want to say and then think we’re done. We’re not.”

I ripped my arm back and shoved my finger in his face. “I’ve waited four years to say this shit to you!”

“So have I!” He shouted back, the vein in his neck becoming prominent. The female part of my brain wondered what it would feel like to run my tongue along that vein, feel it pulse against my mouth.

Wrong time, I thought to myself and shook my head. “You fucked off for four years, faked your own death, and now I found out my father has had you following me. I don’t know what kind of weird, stalker fetish you’ve developed, but it’s really not doing anything for me.”

Okay, maybe that last part was flat out bitchy, but at that point I didn’t care.

I drained my wine glass while I waited for his response.

“Would you like to tell me about your fetishes?”

“Sure, they all involve watching you bleed out.”

“Should have been there a year ago then, yeah?”

I didn’t have a response for that. I zeroed in on the left half of his face, the scar on his cheek. His cheekbone curved differently, probably because it was handmade, and his scar disappeared into his stubble. He looked so vastly different from the Sean I used to know. He was hardened by life, by Finn’s life. Thirty and angry and alone and legally dead.

I ached for the Sean I once knew, but this wasn’t him.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“A little more than three months.”

“Three months?” I was shocked. I’d had a tail for three months and I didn’t even know it? How embarrassing.

“You wouldn’t have known.” It was as though he could read my mind. “I’ve always been better at it than you.”

“You’re so fucking cocky.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him, so instead I walked past him and back up the stairs, making my way back into the house to refill my glass. I knew he was following me, knew that the alcohol in my bloodstream was making me feel bold, more bold than I was sober.

Sean closed the French doors, the lock clicking with a tone of finality. I was too aware of it.

“You were shit as hide and seek when we were kids.”

“So that makes you a better spy?”

His tone was serious when he responded. “I was never spying on you. I didn’t have access to your flat. I didn’t follow you around with that ugly wanker with gray hair.”

“Leave Beckett out of this.”

“Beckett?” It was the first time his face had resembled something other than anger. He looked amused. “You’re dating a man named Beckett?”

I cocked my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. “We actually aren’t discussing my dating life, we’re talking about my stalker.”

“Stop saying that. It was to and from work. Only when you were out in public.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” I finally shouted. None of what happened today was okay. Sean, my dad, the shootout. None of it was okay. “You don’t get to keep up with my fucking life when I have to pretend you’re dead!”

“Lower your voice.” Sean took a step forward.

“Fuck off!” I shouted even louder than before. “You don’t get to just come back and bark orders at me. This isn’t London, Sean!”

“Enough.” He took another step forward and I backed up, reaching for my wine glass.

He was so calm, so fucking collected while I was beginning to fall apart. I hated him for it. Fuck Sean Wallace, I wanted him to hurt the way I did. So, without thinking twice, I hurled my glass at him. Sean barely dodged it, whipping his head to the side as it soared past him and landed on the floor in a million little pieces.

He was a blur as he flew across the kitchen, growling as he slammed my back up against the wall. I cried out as searing pain sent shock waves down my back, but I was too angry to focus on it. My hands instantly went into fight mode and my fingers caught the tip of his nose as I swiped at him, but he pulled his head back, out of my reach.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He roared in my face. “Are you bloody mental?” His hands circled my wrists and he pinned them at my sides, effectively halting my movements.

Stuck between Sean and the wall, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Let me go.”

“The fuck I will.” He squeezed my wrists harder.

“Sean.” I shoved myself against him and he did the same thing, his face even closer than before. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, see the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. God, he was a sight. “Fuck. Off.”

His eyes zeroed in on my mouth as I enunciated the words, nostrils flaring slightly. My breasts were pressed against his chest and I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, because suddenly we were staring each other eye to eye and I couldn’t look anywhere else. I was drowning the way I always imagine I would except this time I didn’t want it. I wanted no part of it.

“Don’t even think about it.” I whispered softly.

“Or what?” Sean’s remark felt snide and childish, something I would have happily said to him had he not leaned down and slid his lips over mine. It was a light touch, so soft I barely felt it. But I still gasped because it was Sean’s lips touching mine and I hated that I liked it so much.

At the sound of my sharp intake of breath, he smirked. “I fucking knew it.” And then he smashed his lips against mine, not letting up on the grip he had on my wrists.

Sean’s tongue pushed past my lips and slid against mine, weakening my reserve just a bit. He tasted good, his scruff scratched against the edges of my mouth and I reveled in it, loving how rough he felt.

He fucking engulfed my mouth, taking complete control of the kiss and demanding that I give him more. Forgetting the position we were in, he let go of my wrists in favor of cupping my face, wide palms against my cheeks.

I should have pushed him away, should have told him to leave, but the simple truth was that Sean Wallace knew how to kiss. He kissed like a man, held my face, stroked rough thumbs over my cheekbones, and swallowed my moans. He crowded me, stood so close our torsos were touching while we made out against the kitchen wall. Our tongues touched, teeth clashed, and when I sucked Sean’s bottom lip into my mouth the groan he let out was guttural. Animalistic.

But the noise was enough to bring me back to reality and I shoved my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me as hard as I could.

Sean stumbled back and caught himself on the counter. He was just as caught up as I was, his eyes wild, cheeks flushed red.

“You’ve got some nerve.” I cleared my throat and wiped my mouth, still tasting him on my tongue.

“Me?” He had the audacity to smile, still clearly fired up. “You were the one sucking my lip like it was my cock.”

My cheeks felt hot. The way he said cock with the accent and the smirk… it murdered me on the inside. It absolutely killed me how good it sounded. “You wish.”

“Every fucking night.” Sean stepped forward again. “I think about you sucking my cock every. Fucking. Night.”

His admission left me breathless. It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. The thought of Sean laying in bed at night and thinking about my mouth wrapped around his dick lit me up. I was hot everywhere.

“Sean-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He crowded me again, this time wrapping one arm around my back and pulling me against him. “For once in your life, please, Y/N, shut the fuck up.”

Cupping the back of my head, Sean kissed me again. I wanted to fight him, wanted to tell him to fuck off, but that would only prove him right. I really did have a problem with shutting the fuck up.

So, I kissed him back. I gave it my all, twining my arms around his neck and leaning against him. Sean tongue fucked my mouth as though he’d been dying to for years, and after his admission I wondered if he had. His body felt warm against mine and feeling his fingertips glide along the exposed area of my lower back made my knees nearly buckle.

He smiled against my mouth and before I knew it, Sean was sliding both hands down, gripping my hips and hoisting me in the air. My legs locked around his waist instantly, ankles crossing at the small of his back while he carried me through the kitchen.

Our mouths never stopped touching. I’d been waiting years to kiss Sean. I’d been waiting years to slap the fuck out of him as well, but right now the only thing I cared about was keeping our mouths fused together for as long as humanly possible. I felt drunk on him, on the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

I didn’t realize we were in the living room until Sean sat down on the couch with me straddling his lap. I took the opportunity to pull back slightly, his lips chasing my own, and I smiled at the way he leaned forward. I cupped the right side of his face, loving the way his scruff felt against my soft palm. He truly was beautiful, the red-brown hair and beard, the plump mouth that spent more time scowling than smiling. His freckles, God, when we were young I could have spent hours counting them.

And then there was that scar. That brutal, obvious scar. The trauma his body must have gone through made me sick and when I reached up to run my fingers over the jagged, raised skin, Sean was quick to grab my wrist in a bruising grip.

“Don’t touch me there.”

But I wanted to. So badly. But it was clear in his reaction, in the stiffness of his body, that he was serious. Of all the limits Sean DIDN’T have, touching the left side of his face was one of them and I had no choice but to respect it.

“Fine, how about you touch me then?”

It was all the incentive Sean needed and he flipped me onto my back, hovering over me with one hand braces on the back of the couch. Our eyes held as I slid my hands down his chest, his heartbeat pulsing under my hand as I slid lower, lower still until I gripped the hem of his shirt and yanked it up. He leaned back, only for a moment to rip the shirt off his head and send it flying.

Fair skinned with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I itched to lick the V that disappeared into his waistband. He may have been injured, but he hasn’t been resting this last year. Sean didn’t have the body of a man who rested, he had the Jody of a man who was constantly pushing himself. He was strong in every sense of the word and it made me pathetically, desperately wet for him.

“Your turn,” he said against my lips, fingers playing under my shirt and sliding along my ribs. “You’re so fucking soft.” He whispered against the skin of my cheek.

Unable to help myself, I reached down to cup him through his sweats. Jesus… Christ. “You’re so fucking not.”

Sean laughed then, but I was dead serious. Either Sean was hiding a gun in his pants or his cock was just that fucking solid. And… thick. Even through his pants I could tell. I squeezed once and he let out a guttural groan, the sound sending shock waves between my legs. I wanted that sound on a loop for the rest of my life.

He pushed my shirt up and over my head, eyes zeroing in on my breasts. “Fuck me…” He trailed off, cupping one in his hand and giving a firm squeeze as he settled his eight between my legs. I could feel him against my clit even with barriers of clothing separating us.

“I always wondered what your nipples looked like.” He licked one gently and my back arched hard, my whole body tightening. “They’re so much better than my imagination.”

Sean fastened his mouth against my nipple and he sucked, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bud while I writhed underneath him. My nails scraped through his shirt hair, digging into his scalp and holding him against me. He said he had wondered what they would look like, but I spent the better part of a decade wondering what this would feel like.

Fuck, it felt good.

Sean’s hips ground against mine as he moved to my other nipple, hands roaming felt over my body, gripping my clothes thighs and sliding up my sides. Tracing along my collarbone, fingers tugging at the nipple that wasn’t getting any attention.

I felt like a horny teenager, aching to have him inside me as fast as humanly possible. My nails raked over his shoulders and he gave a delicious growl in return, leaning up and hovering over me again. 

“I’ve thought about your mouth on my cock for ages, but right now the only thing I want is to be buried inside you. That okay?”

I was modding before he even finished speaking. Fuck a blowjob, fuck foreplay. I didn’t need that with Sean, not now. Right now I just needed… connection. I was almost desperate for it and it fucking terrified me.

Sean leaned back on his knees and hooked his fingers into my pants, tugging them down in one swift move and leaving me completely naked and sprawled out in front of him. His eyes raked over me and my breath hitched in my throat. He could see… everything.

“Fuck me… this body was fucking made for me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, wiggling my brows. “A bit cocky, yeah?”

“No.” His face was serious, eyes focused as they raked over my breasts, my hips, my legs, zeroing in on the spot between my thighs. Sean slid one long, thick finger over my slit and I cried out, my body stiffening. “I knew you’d be bald here.” He repeated the motion. “Been dying to see that tattoo on your thigh for ages.”

I’d gotten the tattoo when I was 20 and officially moved out of my parents house. It was one of those stupid young decisions, but I didn’t regret it. It was a snake that wrapped all the way around my right thigh, the snake’s tongue permanently engraved on my inner thigh like an invitation. Or a warning.

“And?” I asked inquisitively, rubbing a hand absentmindedly down my stomach.

“And I think this body was fucking made for me.”

His lips came crashing down on mine again and I wrapped my bare legs around his waist, loving the way his hip bones pressed into my thighs. He littered kisses over my cheekbone, an oddly sweet gesture, and then absolutely assaulted my neck, licking and biting and nipping at my collarbone until I cried out.

I reached down, yanking at his sweats and pushing them down his thighs with my heels. I was fucking dying for Sean Wallace to be inside of me, I couldn’t even breathe because I wanted him so badly. Needed him, needed to know what it was like to feel him.

“Sean.” I gasped as he braced one hand above my head, the other one gripping his cock and lining it up at my entrance. I gripped his bicep when he pushed the tip in, my nails digging half crescents into his skin.

“Sean.” I repeated his name, this time somewhat panicked because what the fuck was I doing? Was I really about to fuck him?

“Remember when I told you to shut the fuck up?” Sean’s eyes met mine and he gave one sharp, hard thrust and was suddenly inside me so deep I swore I could feel him in my cervix.

I didn’t even have time to gasp, my mouth fell open in a silent scream and Sean’s groan was something I’d think about for months. He was so deep I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, looking up at him completely frozen.

“Oh, fuck.” He finally breathed out. “That’s right, so good you can’t even speak.”

“I… hate you.” I finally managed, leaning up and catching his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging so hard he let out a groan of pain.

“You don’t hate me.” Sean pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back inside me, giving me no warning or time to breathe. But the yelp I let out was enough to make him smirk.

Cocky bastard.

Fine, I could play. Tightening my legs around his waist, I raked my nails down his back and watched his face change, jaw clenching tight. I licked his collarbone before sucking the skin there. I sucked hard and didn’t stop until I felt his fingers tangle in my hair and yank me back, forcing me to look at him.

“You’re not the fucking boss right now.” He practically growled the words, not letting up on the grip on my hair. He pumped in and out of me, my scalp pricking with a weird, pleasurable pain that left me moaning for more.

Sean’s thrusts got harder and I cried out when he hit that spot, so deep I could feel him everywhere. “Sean!” I cried his name, my breath hitching in my throat.

He let my hair go in favor of those perfect ducking fingers wrapping around my throat. His thumb pressed firmly under my jaw, I had no other choice but to look at him as he fucked me into oblivion.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He groaned, pressure on my throat tightening just a bit. “Thought about you every fucking day.”

I was instantly thrown back into reality. Everything that happened that day. The shooting. Sean coming back from the dead, all of it.

“Nope, stay with me.” Sean commanded, sensing my disconnect. He slowed his thrusts leaning down to lick at my lips lightly. It was oddly erotic and I found myself whimpering for more. “That’s it, relax for me.”

“I…” I started desperately. “I can’t. Sean-“

He squeezed my throat harder and I suddenly gasped, my air being cut off. “Relax.” His voice was oddly soothing. “You can still breathe.”

I shook my head.

He paused his thrusts, once again settling deep inside me with my legs splayed. “Yes, you can. I’m not squeezing that hard. Breathe.”

I took in a breath. It was shallow, but it was there. Letting it out slowly, I repeated the motion, Sean catching on and thrusting every time I exhaled. It all felt different like this, barely able to breathe and dripping wet onto the couch. I’d never wanted someone more and I was terrified, I’d never been “handled” the way he was handling me, treating me like I was his.

“Been waiting years to feel you come on my cock.” He groaned when he released my throat, leaning back on his heels and looking down at where we were connected. “God, you’re soaked. Made a proper mess all over me.”

I moaned because at that point words were not possible. My stomach felt tight, I felt like I was going to cry or laugh or scream. I felt like I was going crazy.

And then Sean rubbed his thumb over my clit, watching me jerk, and I knew I was done for. He did it again and again, giving me shallow strokes while he rubbed the little bundle of nerves that were certainly going to send me into a tailspin.

“Sean, please.” My back arched and I shouted, so fucking close, teetering on the edge.

“Come all over my cock so I can watch you lick it off after.”

My mouth fell open and I screamed his name, my orgasm hitting me like a ton of bricks. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling Sean lean over me and wrap an arm around my back.

He picked up the pace while I clung to him, whispering in my ear about how he’d wanted it forever, how this was his, how I was his. It was overwhelming, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than rake my nails through his hair and whisper his name over and over again in his ear.

“Fuck.” Sean’s groan was long and low, stroking into me one, two, three more times before holding himself still, his climax hitting him as hard as mine hit me. 

His arms shook as he held himself over me, eventually collapsing onto my chest in a huff. We sat there silently, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff side lulling us. Sean’s right cheek was pressed against my breast and his dick was still inside me. He was as close as he could possibly be but I somehow wanted him closer. I wanted to fucking absorb him into my body, keep him there forever and enjoy the weight of him on me.

“Sean?” I whispered, wondering if he was still awake.

“Hm?”

I ran my fingers lightly over the back of his neck and delighted in his shiver. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

He lifted his head then, searching my face for some sort of emotion, but I forced myself to remain stoic. It took Sean fucking my brains out for me to realize how much I missed him. How much I fucking loved him. But I couldn’t tell him that, I couldn’t give him that much power over me.

“Today was the first time in a year that I was thankful that bullet didn’t kill me.” Sean’s words were honest, quiet.

We didn’t say anything after that, we didn’t really need to. In that moment we were safe, together after years of being apart, and now all we had to do was wait for word from my father. Until then, I was going to enjoy whatever time I had with Sean and I prayed I would never have to pretend he was dead again.

[labelma]

all the pain of yesterday

Read on Ao3

When the call comes, it’s a surprise. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is. 

“Hello, is this Fiona Gallagher?” 

Somehow, Fiona just knows. She doesn’t know how or why, but...

“Yes this is her.” 

The woman’s voice is soft, but clear, there’s quiet murmur in the background, it reminds Fiona of every time she got a call from the police station, the hospital, the school. For a moment, she feels like she’s 21 again, scared, alone, at her wit’s end, trying to hold everything together, scraping by with the skin of her teeth, always one wrong step from a catastrophe. 

There is a split second of silence where Fiona knows this is it. Whatever the woman has to say- there’s no going back from it, as soon as the silence breaks. And it does. 

“This is Brenda at Kindred Hospital South, your father Frank Gallagher was brought in experiencing hypoxia, disorientation and a high fever,” 

This is it 

“We regret to inform you that we did-“ 

This is how it happens

“Everything we could-“ 

Fiona’s blood runs cold, 

“But your father passed away this evening at 8:46 from complications due to Covid-19.” 

She knew it was coming. They all did. Frank had been dancing with death for years, how he had even managed to hold on for so long was beyond her. 

It seemed that Frank’s luck had finally run dry. 

“Would you like to make arrangements? If not we would be happy to help…” 

Fiona isn’t listening. She tells the nurse to do whatever they need to do before hanging up. 

She surprises herself when she feels tears prick the corners of her eyes, and she clenches her jaw. They won’t fall. She won’t cry over Frank. Not anymore. Not ever. 

She takes a moment for herself, a moment to breath, a moment to consider the fact that she’s now lost both her parents, even if she lost them both years ago to drugs, to the bottle, to insanity. 

She takes the briefest moment to grieve what could have been before stopping herself. 

What’s done is done. 

Her parents made their decisions, and she made hers. 

Fiona thinks that at least now Frank and Monica will get to make each other miserable for eternity while they’re burning in the deepest pits of hell. 

Or was it freezing? 

Fiona never paid much attention in church anyway, on those rare occasions they went, usually to sneak bills from the collections plate. 

Phone in her hand, screen still on from the phone call, Fiona realizes she doesn’t know what the next steps are. 

Her instinct is to hop on the L, deal with the situation as it comes, never planning, never even able to plan because of the speed at which things fell apart. Her instinct is to go grab Frank from whatever shithole situation he got himself in, and slap some sense into him. 

But obviously, Fiona couldn’t hop on the L, she was standing in the middle of the street in Chula Vista, California. Gone were the days of running into burning buildings with no forethought. Fiona had her life together. She had a serious job. She wasn’t busy juggling teens and pre-teens anymore. 

And of course, there was no Frank to slap sense into anymore. 

An odd pang twisted Fiona’s stomach at the thought. 

She’s brought back to the presence when someone stumbles into her from behind, 

“Perdóneme,” 

The woman doesn’t look much older than she is, and she’s busy pushing a stroller with one hand, pulling a toddler along with the other. 

Fiona sighs. 

It’s time to face the music. 

She calls her kids. 

<hr>

Arrangements are made. Fiona honestly has very little say in them. 

Frank wanted to be cremated, his family didn’t give nearly a big enough shit to make it fancy. 

He had no possessions of value, nothing to give to his kids other than stained furniture, empty bottles, and trauma.

Really, Fiona is coming back for Liam. 

Fiona was the guinea pig. The oldest daughter, the one who had no one except a wino father and batshit crazy mother to look after her. 

Lip and Ian, born so close together, both so resilient, but still so so young when they first learned the hard way of Frank’s negligence. 

Debbie and Carl, young enough to remember the times before Fiona dropped out of high school and made being a mother to her siblings a full time job. Old enough to remember all the times Frank stole their money, ruined their creations, hurt their very fragile childish feelings. 

But Liam? 

Liam never lived in a world where he had to be raised by Frank of Monica Gallagher. 

And Fiona knows that she wasn’t the best guardian either. She knows that she abandoned him, even though she was the only mother he’d ever known. She knows that she’s done worse things. 

But even when she fucked up, Lip was there to pick it up. And Ian behind him. And now Debbie and Carl are adults too. Liam would be just fine without her in the long run. 

But still. Liam had the good fortune to be born last, young enough to be raised by his siblings, to never feel the sting of abuse and neglect the way the oldest five always had. 

And Frank had always loved Liam, loved him so much. Liam was so kind, maybe even too kind. He loved Frank back, even though they all knew Frank was not deserving of such care from his youngest son. 

So Fiona knew, knew it like she knew herself, that Liam, of all the Gallaghers, was going to be the most devastated. 

And well, she missed her other kids too. 

She hadn’t seen Franny far too long, hadn’t even met Fred. She missed Ian’s wedding, Carl’s graduation from the academy. 

She’d stayed up to date of course, speaking with her siblings on the phone, FaceTiming to see her nieces and nephews, but she knew what it was like in Chicago. If you weren’t there you may as well not exist. 

Fiona liked it that way. 

When her plane had arrived at the San Diego International Airport all those years ago, she almost had a panic attack, nearly booked the next flight back to Chicago. 

It had gotten easier with time. 

For her entire life she’d been so tied to the little house on Wallace, she didn’t know who she was without it. 

It was time to find out. 

And she did. 

She did find out, she found out what she was capable of, she found out how successful she could be, she found out who she was without living her life for her siblings. 

Not that she would ever hold it against them but… She did what she could. It was time for her to live her own life now. 

And for those very reasons, she was terrified of going back to Chicago. 

She was terrified that all the progress, everything she built, all that she’d become, was nothing more than smoke and mist, ready to blow away the minute she arrived in the Windy City. 

Which is why she never visited when Fred was born, or considered flying in to meet him. 

Which is why when she received the surprisingly tasteful wedding invitation to Ian and Mickey Milkovich’s wedding, she regretfully declined. 

She was so scared. 

So scared she would go back and never be able to leave again. 

But some of the fear had worn off over the months. 

Her new life felt less like smoke, and more like a healthy young tree, still growing, but strong enough to weather a storm. 

It was time to return. 

<hr> 

The plane ride feels oddly unceremonious for how anxious Fiona feels. 

She watches as the Southern California coast line disappears from sight as the plane flies eastward, and wonders how she’ll be received when she arrives. 

She doesn’t tell the kids she’s coming for a visit, worried they’ll make a big deal out of it, or worse, do nothing at all. 

Chicago is exactly like she remembers it, and yet nothing like it used to be. Still dirty, windy, freezing, especially after her years spent in the San Diegan sun, but dotted with new boutiques, nicer buildings, fences that don’t look like they’re about to crumble into a pile of dust. 

She has to fight to control her breathing in the Uber back to the old Gallagher house. 

The sight of the sun setting over the familiar buildings of the South Side makes her feel something unidentifiable. 

The house looks much the same as always, if not just a bit nicer due to Lip’s efforts to fix it up. 

She hesitates for just a moment at the front door before turning the handle and walking in, refusing to give in to her doubts. 

The TV is on, as usual. Debbie sits texting on the couch while Franny, much bigger than the last time Fiona saw her lounges on the couch engrossed in the colorful TV show, Carl next to her, also engrossed in the show. 

She hears banging in the kitchen, and she walks towards it to find Lip hammering at the shelving unit, Tami preoccupied with hushing Fred, while Ian and Mickey sit at the kitchen table passing a beer back and forth, talking quietly. 

Fiona is only a little surprised that she hasn’t been noticed yet. She’s quieter than she used to be, and each one of her siblings seems to be in their own little worlds. 

It’s Liam who sees her first as he walks down the stairs, eyes red, looking tired, though his face lights up as soon as his eyes fall on her. 

“Fiona!” 

He runs into her arms, and the tears Fiona has been managing to hold back for days finally fall. She holds her youngest brother, and breathes in the familiar smell of his hair. 

Liam’s shout alerts the rest of the family to her presence, and for a few minutes Fiona is wrapped in hug after hug, feeling laughter bubbling up in her chest. 

It strikes her that even after so long away, she can still read her siblings like a book. 

Lip is tense, she can feel it in the way he hugs her, in the hard set of his features, though Tami seems happy enough. 

Carl and Debbie are both distracted, though the days where she could tell what kind of things they’d be distracted by are long gone. 

Ian looks lighter, happier than she’s ever seen him, and for the smallest moment, she worries that Frank’s death may have thrown him into a manic episode before she notices the way Mickey has his hand firmly planted on his shoulder, and though Fiona was never quite able to trust him in the past, she thinks she does now. 

She holds Franny against her hip, marveling at how heavy she is, while Liam entwines his fingers with hers. 

Fiona gets the sense that she’s missed so much, and yet nothing at all, everyone falling into their familiar roles. 

They settle in with coffee to catch up, Fiona hanging on every word, desperate to soak up everything she’s missed. 

Lip decided not to sell the house in the end, figuring that the value in owning property was worth more than a quick payout which would disappear quicker that you’d think. 

With Ian and Mickey in a new apartment and Frank… gone, the house was quieter, less crowded, a better place to raise two kids, at least until Lip and Tami could afford to move out. 

Debbie had sworn off dating, saying she was sick of dating psycho chicks. Fiona laughs along with her and agrees, dating hasn’t been so kind to her either, but she suspects that Debbie will change her tune when the next person willing to go down on her comes along. She shares that same trait with Debbie, something she’s been trying to work on as she gets older and realizes how fucked up her habits and coping mechanisms are. 

Liam is grieving, and Fiona’s heart aches for him. She cups her hands around his sallow cheeks and as she kisses his face and celebrates when he brushes her off, an embarrassed smile turning up his lips. She knows this is hard on him, Liam being the only Gallagher who truly still cared for Frank in more than just an offhand obligatory way. But she also knows that the hurt will wear off eventually as grief tends to do. Liam is young still, with so so much potential and such a bright future ahead of him. She’s not worried, even if she feels bad for leaving him. 

She tells Liam that before she leaves she’s going to help get him into a good private school. 

He deserves the opportunities none of his older siblings ever had. 

Carl is still Carl, even if he’s trying to be a fine upstanding citizen. Still, she’s so proud he really seems to have made something of himself, even landing a stable union job. 

Ian is happy, so happy, and Fiona lets his infectious joy wash over her. There was a time when Fiona worried for him. Worried he was doomed like Monica. She knew that stats, knew how hard it was for people with bipolar disorder to manage stable relationships, knew the Gallagher history was full of divorces and scorned exes, many of them hers, even without the added bonus of mental illness. When Ian was arrested and sentenced to three to five years in prison, she thought that was the end of any hope he had for a happy ending. 

She’s glad she was wrong. 

She can’t say she’s surprised by the reappearance of Mickey Milkovich in their lives, Mexico and prison be damned. Fiona doubted many things about Mickey, doubted his trustworthiness, doubted his intentions, doubted his stability, and all for good reason in her opinion. But one thing she never doubted was his love for her brother. Well, maybe there were times she doubted it a little, but she’s a cynical person. 

She thinks that Ian and Mickey have the best relationship of any of the Gallaghers, a reality she would have laughed at 5 years ago, but it’s true. 

She hopes that one day she can replicate their success, but she isn’t counting on it. 

Right now she’s just working on learning to accept herself, and all her flaws. 

It’s a process, but she’s getting there. 

<hr> 

Ultimately they decide not to hold a real funeral for Frank, not caring enough to plan one, and thinking Frank probably wouldn’t even want one. 

Instead they congregate in the alley, joined by Kev and V as well as Tommy and Kermit, behind The Alibi to dump his ashes. 

They aren’t so ceremonial, though Liam, with tears on his face does insist on saying a few words. 

The whole ordeal takes no more than ten minutes, and when it’s over, Fiona feels like she can finally breathe. 

Her entire life she was burdened with being her father’s daughter, living under his metaphorical shadow, even when she moved as far away as she could. 

He haunted her every time she had a beer, every time she felt guilt creep in for leaving, every time she felt close to snapping at her new job. 

But now Fiona thinks she can finally let it go, let Frank go, along with all her demons. 

The flight back to feels shorter, or maybe Fiona just feels lighter. Somewhere along the way she stopped seeing Chicago as home, and finds herself eager for San Diego with its sun, beaches, and mountains. Her new home is her little apartment in Chula Vista, so close to Mexico she can cross the border whenever she wants, with her new friends, a new job, and a tan for the first time in her life. 

She isn’t worried about her siblings. Lip is building a life for his new family, Ian is happily married to the love of his life, Debbie is learning and growing, trying to be a good mom to her daughter, Carl has a stable job he loves despite all odds, and Liam is the smartest and most resourceful of all of them. 

They’re going to be just fine. 

And so will she.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Tylenol and Tequila Part 2

The pounding headache that was encompassing Boden’s entire skull had been unbearable since it started, and the cause had been unbearable long before that. Sylvie had been keeping her head down and avoiding Matt ever since Gabby’s last visit, resulting in Matt staring longingly after her like a kicked puppy. Everyone noticed it. And Chief Wallace Boden was motherfucking done. He gathered all his resolve and stood up from his office, ready to search for the two of them when the bells went off.

“Fucking hell.”

“Chief! I’ve never heard you swear before!”

“Can it Cruz, let’s go.”

——————————————————————————————-

When everyone arrived at the scene Boden saw Casey hop out, survey the scene, and then look for Sylvie. It all happened in a one second period, but Boden was concerned now. He couldn’t let this affect his captain, it may only have been a few milliseconds but someday those milliseconds could be part of the final countdown. Casey’s orders were being followed promptly and as truck made their way into the house while squad handled the car that had crashed into said house, ambo 61 prepared themselves for a number of patients and requested additional ambulances. Boden caught the worry and fear in Brett’s eyes as she watched Casey enter the visibly unstable house. Her lip was between her teeth as she clutched the empty gurney surrounded by the ambo’s various medical kits with one hand and clutched her stethoscope in the other.

“Mouch and Gallo are coming out chief, they’ve each got a victim. Unconscious but breathing with a pulse.”

“Alright Casey, what floor are you on?”

“Second, I’m with Kidd, we’ve only got one more room to check and we’ll be out.”

“What about the basement?”

“Capp and Cruz checked it out quick but there’s only laundry stuff, some tools, and half of the outside of their house down there.”

“Alright. Severide? What’s your status with the car?”

“We got the engine off and we’re using the jaws to open the doors. There’s two passengers, one drunk male in his 20’s, and one baby in the backseat.”

“Come again?”

“There is a baby in the backseat of the car. Crying but alert, they appear uninjured.”

“The first ambo took the homeowners, chief, we’re waiting on the driver.”

“Copy that Brett.”

“Alright Chief, ambo 27 grabbed the driver, can Brett and Foster come take a look at the baby?”

———————————————

When the sound of ambo 61 driving into the garage reached the common room they all grimaced when they noticed Casey’s head snap up and angle it so that he could see Brett through the windows. His eyes followed her tired form as she and Foster collapsed on the sofa, Sylvie in Mouch’s spot.

“Brett that’s my-“

“Oh bite me.” Okay, now everyone was watching Brett.

“Sylvie? Emily?” Stella asked apprehensively. “What’s going on?”

“Give us chocolate and the TV remote and no one gets hurt.”

“... Well alright then.”

Casey discreetly made his way over to Gallo and his lieutenants and whispered, “Gallo, keep them supplied with chocolate and water. Hermann, keep the TV and couch available for them, and by that I mean calm down Mouch. Severide, notify Boden and keep an eye on them. I’m gonna call med and find out what the fuck happened.” They all nodded at each other, eyes clearly concerned, especially since it was highly unusual for Sylvie to be snappy.

“Hi Maggie, it’s Matt.”

“Matt! Usually we talk when you come to the ED or at Molly’s. What can I do for you?”

“I would like to follow-up with a call ambo 61 had earlier, they brought in a baby?”

“Oh. Yeah... That, the baby’s hanging on by a thread. At best. Turns out she was born with a heart defect. Mother bolted when she found out and the father decided he couldn’t handle it either.”

“Shit.” Matt immediately knew why this had caused the damage it had. Sylvie’s birth mother had just died while giving birth to a baby girl, this fell far too close to home for her. And Emily probably looked at Sylvie’s depressed face and felt the same way herself. Sylvie just had one of those influential personalities that drew people into her orbit and reflected her aura. “Thanks, Maggie. You are a lifesaver, I owe you a drink.”

“Alright, well I don’t know what that was about but I will take free alcohol any time.”

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

Emily had left the couch with an armful of chocolate to go curl up in the bunk room. Night had come and gone and even after several calls Sylvie retained her spot on the couch, by commandeering Mouch’s spot. The older man continued to pout, looking to Casey for assistance when he returned. Casey shook his head with a solemn look in his eye. Subtle nods were exchanged. Understood. Gallo abandoned the ingredients he’d been gathering for pork tenderloin and started getting everything together to make Sylvie’s and Emily’s favourite dinners. Sure, it would’ve been easier to just go along with what he had originally planned to make, but this would cheer up 51’s rather desolate paramedics. Still in Mouch’s spot, Sylvie had curled into herself and just looked so heartbreakingly sad.

Without thinking too much about what he was about to do, Casey sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He didn’t say anything but it appeared he didn’t need to. Sylvie responded immediately, snuggling into his side, too exhausted to keep on crying. They were well aware of all the eyes on them, but they didn’t care. Sylvie was too hurt and Matt was too focused on Sylvie hurting. So they sat there, together, with nothing on the TV in front of them. Listening to Gallo bustling in the background making an Asian stir-fry and Irish stew. The smell surrounded all of the silent members of 51. Encompassing them all in a bubble of warmth and temporary comfort.

Dinner was ready, a grateful Sylvie and Emily sat at the table, excited to eat, when suddenly the bells went off.

Squad three, Truck eighty-one, Engine fifty-one multiple vehicle collision on MacLean Street and 32nd Street

“Alright, let’s go!”

“And don’t eat all the food ladies!” 

“No promises!”

Just another day at firehouse 51. Sadness, grief, joy, and family.

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

Just so you guys know, I LOVE getting comments

[inlovewithdisaster]

JUDGE PROFILE: TOBIAS MENDELSSOHN

tobias’ formal contest experience has been……spotty, to say the least. he loved the performing arts as a kid and coordinated/composed frequently outside of his classes, and with his record of misbehavior as a small child, this was one of the few things he would miraculously sit still and focus on. but in the past few years, joining a 200-or-so-year-long fight for justice in a foreign country has really put a pause on his passion, to say the least; when he stands on stage today, he’s dusting off some serious childhood cobwebs that have collected on his art. 

that’s not to say he’s completely rusty, however. in the year that he’s led preuzien, he’s had some contest appearances here and there, and he’s done a great number of street performances of traditional draconid dragon-riding--his brand while he was working with the prussian rebels. what’s more, he’s learned from the best: the inimitable wallace kassai, @hisvanity​, the greatest coordinator who has ever lived, was a childhood family friend and mentor to him, and his grandfather, ezra mendelssohn, earned a great claim to fame in the 20th century as the pretty boy who dominated cool and tough contests with his quickdraw. as a result, he’s got quite a few educated opinions on what coordinating should be……and oh my god, he will die for all of them.

as a judge, he’s intelligent and insightful, but brutally honest to the point of being rude. while most of his observations are artistically sound and logically correct, he tends to say it in a manner not unlike simon cowell. having been raised with such high standards when it comes to coordinating, he also tends to dock more than he should for any particular offense. he’s as sharp as wallace with his observations, and more than twice as bitchy. be warned.

LIKES.

tobias is an educated man of many different tastes, who can appreciate the beauty of art in all its forms. he’s not near as picky as ursula when it comes to what he finds “beautiful” or “appealing”; all he wants is that whatever you do, you commit your heart and soul to it 110% and you do it well. a dainty ballet routine can earn the same score from him as a motorcycle stunt performance set to death metal. he’s looking for aesthetically appealing performances that involve nuanced details and complex technique; how you achieve this is no concern to him as long as you achieve it.

i should note that for him, “aesthetically appealing” has a broader range than it does for ursula. he is able to appreciate the strange, the avant-garde, even the grotesque, in a way that the head judge can’t. whereas she’ll balk at a dada-inspired routine, he’ll probably be all over it!

unlike ursula, who hates being preached at, he also prefers appeals that have a broader message or statement. whereas ursula with her little brainpower loathes appeals whose stories and messages are too hard to understand, tobias can fully appreciate and give points for such feats. he also has a major soft spot for satire, especially satire directed at unjust authority figures--or at his fellow judges!

like his mother, he also likes out-of-the-box, creative performances that break conventional stereotypes and roles. after all, his grandfather ezra was told that he was too “pretty” to ever make it big in the cool and tough categories, but that ended the moment people realized he was a wwii vet who brought his gun-shooting talents onstage! wallace’s influence certainly helped in this department--he’s had an aversion of coordinating and showcasing clichés hammered into him since childhood. some of the things that count as unconventional for him include but are not limited to:

gender noncomformity.

ugly or undesirable-looking pokémon such as garbodor, mr. rime or skuntank.

tough-looking pokémon showing a more elegant, graceful and tender side, or vice versa.

showing a side of a pokémon’s species that is not otherwise explored (e.g. milotic may be very beautiful and graceful but it is also a dragon, and wallace is one of the few people who portray it as such).

pokémon and people expressing contradicting qualities at once (fierce yet soft, cute yet dangerous) gives performances a unique flavor and complexity.

portraying contrasting themes within your appeal. 

did we mention he’s educated? he loves references to nerd shit. like poetry, or history, or mythology……he’ll understand every single nerdy little reference that a cerebral appeal has to offer, and it’s guaranteed to make his intellectual heart light up with delight.

as a brown indigenous jew, he also loves appeals that show peoples’ culture! the type of routines he’s best at are steeped in draconid cultural tradition, so he’ll always have a soft spot for those who share their heritage with pride.

lastly, given that he’s a red-blooded risk-taker, he loves daring stunts. after all, dragon-riding shows are built on them!

DISLIKES.

from the above, it’s clear that he likes appeals that put a lot of thought into them. as such, he hates appeals that he feels are low-effort, whether physically or intellectually. if your technique or your visuals or the way you convey your message are too simplistic, you’re not getting a good score, no matter how dazzling you pretend to be. he is sharply critical in this regard, and will incisively see through layers of shine to any inadequacy underneath. his standard for sophistication is so high that you’ll have to jump higher than you ever have to reach it.

he also hates inauthentic and soulless appeals. he’s very good at seeing when someone actually means the stuff they put in their performances, as opposed to whether they’re just pandering to his tastes. he would actually prefer a cliché appeal that the creator is genuinely invested in to an unorthodox appeal where the performer is just trying to check boxes of unconventionality to impress him. (you’d probably never be able to guess it though, with how harshly he can rain down criticism on the cliché!)

he also has a certain distaste for appeals that use only the most standard contest/showcase pokémon. whereas ursula can quickly lose interest in an appeal that doesn’t have the standard milotics and gardevoirs plastered all over it, he regards people who rely too heavily on the conventionally pretty and popular with severe distaste. given that his mentor is wallace, he has a special aversion toward milotic, who wallace himself is SICK and TIRED of seeing in contests. it’s not that he’ll automatically hate performances with these pokémon. it’s more that if you do use these pokémon, you’ll have to work extra hard to seem unique.

as a draconid, he’s also incredibly picky with how people use dragon pokémon in appeals. if you thought he hated established tropes and conventions already, he has an anti-special place in his heart for those who default to common themes with their dragon pokémon. he has buckets and buckets of salt to pour about how dragons are overused, how their trainers lazily use them for instant intimidation, how trainers collect dragons not out of appreciation but to take advantage of the legendary power that accompanies them……and if you don’t present your dragons well, he won’t hesitate to accuse you of any number of these things. particularly, he loathes seeing dragons depicted as the villains in a story performance, unless there’s a dragon hero character to cancel it out. given the fact that “dragons = villains” has been used to demonize his european draconid ancestors for so long, if you invoke this trope in any way, he’ll borderline call you a racist.

[quixoticnexus]

◑☒✄❀✑

( This is so late, I waited until The Next Monday ) 

◑ What is a side to your muse you want to show off, but haven’t had the chance to yet?

I say a lot about Kaneda struggling with delusions and psychosis, and since he’s the least utilized character on this blog, INCLUDING Doc, it’s kinda getting to me that I can’t showcase that in a way that doesn’t sound like it’d be super problematic. That bugs me because I’ve put a lot of thought into his character, as well as research! 

I actually read articles and heavily research stuff that I put in my muses’ backstories, and I really wanna show good rep for a lovable, friendly boy that struggles with psychosis in a non-stigmatized way! I’m so tired of people like him getting pigeonholed into being your typical horror movie “psychotic villain”!!! I have an aunt with schizophrenia and I don’t think she’s ever hurt anyone, and for a long time, I didn’t even know about it! 

I just want to show people like him having jobs and friends and family and getting along as best as they can... I hope I get to delve into his character on here as much as I’ve been lucky to on private Discord servers. 

☒ Is there any sort of behavior towards your muse (ic or ooc) that you simply cannot stand? (Answered!)

† Do you portray your muse as religious? Why or why not? How does your own religion (or lack thereof) influence this?

Kouki is pretty obviously a religious or spiritual muse, and I wanted to make him because I feel like religion can sometimes be pointed to as the Cause Of All The World’s Ills in some circles, and... I’m sorry, I just don’t agree with that at all. That doesn’t mean it can’t be taken and corrupted by shitty people, as it has been all throughout histoy! But I also think it can be a major force of good in the right hands. 

Kouki is “the right hands”. His father........ is not. And I want to show that duality in a way that’s meaningful to me, as someone who grew up in a religious house with a mom who is still really devoutly religious and also progressive as all hell.

✄ What is an idea you originally had in mind for your muse, but ended up scrapping? Why? (Answered!)

✸ Tell us about any NPCs on your blog. Who are they to your muse? What do they contribute to your blog?

Kaneda, being a Pokemon Contest Coordinator and potential challenger for the Hoenn League has 4 “rivals” in the contest scene! His specialty is Beauty, and he took it up to follow in the footsteps of his idols, Wallace and Juan! His other rivals specialize in the other four contest types! 

The most major of all being Dale, the Toughness Champion. Dale is Kaneda’s foil in a lot of ways that I can’t get into right now because of how much it spoils Kaneda’s story and I can’t do that to myself before I’ve had the chance to write even ONE proper thread with the poor guy (sobs), but I will say that he takes inspiration from Pro Wrestling, and is more than happy to play the “Heel” in Kaneda’s rise to glory!

❀ What is a muse you want to play but haven’t? Why haven’t you played them yet?

I have more monster girl characters in the waiting, but......... Am too Shy abt playing them............. Joro is easier because I’ve done a whole campaign with her, but Beau, Chetak, and Firebringer would be mostly new and I get so fuckin Antsy about not playing my girl characters “right” because I just love them so much... Maybe one day I will stop being a coward. 😔

✑ Do you prefer writing OCs or canon characters? Why?

After a long history of playing OCs, and an even longer history of playing canons, I can honestly say......... 

I have no preference. Lmao.

They’re both fun in their own ways. It mostly just comes down to what I’m in the mood for atm. Right now, in this stage of my life, I’m in the mood for making my own stuff, because I really want to set myself up to maybe start publishing my own works! But I love making canon characters uniquely my own, too. 

It’s like slipping into a warm pair of pajamas........ It’s comforting in an odd way to know that there’s actual, solid shit to look back to and reflect on so that I feel like I can play my muse as canonly as possible. As opposed to my own characters where... I’m the only pilot driving this plane and I’ve had an entire bottle of tequila. 

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 32

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Saturday morning

The trilling coming from the nightstand woke her, and with an annoyed whine Rose stretched out her arm, searching blindly for the offending mobile.  Finding it she brought it to her face, prying one eye open to read the display – it wasn’t quite half seven, and it was an incoming call from Clara.

“Who’s it?” her husband mumbled against the back of her neck, wrapped tightly around her, and she pressed back against him.

“Clara.”

His panicked “Rose, no,” came too late- she’d already swiped to answer the call, Clara’s face filling the screen for a FaceTime call instead of the voice-only Rose had expected.

The small box in the corner showing what Clara was seeing told Rose that her best friend would be able to see (and unable to deny) that Rose and Malcolm were in bed together.  Oops.  “Erm, hi, Clar,” Rose offered half-heartedly, wriggling the fingers of her free hand in a wave.  “What’s up?”

“Please tell me you’re not in the middle of having sex,” the brunette said faintly, and to Rose’s further embarrassment Danny’s face immediately popped up behind Clara, his eyes widening for just a moment before he disappeared off screen again.

“We were sleeping,” Malcolm rolled his eyes, his arm wrapping tighter around Rose’s waist.  “Did you need something?”

Clara still appeared stunned, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth slightly open.  “We usually talk at this time,” she managed.  “It’s Saturday.  I assumed you’d be up- awake!  I thought you’d be awake.”  She shook her head.  “I don’t understand.”

Rose bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder at Malcolm, who nodded encouragingly.  “We… we’re together.  We talked it out and- we’re together.”

“Properly together or fuck-buddies together?”

“Clara!” Malcolm protested.  “Really.”

Rose elbowed him, smiling nervously.  “Properly together.  In all the gooey, mushy, lovestruck glory of a forever kind of love together.”

She waited for Clara’s response, anxious – though throughout everything Clara had seemed on board with the idea, had encouraged them both, at the moment of reckoning Rose worried she wouldn’t take it well.

“But you are shagging?”

“Clar.”

A wide smile spread over Clara’s face, and she began to squeal.  “Oh, really?  Really really really?”  She clapped in delight, turning to yell over her shoulder, “They’re in love!”

Danny’s off-camera reply of “No shit” just made them all laugh.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you,” Clara gushed, leaning forward towards her mobile as if that would bring her closer to them.  “Last we talked you weren’t sure how he felt – what happened?  Tell me everything.”

-

He found her in the kitchen of all places, perched on a barstool at the island next to Jack rifling through a familiar box, most of its contents spread on the countertop while across from them, Ianto worked diligently on building a veritable tower of sandwiches for them to take with them.

“Having fun jewelry shopping?” Malcolm asked, sidling up beside her, but judging by the way she jumped and looked up guiltily, his teasing tone hadn’t come through.

“I wanted to bring Clara something, after the way she found out.  If that’s okay,” she fumbled, peering up at him, and he smiled back in response.

“Oh, sweetheart.”  He brushed a tendril of hair from her face.  “This is all yours as much as it is mine – I was only teasing.  Have what you like, and if you want to give it to Clara, that’s perfectly fine and a wonderful idea.  Have you picked anything yet?”  Tearing his gaze from her he surveyed the countertop, covered in rings and necklaces mostly, gems sparkling in the industrial lighting Jack had installed as they were technically in the basement.

Relaxing back against him she showed him the few pieces she was considering, and when he pointed to one he thought his daughter might rather like, confessed it was her top contender as well.

“What about me, don’t I deserve something pretty?” Jack wanted to know, making Malcolm roll his eyes as Rose carefully returned the other jewelry pieces to the box, selection made.

“You’re the custodian of this place- how would I know what you do with it when I’m not here?” he shot back, arching an eyebrow at his cousin.  “In fact, I’d prefer not to know what you get up to, knowing you.”  His eyes cut to Ianto, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smirk, though he didn’t look up.

Shaking his head, he slipped an arm around Rose’s waist so she had to lean back and tilt her head up to see him.  “Ready to hit the road, sweetheart?”

She nodded, before scrunching up her face.  “Maybe one last walk through the house and gardens first, yeah?”

“I would love nothing more.”

-

They strolled hand in hand, and Rose did her best to soak up everything before they left, only realizing now how little of the house she’d seen.  “I am a little sorry to be leaving so soon,” she confessed, as they stepped out into the garden.  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled about our little tour, but I feel I didn’t get enough time here.”

“Well, we can return anytime you wish,” he shrugged.  “It’s not that expensive to come up.  Or we could even drive once, stay over on our way up.  Sightsee in England as well.”

“I love that idea.  Maybe I watch too much American telly, but the idea of a road trip always seemed so romantic.”  She leaned her head against his bicep.  “Have I mentioned lately how happy I am, with you?”

He let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against him.  “No happier than I am to have you.  I’ve been dreaming of this, of being with you, for… a few years now.  I never thought it would happen, could happen, but I’m so happy it has.”

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she murmured in reply, slipping her hand around his back beneath his jacket.  “It still feels unreal to be able to tell you that.”

“Can you believe it’s only been a week?”  His hand slid down from her waist to her hip, dangerously close to being a (very welcome) grope.  “Last Saturday at this time we were getting ready for the Gala, and I thought the night would be perfect if I could hold you for several dances.  I had no idea what was to come, but I’m so happy it did.”

Rose smiled, thinking back to that night – how nervous she’d been, how she’d worried that he might reject her.  If only she’d known…  “I did.”

“What?”  He looked down at her, startled, and she laughed.

“It didn’t just happen.  I spent all week wrestling with myself, but I decided to shoot my shot as the cool kids say.  I deliberately seduced you.”  It was fun, watching the emotions play across his face as he digested that, and she was quietly relieved when he settled on stunned delight.

“Really?”

She nodded.  “Yep.  And, you’ll love this – it was Clara’s idea.  She encouraged me.  Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to- wanted you- but she convinced me I wouldn’t be making a fool of myself.”

“Clara?  My Clara?”  He looked adorably indignant, spluttering slightly.  “I don’t know if I should be grateful or annoyed at her interference.”  Then his brow furrowed.  “How, exactly, did you seduce me?”

“I’m sorry, did you see me in that dress?”

“And out of it.”  He smirked.  “You were stunning.”

“Damn right.  That was the point – I wanted your hands on my skin.  And I knew it was going to happen the moment you saw me and did your best impression of a fish.  And then you said fuck me.”  She smiled at the memory.  “So I did.”

He stopped walking then, turning to her, and then his mouth was on hers, tongue easing past parted lips, and she sagged into him, savoring the freedom to adore him, to let her heart sing with love.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips, when they finally pulled back for air.  Her brain was foggy, everything forgotten but for the taste of him.  Her befuddlement must have shown on her face because he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.  “For being brave enough,” he elaborated.  “I’m not sure I would have ever gotten up the courage to try my luck with you- I was too afraid of losing you.  I’d convinced myself I’d be happier in the long run pining for you with the possibility hanging over my head than if I asked and you turned me down.”

Rose smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning closer, glancing around the estate – they were alone in the garden, with a wonderful view of the back of the house, and she thought wistfully of the previous owner.  “I think we have Wallace to thank, really,” she murmured.  “He saw the truth, apparently, and got tired of watching us stand off to the side, too afraid to jump – so he pushed us.”

He dipped his head to kiss her, a small miracle that grew more familiar with every press of lips, though the familiarity did not lessen the impact he had on her – quickened heartbeat, shallow breaths, and an overwhelming desire to find the nearest flat surface.  Not that the last bit was anything particularly new, he had often unknowingly elicited such a response in her, but now, now, she knew he would be in enthusiastic favor of such a diversion.

The future was ripe with possibilities.

-

“We’ll have to keep in touch,” Rose enthused, hugging Sarah Jane goodbye.  It was finally time to go, and the woman had been kind enough to come see them off.  “I have your email, and I’ll write you once we’re home.”

“And call,” the older woman ordered, squeezing her tightly.  “I want to hear all about your tour.  Well, most of it.  No, all of it.”

They shared a smirk that made Malcolm’s ears go red and Jack cough in a poor attempt to hide a laugh.

“We’ve a lot of driving to do today…” her husband tried to hurry them along, trying to shift Rose using his hands around her waist.  “Time to go.”

Rose resisted, though, going in for one more hug.  “Next time we come we’ll bring Clara,” she promised on the fly.  “So you can meet properly.  She’d love to hear your stories about your days in uni- especially if they involve her.”

“There’s plenty of those,” Sarah Jane laughed in response.  “Not all of them are ones she’ll want to hear, though.”

“In that case, I have to hear them.”

Then it was time to say goodbye to Jack, and overcome by an unexpected wave of emotion, Rose buried her face in the man’s broad shoulder.  “I’m going to miss you,” she mumbled.  “I’m so glad we got a chance to get to know one another.”

“So am I,” he said kindly as they pulled away, before glancing over her shoulder at Malcolm.  “Don’t be strangers – we’re family.”

“We’ll be back,” Rose repeated, wiping at her eyes.  “Thank you for everything.”

“Jack,” Malcolm said somewhat stiffly, as Rose leaned into his side, holding out his hand to his cousin.

“My Lord,” the younger man said in reply, before breaking into a smile.  “C’mere.”  The two men hugged, Rose watching on with a watery smile.  “So, where’s the first stop?”

Having played a large part in planning their itinerary, it was an obvious ploy to keep them there a little longer.  Malcolm knew it as well, but indulged the delay.  “Walk through the Old Town in Inverness, stop for lunch.  Rose wants to see Culloden, then we’ll drive along the coast down to Aberdeen, stopping along the way as she likes.”

Jack nodded, lips pressed together tightly, a hint of moisture in his eyes.  “A fine plan,” he managed.  “Travel safe.”

With one more hug it was time to go, Malcolm helping Rose up into the canary-yellow roadster before jogging around to the driver’s side.  She waved as they drove off until they were out of sight, before settling back in her seat and resting her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“We’ll be back soon enough,” he promised, taking one hand off the wheel to pat at her knee.  “There’s lots more to Scotland to explore.”

She nodded, watching the town of Bonnar Bridge fly past, before sitting bolt upright, eyes widening.  “Hey!”

“What?”

“How come we’ve been in Scotland for a week and I have yet to see you in a kilt?”

He laughed, the sound bright and cheerful, before shaking his head.  “I’ve one in my bag, I can try it on for you later if you like,” he offered, grinning.

“Good.  I want to find out for myself if it’s true.”

“If what’s true?”

Her smile widened, hand landing on his knee before sliding upwards.  “What you do- or don’t- wear under that thing.”

“Rose Tyler!”

[purplesurveys]

663

Well hello, good to see you again. How many surveys have you taken today? This is my first, and there’s a good chance it might be my only one seeing as I’m working on my thesis tonight and feeling a bit tired as it is. So the world is dying to know the longest you've ever been on an airplane. Uhh it was somewhere between 4–5 hours, during my visit to Shanghai. Speaking of airplanes, can you sleep on them easily or no? I’m sure I’m able to fall asleep easily, I just choose not to sleep in situations where I’m traveling with a whole group of people. The one time I passed out on a plane was my trip back to Manila coming from China, and that’s because we did a lot of walking and waiting that whole day before boarding. How long did you last drive in the car for? It was like a little more than an hour. I went to Pop-Up to meet up with Hans and Angela, because I asked them to get a bouquet of roses for me to give to Gabie (they know a cheap supplier so I asked them to do the whole ordering stuff for me) for our anniversary as a surprise; but that supplier flaked at the last minute so we had to go all the way to the Marikina flower stalls to have a bouquet arranged at the last minute :/ Then after waiting for that, I drove all the way to Gab’s friend’s house in Ortigas, because she was apparently there for a whole-day shoot. FINALLY my job was done and I drove back home. It was tbh so much driving to do in like an hour that even though the friend invited me to stay over for a bit, I had to decline because I literally just wanted to be back home lol. Name me your three favorite flowers, s'il vous plait. Favorite flowers are asked in so many surveys, so once and for all, here are mine lmao: peonies, carnations, and roses.

So if I were to touch the place you last itched, would it be awkward? Nope, but I’d be weirded out because nobody ever touches another person’s eyebrows. Have you ever given food at a homeless shelter? No. I don’t even know if we have those. I know for a fact we have orphanages, homes for SPED and homes for the aged, but I dunno about homeless people. This government doesn’t give a fuck about the poor. Has anyone a grade above you ever had a crush on you? It’s always possible, but I’ve never asked around nor has anyone ever told me. Can you fly? Be honest. Nah but there was a time that it was the superpower I wanted. Have you ever come close to drowning? Yep, when I was nine. My cousins and I made like a human train where we were holding on to each other’s legs and formed just this long line in the pool, but the thing is it was in the deep end. For some reason I eventually got dragged down but I couldn’t say anything because my head was already underwater. I had to kick frantically to escape the conga line and for them to know what was up. What books did you have to read for school for summer reading this year? Haven’t been through that shit since freshman year of high school. The last thing we had to read for English was Stevan Javellana’s Without Seeing the Dawn. We also have a set of books in Filipino, but I’ve already forgotten which ones they were. What were you doing right now 24 hours ago? I think I was having dinner with my family. If not, I was working on my thesis with Andrew. Have you ever tried counting sheep to get to sleep? Does it work? I only ever tried it as a kid because it’s all we saw in American shows and Mr. Bean and the way it was portrayed is that it was such a fool-proof way to fall asleep haha. On the nights I’d be too restless or feeling too awake to sleep, I would try it, but I quickly learned it was useless. I guess it maybe works for some people, but not me.

What did you give up last year for Lent? I never gave up anything for it, even when I still ~identified~ as Catholic. Is the window in this room currently open or closed? Windows are closed. But we have our main door open to let the cold air in because we have a screen door to separate the inside from the outside anyway. What is the weirdest thing you have ever licked? Idk I try not to lick as my first reaction lmaoooo. I hate the feeling of soaked paper straws, though. Can you control your dreams if you realize you are dreaming? Nope. I always say I’m going to try, but I just never realize it when I’m already dreaming; it always feels real to me, no matter how weird the situation is. Is your phone fully charged right now? Nope, quite the opposite. It’s at 6%. If you gave yourself a symbol (ex: star) to represent you, it would be...? The yellow sparkling stars emoji. Combine your two favorite animals. What kind of animal do you get? Eledog? Today at school it was boys make girls sandwiches day. What kind of sandwich should I tell the boys to make you? Cool. Didn’t know that was a thing. My go-to sandwich is a classic banh mi. So...remember Girl Scout cookies? Any favorites you had/have? No. Never had them, never seen them, never been sold them. What is the name of the main character in your favorite book? I don’t have a favorite book but Scarlett O’Hara is one of my favorite characters. How about your favorite movie? For my top three favorites it’s Mark and Joanna Wallace, April and Frank Wheeler, and Will Hunting. If I gave you a box of chocolates, which would you hope to get? Nothing with dates, fruits, nuts, or raisins inside. I'll give you a box of chocolates but I'll eat the coconut filled ones, ok? YES, take all of them. What does your middle name rhyme with? Shell. Have you ever caught your clothes on fire before? Nope. Describe the weirdest car you've ever seen. I’ve seen a handful of cars that have modified to have monster wheels, even though they’re too suburban/small/normal to have that kind of wheel. It looks so fucking tacky. Which key on the keyboard do you think you use the least? I have never pressed the function key on my present laptop. How many times have you seen your favorite band in concert? Twice out of the three times they’ve visited. How many concerts have you seen in general? Four big, foreign acts. I’ve been to countless local shows/gigs. Are you any good at improv? Not at all. I’d be too scared to be asked to do it. Turn your eyes away from the screen. What is the first thing you see? My milk tea from Coco! Been craving it for a while and my parents got it for me this evening, so yay. When you pass a stranger in the hall, do you smile or no? For the most part no.  Do you have any special handshakes with friends? I don’t. Are you better at writing fiction or nonfiction? Nonfiction, without a freakin’ doubt. I’m garbage with anything fiction, whether reading or writing or analyzing it. Did you ever have to use Wordly Wise in school? I have never heard of that. Can you keep a secret? Technically no, because almost all secrets I know end up getting to Gabie. But Gab gives no shits about secrets/gossip so it’s also technically safe, and I don’t spill secrets to anybody else after that.

[hisvanity]

writober day 28: midnight.

sootopolis at midnight was usually what wallace expected: quiet streets safe in the knowledge that one of the world’s strongest trainers was protecting it. safe enough that he could probably go out and walk its streets without bringing any of his poké balls (though he always did, just in case). on this clear october night, nothing seemed out of the ordinary…save for a man coughing on the side of the street.

immediately wallace follows the source of the sound. he sees a homeless white-passing man with mildewed hair, doubled over and coughing loud enough to raise hell. he takes his water bottle and offers it to him, but even as he continues to cough, the man pushes his hand away.

“why not?” wallace asks. “you look like you need it.”

the man laughs. “i’d never take anything from me. that would be awfully rude, wouldn’t it?”

the first wallace stares in shock. me? just who does this man think he is? perhaps he’s delusional. but the full moon illuminates his features, and wallace can see plain as day. everything about this man matches what he looks like at this moment: the face shape, the eye shape, the body type, the dreads. but instead of fine silk, he’s dressed in ragged cotton. and instead of the stress and sadness that wallace expected to see, his face is happy, the weight on his shoulders lighter than air.

“name’s mikuri. kasai mikuri,” says the other man. wallace’s japanese name.

“so…mikuri,” he says. “how did you end up out here?”

“oh, where the hell do i begin?” mikuri sighs. “i was born into a rich family, to a white father and a johtoese mother. we were the richest in sootopolis. life was great—at least, it was for my sister. but even though i had all the advantages in the world, i was stupid. and lazy. i was held back several grades in school, i couldn’t do anything outside of it. parents beat the living crap out of me because of that. being burned by a pokémon scared the pants off me…but my parents made me a fire-type specialist, ‘cause they thought fire-types did the best in contests. they gave me a magby for my starter…took me AGES to evolve ‘im to magmortar. before i ran away from home, my parents wanted to push me to be a great coordinator—just like you. but the moment i set foot onstage, the judges told me to quit…and so i did.”

wallace stares in shock. this other him seems to be the exact opposite that he was. wallace himself was black and indigenous sootopolitan, born to a poor family and managing to work his way up through his intelligence and talent…but it seemed as though this version of him started at the top and fell down. this version of him had a magmortar sitting at his side—an ugly fire-type, the opposite of the graceful water serpent that had been wallace’s own starter. and while wallace’s own parents had been hard on him at times, they had never abused him for subpar performances like mikuri’s did. what’s more, he actually admits to being stupid and lazy, whereas even if wallace were the most idiotic lackadaisical man in the world, he would never admit it. he feels a blow to his ego. could he really have turned out so badly?

the man coughs up a storm before continuing. “at first all i wanted was to please my parents. to be the superstar that they could live vicariously through, just like my sister. but when i started living that life, when i saw how much stress it would cause me, i sort of just went—fuck it.” wallace cringes—as if mikuri’s backstory weren’t bad enough, he swore too! “i live battle to battle like some people live paycheck to paycheck. barely make enough to—” hack—“feed us. but you know what? as long as i have just enough, that’s enough. shit sucked when i came down with TB--” yet another cough--“but i’m learning to fucking live with it.”

wallace stares in disbelief. “you mean……you’re not unhappy with all this?”

“well, obviously.” mikuri rolls his eyes. “what do you mean you’re not unhappy with where you’re at? can’t be easy, can it, all those cameras on your back all the time, shitty opinions getting into your hair. hell, i actually feel sorry for you. if you asked me to trade places with you, i’m sure we both would never in a million years.” he snorts. “i know i could’ve stayed. i know i could’ve played my parents’ game and gone from being the world’s shittiest coordinator to…a coordinator who was somewhat less shitty. i’d have a roof over my head, and food in my belly, and maybe one day i could retire. but nothing is more important to me than the freedom i have. and that means freedom from the public’s expectations as well.”

just when wallace believes his coughing is getting better, mikuri lets out another.

mikuri’s pity stings. he doesn’t want to receive such sentiments from a ragged nobody struggling to make ends meet. but he’s right, wallace thinks, as he searches for a reply. he does wish he could be free from the crowd. he knows that if he hadn’t gotten famous, he might not have been so depressed. but would he trade places with his other self? is it worth paying such a price—to be homeless, obscure, alone and unloved? out of sympathy (or perhaps admiration) he empties his wallet—several thousand dollars’ worth of cash. he holds out his hand.

“no, no,” mikuri says, pushing the money back.

“why not?”

“because if i took it, i’d be admitting your life was better.”

he can’t help but smile. the man does have the pride of a wallace, after all.

“you know, we absolutely have to exchange numbers.” mikuri holds out an old smartphone. “being the same person and all, don’t you think we should keep in touch?”

“i can’t argue with that,” wallace laughs, and they add each other as contacts.

“one last thing before i go. if you’re not black, you can’t wear dreads. that’s called cultural appropriation.”

mikuri rolls his eyes. “do i look like i give a shit?”

he huffs, but says nothing. this isn’t an argument he wants to have right now; he’s much too tired.

“well, i hope you change your mind,” he says, giving the man a hug. “and…i really do hope we see each other again.”

“don’t hope we will. know it.”

[insane-control-room]

Adopting a pyromaniac and mad scientist was a lot of work for one man. Maybe its time to introduce them to his family.

Tumblr version under the cut

It was amazing what one man could do in a week. After his pet project was finished, he stormed to a broken home, explained who he was, and asked if they would come to the courthouse with him to settle it. The father grunted and agreed, the two girls’ faces lighting up with hope.

They were under his custody after the home he rebuilt was approved, the Kidd sisters shocked by the change that came over the old barn house. He bought what would end up being the biggest decision of his life. He planned to introduce the girls, no his girls, to Shawn and Wally in three days, on a calm Sunday. He had not expected Joey to call him into the office, saying there was a phone call for him. Who would have called him?

“Wilbur Franks speaking,” he clarified, just in case they confused him with Wally. “How can I help you?”

“Hello Mr. Franks, this is Ms. Bea, the principal of Densque School,” she introduced herself, but Willy had already met her a few days prior. “You are the current guardian of Marina and Gonnor Kidd?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, but he didn’t like her tone. It sounded tired and put through with the day. “Is… is something wrong?”

“Well…” she sighed “Yes.”

Outside, Lacie saw him twist the cord and as he made a sour face. She continued to ‘fix’ the lightbulb.

“They didn’t!” Willy’s voice was muffled and surprised. “Oh no… was there a lot of damage? No? Okay, good…. Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, I understand. Yes ma’am, it won’t happen again. I’ll be there shortly. Thank you.”

He hung up and hissed a string of curses. Then he laughed, “Tested a jet pack, they did? Dear lord! What’ve I gotten myself into!?”

He bumped into Joey, too lost in thought, the older (or was he younger?) of the two tripping, dark hand caught by another dark brown one, the owner biting back shivers from details of life not his own.

“Well? Is everything all good and alright?” Joey asked him, as he helped him upright, his legs aching again. They started to hurt more and more lately, but he never said a word to anyone. Wilbur Franks was not anyone, though, only himself. The dark man smiled softly, sadly, without pity. He quietly helped Joey back into his office. “Thank you, Willy.”

“Of course, Mr. Drew,” Willy replied obediently, and had Joey been a lesser man, his mind would have turned to the idea of how easy it would be to control him, no more than a strung up puppet. Still, Joey was not a greater devil yet. Willy looked to his feet. “Well sir, I need to go, but I’ll be gone no longer than an hour.”

“As you must, but I need you to come in afterwards… I need advice,” Joey sighed. Then he called Willy’s retreating form back. “When I’m stuck in a wheelchair, will you help me?”

“I… yes sir.”

Willy’s heart already hurt too much to refuse.

Joey smiled at him shakily.

*****

“Listen, girls, just…” Willy sighed. They peered at him curiously. “Um. Okay, so no one knows you. Don’t… just don’t burn the place down.”

“Did our generator work?” Marina asked eagerly, reminded of how it nearly set her on fire, making Gonnor insist on safety valves. “Well, Dad? Did it?”

“Yes, it did,” he informed her, her delighted with the news. “Though, had Gonnor not enforced the use of valves, the studio would have been burnt to a crisp within two minutes. So, I need to thank you both.”

“Can we meet our uncle now?” Gonnor asked with the inquisitiveness that was particular to her and her ivory eyes. Willy studied her. “And Shawn?”

“Yes,” he acquiesced, though he didn’t have much of a choice. “Again, please, for the love of God, don’t burn the place.”

“Okay okay,” Marina huffed. She pursed her lips, Gonner reaching over and correcting her bow. “But can we see the roller coasters, too?”

“And the cartoons?” Gonner requested. “And the music stuff?”

“If I can,” he muttered. The studio neared. “First, I need to talk to Mr. Drew though, so please, please, do not explode stuff in the meantime.”

*****

“Mr. Drew, you said something about… needing advice, if I recall,” Willy’s curly head came around the bend. Joey glanced up and nodded, waving him into the room. “What kind of advice, sir? I don’t have the bes-”

“Oh shush, I know what you did for Grant was no trick,” Joey snapped, irritated. He then looked at his hands, apologizing. It gave them a few awkward moments of silence. Willy lowered his head, almost in shame. Joey cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Now, my mind has been a mess, and I need to sort it out, if you please. So… Willy. Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Two things, one, give me your hand,” Willy sighed, resigning himself to the fate, drawing upon shadows. His hand was held out, Joey staring at it briefly before covering it with his own. “And the second thing is to listen.”

Joey’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t he--”

“Not to the air, Mr. Drew, to me.”

“… oh.”

Willy pushed back a wince as details from a life that wasn’t his filled his brain. He could not stop a grimace from pushing through, though.

“Can ya at least focus on the main issue, and not the entire mess that’s ya life?”

“Sorry.”

A jumble of memories, how Bertrum spoke, the color of Susie’s eyes, the shapes of Thomas’ smile, Shawn’s accent, so many minute things drowned his head. And then Joey began to dwell on a glass hidden in his pocket, poured deftly in a drink that was not his own, the brief worry of Sammy taking a sip from it, the almost relief from Henry taking it, but grabbing it out of his hand, not downing it, but spilling it behind his back.

“What you did was wrong, but stopping yourself rectifies it a small bit,” Willy quietly told him. “Yet, you still need to tell him the truth, or it will be found out by someone not all too caring for you, Mr. Drew. And not just your white lies and partial truths, only the full truth. Leave anything out, and it will end badly.”

“Shit,” he muttered, dropping his head in his hands. “I wish I hadn’t even started that mess. This mess! Wilbur, what do I do?”

“I just told you.” Willy flatly replied, shivering slightly as he caught his grinning reflection in Joey’s medicated water. “The longer you push it off, the more likely he’ll find out on his own.”

“Anything else?” Joey asked. He sounded desperate, distraught. He grabbed Willy’s hand again, both of their hands rough and calloused, Joey’s from writing and leaning on a cane and who knows what else, Willy’s from work, work, self harm, and more work. Soon, he understood the new issue Joey was meaning to address, bark eyes dark and searching. “Anything at all.”

“You should be proud of yourself for not taking what, for all you knew, a last chance with him without him knowing,” Willy informed him. “As fer ya other problem, ya have about seven to ten months.”

“So few?” he hoarsely asked. Willy looked away in abashedness and melancholy. “I had hoped for at least a year….”

“If you screw up with apologizing, it’ll be a month.”

“What constitutes as the truth, the entire story with all the details?”

“No, just what you did. Adding why you did it will leave you feeling better in the long run.”

“And if he doesn’t believe me?”

“I’ll vouch for you… and take the blow.”

“Blow?! He’d hit me?!”

“Um… I plead the fifth amendment?”

“DAD!” Marina shrieked, a trail of white following her, Gonner racing after her sister. Joey leapt onto Willy in shock, both dark men wondering why things like this always happened to them. “HELP! WE DIDN’T ADD BRAKES!”

“To what!?” Willy called, petrified, racing out into the hall, still carrying a rather surprised and brustling Joey, who demanded to be set down, a demand that was ignored. “Is this like when you didn’t add brakes to my skates!?”

“Uh… heh heh, um, it’s kind of…” Gonner trailed off, a nervous smile. “Worse.”

“How,��� Willy breathed, paling, sinking to his knees (still holding a pouting Joey) to look her in the eyes. The moment Johan saw Gonner, he grinned incredulously, heart melting. A baby…. “How can this be worse. What did you two make؟”

“A jetpack!” Marina screamed as she flew past, Willy dropping Joey as he leapt up. He pried himself off the floor and gave Gonner a big grin and a wave. She shyly waved back, scooting close to him before Willy scooped her up under his arm. Wally, coming up to witness the commotion, spun on his heels to see Marina as she jettisoned by, eyes wide. “Is that our uncle?!”

“Was that a fuckin’ gremlin?” he demanded of his brother, who had a pouting (and mildly apologetic) Gonner tucked under his arm. Wally stared at her. “Did you clone yourself or something?”

“No, I already have a clone,” Willy retorted. “This is Gonner Franks, and the one you called a gremlin is Marina Franks.”

Behind them Marina crashed into Joey, who shot off with her from the power.

“Okay, but don’t let them out or feed those things after midnight,” Wally joked, and then realized the entirety of his brother’s statement. “Wait. You said Franks. How the hell. You are a virg--”

Joey quickly stifled the power of the makeshift jetpack by snapping the wires, he and Marina falling from the air, her landing a top him happily.

“Ever heard of adoption?” Willy asked dryly. Wally stared at him, mouth opened in shock. “These are my girls, and you’re their uncle. Can you hold Gonner so I can go off an’ catch Marina?”

He turned around to see a wheezing Johan holding his daughter up from the floor for him to take.

“Uh, um, sure,” Wally answered, looking down at his… niece. Wow, that felt so weird to think, especially because he never thought he or Willy would ever have kids. He leaned down to talk to her. “Hey kid. I’m Wally, but you can call me Uncle Wallace or whatever the shit you want.”

“Language!” Willy barked. Gonnor giggled.

“Hey, whatever the shit you want,” Marina cackled in Willy’s arms, Willy glaring holes into his brother’s skull. Wally’s eyes lit up. “I like Uncle Wally, Dad.”

“Mmm, me too, but not when he’s being a piece of trash,” Willy replied. Wally looked offended. Wally opened his mouth to ask yet another question but Willy cut him off. “Now, I know you’re worried about housing and livin’ an’ all that, but don’t worry, I have it all covered. Finances and everything. Y-you can let Sammy and Thomas know that they can move in, too, um, tomorrow? No, in two days, not tomorrow.”

“Alright…” he conceded, placing his confidence in his brother. Then he leaned to touch his hand, conveying; ‘I trust you, but be careful.’

“I will,” he answered, smiling gently. “Now. Uh, should I tell Thomas and Sammy now, ooooor… tell Shawn?”

“YOU HAVEN’T TOLD SHAWN?!” Wally yelled, leaping back. Willy flinched, as clearly Shawn heard that. “Sammy, Thomas, get over here!”

“Yeah sweetheart?” Thomas asked, coming up from the stairs with a pipe report in his hands, and froze as he lifted his eyes and saw the two little girls, drawing the connection instantly. “H-holy shit… Willy, are they yours?”

“Babies,” Sammy breathed, coming up after his boyfriend, eyes widening. The still on the floor Joey took the report from Thomas’ hand, and slipped to his office. “Yes, very good. Are they?”

“They are very good, aren’t they?” Willy beamed, ruffling each of their heads. “This is Marina, and here’s Gonnor. Yes, they are very good.”

Eska peaked out of the vent. Gonnor’s ivory eyes lit up and Marina’s ash ones glowed (they were always lit up, but sometimes more or less bright).

“Eska, these are my little girls. Marina and Gonnor.”

The two daughters stepped up to him, him stooping to focus on them. Gonner tilted her head, Eska copying the motion. Marina grinned, impossibly gleaming and radiant. Eska blinked. Marina patted his arm, and those long arms swooped around them, holding them tight. Gonner squealed in delight as he lifted them up, Marina laughing with her feet dangling. Willy sighed and smiled, glad that it worked out and that they adored him.

“Mine now,” Eska repeated after him, holding them loftily. Willy looked off to space, his face betraying his silent: ‘this is my life now I guess.’

“Hey, Sammy, I realized something,” Thomas suddenly cut in. “We’re kind of uncles, now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Tom,” the musician replied, turning to him. He instantly figured out the handyman’s mindframe. He stared at Thomas and his wide grin and sparkling eyes. “Thomas, no.”

“Uncle Sam,” he whispered, consequently suplexed. From the floor beside Joey, he breathed, “I deserved that.”

“You’re next, if you pull something like that,” he threatened Wally. He grinned cheekily, making Sammy blush. Marina giggled, and Gonnor was clearly holding back a grin. Sammy smiled at them sheepishly. “Sorry that that’s your first impression of me, gals. But aren’t you two simply adorable!”

“Oh, Goodness! Susie, look, aren’t they little angels?!” Allison called (having come to ask Sammy a question), her partner in everything hurrying to meet them as well. Susie cooed, “Aww, and what are your names, beautiful darlings?”

“I’m Marina!” she squeaked, eyes sparkling like diamonds, “This is my sister, Gonnor, and the person holding us is Eska!”

“We knew that already, dear,” Susie gently corrected, Marina still beaming. “Oh, Allison, they are so cute!”

“Thank you,” Gonnor rasped, blushing. Eska’s head turned to look at her, finding another of his ‘odd voice’ kin. She signed something to Willy, and he nodded. “What are your names?”

“I am Allison Pendle, and this is Susie Campbell,” she relayed, glancing at Willy with an ‘I thought you were gay?’ look. He blushed, mouthing back ‘adopted’ to which she nodded with understanding, he burning at even the thought of having children biologically. “We’re singers for Mr. Drew. Susie is the most wonderful Alice Angel.”

“Daddy says that you and Susie are… um… what was the word again? Oh! Right! He says you are sweethearts,” Marina added innocently. Willy’s face exploded red, embarrassed by the curtness of his daughter. “He said you two didn’t like each other very much at first.”

“Well, he’s right,” Susie confessed, then, upon taking Allison’s hand and smiling softly, “About both things, but I’m happy to agree with the first.”

“Oh, good, I was worried I was the only girl who thinks girls are really beautiful,” the eleven year old sighed happily. Allison and Susie exchanged a delighted look. “Gonnor doesn’t like people.”

“That’s not true,” Gonnor muttered. Willy huffed a laugh. “Fine. But maybe one day I will like someone.”

“They’re like their dad, apparently,” Kim smiled, walking up the steps with Niamh. “Little angels.” He pulled Willy to the side. “Please don’t let them give me a heart attack.”

“Alright, Dad,” he replied smoothly. Kim blinked, and then he leaned against the wall. “See ya.”

“‘Lo lassies!” Niamh greeted, flashing an uneven but beautiful nonetheless grin. “Imma teach you both how to break femurs!”

“Awesome,” Gonnor whispered. Marina smiled on the brink of insanity. They turned to Willy from Eska’s arms. “Dad, can she teach us?”

“Just as long as Kim isn't in the room,” he replied with a smirk, nudging him playfully. Kim looked to him gratefully. “Also make sure you don’t hurt each other.”

“Y-yeah, don’t do that,” Kim chuckled, slightly nervous. “That’s not going to help very much for anyone. Those are good kids.”

Willy glowed.

“Proud parent, eh?” a slightly perturbed Irishman asked; Willy darkened. “Uh, when did you… uh… have them?”

“Two days ago,” Willy replied, biting his lip.

“Really now,” Shawn seemed confused and relieved. “Seems rather quick.”

“I met them a few months ago,” Willy admitted, sliding up to him, resting his head on his shoulder, leaning against his chest. “They’ve had a… childhood.”

“Like you?” Shawn asked, kissing his forehead. Willy hummed; “A little.”

“Names?”

“Ask ‘em yourself, darlin’.”

“Fine, ya got me there,” Shawn chuckled. He waited for the two girls to see him. Marina nudged Gonner, looking over at him. Gonner nodded after a second of a taciturn look. They walked over to the two. Shawn knelt to them. “Heya, kiddos. What’re ya called?”

“I’m Marina!” the pyromaniac child grinned, pointing to her sister, continued, “And she’s Gonner! And you are Dad’s love! Shawn!”

“Yes. Yes I am,” Shawn beamed, feeling his heart melt. “Now, let’s see….

“Good. Marina. Gonner.” Shawn internalized the names. Looking over them, he smiled softly, opening his arms. They both jumped to hug him, he lifting them up to hold them beside his boyfriend. He grinned at Willy. “Look at us, eh?”

“Mhm,” Willy smiled back, leaning between the girls on his arms to kiss him. Marina and Gonner giggled as Shawn blushed and muttered to him, “Not in front of the kids, Wills!”

Willy smiled at them all, before leaning in for another kiss. Shawn tried to glare at him, he could not maintain a stern face, and a smile broke free.

“Family, eh?” Shawn questioned.

“Yes,” Willy agreed.

Shawn paused and looked at him, and slowly set down the girls.

“You two go off to Aunt Niamh,” he instructed. They nodded and bounded off, curls bouncing with their steps. Shawn folded his arms and turned to Willy. “I don’t know about ya, but I don’t see where we’ll be able to live with all of us.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Willy promised. Shawn rose an eyebrow. “I’ll show you soon.”

“How soon is soon, sweetheart,” Shawn asked, slipping behind him to wrap his arms around him, nuzzling the back of his neck. Willy leaned his head back onto Shawn’s shoulder. “Is it as soon as I can get you all nice in b-”

“Shawn,” Willy cut him off scoldingly. Shawn smiled at him apologetically, but kissed his neck, making him sigh with happiness. “Shawn. Mmm. Love ya.”

“Love you too, angel,” Shawn replied with a light smirk, still running his hands over the other, enjoying his warmth. “God. Kids. Never thought….”

“Me neither,” Willy sighed, but smiled. “Things are gonna be great, Shawn.”

“I can believe it,” the irishman chuckled. “Things are gonna be better than just great, Willy. We’re gonna have it all. You an’ me, everythin’.

“Sounds like a dream,” Willy breathed. Shawn inhaled Willy’s lavender, nestling his face in his hair. “It’s gonna be ours. Right?”

“Absolutely,” Shawn beamed. “Our family, our life, together. Sounds good, darlin’?”

“Better than good,” Willy reflected his words back at him.

Marina and Gonner returned, a flustered (in the sense of being called ‘Uncle’ for the first time) Kim behind them.

Willy smiled with Shawn in the goodness.

[crystalelemental]

While I’m busy annoying fans of Genealogy with my general disinterest in its cast, here are some other characters I have strong opinions about:

Sigurd’s not nearly as interesting as people make him out to be.  The main action leading to him being branded a traitor was super avoidable and his squire even points out that he’s making a mistake.  His “romance” with Deirdre is one of the most shallow things the series has produced, and literally none of the awful events of Act 2 would’ve happened if he had just kept it in his pants.  His actions during the war are made with good intentions that often lead to further conflict, but most of the critical actions that cause disaster were super avoidable and complete his fault.  Good job, moron.

Arvis is also a putz.  Look, I get it.  His entire point is that he’s trying to build the world for the better, but is highly questionable in his means.  Cool concept!  Problem is we spend like no time with him, and the only indications of this are his discussions with Manfroy, where he talks about how he’s not going to persecute them like in ages past, but he’s also definitely not going to let them revive the baby eating god they worship.  Okay, solid.  The issue is, he knows full well he carries Loptyr blood, and that’s why Manfroy is sticking around.  And suddenly, Manfroy appears with some lady with amnesia, and is oddly insistent on you fucking this woman and having kids.  Did...did you never think about who this woman was, or why Manfroy’s so invested in her sex life?  This is not a difficult conclusion to reach, buddy.

I mentioned Eldigan, but it bears repeating: I hate the Camus archetype, and he’s one of the most annoying.  “I am honor-bound to follow my lord’s every command, I cannot join you and must instead try to get them to see reason.”  Yeah, and you know who else had this exact dilemma like two chapters ago?  Jamke.  Guess who’s on our side now, after realizing how fucked up his king was?  Jamke.  There’s no reason you couldn’t do this too.  Honestly, every time the Camus archetype shows up for a leader who is a complete buffoon, I always think of Wallace’s supports with Kent in FE7.  How his king ordered him to capture his daughter and bring her back from the plains, no matter what.  But when Wallace saw the love she shared with the man from the plains, he let her go, because he knew his king would never forgive himself if he tore Lyn’s parents apart.  Wallace put what was best for his king ahead of the order, and the entire moral is that, even if you’re punished for it, your duty is not to the title, but to the person, and you must act in the best interests of the people you serve, not blindly follow a command that would cause everyone harm.  So yeah, I don’t care to hear about the honor-bound idiots who are given plenty of chances to do the right thing but insist on staying with a sinking ship that’s also on fire.

Deirdre is a non-entity, so there’s really no point in talking about her.  Seriously, she exists almost entirely to produce the children that will be plot-critical in Act 2, but otherwise has effectively zero agency.  She shows up and immediately wants to fuck Sigurd, spends one chapter helping, and is immediately kidnapped afterward to be brainwashed and become Arvis’ wife.  Then she dies off-screen before the events of Act 2.  But she and Sigurd just loved each other so much!  They just saw each other and had such an overwhelming desire to fuck, it must have been love!  At least Deirdre’s excuse is being secluded away from men all her life and not knowing how to handle these feelings; what’s Sigurd’s excuse?

Quan and Ethlyn are actually wonderful.  No complaints.  But I do have another for Sigurd.  Hey, remember when they died?  Remember when Sigurd is told that people were ambushed in the desert and everyone’s dead, and he pieces together that it was his sister and his best friend?  Remember how that comment is all we get for his reaction to their loss, how it’s never brought up a single time ever again, and how Sigurd shows absolutely nothing about the devastation of this loss?  Yeah, but hey, it’s fine, you don’t need more dialogue to make a compelling story.  It just would’ve been nice for Genealogy to be a compelling story by having characters actually matter more than they apparently do.

Ayra’s cool, but her brother’s an idiot.  In her conversation with Quan, she mentioned that Quan’s suspicion is correct, and that the king was not responsible for the deaths of those from Grannvale.  A random lord took action without consent, so the king had that lord executed, and went to make peace with Grannvale, only to be assassinated along the way.  So what does her brother do?  “We gotta go to war.”  Uh...you know you’ll be slaughtered, right?  “Yeah, but my honor, though.”  Gen 1 was mostly a bunch of morons given political power and asked to play intelligently.  They all fucked up.

Lewyn...okay, I don’t like Lewyn.  I get his whole thing is running from responsibility, and being tired of the in-fighting over the crown, but his solution of just leaving is petty and childish.  It’s not that there isn’t some level of understanding there.  He’s just not doing it for me.  I do, however, appreciate how self-loathing he is in Gen 2.

No one else in Gen 1 really matters at all to anything substantial, so boy, it’d have been nice to have support conversations to flesh out everyone else a bit more.  But hey, maybe the sequel, right?

Seliph is pretty cool.  I don’t have a ton to say, but his story kinda allows him to take an easier route to power, with a more clear antagonist and the world at large being more united in his cause of overthrowing the empire.  Not particularly compelling, but not doing anything stupid or uninteresting.

Leif inherits being awesome from both of his parents, who were also awesome.  His sister, Altena, is also really cool.  Altena in particular actually gets a lot.  Having been taken in by the man who killed her parents, she’s grown up thinking that he is her true father.  Her character is in a position to act more as a bridge between two smaller nations that have constantly been at war, having the bloodline connection to Leif and to Leonster, while having her upbringing in Thracia and feeling a family connection to Arion, the true son of Travant.  She’s one of the better characters in this game, I think.

Ares is actually one of my favorites in this entire game.  He and Lene have great supports, but more importantly, you know what sets Ares apart?  Having a brain cell.  As soon as he realizes the corrupt lord he works for sent him out to the front lines and has likely taken Lene captive, he immediately turns coat, intent on killing everyone in his way to save her.  Thank you, Ares.  Thank you for being better than your father, who would’ve meekly decided he can’t disobey orders because he’s totally too honorable and not a fucking coward for letting his sister almost get killed.

Julia...oh my god, I have so much to say on Julia.  Has anyone following me noticed I kinda like the Eirika archetypes?  The female characters that are mostly really collected and quiet, occasionally have a showing of fire, and are ultimately either heavily under-utilized and ignored by the plot or given a story that’s really not very good despite how strong their character could’ve been if the story weren’t...the way that it is?  That’s Julia.  I adore Julia.  She spends most of the game not doing much, mostly being silent and also an amnesiac.  She gets like two conversations with Seliph, and they’re...they’re okay.  Nothing exceptional, just...okay.  But hysterically, once she’s kidnapped, she starts to show the makings of a really great character.  She’s compassionate and understanding to her father, who’s realized what a dingus he was, but pushes back against Julius/Loptyr and is pretty up-front about how willing she is now to kill her brother if it means stopping evil from being unleashed in the world.  She refuses to go quietly, and claims she’ll fight them to the end.  And, you know...is promptly brainwashed and spends the entire chapter as an enemy until Seliph kills Manfroy and lets her snap out of it.  Not even just talks to her, that won’t work unless Manfroy’s dead.  She doesn’t even get enough agency to break free of control under her own will.  This is the issue with Julia.  She should be fantastic.  She’s a character who carries the blood of both Naga and Loptyr, the greatest good and the greatest evil of this world.  Within her is a very concrete expression of the good/evil dichotomy that all humans face, and through her actions she chooses to do good for the world, yet acknowledges the potential for evil within her and struggles against it.  That’s super compelling!  Hell, that’s the most compelling character narrative in this entire game!  And what does it amount to?  Jack fucking shit, because her declaration of intent is immediately sidelined for her to be controlled by another for the entire chapter and made to do evil, until the male hero breaks the spell for her.  Only then is she allowed to confront her brother and actually show agency.  Her character arc should’ve been the diamond in the rough, and all the agency and development she brings to the table is immediately undermined.  Julia, sweetie, you deserved so much better than this.

Ugh, that one hurt to complain about.  But since we’re on the topic, Julius.  We’re supposed to be sad about how he’s completely taken over by Loptyr and needs to be stopped.  But...we never really know anything about Julius.  At all.  Julia talks a bit about how he used to be kind, but that’s...that’s it.  There’s no effort to have her and Arvis share stories about what the family used to be like, or give any indication of how close they were aside from saying it was the case once or twice.  So the plight of Julius, the boy who’s possessed, is completely lost on us, and as a result, Julia’s decision to fight against and kill her brother if that’s what it takes, feels a little less impactful, because you just...don’t have any emotional attachment to what’s being lost.

Ishtar is another Camus archetype, but a rare one where I kinda like her?  Kinda.  She’s come far enough to recognize that Julius is killing people and it’s a problem, and does her utmost to circumvent his violent tendencies and save people.  So why doesn’t she just leave?  Well even that’s pretty taken care of.  She was the betrothed of Julius.  She loved him.  Which means she’s another character who could’ve had meaningful dialogue about who he used to be to build up tension, but we’re not talking about that now.  She stays in part because of that love, but also because he’s violent, and seems to have his eye on her at all times.  She’s effectively stuck in an abusive relationship, unable to make a move for fear of what retaliation he might exact on her or the people she’s trying to keep safe.  That’s a way more compelling reason for a character to stick with an awful ruler.  It sucks, but at least it’s ultimately understandable, unlike Eldigan over here.

Oifey and Shanan I feel like should be more interesting characters, but they don’t really get enough time to be much else.  And if those two, who are meant to be prominent, got very little, you can kinda guess that the rest of the cast has basically nothing going for them.

Honestly, a lot of the events of Genealogy at large feel super avoidable, and largely created by idiots being allowed to make decisions.  But on the smaller level, and especially within Gen 2, I feel like all the game needs is support conversations and maybe more dialogue that didn’t focus so heavily on bloodlines.  The history is interesting, but it comes at the expense of most character development, and that’s really not a good trade.  I know people hate when I bring it up, but maybe if the maps were actually chunked and made into several smaller chapters, we could use wind-up and conclusion to castles being taken as a means to fill in more character moments, instead of just having quick exposition dumps and moving on.

[funkkpunk]

Sober October Day 13-15

I will write this tomorrow because I am going to sleep and I am definitely sick from these past three days my throat hurts I got some phlegm my lymph nodes r swollen my body is aching it is 1:51 AM so the lack of sleep is definitely going to make it all hurt more but the time I spent with Susan was fucking worth it my God I am so lucky str8 up can I get an Amen even though she could wake up tomorrow and hate me it was so nice and I also doubt it with a fair amount of confidence. She can have all the time in the world & I’ll wait like a sucka it’s gross but it’s true.  (side note: I was talking to Lisa about the past three days and making a lot of business plans now all we need to do is get Steven on board and the three of us are rich af not that money is the main objective but the ideas are so pure they could do nothing less than bring it to us) 

Day 16 (10.17.19) update

OK so Day 13 I saw Susan for the first time in a bit over a month and I was incredibly nervous. Mf sweating bullets. I saw her dad as well which was really unexpected. I almost cried lol not sure why just a swell of emotions. He seemed genuinely happy to see me so that was rly nice. Saw Lisa, Sergio, and Michelle too; I feel bad that I didn’t say much to Michelle though because she moved to Denver to do the peace corps I think. Susan told me later that she was nervous because she could feel me being nervous while she was on the way to meet. Anyways yeah I took her to get some frozen yogurt (which I ate most of) and we maintained pretty surface level conversation. As soon as she got in the car I almost started crying just from a flood of emotions, it was really intense. Still not even sure why. We drove to the park by my dads office after and there we had a bit deeper conversation but I told her to save it until we would see each other later in the day. She shed a few tears there as well. I still don’t really understand why this happened at several points.. I think it was just a release of emotion that words could not express. Kind of a beautiful thing tbh. I drove her to dinner with her family and went home to workout a bit, then she came over again. We went to pick up Ximena and she was so excited to see Susan that was really sweet. Took Ximena to Panera where she took her sweet ass time (lol) eating and Susan talked to her about school and life for a bit. I wanted to put my hand on her leg or something the whole time. But after that we went home, and she spoke with my mom for a bit. Then we went to my room to watch Wallace & Gromit and it was a bit awkward the whole time. Not awkward but a lot of tension I should say, however, it may have just been on my end. I finally couldn’t take it and asked her to come into my arms, and we just held each other and cried. TBH I’m not sure if I should be posting this on the internet LOL bc it was a really tender and private moment and although this whole thing started as a journal about how I feel being sober (which I will touch on in a brief moment) it has also become a way for Susan to be able to read my thoughts while we are not speaking and with that in mind I think I’m going to keep the rest of this less detailed because these few days were something for her and I only. Also I am extremely tired and it is 12:35 AM. So, I told her a lot about how I felt (maybe too much?) and we ended up cuddling a bit and talking the rest of the night until around 1:30. Then she came over around 8 and I drove her to San Diego shortly after that. It was fun to be reckless for her. The whole day was spent driving her to and from her sessions and basically just spending time in the car. We got bagels and tacos as well. Ended the day with Tacos Al Gordo. Oh and I finally took her to Soledad Mountain that was really fun. At night I went to get water with Charlie and we both showered (Me and Susan not Charlie) and went to bed. I feel bad that she was worried at different points during the day about me not having money, and about me not being “productive”. But I understand that I was a hard ass for a bout a year and a half so I have to just reassure her when she feels those things. It was actually pretty productive for me, I went to the gym and made the beat for “outmyway”. Anyways the next day was basically the same thing and then I went to the train station and Lisa & Steven took me home. Then I went to train and I was late to promotions LMAO -___- as I needed more of a reason for them to dislike me there. The vibe is getting worse and worse honestly, but there are a few guys I really like. Mike, Joe, and Tony (all blue belts) and this guy Sin; he’s got fucking heart. Broke his thumb and he just tapes it up every class. The soon-to-be-black-belt Nathan is also really cool but we don’t talk much, I just appreciate his jiu jitsu. Also the Japanese blackbelt. I need to start figuring out the whole contract thing because I really want to start commuting to American Legion when they open in November. OK anyways to sum things up I think me and Susan are on good terms again, I now have the opportunity to court her and prove my love. She got me a bracelet in Hawaii so I know she be lovin’ me too. Don’t need to deny it girl. Jk. Ok yeah that and also I want to switch gyms. Gonna start work with my dad next week and I’m going to see if I can start doing deliveries for Susan’s dad as well. Gonna see if I can schedule some sort of streaming date on Saturday night if she isn’t busy, if not then then Sunday hopefully. Actually Sunday makes the most sense. Ok fuck I have to sleep dude I am so sick from those three days lol. Need to sleep all day today (10.18.19) and skip training so Saturday I can bring home the gold medal. Gonna work on a gameplan tomorrow and just rest. OKKKKK shit going to sleep now gn 

Oh yeah today was day 16 and all I did was watch tiny desk performances, take a fat ass nap, and go to public speaking. I also figured that I may want to become an OT at some point. OK gn

[the-canary]

Languages of Saints - C.R (5/10)

Summary: A deal isn’t supposed to involve feelings, right? (Reader/Carter Baizen). 

Prompt: “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

Masterlist

A/N: 2.7k! ;A; 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

Feedback is always appreciated.

Part Time Event Coordinator.

It is something you decide to put one night on your resume after going over how much time you had spent creating and showcasing the wonder and charitable nature of the company since Mr. Baizen took over. Yes, you still had your old job and worked the hours necessary for them -- filling in all the dirty numbers that the CEO didn’t want to show the world, but even the numbers don’t add up for Carter Baizen sometimes. There were several thousands missing at a time, sometimes the numbers just didn’t add on -- at first, you had thought it was just something related to the shady dealings that Mr. Baizen handed, but there were even moments where he was confused, but with a flick of the wrist or a signature it was moved from his desk and ignored you. You had frowed the first time that he had done this, only for him to give you a shrug, throwing away money seemed so easy for him.

“ Get a lawyer, just in case, ” that’s what Rocio had told you the other day when you talked about the current details of your job, a relief that you hadn’t been working that weekend. But, who in their right mind would go against Carter Baizen -- the more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much of New York he had come to own. There was a little part of him everywhere, even owning a small portion of the Jets -- I mean, who did that ?  

However, you had also come to understand that Carter Baizen, without any of his family’s money, was a man that struggled to prove he had some type of worth to whoever looked down on him, you had seen this happen once.

“Carter Baizen threw away all his inheritance, pulled his father’s company to the brink,” they whispered, a little too drunk late into the night.

“Now, look at him, pretending he cares about inner city kids,” they, those socialites with nothing much to do besides drink, giggled as your eyes flickered to them and Mr. Baizen passing by and though he seemed unfazed there was a tightening of his jaw you seemed to notice -- you were noticing a lot of things recently.  

You stare at the word document for a moment before calling it a night. You’re still unsure of who Mr. Baizen was and what was his endgame to all of this, but at least you could be prepared when it all fell, or at least when he decided to finally fire you, which was the least he could do.

 Truth be told, Carter Baizen had lost his endgame years ago, when she got married a second time, when she had her kids, and a winery somewhere in Northern California. A lot of the things he had now, didn’t coincide with what he had wanted at the start of this long money marathon, but without a set end -- he kept running and doing what he had learn to do best -- take things from others. The problem was that despite all his misgivings and foolish choices, the former CEO of Wyman had been a charitable man, as such there were contracts and grants to follow through with, along with dollars to match and giveaway.

It wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but then he had found the perfect person for it.

“Mr. Baizen, I have the report completed for last night’s donations,” your voice echoes from the entrance of his office, as blue eyes look up from his laptop to look at you -- dark business pants and a white blouse-- before motioning for you to come in, whatever he was doing forgotten for the fun he found the rest of the night.  

“I’ve told you Carter is just fine,” he waves his hand dismissively, as you hand him the report and take a seat across from him, preceding to work on whatever else you have on your plate.

Ever since that first charity event, Carter had roped you into doing all of them for the spring season. He knew it wasn’t an easy task doing everything he threw at you, but you did it to perfection and he was proud of his little employee, letting you in on little perks that some threw themselves to try to grab on the first day -- like letting you calling him Car if you wanted, spending dinner time together, things he knew people only dreamed off -- but with that look in your eyes as you sat down, he knew it was a no-go tonight as well.

“Are you sure this is how much the Wallaces gave this time around?” he asks, skimming through the end where all the numbers connected, as you look up from your computer and nod, “ Cheapskates.”

You let out a small puff of air, but cover it before it can turn into a laugh. Carter can’t help the small uptick of his lips at the sound that managed to escape, before shaking his head and going through the rest of the documents you had brought him. Events were already planned months in advance, as you listed them all out -- ready for his approval, though he did find ways to get arise out of you -- just to see to roll your eyes and give him the best explanation as to why.

“Are you sure this is the appropriate blue for this theme?” he questions, a shiteating grin on his face as you look up from the laptop to see him leaning on the desk a bit more, while pointing to the color scheme for the summer boat race a few months away. You tell him to give you the paper, as you turn the page.

“This blue matches the color the foundation we’re supporting,” you explain, as he nods though not really paying any attention, he just wanted to see you work through it -- give him your explanation as to why you made all these choices so far. Carter might not have enjoyed all of this, but he liked seeing all the work you accomplished and how you seemed to be doing it for a good cause as well.

“I hope you understand why I chose it now,” you finish, though clearly knowing he wasn’t paying attention before going back to playing with the numbers on your screen.

Trading questions and remarks until 9pm had become the norm, and while he didn’t do it as often so did having some dinner through one of the apps he had downloaded the other day. Most of the fancy restaurants he knew didn’t deliver, but you were well-versed enough with what was around the building to give him some suggestions. At first it had just been for him, too tired to get his own dinner as you worked on, but now there was just enough for two people.

“Look you can either eat the kung-pow chicken,” he states with pushing the plate in your direction, “Or let it go to waste.”

You grumble your appreciation as Carter laughs taking another bite of his own meal with a self-satisfied feeling bubbling through his body, as he looks out towards the New York skyline. However, all things must come to end, as they do every night when the clock strikes 9:30 and the two of you are ready to leave, not to meet again for another week, as you head towards the street --ready to wait for a certain someone-- as Carter leans out of his all-too familiar car.        

“Would you like me to drive you home?” Carter asks. He had been asking the same question since these nightly meetings started. Sometimes, he was close as you debated being murder to walking to the station alone, but never once had he gotten the chance to get you in his car again, like he had back in the party.

It’s wasn’t going to be any different tonight, as a r ed 911 Carrera Porsche zooms in front of the two of you, Rocio grins as she waves at Carter from the front seat.

“Thank you for the offer,” you manage say in an even tone and a professional smile -- and for some reason it’s a rejection that Carter can’t seem to handle though he doesn’t show it, as you get into the red vehicle, “Goodnight, Mr. Baizen.”

Carter lets out a frustrated groan as he runs a hand through his hair before driving his own expensive car to his apartment, unsure of why he is so angry at these constant turn of events and just exactly why they won’t leave his mind anymore.

Oh, Carter Baizen has it bad, he just doesn’t know it yet.

 Heidi Castelo-Ashford constantly worried about her children, even if they didn’t care due to them being older now, but the one she worried about the most was her eldest -- Rocio. Being the only child of a model and a real estate agent wasn’t easy for Rocio, watching what happened to her father and then seeing her mother get married again and have more children --- well-educated and privilege beyond what one could imagine as old New York money, made her lash out even more. However, through thick and thin, there was someone that was a constant in her daughter's life -- you, because Heidi knew that isn’t it wasn’t for you Roci wouldn’t have made it this far in life, would have ended up in even worst situation.

Even if she didn’t see you often, you were like a 2nd daughter to her. An open invitation was always there for you, and this time Rocio (for whatever reason) had decided that the two of you would attend her mother’s annual garden party supporting various art foundations. So, here you are a pretty expensive summer dress and heels, as Rocio downs her 3rd margarita before it even hits 11am. Her mother waving from afar, as you return the greeting.   

“Roc, why are we here again?” you question, as green eyes scan the lavish tables and guests mainly dressed in white, “Who are you trying to bang?”

“I’m trying to reconnect with someone,” she explains before getting another drink from the waiters moving around, “Mom said Montreal came back.”

“Oh shit,” is all you manage to say, as you look scan the area for the moment. Montreal, or rather the person you had gone to the blasted city to had returned --potentially as the prodigal child-- the one that had humiliated Roci all those years ago, and you knew you had to be here.  

“Any game plan?” you question, only for Rocio to shake her head. It was kind of scary since she always had one before she threw it out the window, at least she was one step ahead for now, “Well, I’m here if you need an extra butt cheek.”

“I’ll holler if I need help,” she says calmly, almost too much so for some who has had 4 drinks in less than an hour, but you know that if she wanted you there she would have told you, as she marched into a world you didn’t know very well.

Outside dealing with Rocio, her family sometimes, and now Mr. Baizen -- you weren’t from a world like this -- hell, you could barely make the rent sometimes. You stood around for awhile, before Heidi grabbed you and began showing you around, soon more people were gathered around you, as if it had caught wind of who you were and your connections to a certain someone, unaware that someone had also heard that you were there as well.

“And have you thought of leaving Wyman?” an elderly woman that seems to be Heidi’s friend ask and clearly ignoring the recent change in ownership, as they have been going on asking you for the past 20 minutes about your personal background and current aspirations -- to which you didn’t back down from. You were sure that they were judging you, but you shrugged it off -- Rocio’s attitude clearly rubbing off as Heidi just gave a hesitant laugh.

“I actually--” you start off, only to have a hand grip your hip tightly as you look to see an annoying but perfect looking with his gelled hair wearing white suit and light blue shirt.

“She actually plans on staying there a very long time, but that’s besides the point,” he gives them a smile before dragging you out of the circle, as you try your best to say goodbye to Heidi as the women talk in a higher pitch before shaking their heads in agreement -- like flock of white birds and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“You’re hanging out with the wrong crowd, sweetheart, ” you turn to look back at Carter shaking his head, as you frown at the nickname.

“And your company is better than theirs?” you unknowingly tease him, as he grins pulling you towards a shadier part of the garden where the buffet is taking place along with some dancing. You pause and stare for a moment, still confused as to why both Mr. Baizen and Rocio would hate such a lifestyle, but it was just something you were never meant to understand.

“Much better,” he gives you a boyish grin that doesn’t seem as annoying as all the others he has given you in the time that you have known him. You don’t know if it’s being out of the work environment or his changed demeanor, even though he’s still seems to be puffy around everyone else, that allows you to laugh at his comment.

“Do you come to these often?” you question, pulling his hand from your waist only for him to place it right back. Blue eyes scan the whole area, as if lost in a memory of something else before answering your question.

“Haven’t been to one in a long time,” he lets out in a bitter huff, as you simply nod, as he adds on mysteriously, “But I just had to come today.”

You can feel eyes on you and him, as you turn to see some people talking and you can’t help but shake your head a little because as much as you try to keep it professional, Mr. Baizen had been trying to push that boundary from day one, and it seems that he was just doubling in his efforts more and more though you didn’t understand why. Like now, as some people who you remember from a previous charity event start coming up to the two of you, he moves you forward and onto the stuffy dance floor.

“Mr. Baizen, what are you doing?” you ask harshly, unsure of how to move to the steps of such a formal song, while he twirls you keeping one hand on your hip and the other within his free hand’s grasp.   

“Gotta stake my claim,” he states before tapping your heels with his brown loafers, moving you in the correct position to dance, “Everyone knows you’re running the events for me. Rich people always know the value of a good staff.”

“Like you do?” you question, trying your hardest to keep up with his steps but to also not look down.   

“Something like that,” he flashes you a smile, as you are quick to pick up how to move. His smile brightens as he spins you for a moment, completely lost to whoever else might be watching, as you giggle at being able to follow his lead. One song and then two songs pass without the two of you dancing near the back, nobody daring to bother you but watching every move. Carter makes comments here and there about people you don’t know and you can’t help but laugh, each time heartier than before as blue eyes watch you completely mesmerized.  

But, the spell’s has to be broken sometime, as there is a scream followed by the echo of your name in Rocio’s voice. People turn at the sound of splashing as you turn around to look as many partygoers have gone to go see what was happening near the large fountain near the center of the garden. You let go of Carter in worry for your best friend, you turn and give him an apologetic nod.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baizen,” is all you manage to say before taking off to where Rocio might be, as he eventually loses sight of you through all the people.

“Yeah,” he says as he runs as hand though his face and groans. The warmth of you still sending electricity throughout his very being, and Carter know this feeling all too well -- he had felt it once before, a long time ago.

What the hell was he going to do now?

Part 6 

[shizuokato]

Devil’s Laughter

Melody didn’t need to say more, some of you were already out the door, hearts racing.

The door of the family butcher was swung wide open, to reveal…

Amelia.

Wallace walked in behind you, looks like he had his body back.

“Hey kids how’s it g-- oh.”

“Cool. That explains why I. Yeah. This shit isn’t cool though. What the fuck is your problem. Why are y’all like this.”

He’s already writing up the notes.

“You fuckin’ know what to do.” He’s tired of this.

“Your shit’s probably gonna be back in your rooms too, if you haven’t got it back yet.”

Investigation start.