#what new photos he took lately. it gets ten times worse if its just the four of them around bc then danny can be more lackadaisical abt

[starry-bi-sky]

SURPRISE! I am still not done thinking about this.

-------

Danny has a problem.

No, actually he has two problems.

Three problems?

Four. All of them are related, and all of them are loosely connected to one another. Half of them are long-term, somewhat passive problems. Passive in the sense that he is not actively being bothered by it right this moment.

The other half are twins and are currently giving him active, in-the-moment 'oh shit' problems.

He ducks under Red Robin's bō, one hand secured tightly onto his backpack full of stolen tech -- tech being a loose term, he thinks. -- and, keeping half-a-mind on the weight imbalance, loosens a kick to birdie's face.

"You missed." He comments, his brain-to-mouth filter failing him as it normally does in fights, and watches as Red Robin manages to get out of the way in time before his heel can meet his jaw. Danny uses that pause and brief change in distance to righten his footing, and widen that distance between them both.

Well, as much as he can with the two of them on a rooftop. He needs to get off of here before reinforcements show up.

Red Robin twirls his staff, the action unsurprisingly graceful and just as threatening, and Danny politely ignores the thrill it rushes down his spine. "You too."

It's not often that Danny steals tech in Gotham, but he's pretty sure that in the handful of times he's been here, he's managed to firmly situate himself as a member of Red Robin's Rogues Gallery. Which; great, fantastic. It's not his fault that red-winged blackbird over there was always the one to catch up with him first.

How the hell did this happen when he doesn't frequent Gotham for his heists half as much as the other cities?

If it wasn't already obvious: Danny's current, active two problems are Red Robin. The first being that he was being pursued by him, the second, however?

Danny's pretty sure he's developing some kind of crush.

Red lunges at him, and on the downswing of his staff, Danny makes his backpack weightless and all but pirouettes out of the way. Reaching out to yank on Red Robin's cape hard enough that he loses his balance.

He usually has a strategy for these fights to avoid gathering more attention than he already has, and revealing the full extent of his powers!

That strategy is: Avoid getting socked, toss them around a little if need be, and then get the hell out of dodge the moment he can!

The uneducated may call it cowardly. Danny calls it a proportional response. Nobody kills a spider with a flamethrower.

As for that crush -- don't ask him how it happened. He doesn't know-- okay that's a lie. It's a complete and utter lie and Danny knows it. He knows why.

He'd like to say that it's because of his ghost half -- instincts, habits, new behavioral changes that result in his very physiology being altered. But that would ALSO be a lie. Danny just has weird fucking taste and he knows it.

There was a running theme, and he can deny it no longer!

He has a type for obsessive little freaks intent on ruining his day.

Valerie Gray: local ghost hunter who he (accidentally) ruined the life of, and who in turn swore vengeance against him and all ghosts. Obsessed with routinely kicking his ass whatever chance she gets.

Wes Weston (a crush he will take to his fucking GRAVE): Discovered his secret identity on accident, vowed to reveal it to the rest of school. Now obsessively stalks him any chance he gets. Danny has routinely stolen his camera to otherwise delete, destroy, or steal the photos he has on it.

(Danny's crush on Wes Weston completely blindsided him, and lasted him all the way up to the moment Danny was unceremoniously dumped into another dimension. Sam already gives him enough shit for dating Valerie, he can't imagine what she'd do if she found out he was crushing on the boy intent on revealing his secret identity.)

(His only excuse is that Wes' cringefail attitude, sheer dedication, and stalkerish tendencies charmed him. He never said it was a good excuse.)

And now Red Robin.

But there was another running theme, for Danny specifically, when it came to his crushes. Now a safe distance away again, Danny's mouth tilts into a cocky smile and his heart thuds loud in his ears. "You're off your A-game tonight, Red. Something got your feathers all clipped?"

That is: mercilessly teasing his crush. Danny genuinely can't explain it, but riling up the object of his affections created a thrill like no other. Something about seeing their faces turn cherry red and their pupils dilate. It's like a lion watching a limping gazelle across the savannah, the smell of blood urging it to pursue.

Birdie did not blush easy, but by the gods, Danny had fun trying.

Red Robin huffs, shooting back at him a sarcastic smile while he readjusts the grip on his bō. They circle around each other; "Just missed you, Luci. Heard you hit up one of Luthor's warehouses last month, I'm hurt, we've got perfectly good tech here."

Luci. Short for Illusa, which in turn is, apparently, a term for 'illusion'. Danny did not pick out the name, it -- like all his interactions with the media -- was assigned to him. He has to hand it to the guy who coined the name though; it's leagues above something like Inviso-Bill and Ghost Boy.

He huffs a low laugh, ignoring the flippity-flop of his heart as a croon rises in the back of his throat. "Don't be too mad at me, cat-food. Lexie had something I wanted." He adjusts his backpack so it fit more comfortably on his shoulders. Bits and bobbles he needed to build his portal gun. Wires, scrap metal, gadgets and gizmos he could take apart for their parts. Thats what he needs.

"And that is?" In the dim lighting, Danny watches the edges of Red Robin's mask raise like an eyebrow.

His smile turns sharp, baring. His mouth moves before his brain does; "Come over here for a kiss, pretty bird, and I might just tell you."

Danny Is An Alternate Version Of Ra's Al Ghul And Flash Already Called Dibs On Adopting Him

Danny In All His Sleep Deprived Slightly Scuffed Up From A Fight Glory Is On His Way To Clockworks Tower To Hopefully Get A Nap And Maybe Some Homework Done When A Natural Portal Opens Up In Front Of Him And Proceeds To Unceremoniously Drop Him In The DC Verse Just Outside Of Central City Before Promptly Closing Leaving A Tired Danny Behind In A Run Down Abandoned Parking Lot.

It's Times Like This When Danny Regrets Putting Off Learning How To Make His Own Portals, Cause Now He Is Very Much Stuck For The Foreseeable Future And He Has No Idea Where Or When He Is. Luckily For Him However Central City Isn't Too Far Away, Unlucky For Him However Is That Once In The City He Realizes This Isn't His Dimension. He's Pretty Sure He'd Remember Something Called The Justice League.

So What Do You Do When Supernatural Bullshit Fails You? You Fall Back On Your Mad Scientist Roots And You Make A Portal Gun. So That's Exactly What Danny Plans To Do.

Unfortunately Staying Alive And Building Questionably Safe Portal Technology Requires Money And Supplies, So He Ends Up Wandering From City To City Doing Odd Jobs/Fixing Up Busted Tech For Cash Or Unwanted Electronics For His "Operation: Get Home" Needs. This Obviously Ends In A Few Superhero Encounter Shenanigans.

Though He Always Ends Up Back Near Central City, Both On The Off Chance The Natural Portal Will Open Up Again And Because Out Of All The Superheroes That Apparently Exist In This Universe The Speedsters Are His Favorite (Red Robin Is Solidly His Second Favorite Ever Since The Gotham Vigilante Gave Him A Large Coffee Filled With Enough Caffeine To Kill A Man).

Unbeknownst To Danny However Is That Every Hero/Vigilante He Has Encountered Has Come To At Least One Of The Following Conclusions; 1. Run Away Meta Who Is In Desperate Need Of A Good Meal/Adoption Bait. 2. Possibly Red Robin/Tim Drake Clone 3. A Good Kid But Could Possibly Be A Future Rouge If Left Unsupervised. 4. Did Bats Get A New Kid And Why Is He Here?

All Flash Knows Is That He Saw The Kid First And Therefore Has Dibs. Suck It Bruce.

Fast-forward A Few Months And Danny Gets Hurt During A Rogue Attack While Trying To Help Some Civilians Get To Safety (Old Hero Habits Die Hard (Ha Die Hard) And All That Jazz) And He Nopes Out Once Everyone Is Safe And When The Paramedics Are Busy With Other People Unaware He Left A Blood Sample Behind.

One DNA Test Brought To You By Paranoid Bat Concerns Of A Possible Red Robin Clone Later And They Find Out That Dannys DNA Matches One Ra's Al Ghul.

They Now Think Danny Is An Escaped Ra's Al Ghul Clone.

Memes For The Vibes:

[writing-in-april]

My Date with the President’s Daughter

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Spencer POV)

Summary: Spencer has a date with the President’s daughter, who he’s been dating for a while in partial secret. He hasn’t seen her in person for a while so he’s had to settle for another form of communication.

A/N: Ok just to get this out of the way— this is not a politically charged fic, I don’t express my own political beliefs in this fic nor do I express my opinion on the beliefs of others. The president in this fic is entirely made up and I just thought it would be cool to release it on Inauguration Day like the nerd I am. I do not want a political debate in the comments, this blog is not meant for that. This fic is for fun and to make people a little happier in these trying times. Please respect my wishes. This was a really fun way to write a twist on Spencer dating someone famous and- I wonder if anyone can spot the West Wing reference I used 🤔Thanks to @spencers-dria again for always helping me out with my fics 🥰This is also apart of my unlinked fic series called Spencer Reid & Letters! Requests are open and thank you for reading!

Warning: Vague political talk, References to keeping their relationship secret earlier, Avoiding the paparazzi- that should be it.

Main Masterlist Spencer Reid & Letters Word count: 1.6k

She didn’t have to put her short little letter to me on the back of a postcard, but she always did it this way. I remember when she first told me why she did it. We were sitting cuddled up on my couch at the early start of our relationship. I had asked her why she always insisted she send her letters on the back of a tiny card, she would’ve had so much more room if she got out a piece of paper.

She said she got into the habit of sending them to her father whenever he was away on business. Her handwriting had been horrible as a child according to her and her father had suggested she try to fit all of her thoughts onto a postcard. So, now she sent all of her letters neatly handwritten with the smallest of letters, so small you could almost barely read them, on the back of a postcard.

The postcard I had gotten late today, delivered by one of the last people on duty this late at night, was a picturesque view of the White House. The grass bright green and the outside covered in pure crisp white, a statuesque image of American democracy. Now, she didn’t send this to me because she wanted to express her political views and patriotism in a postcard, it just so happened to be where her father lived.

The fact that she was the President’s daughter used to intimidate me a lot when I first met her. I hadn’t immediately connected the dots in my head that she was the first daughter when we first met, though I could tell I had seen her somewhere before. Though, my first assumption was that maybe she had been a regular at my favorite coffee shop, not the daughter to the President of the United States. Literally my biggest boss.

First time I met him was also my first time in the east wing; she had some help from her secret service detail to sneak me in through the back. I only ever nervously stutter when I’m in intimidating or stressful situations and I’m pretty sure I barely got a sentence out the first ten minutes after I had met him. Luckily, he did seem to like me, though I’m not really sure why. Y/N told me once it was because he found my intelligence extraordinary and my constant willingness to share facts endearing. I always blush when I remember that, she was always so sweet to me and the fact that her family loved me as well caused my heart to swell exponentially. I stared at the captured view for a few seconds longer before the dots had fully connected in my head, I may have an eidetic memory, but sometimes it took me a minute to get her subtle hints. She didn’t actually live at the White House, she had her own house in D.C. But, this postcard meant one thing. She’s home.

Each postcard she sent me had a picture of wherever she was while she was traveling the world, it was a small gesture that made me feel closer to her, I always tried to imagine I was there with her at every location she sent. She had been out of the country for at least a month on business and even before that we hadn’t seen each other for a while, I had been stuck on a long case that kept me away from her for half a month.

A month and a half, that’s how long it's been since I’ve had her in my arms. I turned over the card expecting to see it filled with more words than most people would think could fit on the back of a postcard to let me know when I could see her, but this was not the case. Instead, the back of the card contained less words than normal. Only the words- meet me at 10pm at our usual spot.

My body moved faster than my brain, getting up to pack up all my things to rush to our usual spot. My watch sat over my cardigan sleeve on my wrist and it blinked up at me letting me know I only had 30 minutes till I had to get to the other side of town.I still had some paperwork left, but enough that I could push it off till the next day. Once I had gotten all my stuff together I scurried over to leave through the glass doors.

“Are you heading home, Spence?” A voice from inside the bullpen called out startling me out of my thoughts, I had thought everyone had left for the night. I turned around to look at the owner of the voice, JJ, who had come back from the break room to finish her large stack of paperwork that still remained.

“Actually no- I have a date.” A small shy smile made its way onto my face, I still felt very shy when I talked about my relationship with the team. When I had first told them after around 8 months into our relationship, they had thought I was pulling their legs. Once they did realize that I was in fact, not bullshitting them as Morgan had suspected, the questions had immediately come down on me. The ogling at my relationship never really ceased in the months after it had come out to the team, and the rest of the world. We mostly still tried to keep it under wraps, but the fact that the press now knew about me after some photos got leaked from a date only made the team ogle even more.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to who you go on dates with, it’s like something out of a movie.” JJ joked, then yawning again and leaning her face into her palms. “Well- I still have a lot of paperwork to do, you go enjoy your night, Spencer. I know you haven’t seen her in a while.”

My mind had already begun to shift away from JJ as soon as she brought her up, I was practically vibrating in anticipation, I couldn’t wait to see her.

—-

The rare book store on the east side of Quantico had been my favorite for years, ever since I had moved out here from Vegas actually. So much so that the owners, an older couple named Margaret and Dan, both knew me by name and knew almost exactly what books I wanted every time. The both of them had immediately jumped at the chance when I had hesitantly asked them to let the both of us meet up here, I had been desperately trying to find a place outside of my apartment where we could meet up.

When I entered the shop through the back it was already deserted just for us, she must have contacted Maggie and Dan to ask them if we could have the store for the night. The store was packed full of the rare books the owners had both acquired over the years, ranging from old tales and poems written by Edgar Allan Poe, the dark brother’s Grimm tales, to almost any old book that you could think of. It was almost to the point where I thought maybe Maggie and Dan should upgrade to a bigger shop.

“Long time no see.” A voice piped up from the mostly dark corner where she sat in a dark green armchair only partially illuminated by a standing lamp. Broad grins broke out on both of our faces before we both ran to each other, engulfing ourselves into an overwhelming bear hug.

“I missed you so much you don't even know.” Tears prickled at the edge of my eyes, though I wasn’t afraid to admit that us being apart for so long made me tear up.

“I've got a pretty good idea, I missed you so much as well.” She sniffed and then sighed into the crook of my neck. I moved my hand up to cradle her head to try and bring her as close as possible to me, even though there was already not even an inch of space between the two of us.

A nagging thought was dancing around in my brain, the card was so short and abrupt. It wasn’t like her to not be long winded whenever she wrote to me, she even had a tendency to be worse than I was sometimes.

“Why was the card so short? You feeling ok?”

“I just couldn’t wait to see you… It’s been so long since I’ve seen you...” Her tone of voice made me sad, it had been so lonely for me as well when we were apart.  “I never want to be away from you for that long ever again.”

“Move in with me.” The words blurted out of my mouth before I could really think about my words. I didn’t care whether it would be feasible or not, I just knew I never wanted us to be apart for so long ever again.

“Well-“ I cringed a little at her words sensing a rejection, I worried that I had just screwed it all up by asking. However, again she surprised me, “We might need to get a new place to settle my father’s worries about security.”

I breathed out a breathy laugh of relief at her words, enveloping her into a bruising kiss, my worry and anxiety immediately melting away. I couldn’t wait for the next chapter of my life with the President’s daughter.

—-

Tag list (Message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

Spencer Reid & Letters Series:

@sierraraeck @90spumkin @whoreforthebau

[brelione]

Please Dont Break My Heart Pt.1 (JJ Maybank X Reader)

Warnings:Not proof read,pretty much trash.

JJ would be lying if he said that he didnt have a thing for you.You were known pretty well as both a heartbreaker and a sweetheart.Neither of those really made sense,it was like trying to mix water and olive oil.It just couldnt happen.You were a kook but werent considered one of the bad ones that would stare in disgust at every pogue they saw.

You were actually known to be quite friendly with pogues,even dating a handful of them.You’d date someone for three months and then drop their asses with no explanation why.It was like clockwork.It seemed like you got bored easily,hopping from one boy to the next.

There was pretty much a line of boys,both kooks and pogues ready to shoot their shot,be yours for three months and then get their hearts broken.Unfortunately JJ could relate,wishing that you’d come up to him one day with that well known smile,shining eyes asking him to hang out sometime.He would consider himself lucky to even be so close to you,to hold your hand and touch your hair whenever he pleased.

Even if it only lasted three months and you were using him he wouldnt even care.He didnt even know why he wanted you so much or what he liked about you.He sat by a fire,Kiara and Pope within his view as he spoke to your most recent ex,a blonde boy named Dylan.He was sniffling,not understanding why you had left him.

John.B say next to JJ,interested in the conversation that was currently about you. “So what’s she like?Is she rude or like...I dunno.”JJ shrugged,trying to form his questions into actual words.Dylan huffed,staring into the flames. “No,man.She’s nice as hell and she’s funny and she dances around her living room and she likes to surf and bake and-and oh god I fucking miss her.”Dylan sobbed,wiping his tears.

JJ had heard the same story from eight guys,that you were sweet and genuine and how they thought they were different from the others until you broke them too.JJ felt bad for them of course but more than anything he wanted to know the reason for your constant heartbreaking and manipulating.He felt even worse because he wanted you to manipulate him.

He tried to listen to Dylan talk,zoning out eventually.Technically he was in the line of guys that were ready to have their heart broken and you probably knew that.That meant that he could be the next boy to be yours.It was wrong of him to think that way and he knew that.He had watched this pattern for two years now,waiting for his turn patiently and never daring to interfere but beginning to think about what would happen this time.He wanted this to be the best summer ever,to have a good time all the time.You could most definitely make this the best summer ever which meant that he needed to be number one in your line.

It had been a week since you broke Dylan’s heart.He was good to you,never yelled at you or treated you wrong.He let you take his hoodies and gave you forehead kisses and piggy back rides down the beach.You were his lockscreen and he was yours,doing whatever you wanted whenever you wanted,including braiding your hair for you and going for swims in your pool at three in the morning.

But he was getting too close to you and deep down you knew that nobody could be that perfect.You didnt want to hurt anyone which was why you let go of them so quickly and so easily,you’d hurt them more if you let them stick around.You didnt even know what your type was or if you even had one,you just needed something different.

You were definitely known for breaking peoples hearts which was definitely not a good reputation to have but it was better than being a drug dealer or a crackhead,both of which had been interested in you at one point.You wanted someone that was more like you,impulsive,excited,ready to try new things and have deep conversations at four in the morning.

You knew that none of the boys were really like that and you knew that they would just act like that in hopes of getting you to like them.There was only one boy that you could think of that fit what you wanted without pretending.That one boy was JJ Maybank.

You were nervous as hell to even look in his direction,knowing that he was probably disgusted by the thought of a rich,heartbreaking kook and wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.You had been single for a week,trying to figure out what to do about JJ.You didnt want to be with him and then leave him,you admired him far too much for that.

But you knew that you wanted to be with him.Kooks and Pogues would stare at you,drool practically falling from their lips as you walked by,waiting to see what you would do next.You sighed,scrolling through your phone,deciding to delete your photos of Dylan,pouting as you did so.You just had to hope that he was over by now,you had let him down gently anyways.

You got up off your bed,deciding to leave the house for the first time in three days,pulling on a black one piece bathing suit,a tshirt and shorts over it.It was 11 AM which meant the beaches wouldnt be crowded yet but luckily you knew your way around The Cut.That included the small rocky beaches that Dylan had shown you during a surfing trip to watch the sunset.

You got into your car,your surfboard already tied to the roof.You stopped at a Dunkin Donuts drive thru to grab a large iced coffee on the way,listening to your playlist as you drove to The Cut.You remembered Dylan taking you down a dirt road that was supposed to be covered in cement but never ended up happening.

You pulled onto the side of the road with a sigh,putting your phone in your backpack that contained a towel and a bag of m and m’s,swinging it over your shoulder and standing on your tip toes so you could pull your surfboard off the top,carrying it by your side as you walked down the dirt hills,coming out at the rocky surfing spot that was well hidden by trees.

JJ shocked himself when he woke up before noon,the others still asleep.He had sighed,debating on getting up or going back to sleep.He wasnt sure what made him want to go to the hidden surfing spot that was a good ten minute walk from John.B’s.He didnt know why he wanted to wiggle his toes in the small,smooth pebbles so badly.

He was already in his bathing suit from the night before,getting up and ditching the idea of surfing,just wanting to swim for a bit.His converse smacked off the dirt,trying his best not to slip and fall on his way down the hill,holding onto the trees for balance before landing onto the pebbles,eyebrows furrowing when he noticed another person was already here.He froze up when he realized it was you,laying on top of your surfboard that rested on the pebbles,arms crossed and eyes closed,not caring about the world.

He considered turning around and running away,grinning when he noticed you werent here with a boy.THat meant that you were still single and nobody was ready to pounce on him if he attempted to talk to you.Your head turned to look at him,scared for a moment when you thought he was Dylan. “JJ?”You asked curiously,sitting up to look at him at a proper angle.

He cussed,realizing it was too late to turn around now that you saw him.He grinned,walking towards you,looking down. “Yeah.”He answered,trying really hard not to grin,trying not to blush or back away out of embarrassment. “Hi.”You answered,staring up at him,not knowing what to say or do. “Hi.”He replied,sitting down on the pebbles across from you.

 “So like,what are you doing here?”He asked,trying to make conversation.He was probably the biggest flirt on the island and you were fantastic as manipulating and charming people.Why was this so hard? “I dont know,it’s just a nice day and I thought i’d surf but the waves suck today.”You shrugged,looking out at the calm,glittery water.He nodded,agreeing. “Yeah.You ever surf during a storm?”He asked,tugging at the hem of his shirt.

You grinned,nodding. “Yeah,I tried that once or twice.I wiped out and like,almost died so that sucks for me.The waves were pretty good though,not gonna lie.”You answered,remembering that adventure from a month back.Dylan was so worried the whole time,watching from the beach as you disappeared under the waves,coming back up a few moments later to gasp for air. 

“Yeah,same thing happened to me last year.I scraped my whole leg.”He admitted,trying his best not to stare at you.You turned on your surfboard,grabbing your coffee and taking a sip of it.He peeled at his fingernails,considering getting up and going into the water. “Was it worth it?”You asked,making him smile. “Um,yeah id say so.”He replied,his face becoming red. 

“I probably should’ve checked the weather before I left the house,its a really shitty day.I mean,before you got here obviously.”You took another sip of coffee,mixing the sugar at the bottom.He was a blushing mess,fighting the temptation to hide his face in his hands. “So um...where’s Dylan?”He asked,wanting to see how you’d react.You let out a sigh,biting the inside of your cheek. “It just wasnt meant to be,you know?”You asked,dissapointed when you realized he was probably just trying to get in your pants.

He nodded,understanding. “Yeah,I get that.How do you know when somethings meant to be?”He asked,slowly becoming more comfortable with you.You shrugged,not even knowing the answer.You had loved people before,you had loved all the people you had dated.You just werent in love with any of them.It just never felt right which definitely scared you.SOmetimes you wondered if you ever would love anyone like that. 

“I dont even know,dude.”You admitted,standing up on your surfboard,hopping onto the pebbles,taking off your shirt and shorts,feeling JJ’s eyes glued to you as you bent over to put your clothes into your bag. “But I do know that it’s hot as fuck out here and that water looks nice so im going to go drown.”You grinned before walking down to the water,going up to your hips,letting out a sigh of relief when your burning heels hit the cool water.

JJ admired you from a far,covering his face with his hands when your back was turned to him,grinning like a fucking idiot.He finally decided to get up and join you,pulling off his tank top and hat,dragging his feet through the cold water,standing next to you,glancing over at you every couple of minutes,trying to figure out what you were staring at that you found so interesting.

 “What are we looking at?”He asked,not seeing anything.You shrugged,wiggling your toes in the sand. “I dont know,just the clouds I guess.”You answered,looking up at him.He licked his lips,just watching you.He had never been physically close to you for longer than a minute or two even if he felt some sort of emotional connection to you since the moment he saw you.

It was a Saturday night at the beginning of June.A boneyard party was taking place,loud music,shitty beer,heated make out sessions and random games of truth or dare.Everyone was having a good time,doing whatever they pleased and getting absolutely fucking wasted.

JJ had been sipping a cup of beer,trying to listen to Pope when he heard laughter,turning to see where it was coming from.You were on Dylan’s back,your legs around his waist,arms wrapped around his shoulders,afraid you’d fall off.JJ couldnt take his eyes off of you the whole night,watching as you sat on Dylan’s lap,the boy leaving small kisses on your neck,forehead and cheeks.

It made JJ’s heart hurt,wishing it were him.On the other hand he almost wanted to yell at Dylan and call him an itiot for thinking he was different than your ex’s while another part of him wanted to yell at Dylan and try to figure out what made him so special that you spent so much time around him.JJ’s jaw clenched when he watched you kiss Dylan,wishing it were him that you were kissing.When you left the party you were wearing Dylan’s sweatshirt,holding the boys hand and probably going back to your place.

“How’d you find this place?It’s pretty well hidden.”He looked back at the empty beach,trying to figure out if you had walked because he hadnt seen your car.You looked down into the clear water,trying to figure out how far you’d be able to go without slipping under the water. 

“Uhh….Dylan showed it to me.”You replied,not wanting to make things too awkward.He nodded,not pushing any further. “I feel like Dylan didnt deserve you not gonna lie.”He admitted.Sure,he had spoken to Dylan before and thought he was an okay guy.He wasnt an asshole but he just wasnt worthy of you in JJ’s eyes.

You giggled quietly at the statement,shaking your head. “You barely know me,JJ.How do you know what I deserve?”You asked,genuinely curious for his answer.He pouted,eyebrows knitting together in frustration. “Alright,here’s what ive learned about you in like,the last fifteen minutes.”He began,a small smile on his face.You nodded,waiting for him to continue.

 “So,you like dunkin donuts,you like going on adventures for the experience and you dont really worry about consequences,you like to relax most of the time and I really want to get to know more about you.”He watched your puzzled expression,a nervous grin on his face. “You want to know more about me?How would you do that?”You asked,enjoying how nervous you could make him.

He glanced down to your lips,licking his own. “You know...a date.”He mumbled,chewing on his bottom lip. “You want to go on a date?What makes you worthy of that?”You teased,using his words against him.He rolled his eyes,looking down into the water. “I mean...I dunno,you’ll have to find out for yourself.Do you want to maybe go night swimming or something later tonight?I know a spot.”He offered,remembering the small waterfall that he had gone to with John.B and Pope last year.

You thought about it.JJ seemed sweet from what you knew but it would still be weird to go to a hidden area alone at night with someone you just met.But then again if things went south you could just kick him right in the dick. “Sounds like a date,Maybank.Just come by my house whenever,i’ll drive.”You told him,deciding that you should just leave.

There were no waves to surf or much to do so it would probably be wise to go back to your house and do your laundry and take a shower.His heart thumped in his chest,feeling a bit light headed at the thought of being yours.THere was no way this was real,he thought as he watched you walk from the water,swinging your backpack over your shoulder,getting your shoes on,holding your board and disappearing into the trees and out of his view.

He had rushed back to John.B’s,looking through every single shirt and every single pair of shorts that he had there,trying to find a good combination.He couldnt wait for John.B to wake up,shaking him by the shoulders until he was swatting the blonde’s hands away.

 “What?”He asked,sitting up in his bed. “Its my turn!”JJ exclaimed,not helping with the confusion. “What?”John.B asked again,making JJ sigh. “God,keep up!Its my turn to be hers!”JJ was far too excited for his tired friend,the words sounding like static. “Who?”John.B asked,not thinking.JJ rolled his eyes,grabbing his friend by the arm and into the guest room-JJ’s room.

 “Which outfit should I wear?”JJ asked,gesturing tot eh outfits he had laid out on the bed.He had waited over a year for this night,he shouldve prepared an outfit the moment he heard that you and Dylan had broken up. “I dont fuckin know.I dont know what girls are into.”John.B yawned,JJ’s eyes widened as he realised the problem,running into the living room to shake Kie back and forth.

 “What?”She grumbled,too tired to open her eyes. “God,fuck.”JJ cursed,throwing the girl over his shoulder and bringing her into the room,her shouts becoming annoying when he finally set her down. “Which one?”He asked,looking at the outfits.

 “For what?”She asked,looking down at the clothes. “Dammit!Im going on a date tonight and I cant mess this up.”He sighed,tugging at his hair.  “A date with who?”Kiara asked,not quite understanding.JJ wasnt the type to go on dates.What had changed? “(Y/N).”JJ answered,making Kiara’s heart drop. “Are you kidding?Come on,JJ.You know whats going to happen!”She exclaimed,her words changing nothing.

 “Does it really matter?”He asked,really just wanting to know what outfit to wear.Kiara smacked his arm,clearly mad. “Shes going to break you like she does to everyone!Why her out of all people?Cant you find a girl who’s not a play?You guys are just going to play eachother and hurt everyone!”She exclaimed,John.B nodding in agreement. “Oh,vomit!”JJ exclaimed,making the decision for himself,folding the clothes carefully and placing them on the bed.

 “Im serious,JJ!She’s gonna pretend to love you and then you’re gonna fall in love and then shes gonna break you and come running to us!”Kiara shouted,sighing loudly.JJ simply rolled his eyes,kicking his two friends out,deciding he no longer needed their opinions.He tried on the outfit,jean shorts and a gray kildare t shirt,figuring he could wear his red hat with it.

He was far too nervous for tonight.He had heard about you going on a date once only for it to go nowhere,never seeing the boy again.The boy was Max,a seventeen year old brunette that went to boneyard parties and had dropped out of highschool during junior year.JJ let his curiosity get the best of him,asking about it. “So how’d it go?”JJ had asked,sipping his beer.

Max sighed,shrugging his shoulders. “I think I was too nervous the whole time,she just wasnt really into me.She kissed me though so I think it was worth it.”Max grinned at the memory.JJ found himself thinking about you later that night as he always did,thinking differently this time.

He wanted to know what your kisses would feel like,if they were gentle or rough and where you would put your hands.He saw you kiss Dylan before,your hands in the pockets of the boys’ shorts or in his hair.JJ had imagined what that would feel like,even attempting to lucid dream but everyone knows he isnt patient enough for shit like that.

Night time came way too quick.He had showered,trying to make his hair nice for you even if he was going to place a hat on top of it anyways.His hands were gripping onto the bathroom sink tight,breathing in and out slowly,trying to remain calm before getting dressed,putting on all of his rings.

He knew where your house was.It was one of the biggest houses on the island and the driveway was painted with clouds,rainbows and mermaids so it was easy to find.He ran down the dark streets,hoping nobody would call the cops on him.He walked up your colorful driveway,stopping when lights came on across the front yard.

He didnt know what set them off,wondering if your parents knew he was coming.THe door opened,revealing you in a yellow dress,the material only going halfway down your thighs,a leather jacket hanging off of you,black and yellow vans to match.

He felt his face go red,biting his lip. “You look really-um you look really pretty.”He chuckled,feeling embarrassed.You grinned,opening the garage by typing the pin into the key pad,your black car sitting there and waiting patiently for you. “Where are we going?”You asked,taking out your keys,about to get in when he stopped you. 

“Can I drive?”He asked,giving you puppy dog eyes.You sighed,holding your keys tight,eventually giving in. “If you crash my car I will kill you.”You warned him,getting in the passengers seat that you hadnt sat in in forever.He got in,almost laughing.He had never been in such an expensive car before,pulling out of the garage,the door closing behind him. 

“Seriously though,if we crash I will kill you.”You spoke seriously,making him smile. “I know,princess.”He replied,beginning the drive down the smooth road,hitting bumps once the tires rolled into The Cut.Somehow you ended up holding his hand,your thumb resting on one of his veins,the coolness of the metal rings made a slight shiver go up your spine.

He tried so hard not to squeal,imagining this for nearly two years.He rubbed the back of your hand lightly with his thumb,trying his best to remain as calm as possible,pulling over in the familiar area. “It’s right down here.”He told you,squeezing your hand lightly before letting go.

THe two of you got out of the car,your heart beat quickening as you followed him through the woods,using a flashlight that he had brought.You could hear the waterfall,glad it wasnt too far away.THe two of you emerged from the trees and into a clearing,a slow moving rive right in front of you,a small waterfall to your right.He was focused on you,watching as you took it all in,the area being lit up by the little bit of moonlight.

You took off your jacket,unzipping the dress to reveal a white bikini underneath,placing them on top of your bag so they wouldnt get wet or dirty.He smiled,tugging off his shorts and t shirt,walking into the cold shallow water,knowing where the deep parts were.

You came in soon after,deciding to just sit in the shallow water while he jumped off the rocks and into the deep,coming up to the surface with his hair soaked and fallen into his face.He wiped it away,coming to sit next to you,admiring the waterfall. “So…”He tried to start a conversation,not quite knowing what to say.You smiled,looking over at him. 

“What?”You asked,your voice soft and smooth as you spoke.He leaned back in the water,not quite laying down. “So whats up with you?”He asked,reaching for your hand,smiling when you let him intertwine his fingers with yours. “In what way?”You asked,curious as to what he meant. “I mean you’re like,the Queen of the kooks yet you date pogues and hang around The Cut.Why?”He asked,his heels digging into the pebble below him.

You shrugged. “I mean,kooks aren't really impressive.They’re all the same,you guys have actual personalities.”You laughed,hoping he wouldnt ask the question you dreaded most.He nodded in agreement,sitting up properly.The light crashing of the water wasnt really noticeable anymore,he was too focus on the conversation.

 “I want you to tell me everything I should know about you within the next minute.Go!”He exclaimed,watching as you tried to think,surprised. “Um...um okay,my favorite color is (Y/F/C),I hate strawberry jelly,I have a dog named Hugo and hes literally the love of my life...I have slight caffeine addiction,I dont know.”You laughed,not ever thinking about this before.He nodded,urging you to keep going.

 “Uhh...my favorite show is Stranger Things,my favorite movie is The Outsiders because Dally,obviously...umm I still believe in mermaids and i’ve always wanted to build a castle.”You hoped that was enough,glad when he smiled.

 “You still believe in mermaids?”He asked,a goofy smile on his face. “Shut up,Maybank.This isnt fair,you have to tell me about you now.”You turned on your side,facing him completely.He looked shocked,not thinking that you would turn the question back on him. “You have a minute-starting now.”You announced,his thoughts moving to fast for his mouth to keep up.

 “Okay,ummm...uhhh….I’ve always wanted to live in Yucatan,my favorite color is blue...I dont have a favorite TV show...I like the Harry Potter movies but i’ve never read the books...growing up I always had a huge crush on Hermione and I believed in Santa Claus until I was twelve.I hate butterflies,I dont really like coffee because energy drinks are better and I go by JJ because I hate my actual name.”He finished,biting his lip.

You hummed,reflecting on what he just said. “Im a simp for Draco Malfoy.”You admitted,hearing him chuckle. “So you have a thing for blondes?”He asked,a cocky smirk on his face.You shushed him,rolling your eyes. “I mean,i’ve got a thing for gorgeous girls so I guess it works out.”He winked at you,a sly smirk on his face.

You felt your cheeks get hot,glancing away from him.He thought about what he was about to do for a whole two seconds,considering how it could effect his future with you. “(Y/N).”he mumbled,making you turn back to him.He waited a moment and a half before leaning in,pecking your lips lightly and pulling away,understanding why Max had spoke so fondly of the memory.

You bit your lip,pulling him into another kiss,your warm hand going into his wet hair,tugging at the slightly wavy locks.He smiled into the kiss,his hands ending up on your waist,trying to take in every detail of the moment that he knew would end soon.When you pulled away your hand remained in his hair,twirling it between your thumb and pointer finger.

@nas-marie-loves-u​ @28cnn​ @sexytholland​  @yuxsh06​   @ifilwtmfc​  @cherryobx​ @poguestarkey​ @n1ghtsh4d3-67​  @poguestyleskye​ @judayyyw​  @sunwardsss​ @meaganjm​ @sarcasticsagittarius1998​ @jj-fic-recs​ @homophobicclownmoviestan​ @jj-iz-bae​ @natalie-kate-98​ @negativity4you​ @nxsmss​ @ofmaybankheart​ @broken-jj​  @outerbongs​  @copper-boom​  @httpstarkey​ @teenwaywardasgardian @drewswannabegirl​  @simonsbluee   @jiaraendgame  @khiaraaa-in-spacee​  @on-socks-off​ 

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[lupismaris]

sorry you’re feeling so crappy 😔 i hope you feel better soon!!

if you’re feeling up to it, maybe silverflinthamiltons on a lake or beach vacation?

SILVERFLINTHAM LAKESIDE HOLIDAY PART 1 with a surprise! and another segment to follow because this is them arriving to the lake!

(this got long so most of it will be under the cut.)

***

It was summer.

Summer meant blistering asphalt and bags of trash stewing on the curb each morning. Hazy sunlight blinding the street, dark cavernous pockets of shade where the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees, but the air stayed stale and suffocating all the same. It meant too many people and too much noise and parties in the park that never seemed to end, one just replacing another in an endless cycle of hedonism, and bottles of chilled wine and cheap beer sweating on the fountain walls. It meant long dinners and longer lunches, ice cream trucks and Italian ice carts on opposite corners of the street carrying on an old world rivalry. It meant golds and blues and lush greens wherever your eyes happened to fall, be it on a back alley garden or storefront window display.

Silver loved summer.

He loved the warmth and the sprawling picnics and the baring of skin and the feral energy of a child free from school amplified to suit a city of millions and the heady summer storms that shook the glittering skyline in a kind of holy cleanse. He loved the summer fruits and the sweet aperitifs and the old school white linen shirts and open fire hydrants flooding the streets and the neon lights reflecting in the puddles left behind, still evaporating in the hot night, giving the whole world an ethereal glow.

Though he had to admit it was always better spent on a beach with a frosted drink and not a goddamn thing to do. But, if a beach couldn’t be procured, a big, cool, well air conditioned house that was paid for by someone else was an excellent alternative. His sister’s condo in Chelsea for instance was an excellent place to waste away a summer on parties and sun bathing and a private pool that no one else seemed to have the time to use. He had spent several summers with Max that way, even once the Rangers had become part of the picture, if Silver was on the east coast for the summer, he would drop in and waste away a while.

Now though, it looked like summers were going to be spent in Brooklyn, in the big cool townhouse that Thomas had paid for, with the truly miraculously internal air con that was always kept at a balmy 65 degrees from May to October, and with very little to do outside of whatever suited his fancy on any given day. Oh and sex, a lot of sex. This would be the first summer in a very long time where he could not only allow himself a libido, but he could also satiate it.

Silver was thoroughly content with the new circumstances.

He was less content however, with how the summer months, or maybe just the summer months in the city, seemed to bring out the worst in people as frequently as it did the best.

Flint, for example, did not handle summers as well as Silver did. In part it was due to the heat and the sun and the weird smells coming off the steamy side walks, and Silver understood Flint’s frustration with all that, he truly did. But summer also meant more tourists and more people going out for a good time, more people starting brawls in bars and fights in the street and parties spilling over from one bar to the next, or worse packs of bigots making the rounds and harassing whomever they find, everything the working class service folks of the city dreaded- in short, Flint’s stress levels seemed to just rise with the temperature. And considering an average day in July might easily crack 100, Silver was starting to get a tad worried.

“Is it like this every summer?” Silver had asked one Friday morning in June.

The kitchen was soft with the morning sunlight, Thomas in his silk night shirt and robe as he perused the menu for the cafe on the corner, Silver fixing them each an espresso.

“To a point yes. You know how James is about control,” Thomas said with a fond smile, “when he’s at his best he can combat every threat to his sovereignty without so much as flinching. But the summer gets to him, makes him a bit of a wolf in a cage, so to speak.”

“Was he worse in Manhattan?” the buildings sometimes reminded Silver of a cell block, the slivers of sunlight cutting through as hot as cattle prods.

“Much. Hal has tried talking him into not working as much in the summer, but you know how he is, can’t be told anything once he’s got his mind made up. Not to mention he’s never been good at simply existing. There always has to be purpose in it, work to be done, fields to plow and what not.”

Silver huffed a laugh and brought Thomas’ espresso over, feeling a sense of warmth at the notion that he and Thomas were able to share this, to share flint and all his eccentricities.

“I’m sure a man as clever as you thought of some way to keep his blood pressure down, hm?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Thomas took the espresso cup without looking away from the menu. He set it aside and pulled Silver in, kissing him sweetly in thanks. Ah, that was also a nice thing to share with Thomas, Silver reminded himself.

“Oh I came up with a few ideas, pet. How about we order breakfast, and I’ll tell you about them.”

By Friday, the three of them were packed into Flint’s old Range Rover heading upstate for two weeks of holiday bliss. It had taken multiple phone calls to Gates to make sure the bar would in fact be alright while Flint was gone and to make sure he barred Flint from being within a dozen yards of The Walrus once it closed on Thursday night. It had also taken coaxing, convincing, bartering, and eventually outright bribery with sex to get Flint to stop scowling about the idea of being away from his “ship” for longer than a weekend. There had been other phone calls as well, placed by Thomas in the early hours of the morning when he thought he was the only one awake. When asked about them he just waved the questions away with a mild, “oh just a little extra surprise for James thats all” and Silver did his best to trust him.

It was a five hour drive from the house in Brooklyn to the house on Lake Cayuga that Thomas had purchased during his recovery, to he and Flint would have a quiet place to heal and make up for lost time without the strain of the city grating on them. Silver had never been upstate, his various clients had always preferred houses in the Hamptons, but from the photos it was a cozy little cottage style house right on the shore, a couple bedrooms, an airy kitchen, lush garden, and a private pier that stretched out into the lake. There was also apparently a boat, a little hybrid sailboat of polished wood and deep blue paint, the name Ariel written in careful golden script. Silver wanted to ask whether Flint had bought it or built it, because he was the kind of high strung man to just build a boat from scratch instead of buying one or scheduling extra therapy. But the scowl on his face as they tucked the suitcases into the trunk told him it wasn’t worth the teasing. Not yet anyway.

Flint insisted on driving the whole five hours himself, scowling silently behind the wheel as he drove them through miles of lush farmland, leaving Thomas and Silver to chat about what they might do once they get settled in. There was plenty of hiking, though Thomas was worried the gorges might be tricky for Silver’s regular prosthetic, ample water falls and countless parks to explore. Lots of quaint small towns with seafood shacks and local fare and more wineries than even Thomas knew what to do with. And of course, most importantly, there was the lake.

Flint kept his silence till the last hour of the ride, the scowl firmly set on his jaw. Silver and Thomas had switched seats so Thomas could stretch out and nap in the back seats, leaving Silver to try and coax a smile out of his partner. Not that he had to do much. As the car climbed yet another rolling hill, Silver watched the horizon, his hand in Flint’s, trying to figure out whether the deep blue streak that had suddenly appeared was a dark patch of sky.

It wasn’t, for the record.

Silver frowned and turned to Flint, planning to ask if it was the lake and exactly how big was said lake- but the question died well before he could even open his mouth.

The scowl was gone, dropped from Flint’s face and replaced by the softest look of wonder Silver had ever seen on the man, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, making his mustache twitch. It was as if something had hooked its line into Flint’s chest and was slowly reeling him in, his whole body sitting straighter, the tension in his shoulders bleeding out until he was leaning into the steering wheel. His hand even held tighter to Silver’s, an unconscious need to keep himself tethered maybe, or to keep Silver close.

“Is that the lake?” Silver managed to ask with a soft smile of his own.

“Yeah. We’ll be at the cabin in half an hour.”

They got there in twenty minutes, not that anyone was actually counting.

The lake stretched out before them, a sea of deep blues and aquamarines, glittering with the hot late June sunlight that danced across it’s surface. It’s shores were patched with wildflowers and thick thatches of wood, little clusters of cabins and boat houses, who’s owners were out skipping across the surface like dragon flies on their small boats and kayaks. The afternoon air was hazy and sweet, the whole scene a postcard from the mythical summers of memory that everyone aspired to, bird song and the low hum of the radio escorting them along the final stretch of route 90. Flint pulled them down a narrow side road, passing a few comfortably sized homes with ample space between them, until they reached the dead end of the street, and the little cottage Silver had seen in the photos, with the shadow of the pier dark across the water, and the Ariel waiting like a loyal dog in her berth.

“Oh good,” Thomas said with a yawn, finally pulling himself back into a sitting position and stretching, as Flint pulled the car into the drive alongside what looked like a rental car. “I was starting to think we were lost.”

Silver looked back at him, ready to tease about old men and naps, but Thomas was looking down at his phone, his fingers quickly switching on the stop watch. “Thomas what-”

The range rover lurched to a sudden stop as Flint hit the brakes and Silver had to cling to the seat to keep himself upright. Thomas seemed completely unfazed, draped across the back seat in his half buttoned linen shirt and designer sunglasses, watching with an air of fond expectation as Flint threw on the parking brake and booked it from the car, leaving the engine running.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Silver asked.

Thomas laughed and reached around the driver’s seat to shut the car off. “Exactly what I expected him to do, though I’ll admit I expected him to at least properly stop the car first.”

“What? Thomas- oh my god he’s going in the lake?” Silver asked, watching as Flint cleared the back fence and striped off his shirt, leaving it on the lawn as he kept moving towards the pier. His boots, socks, and jeans followed, barely breaking his quick stride to strip them off.

“Last time it took him a whole ten minutes to get into the water,” Thomas said, helping Silver, who was too busy staring in shock at the sight of his stern and stoic partner racing across the back patio like a child, from the car. “He might clear five minutes this time.”

A few more quick strides and Flint dove from the end of the pier, breaking the surface of the lake with a thunderous sound and disappearing into the blue.

“He’s in the lake,” Silver said.

Thomas hooked their arms together, the two of them walking leisurely across the lawn. “Every visit, the first thing he does is go to the water. It’s even more dramatic when it’s the ocean, maybe I’ll book us a house on the coast next month.”

“More dramatic than stripping down to his boxers in the back yard?” he asked.

The back lawn of the house was a mix of a large patio and and a short green, with a fire pit and a grill, a small dining table and some cozy chairs, and what silver hoped was a hot tub. A woman was stretched out on one of the long beach chairs in a deep green bikini, her dark hair cut short and a magazine across her lap, though she was watching the water, where Flint had just resurfaced for a moment before diving again.

“Miranda?” Silver called, aware that Thomas was beaming behind him but not at all surprised to see his ex wife. That explained the phone calls, and the rental car out front.

“I believe our husband is in the lake my dears,” Miranda called with a laugh, getting up to come greet them. “God he’s like a little boy at a swimming hole.”

“I’d ask how you got here but that seems almost silly,” Silver said, letting her pull him into a tight hug. They had taken to each other from the first, which had left Thomas and Flint a little uneasy. Miranda’s humor matched his, her wit sharp and familiar, and Silver had learned very quickly why Flint and Thomas were both still in love with her. He wasn’t far from it himself.

“Thomas called, said James needed an intervention,” She said, letting him go to kiss Thomas hello and hug him tight. “I’m on break from teaching this summer and the fall concert season hasn’t started yet, could I come out and join you for a couple weeks? Which was a silly question, I was buying a ticket the moment he suggested it.”

Thomas kissed the top of her head, smiling brightly. “I had hoped you might be his surprise before he jumped in the lake, I’m sorry my dear.”

Silver watched them, feeling a bit dizzy. They were were a perfect pair, Miranda dark and elegant under Thomas’ arm, the cool dusk sky to Thomas’ golden hour sun.

“Don’t be, I’ll go down to him, maybe join him in the water for a bit.” She kissed his cheek, then Silver’s. “There’s some snacks laid out in the kitchen and dinner will be delivered in a couple hours, why don’t you get the bags inside and then come join us. Maybe we can even take Ariel out before dinner.”

“Oh now there’s an idea,” Thomas agreed, moving to go back and fetch the bags from the car. “Tell our husband we’ll join you in a moment. If you can manage to get him up for air.”

Miranda laughed, a bright sunny sound that always reminded Silver of how she played piano, and made her way down to the pier. He watched as she sat down on the edge of the pier, as the surface of the water broke and Flint emerged, staring up at her in shock. Silver heard her laughing, saw her reach out and watched as Flint reached up and pulled her into the lake with a joyful shout of her name. They were lost for a moment to the water, kicking up waves as Flint held her tight and danced them around, clumsy and free. Behind him Silver could hear Thomas laughing, felt his hand as it came to rest warm and sure on his lower back, pulling him in close, as he said something about wishing they’d gotten that on film.

For Silver, it was one of those moments where suddenly he remembered what all those old love songs were written about. He understood it.

And it was finally his.

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 9 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: I really really struggled with this chapter. I have a love/hate relationship with writing vacations and for some reason even the bedroom content was a battle. So I really hope you enjoy it because this one took some work to get everything to come together. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Next up: days 2-? of vacation. 

Warnings: oral sex

Word Count: 3,301

~~~~~~~

Dating Cale honestly felt like the most natural thing in the world. Some days, he’d meet you for lunch between clients after finishing a workout, others he’d come over for dinner or to watch a movie. Everything just fit and immediately felt like this was how things had always been. You sometimes forgot that you’d been together less than a month.

Two weeks after Cale had surprised you with dinner, your phone buzzed with a text containing the dates for your trip to Iceland. From that moment forward, you felt like you had stepped into a whirlwind. Suddenly your life was full of things like requesting time off work, googling what an appropriate wardrobe would be, shopping for the things you needed but didn’t have. Then there was the packing, trying to fit a week and a half worth of clothes into a single suitcase and your usual carry on, making sure you didn’t forget the plug adapter for your phone or worse your passport. 

They weren’t bad things, but they were out of the ordinary and you were looking forward to just being on vacation with Cale, the stress that came with vacationing put behind you. 

As Cale loaded your bags into his parent’s car on a Tuesday in mid-June, you finally felt your excitement kick in. Laura and Gary were dropping the two of you at the airport so that you didn’t have to worry about parking, and as Gary drove Laura rambled on about how pleased she was that the two of you were taking this trip together and how she was certain it was exactly what the two of you needed. When Cale mouthed that she ‘didn’t know the half of it’, it took everything in you not to bust out laughing. 

Assuring Laura that you would take plenty of pictures, you hugged both her and Gary before heading with Cale through the airport. After going through security, checking your luggage, and finding the proper gate, you settled into Cale’s side to wait for your flight to board. Cale had gotten an evening flight, allowing you to sleep the eight hours it took to fly across the continent. You were grateful for it now but you were certain you would be even more grateful when you landed, knowing that with the time difference you would spend 8 hours on a plane but arrive 14 hours after you had left. 

Sleeping on the flight, your head resting on Cale’s shoulder, made time move quickly and before you knew it you were fastening your seatbelt for the landing at Keflavik Airport. 

“We’re here.” You whispered excitedly, curious as to what was awaiting you when you stepped outside of the airport. 

“Someone’s excited,” Cale said, a soft grin on his face as he grabbed your carryon for you as the two of you navigated through the airport. Collecting your luggage, you followed Cale over to a rental car desk and watched as he chatted with an agent. He signed a few papers and handed over his credit card, and soon he was handed keys, the two of you making your way out to a lot to pick up your vehicle for the trip. 

“Ten days vacation with my boyfriend...you could say I’m a little excited.” You mused, stretching to kiss him after loading your bags into the trunk of the SUV. It was just after 10 am and the weather outside was brisk but comfortable. Cale kissed you back before pulling a map from his carryon bag. 

“Ready to be my navigator?” He questioned, closing the trunk before moving to the passenger side, opening your door. “We’ve got an hour drive into Reykjavik and then I was thinking food…?” Cale suggested. A late breakfast/early lunch sounded wonderful and you quickly agreed, sliding into the vehicle. It took Cale a few minutes to get comfortable behind the wheel in a new country, but once he did, he dropped his hand to the center console, allowing you to lace your fingers in his as you watched the countryside pass by. It was a quiet drive, comfortable, the two of you just enjoying each other’s presence. 

When you finally reached the capital city Cale found a public parking lot and the two of you ventured out on foot in search of food. Cale had clearly done his research because he led you toward the waterfront, straight to a tiny little food stand. Ordering you each a hot dog, Cale explained that it was Iceland’s national food and therefore seemed the natural choice for your first meal in the country. 

“You sure just one is gonna be enough for you?” You joked, knowing that his athlete’s stomach burned through calories faster than you could ever dream. 

“If I’m still hungry I’ll go back for another.” Cale simply shrugged and as the two of you settled into a picnic table with your food, you just shook your head, smiling over at him. Cale did indeed go back for another and you failed to bite back the laughter when he glared at you just a little. 

“I’d rather not see what you’re like when hangry so please, eat as much as you need to.” You giggled, looking around as you waited for him to finish. This was the biggest city in the entire country but yet it didn’t feel stressful or crowded like you’d experienced in other cities. Instead, it was a place you very much wanted to spend time exploring, enjoying the chance to witness just a taste of daily life here. 

When Cale finished, you disposed of your trash before heading back out onto the street. Leaning against his side, you looked up at him for direction, not sure what the plan was for the day. 

“Want to just walk around the city?” Cale inquired. Looking at him it was clear that he didn’t really have a plan and you twisted, planting your hands on his chest as you peered up at him. 

“And here I thought you planned this trip.” You teased. It wasn’t that you opposed his idea, you just had to give him a little bit of a hard time just because you could. 

“I did plan this trip.” Cale murmured. “I planned this trip to have the flexibility for us to go where we wanted to go and see what we wanted to see without having to worry about following a strict schedule. I’ve got a rough outline...or did you not look at the map?” He teased right back. As his hand drifted down to your lower back he dropped his head to kiss you. You were still getting used to this whole being able to kiss him in public thing, but you liked it. “I wasn’t sure how tired we’d be...so I figured we’d just start local, check into the hotel, and play it by ear from there. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You smiled, pecking his lips once more before settling back onto your feet. “So which way Mr. Makar?” 

With your hands entwined, you walked through the city of Reykjavik, taking in all of the sights it had to offer. At the Hallgrímskirkja church, you marveled at the height of the ceiling while Cale joked that it was like staring at a graph in math class all over again. Smacking him gently, you insisted on taking your first selfie, laughing at each other as you did. Already, your brain was cataloging that there would be two distinct folders of photos on your phone, one you could show the parents and one you could not. 

As you passed the statue of Leif Eríkson, you rambled on to Cale about how historians had new leads on where Vinland actually was located and how the Vikings had clearly discovered North America long before many of the other European explorers had. 

“Someone has been watching documentaries lately.” Cale smiled, his grin fond. “History was always one of your favorite classes wasn’t it?” You nodded in agreement and noted that Cale seemed unbothered by you playing mini historian. The fact that he remembered what your favorite classes were in school kind of surprised you. But this was one of the many reasons why this trip was such a good thing, you were getting to reacquaint yourselves with each other and learn things you didn’t know before. 

Soon, you walked through what seemed to be a shopping district. It was quaint and quiet and reminded you more of a small suburb than a big city. The buildings were all small and cute and there was graffiti art all over the place. When you reached Tjörnin Pond, you pulled Cale to sit on a bench for a few minutes, more wanting to just sit and take things in than actually needing to rest. 

“This place is gorgeous.” You breathed, your linked hands resting on Cale’s thigh. “Thank you for bringing me.” 

“Thank you for coming,” Cale replied, his lips pressing against the top of your head. Sitting for a few more minutes, you headed off again, continuing along until you reached the harbor. There you saw the Harpa concert hall, a modern glass building whose panes of multicolored glass shone brightly under the midday sun, and the Sun Voyager sculpture which resembled a Viking ship floating on water.  

Having essentially circled back to where you had started, the two of you made the decision to head back to the car. You’d killed enough time wandering around that you could check into the hotel and so you headed that way. 

You hated to admit it but Cale might have been right. The moment you settled into the car, you felt yourself immediately start to doze off. You knew logically that you shouldn’t be tired, but yet that was exactly what you felt. You didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep in the short drive over to the hotel until Cale was unbuckling you. 

“Hey sleepy.” He whispered. “I already checked in and took our bags up. You wanna go up and take a nap?” Cale’s question was answered only by a look of exhaustion on your face. It didn’t take long to reach your room and once you had, you flopped down on the bed, sighing softly at its comfort. Cale’s hands slipped your shoes off your feet and he chuckled, the weight of his gaze causing you to shift. 

“Don’t even say it.” You mumbled. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Cale defended. “Are we calling it a day though and just getting an early start tomorrow?” He asked. Though you wanted to keep going, you didn’t think your body agreed and so you sighed shrugging. 

“Yeah...I think so.” You pouted. The pout was pulled from your lips though when Cale stretched, the bottom of his shirt riding up to reveal the fine happy trail that started just below his belly button and disappeared under the waistband of his grey sweats. It was amazing how easily even a peek at your boyfriend’s body made everything better. 

“What do you want for dinner? I’ll run out and bring food back.” Cale insisted, his fingers running through his somewhat sweaty hair. 

“I’d say surprise me but I’m not sure that’s such a great idea in a foreign country.” You joked. “I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.” You whined. Or if you were hungry you just didn’t know what sounded good. 

“Women…” Cale mumbled teasingly under his breath. “I’m going to see if I can track down a couple salads. Will that work?” Your stomach growled at his suggestion and you both took that as your body’s agreement. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.” Cale stated, leaning down to kiss you before slipping from the hotel room. 

As your head fell back against the pillows, you knew you could easily just go right back to sleep. At the same time though, you couldn’t help but feel gross from the travel and from spending the afternoon walking around. So you forced yourself up and into the small bathroom to wash off. 

By the time you finished and had slipped into pajamas, Cale had returned with food. Though you weren’t super hungry, you forced yourself to eat before finally crawling into bed. 

You weren’t sure what time you fell asleep, though you knew it had to be ungodly early. When you awoke, it was to the feeling of Cale’s arms tightening around your body, his voice low and smooth in your ear. 

“Will you stop the tossing and turning...it’s too freaking early.” Letting out a hum of confusion, you twisted in his arms, your head landing against his shoulder. “It’s 3 am...and I’m awake because you can’t stay still…” Cale grumbled. “I know I said we’d get an early start but I didn’t mean this early.” He added. “So can you please tell your body to knock it off.” 

“Sorry.” You whispered, forcing yourself to go rigid against him. Apparently, your body had had enough sleep already and decided that any extra sleep would not be the peaceful kind. Cale’s fingers slid up your back and he let out a grunt of frustration when his touch only caused you to stiffen further. 

“Sweetheart...would you relax?” He murmured. 

“I’m trying.” You mumbled back, turning back over to face away from Cale with a sigh. You wanted to sleep, you did, but now that you were half awake, your brain was filled with anxious thoughts and silly worries. It had been less than five minutes since he woke you when you felt Cale’s lips on your shoulder and once again his arms tightened around you. 

“Let me help…” He murmured, his fingers shifting to brush against your stomach. 

“Cale I…” Whatever complaint was on the tip of your tongue was silenced when Cale rolled you underneath his body, his mouth seeking yours. His kiss was lazy and soft and he didn’t fully pull away until your body had turned to jello. 

“Do you trust me?” Cale questioned softly. You could only nod because of course you trusted him. You trusted him more than anyone else you’d ever been with. “Then let me help you relax so we can both sleep.” He pressed, one hand sliding down to rest against your hip. 

It was his blue eyes that revealed what he was planning on doing and you caught his cheek in your palm before he could start sliding down the bed. 

“Cale...you don’t…” 

“Sweetheart...if you think I haven’t thought about what it would be like to bury my face in your sweet pussy a million times in the last few months you’re insane. I want to...will you let me?” 

Nerves ran through your body at the thought of trying this for the first time with Cale. What if you didn’t like it? You’d failed to remind him that he wasn’t the only one inexperienced in this area, so it would be a blow to his ego for sure if this went badly. Suddenly, the image of Cale licking your fluids from his fingers popped into your head chased by the fantasy of his head between your thighs. All you had to do was agree for that fantasy to become a reality. Before you could even verbalize your assent, Cale had started sliding down the bed, dragging the blankets with him. 

“If I do something you don’t like just tell me.” He breathed, his fingers tugging your shorts and panties off of your body quickly. 

Nude from the waist down, Cale trailed his mouth across your stomach as he settled himself between your parted thighs. Then he jumped down to your left knee, nipping his way up your inner thigh before repeating the process with the other. 

He was both teasing you and giving you the chance to stop him if you needed to but now that he was there, you wanted nothing more than to see just what kind of damage he could do. 

“Cale, please…” You gasped, needing so much more than what he was giving you. 

“That’s my girl,” Cale mumbled, his eyes twinkling as he looked up at you. “I want to hear you, sweetheart.” The feeling of his breath blowing hot over your core made you shiver and your back bowed off of the bed toward him. Pinning your hips down under the weight of his forearm, Cale kissed your stomach one more time before sliding down, his tongue licking broadly through your folds. 

Squirming under him, your brain attempted to process whether that was a good or a bad sensation. It settled for the word different as you felt waves of heat roll through you when Cale’s mouth latched onto your clit, sucking gently. 

“That…more of that.” You pleaded. Following your direction, Cale focused in on your clit, sucking it between his lips again. Slowly things started to go hazy as he pressed soft kisses and little licks to your heated flesh before returning to the suction. There was no rush to his actions, and you reached down, your fingers tugging at his hair as he lapped lazily at your core. 

A grunt spilled from Cale’s mouth in response to your tug and the vibration rippled through your body, sending sparks across your skin. Sliding his other arm around your hip, Cale drew your leg over his shoulder. The change in angle must have allowed Cale better access because you felt his tongue press inside of you, your hips attempting to jolt out of his grasp at the feeling. 

The feeling of his tongue fucking inside of you made you whimper and when Cale pulled back to breathe, you could feel the growing confidence rolling off of him. 

“You doing okay?” He questioned softly, waiting for your answer as he pressed gentle kisses to your thigh again. 

“More Cale please…” You whined. Smirking Cale sucked at your clit harder than he had before. 

“More of this…” He questioned quickly before sliding his tongue back inside of you, flicking at your slick internal walls. “Or more of that.” He asked, pulling back once more to breathe. Your chest was heaving, your breath hitching with the feelings Cale’s mouth on you created. 

“Both...god both Cale…” You pleaded. 

“Okay...just relax and let go for me okay sweet girl…” Cale resumed his easy pace, switching between sucking your clit and pressing his tongue inside you. As your body responded to his actions, he adjusted speeding up and slowing down until you were crying out his name, your body shaking with the strength of your orgasm. 

Coming down, you shoved at Cale’s head as he licked over you slowly and carefully, cleaning you up. When he finally crawled up the bed, the grin on his face was a mile wide and his thumb brushed against your cheek. 

“Was that okay?” He asked, nerves showing only in his gaze. 

“If I didn’t know that was your first time...I wouldn’t believe it.” You said, voice slightly hoarse. Cale’s cheeks flushed even deeper and you leaned up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

“It’ll be better next time,” Cale promised, laying flat on his back again, pulling you into his side. Snuggling against him, you certainly felt calmer than before, a yawn spilling from your throat. As you drifted back to sleep you heard Cale whisper ‘thank you’ in your ear and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered at being able to give Cale an experience he’d never had before. 

Everything with him was new and different and you couldn’t ask for anything more. Just like this was only the start of your relationship, it was only the start of your vacation and you could only see both getting better with each and every day. 

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight

chapter 8 - great expectations

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 3.5K words.

He barely remembers getting dressed and returning to his quarters after such a relaxing shower. At some point he had slipped inside his pants and slid an undershirt on, thrown himself at the desk chair and poured over plans and schematics, a mess of paper and far more motor oil than necessary. He had written and read until his eyes had grown tired, like every other night, fighting off sleep to the best of his ability. He could sleep when he was dead, or when she was dead, when he was far away from this hellhole, when nothing awaited him come morning.

Some nights he would skip it altogether, keep his eyes wide open when his mind was too fraught with dreadful thoughts. He knew what would come if he finally closed his eyes, the memories that he worked so hard to put away. A dream, it was only a dream, he would tell himself over and over, but it was hard to believe it when he would wake up drenched in sweat and tears, throat sore from screaming at the top of his lungs, that all too familiar twinge of sadness and terror balling up in his chest. It was hard to believe and hard to forget, because he would see it when he held the wrench, when he brought a cup to his lips, when he pressed the buttons to get the conveyor belt running. His hands shook, his fingers lost their strength, and then we would remember it all. It was not real, but it had been once, and he is unsure whether the knowledge makes things better or worse.

Heisenberg remembers nothing but the familiar tingle on his fingertips, the numbness that overtook him, anxiety and fear washing over him like he had been engulfed in a sea of darkness. The scribbles on the paper would be evidence of how he had lost control the night before, how he had pressed the pencil hard to try and force himself to focus, to keep going. The cut on his forehead would tell him that he exhaustion had taken the reigns and he had fallen face first into the table, head hitting the metal clamp and inadvertently helping lull him to sleep.

Much to his surprise, that night, when Heisenberg closed his eyes, he was greeted with the blissful sight of nothing. Head void of dreams, of nightmares, body protesting with the awkward way he’d scattered over his work station, but nothing else. The cut had stained some papers with blood and drool had ruined some others; his arms felt numb in the morning, as they had been left hanging off the desk with his head and neck as the only support. It took him a good few stretches of his hands to feel his fingers again - all things considered, this had been a much better night than most.

If the night was almost-pleasant, the morning was anything but. A hot gust of air blew in when the factory kicked into gear with full force, like it did every day around this time, the whirring of blades and purring of engines his usual white noise. Only this time there was an intruder, a high pitched, repetitive sound that threatened to pierce his eardrums - he woke up to the incessant sound of his phone ringing. The thing sat just inside his office, an old landline that Miranda had insisted on him keeping in case she needed to speak to him urgently. She would call him every now and again, but more often than not it was his siblings that would bother him. Moreau would call to ask if he had found any old VHS tapes or old fiction books, Donna would ask him for blades and all manner of crazy-looking schematics built. Alcina rarely called, but given her interest in the bloodsucking beast that prowled the woods, he was certain that would change very soon.

Not that he intended to answer any of them, naturally. Nine times out of ten he was nowhere near the dumb phone to answer, which made Mother angry and him even angrier, because the last thing he wanted was to interrupt important research to tend to any of their petty, cruel whims. When she called, invariably he would be thrust into something barbarous and despicable; she wanted someone kidnapped, or killed, or turned into a monstrosity. She wanted him to spy or intimidate, put on his best scary mask and drill the fear of the Black God into someone’s mind. She never once asked if his research went well, if he was doing well, and though it had been years of such abuse, he could not help but feel the sting of it every time he heard her speak. Somewhere deep down, he still held onto a sliver of hope that she cared; and she would always dig deeper and deeper, until she found it and choked his feelings to death.

Heisenberg lazily lifted his head, right arm coming up to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth, eyes hurting under the bright industrial lights coming in through the window. A strand of hair had sneaked into his eye when he blinked, such a small nuisance upsetting him even further, a simple strand of hair that felt like the devil’s toothpick stabbing his eyeball. The phone had stopped for a few seconds only to resurge like the wailing of a baby, and the ringing prompted him to shoot up and off his armchair in a flash, too disoriented and uncomfortable to fully register what was going on. He almost fell on his way to the phone, tripping over his unbuttoned pants, annoyance levels rising with every step. He rubbed his eyes as he approached the offending object, flicked the room’s light on like it would help him hear better. At least it would keep him awake.

“Heisenberg,” came the voice from the other side, sweet and soft-spoken, domineering and stubborn. “Any news on our quarry?” Our quarry, he mouthed to himself mockingly. As if any of it was a team effort, as if he had anything to gain from this little adventure. Well, as it turns out, he did, but lady super-sized bitch didn’t need to know that. The damn hair was still stuck somewhere between his eyelashes. “A little bird told me you left the forest quite late last night.” A little bird would die a horrible, horrible death as soon as he discovered who it was that had agreed to his sister’s asinine plan of meddling in his business.

“Oh hey, sis. Surprised you get reception all the way up there.” He heard her huff of annoyance, chuckled in response. It bought him enough time to figure out exactly what he would tell her. Hey, yeah, turns out your monster is actually this gorgeous lady with a pair of tits big enough to rival any fertility goddess’? “Slippery little thing, that monster of yours. Found some bodies, some blood,” truth was always easier to tell than lies. “Caught a glimpse of something, too, but it disappeared in the middle of the trees before I could grab it. Little shit gave me the loop, took me quite a while to find the way back.” Heisenberg could practically hear her chest rising and falling as she breathed excitedly, happy to hear something, anything, even if it was a blatant lie. He could hear her nails hitting against wood impatiently, stringing together a tune he did not recognize. “What do you want with this thing anyway, needing a new pet?” Quite the funny thought, really. He was suddenly curious to know if the little witch would put up a fight as a tight collar was snapped around her neck.

“Am I right to assume you will return to the forest soon for another search?” Oh, most definitely, though his intentions were far different from what she expected. She continued without waiting for his answer, clearly aware that he would retort in the crassest manner possible. “I will see you handsomely rewarded once I have it in my possession, brother. House Dimitrescu does not forget such acts of service.” And there it was, brother, the greatest honor she would grant him, a compliment reserved for moments like these, when she desperately needed his help and no one else’s would do.

Blah, blah, blah. What was she going to offer him, a maiden? A scrawny lady with bruises big enough to make one believe her skin was purple, bones showing through her ribs and threatening to poke out at any moment? He had long decided against experimenting on women - they were always so weak and fragile, he would tell himself. Had long left behind his whoring days, too, far too focused on his research to let himself be distracted by a pair of tits. Oh, right; the irony. What else could she give him? A casket of wine made of blood of an innocent, with its thick bouquet of brutality and mercilessness?

She could offer him riches, influence, her undying loyalty. The only reward he wanted was to see her fractured into a thousand tiny pieces, nothing left of her and her daughters but the crystal cores they would dissolve into. The jewelry he would keep, the crystals he would sell to the Duke for a hefty price; the dust he would gather, send to an artist to mix into paint and commission a portrait of himself in his best work attire, his beat up trench coat and ragged hat. To make a statement, his fly would be open and his dick out in the painting, forever immortalizing him as the large, hard Lord of the Castle. With the money he would buy the best brewery he could find and have it make the worst beer, call it Lady D’s Fresh Piss, all in her honor, naturally.

He would bring over his suitcase and set up shop in the castle, tear down every reference to the Dimistrescu family and replace it with cheap replicas of innocent, idyllic landscapes, and dozens of horrible quality photos of his face. The extra large milk pail she called a hat would be used for entertainment when he gathered guests over, shoot the ball into the dead lady’s hat or take another shot. His soldats would clean house, kill every last monster in the basement, replace those god-awful torture tools with something else, anything else - maybe pigs, to pay homage to his dear sister. He would then fire all maids and forbid them from ever setting foot inside the place again, hire an all-male crew to tend to the estate and leave him well enough alone. On a clear day he would grab all of their expensive dresses, the paperwork that dignified her as gentry, her snob literature and photo albums, pile them all into the courtyard and burn it all, the vineyard alongside it, then light his cigar in the blaze and smoke it while facing the inferno, the flames reflecting beautifully on the lenses of his glasses. Once it had all turned to cinders he would strip before going through the front door, waltz around the place while rubbing his dick on all of her favorite spots. He would dump all of her fine wine in the biggest, smelliest cesspool, grab the revenue from the last shipment and throw it from atop the church in the village to watch the peasants fight each other for riches that were supposed to be hers.

Perhaps best of all, he would invite Alcina’s little monster over, encourage her to come in while dragging all the dirt and mud gathered on her bare feet. He would give her a tour of the castle, allow her to decorate every room with a harvest wreath or handmade candle, let her cover the posh couches with handmade quilted throws. Together they would roll up the fancy carpet and throw it in the fireplace, lay down the most unrefined of straw tapestries in its place. The mantle would be a display of their crudeness and peasantry, his schematics and forgotten bits of scrap metal, her incenses and rune-inscribed bones and whatever else her little heart desired. He would allow her to have her pick of his sister’s jewelry, try and convince her to take them all, to wear nothing but her favorite set as she danced under the skylight of the atelier, the flames of all tolling bells and the bright shine of the moon as the only source of light for their unholy, delicious rituals.

When silence settled he would grab her waist and pull her closer, whisper in her ear the most delectable of invitations. Together they would desecrate every last corner of the castle, from the halls to the belfry and the stairwells to the balconies, the cries of agony the place had come to be known for replaced by their sounds of pleasure. When they were far too tired to continue they would work together in the kitchen, he would help her prepare a bloodless meal that they would savor watching the wide open doors to the courtyard. He would sit at Alcina’s spot, ignore every single piece of flatware and eat with his bare hands, audibly chew on every morsel. He would draw every curtain and open every window, let the gelid gale wipe away any trace of her and her daughters. Late at night, he would carry his prized lady up the stairs to her quarters, gently place her on the giant bed and cover her with the decadent expensive sheets. She would ask him to stay, and he would, hold her close as she slumbered and he stared at the top of the canopy and let out a tired sigh almost a hundred years in the making. He would be free, and he would have claimed it all, a fitting end to his sordid tale.

If he wasn’t sure Alcina would rise from the grave and put herself back together out of sheer spite, the whole thing didn’t sound half bad.

Heisenberg barely registered whatever she said after, far too immersed in his little happy place to give a shit. She had talked for what seemed like hours, something about training the beast to present it to Mother Miranda, to allow her to experiment and find out what sort of things they could learn of such a splendorous mutation. Some illusions of grandeur sprinkled here and there, the very obvious wish to become the best, most adored child. He felt like Alcina wished Mother would descend upon her in a ray of light, to lift her up and away towards the heavens to take a place at her side. What a load of crap, though he had to admit it was far more than he would have given her credit for when she came up with this sordid little plan.

At some point, she finally realized she had said too much, exposed too much of her grand plan, had become too excited with the prospect of having that admiration within her reach. That, or she had grown tired of sounding too friendly with the riffraff. She quickly finished saying her piece and hung up without waiting for him to say goodbye, wishing him good luck on the hunt, reminding him she had great expectations. As did he.

He found his mind wandering back to his little witch in the woods as he placed the handle back on its hook. Where did she even come from, anyway? Was she born in that miserable place, brought up among the failed experiments of this village in middle of nowhere, Romania? Did she know how to use money, or were the lei they used foreign to her? He had it in good confidence that she could read, considering all the books he had seen around, but did she know how to write? Had she ever seen electricity at work, or had her life been lived under candlelight? Could she drive a car? Operate a telephone? Did she have toilet paper in her outhouse or did she wipe her ass with ferns or something of the sort? How did she find out about nail polish, of all things?

Had she ever lived outside that lousy shack? Did she ever get a taste of luxury, of fine wine, scrumptious desserts, someone to cook and feed her, maidens to attend to her? Had she always worked the land and tended to livestock, gathered herbs and berries in the forest? Had she cared for her parents or grandparents and learned her trade then, offered her services to lice-ridden villagers when they were no longer in the picture? Had they ever met, some day when he was too busy with his own sorrow to notice her, to take in the beauty that had come to haunt him so? Had she ever shared her body with someone, with a lucky lad or lass that caught her vulnerable and willing on a lonely night? Did she… Did she think of him, as much as he had begun to think of her?

Her shroud of blood and mystery, alongside Alcina’s excitement over the prospect of having her torn apart, had a strange feeling seep within his bones, a pang of anguish tugging at his heartstrings. All the more reason for him to hide the truth for as long as he could - even if the witch turned out to be just really clever with herbs and some hallucinogens, he wouldn’t give dear sister the pleasure of sinking those rusty nails into her flesh. Not when he had so much to discover.

Finally alone with his thoughts and away from his fantasies, he looked down at himself to see his shirt tousled, the fly on his pants undone. He had slept alright, although passed out might be a better description. In his defense, he had tried to fall asleep like a normal human being: sat down and let his mind go blank, eyes firmly shut to try and get some rest. But try as he might, he always startled as he was about to drift off, the sight of the dark horse dissolving into a puddle of blood right before his very eyes, of Sturm’s decapitated arms almost comically flying in his direction. Rage followed soon after - another failure, another waste of time. How would he make that thing rise again? He was then caught in the infinite loop of thinking, and planning, and burning out in frustration, until he could carry on no more.

Of course. He remembered it now, what had finally lulled him to sleep, in the throes of his despair. The way she had distracted him with a well-placed, gentle hand on his face, to work her magic and make his pain disappear, to preserve the secret she worked so hard to maintain. The gash on his hand that had left no trace, the lycans and moroaicas dead but not quite. The way she seemed to have a knack for putting things back together again, to prop them up on strings and have them dance like a puppeteer would. If he brought her here into his den, allowed her a glimpse of his work - would she be able to help him? Would she want to?

At first, he had thought the whole thing was bullshit. So maybe she knew a few plants, knew how to make a mean incense to get him high as a kite and seeing shit. Maybe she had some medical training and could put a nose back in its place, big deal. Maybe she held the world record on fastest, most painless stitching of human flesh, and was in cahoots with the Duke to use whatever seemingly magical substance he put in his antiseptic solution. Whatever she was smoking to say that she could actually heal things, that she might just be able to murder Mother Miranda - he wanted some.

And yet the more he thought of it, the less sense it all made. Her touch was unmistakable when she held his chin up, when the monster’s wispy tendrils had done the same. There was no doubt that she had, indeed, healed his wounds. The decapitated heads were very much alive, the blood pungent, the bite as painful as it should be. If she had killed them, how had she brought them back to life? How had she kept them alive on borrowed time, negated the effects the very creator of the Cadou could not avoid? How far did her powers go? Were they powers, like his and Moreau’s and Donna’s and Alcina’s, or a clever trick of the mind?

Whatever the case, Miranda had spent the better part of a century trying to bring back a dead girl in the body of another, necromancy a far too advanced concept for her young mind back in the late twenties. She had spent countless hours, spilled gallons upon gallons of innocent blood, spread a disease that they no longer had control over in the lycans, all for naught. And suddenly some creepy girl at the ass-end of the woods was the second coming of Jesus? She had knocked him on his ass and somehow morphed into this giant mass of blood that would make the hairiest of grunts shit their pants. If there was any chance that she was for real, then it would change everything. The possibilities were endless. He just needed to tell apart the bullshit from the truth.

[alexandrablake]

a happy ending

Prompt: 47. “I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Then stop looking.” from this prompt list! Pairing: None, this is a gen fic Show: Criminal Minds Word Count: 1,699 Warnings: Slight allusion to suicide. Mentions of death. A/n: I’ve never written anything like this, so please, if you are going to comment on any of these things, do it on this one. Also, see my reply because I explain a few things about this because I figured it would be little confusing and the explanation would be long.

How many victims have we seen? How many crime scenes? Hundreds? Thousand?

It was both a blessing and a curse to have an eidetic memory. Yes, he could recall even the most minute detail from any of his experiences which proved to only benefit him in this line of work, but he could not forget either. Thus, Gideon’s parting words to him echoed through his mind, chanting and imprinting in every nook.

There was no escape.

Just as they always do, he and his team caught the “bad guy.” It did not really matter, though. Gideon was already dead. He never had a chance. 

Just as they always do, he and his team were cleaning away the evidence of a case solved. They took down the newspaper clippings, the photos, the maps, the triangulations- they took down it all. It was almost as if the heinous crimes they had seen had never happened.

Just as they always do, he and his team piled into government-issued SUVs leaving the crime scene for one final time. In most cases, they would never return. For most of them, they would forget about it in due time. Not him, though. He could never forget. 

The problem was that this was not just some case. There was no way there could be “just as they always do”s.

So, as he climbed into the SUV- license plate 90VFA4- he looked around at his colleagues, his friends, his family. He had worked with some of them upwards of ten years; he could say with much confidence that he could read them well. 

None of them cared. They were treating this like it was just another routine case. That was their mentor, their colleague, their friend, their family, that they had just solved the case for. It was not just a random person. It was… Gideon. And they didn’t care. 

JJ was staring back at him when he pulled himself from his thoughts. Her brows were ever so slightly furrowed, and she examined him with the look of a concerned mother. 

“Are you okay?”

Her words were light and sweet like syrup on pancakes. They coated not just a question but a gentle offer for a conversation where he could relinquish his thoughts to her.

“I’m fine.” His words were brisk, harsh, and cold like wind on a November night. They were rejection in its finest form. Two words that held so much more meaning than seemingly possible.

Her eyes bore holes into him, and it felt like she could peer into his mind. “You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.”

She seemed taken aback by his statement, shoulders tightening and eyebrows raising. But, she got the message loud and clear: Back off. JJ turned back around so she was facing away from him and towards the windshield. 

He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. It wasn’t long before he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

In this line of work, I was afraid I would lose the ability to trust, but I’ve realized I can’t really look at anyone without seeing their death. And as bad as losing your faith in humanity seems, losing your faith in happy endings is much worse. 

His eyes flitted open, and he had to raise a hand to shield them from the sudden brightness that greeted him. The contrast dimmed as his eyes adjusted, and he found himself not sitting in the SUV as expected, but rather a dingy diner booth. The seat in front of him was empty, but there was a basket of fries and a glass of water. It was as if he was expecting someone. 

He knew it was a dream. He researched them when his mother first started to show signs of sickness. Maybe there was some sort of link when it came to dreams and the reality distortion that she was experiencing. It was a desperate attempt, even he knew that, but he found comfort in the words that surrounded him in the endeavor. 

The doorbell clanged, and he moved his attention to the front of the diner. A figure approached his booth, but that would be all he could describe about it. It was almost as if JJ had changed the office television to the wrong channel and the screen was filled with a black-and-white static. He squeezed his eyes shut once, twice, three times, before the figure came into focus. 

Gideon was sitting down across from him, that same omniscient smile that so often spread across his face gracing it now. 

“Hello, Spencer.”

His mouth fell open. Even if it was just a dream, having his late mentor speak to him as if he was still living was something that was hard for even him to compute. 

He mustered every word in his vocabulary to greet the still smiling man across from him. “Hi.”

That aforementioned grin grew into more of a smirk. “You look like hell. I’m sure this is a trying time for you.” The initial shock was beginning to wear off and anger began to bubble within him. “You could say that.” Gideon raised a knowing brow, cocking his head to the side a little. “Got something to say?”

Biggest trap for a profiler to fall into is pride. Forgetting that, for all your skills, profiling is just a tool.

“A few somethings.” Reminiscent of all those times when they would just sit after a case, Gideon leaned back into the booth and looked at him expectantly. He would never verbally invite his protege to speak but would always have an air about him that just invited the confidence to do so.

Speak he did. “Why would you chase after Mallick, fully knowing that you no longer had the arsenal of tools you did the first time you attempted to do so? Why did you leave? Well, I know why you left. You did leave that letter explaining but I know that is not actually why you left. Why-” The older man held out his hands in front of him. “Slow down, I can hardly understand you when you go on these tangents.” The smile never left his face.

“I chased after him because I knew I would never be able to live with myself knowing that I had just let the one lead that emerged in thirty years just…” he splayed his fingers in the air before clutching them into a tight fist, “slip through my fingers.”

He nodded. After Maeve, he had thought over every possible way that he could have talked Diane down. He knew that there was no chance, if he could do it all over again, that he would let the obvious clues of her identity pass by him again. 

Gideon was still talking. “I figured I could do basic reconnaissance and get the information I needed about the new developments. I didn’t think that this Tara would be the same Tara Barnett from nearly forty years ago.” He paused for a moment and time seemed to freeze around the pair. 

“So you decided to lure him out because you knew he was active again?” he asked, trying to push the explanation along.

Gideon didn’t respond immediately but stared at him before speaking up with a smile, “I like your hair like that. Much better than the old greasier stuff you used to have to try and seem older.”

He reached up and touched his hair gently, wallowing in the old profiler’s praise. 

“Yes, I tried to lure him out,” the former agent said, rather noncommittally. “It worked better than expected. But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”

He didn’t ask if it was. He knew. 

“No. No, it is not.”

There was a heavy sigh from across the booth. “I left because I needed to. I had to or you wouldn’t have found a letter in an empty cabin, but rather a gun with its bullets used.”

The images of what would have been flashed through his mind rapidly and he took a sharp breath to will them away.

“I told the truth in that letter. I had nothing. I didn’t have the belief in the job I used to have, and I didn’t have the belief in myself that I needed.”

A pregnant pause filled the diner after Gideon fell silent again. He cleared his throat. “Did- did you find it?”

“Find what?” “In your letter, you said, ‘I guess I’m just looking for it again. For the belief I had back in college.  The belief I had when I first met Sarah and it all seemed so right. The belief in happy endings.’ Did you find it?”

Once again, he was examined by Gideon. “It’s not a tangible thing, belief in yourself. It’s more of a construct, if you will.”

“That is not really an answer.”

Gideon slid out of the booth and stood over him. He glanced at the clock hanging over the doorway and sighed. “It’s time to go. You need to wake-up, you’ll be getting back soon. And I… well, I have people to see.”

He stood up so they were face to face. Even in this dream, he was taller and had to peer down at the smiling man.

“Look, Reid. I know me leaving was hard on you. It was hard on me, too. But, I really think it was necessary for both of us.”

He answered in a small voice, and he felt like that twenty-two year old kid all over again, “Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Those as his final words, Gideon stepped away and towards the exit. The doorbell clanged as he swung the door open. Before he stepped through, he paused, his knuckles whitening on the doorknob. He looked back, a glassy look in his eyes. “Would you tell Stephen I’m sorry?”

He received a light nod, and that smile came back. Then, Gideon was gone.

Spencer had that same smile gracing his lips as he woke up.

Is death ever worth it? Was the world always this gray? Is it only in the movies that it’s black and white? Was that just an illusion?

[jewel116]

Nights

Tristan made yet another sharp turn racing his motorcycle through the city of Domino. To him, there was nothing like the wind violently whipping his face while the skylights passed him like a blur. It was the only thing that relaxed him after an awfully hard day at the factory. Shaking the thought of creaky machines and heavy boxes out of his head, he turns the psychedelic music up in his Bluetooth helmet. After a few minutes, he feels his body relax and starts making random turns. When riding, he wanted to go where the wind took him. So as soon as he reached an area of the city he liked, he would click on an app that gave him a random number between one and four. Click the randomizer three times and that’s how he would choose his destination for the night.

“4, 1, 4”

“Ok, good enough for me!” He thinks to himself, making four left turns almost hitting someone. “Sorry!” he yells, even though he was in the way. One turn to the right and then four more turns to the left. “Domino Bridge. Been awhile since I’ve been around here.” It’s usually a ghost town over there after tourist season and would come when he was in a particularly bad mood or just wanted to get away from any and everything. His father pressuring him to take over the factory and all the stress that comes with that responsibility. As he expected, there was no one there except a few stragglers on the bridge. Slowing down, he takes his helmet off to take in the smell of the ocean when he sees Yugi sitting on top of the railing overlooking the beach. Tristan was never really comfortable with Yugi because of his relationship with Joey. There would always be a level of betrayal there and it seems no matter how hard he tried; he would never really fit in with that group. He would see them together twenty-four seven and when he did try to speak with them, they would speak back. But it would feel more distant, as if they were trying to hide something or hold something back. Proud and stubborn until the end, Tristan didn’t have to be told that he wasn’t welcome twice. So, he just stopped trying and was back to where he started.

Distant and alone

Shrugging it off as a loss, he looks down at his phone and uses his randomizer again. The faint sound of crying stops him in his tracks as he is about to pull off in the night. Glancing back up, tears are coming down Yugi’s face. The tiniest of smirks comes across his face when he thinks of the times, he was alone thanks in part to him. It quickly goes away when he thinks about the time, he stood up for him with that bully when he had no reason to. Pursing his lips, he mounts his bike and slowly drives up to him. Just before he reaches him, the puzzle around his neck begins to glow. Tristan knows he’s not crazy and this isn’t the first time he has seen that happen. He’s weirder every time it glows and the rumors around him get more and more crazy. He had to laugh when he heard that Yugi was the one that stopped three seniors from taking their spot in the cultural festival. But nonetheless, it was grounds for him to stop and think about turning the other way. ‘He doesn’t see me, and he can’t prove that I saw him’ Tristan thinks to himself, carefully analyzing the situation.

Purple eyes are staring back at him when he finally comes to his decision to leave him there. Taken aback, Tristan figures there is nothing to lose now and rides his bike to where he is. Looking around for something to speak about, Tristan decides that silence is the best option in this moment. Tristan just leans on the railing and watches the waves go by as Yugi starts to cry again. “You like waffles?” Tristan asks, finally breaking the silence. Confused, Yugi wipes his face and stares at him, “what?” He questions puzzled by the random question. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but food usually helps any sad situation. Especially the ones that I am thinking about.” Shrugging, Tristan stretches for a second before going back to his bike. “Come on.” He called out, ushering him to the bike. “It’s better than sitting here in the freezing cold crying by yourself? Right?” Handing him is spare helmet, “if that doesn’t work then I know something that will for sure.”

Yugi can’t explain why he, without explanation took the helmet and did exactly what he asked him to do. He had never been on a motorcycle before, especially with Tristan. Tristan was ok in his book. He didn’t dislike him, but they were not close to each other, more just friends of friends. After Joey straightened him out about bothering him, he became more and more distant until it seems that he and Joey never talked at all. Yugi tried not to get involved in that because he felt a little guilty for breaking them up. No matter how many times Joey tried to convince him of otherwise, he knew that he was the rift between the two of them. Maybe that was better or worse, but Yugi knew it wasn’t his place to say anything. “Hang on, sometimes I ride a little fast”. Tightening his grip around Tristan’s waist, Yugi is thrusted backwards when Tristan revs the bike.

Weaving through the narrow space between cars at the speed they were going was enough to make Yugi laugh through his helmet. “Faster!” He screams, losing his grip on Tristan, “Not too much faster! You don’t want motion sickness” Tristan chuckled, looking back at Yugi who is waving his hands in the air. He has no choice but to smile because he remembers when brother took him for a ride on his bike for the first time. It’s a feeling that you never forget, no matter how long you have been riding. “Hang on tight!” He orders, before lifting the bike on one wheel going the same speed. “Woo!!!” Yugi screams from behind him. “Having fun?!” Tristan screamed through the sound of engine, slowing down before motion sickness kicks in. “Woo!!” Yugi says again looking around at all the buildings and lights. “Totally! We have about another two hours, so get comfortable” “Two hours?” “You don’t have anywhere to go do you?” “No, I don’t but…” Yugi pauses before answering. “Don’t you have a curfew or something?” “Hell no. As long as I pay my dues at the factory, never show up late and do my work. My father doesn’t care what I do.” Yugi just nods and leans forward, resting his head on Tristan’s shoulder. “You’re adrenaline’s wearing off, isn’t it?” Feeling his eyes get heavy, Yugi’s grip on Tristan lessens again. Grabbing Yugi’s hands, he secures them around his waist, so he doesn’t have to drop his speed.

“Get a nap, I’ll wake you up when we are there.”

“Wake up, we’re here” Tristan announces, lightly shaking his shoulder. “Onoki’s. One of the oldest hole in the wall diners in Japan. Not to mention, the best waffles!” Tristan explains, catching Yugi before he trips over the bike rack next to them. “You sure it’s ok to leave your bike out here? It’s pretty deserted out here.” “Yea, Onoki knows me and the bike so it’s fine. Take this before you go in.” Poking the tiny white pill from its silver package, “it’s so you don’t feel sicker later on.” Holding his hand out, Yugi takes the pill and the bottle of water Tristan offered. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.”

The grease sizzling on the frying pans and plates slamming on the linoleum tables is about the only sound you can here in the place. Founded in 1975, the owner Onoki took a trip to America and after he had a taste of their secret waffle recipe; he never looked back. After begging and wrestling with the owner over the recipe. Even going so far as to attempt to break into the man’s house for it, Onoki came back to Japan; opened his place and has been in business ever since. Sliding into one of the silver and red booth, slightly warm from the last patron; Tristan waves over one of the waitress. “Miss, when you are ready, we are too.” Sucking her teeth, the tiny waitress sighs and grabs one of the plastic menus and makes her way to them. Checking his bank account, he grabs his leather wallet and pulls out a fifty. Tristan would always have to deal with waitresses like this when he was working as a waiter. But usually when they had an attitude, the customers would feel it and he would have to pick up the slack when the customers wouldn’t leave tips or never come back.

“What do you want?” She spits, rolling her eyes with her hands on her hips. They messed up her vibe with the cook and she was not too happy. “We want waffles, hash browns extra crispy, lots of butter packs, bacon, eggs, the toast that comes with it and a huge pot of coffee. Oh, and please don’t forget the creams and sugars as well”. He asks as politely as he possibly can, waving the fifty between his fingers so she can see it. “All for my new favorite waitress, if you can get it to us in less than ten minutes.” The grin returns to her face as if the cook didn’t exist. “Coming right up!” The curvy girl shrieks, knowing that’s going to be her best tip of the night. “How do you do that?” Yugi whispers, clutching his head in his hands. “Do what?” Tristan questions, glancing around at the many photos on the wall. Some dated, some newer with musicians, guitarist mainly and some other well-known celebrities. “Get people to do what you want like that?” Scoffing, he leans back in his seat. “I’ve been a waiter on the side for a while and on nights like this, all people want to do is groove and be anywhere but work. I get where she was coming from. It’s no big deal.”

“Order up!” the waitress chimes, straightening her bright-green skit. Tristan clicks the power button on his phone. “Nine minutes. Perfect.” Sliding the fifty towards her, she snatches it before he has the chance to change his mind. “Holler if you need anything.” Her chocolate brown eyes are tracing Tristan’s body up and down, loving what she sees. “Will do.” Tristan nods, winking at her before she leaves. “She just wants another tip Yugi, you see how she was just looking at me.” Tristan leans forward and whispers. “Oh! This looks amazing!” The huge waffle with Onoki’s logo written across the middle was enough to make Tristan’s mouth water. When he first came across this place, he didn’t believe the hype that everyone was making about these waffles. The patrons laughed and made sure to record the moment on their cellphones. “Ring the bell! Ring the bell!!” They chant to him. The bell meant that someone had just been made a believer of the waffle. Peeling the packet of butter, Tristan starts to go to work when he notices that Yugi still has his head on the table.

“Not to get in your business or anything but aren’t you diabetic? Motion sickness and that are not a good combo. Just saying.” Yugi shoots a look towards him in pure shock. There should be only a handful of people that know that. “How do you know…” “For someone so small, you speak loudly. I overheard you teaching Joey how to give you the needle if he needed to. There was something about a pump too, but I walked away after that.” Shoving a forkful of waffles in his mouth but trying not to laugh at Yugi’s face, pours a cup of hot coffee and slides it towards him. “Drink something at least.” Staring at the cup, Yugi sits up a little and glances down at his side. Tristan can’t see for sure but assumes it’s his insulin pump he’s staring at. Shrugging it off, Tristan reaches into his backpack to pull out his manga. He didn’t know what Yugi’s problem was or what was possessing him to stay here with Yugi on his night ride. But he was not going to do was sit there and talk to himself.

“Is that Oishi?” Yugi beamed, filling the cup with hazelnut creamer and one sugar. “Yea, what’s it to you?” Shifting uncomfortably in the booth, Tristan usually keeps his personal tastes of manga to himself. “I love that manga! The food always looks amazing, and Hiro always has the craziest recipes!” “I finally managed to make the lemon breakfast cake with the homemade frosting for it! It took me two tries because it was too tangy for me, but I finally got it the way I wanted it.” He’s been cooking ever since he could remember. His mother figured that if he wanted to be a good husband, then he needed to know how to properly take care of a woman other than physical needs. “Did you try and make it in the kitchen lab?” Now it was Tristan’s turn to be surprised. “Yea...” “I thought that was you. I was doing some late-night studying and usually I get one of the cookies that are left in there for me. Then I saw you staring at one of the iPads for the recipe.” Tristan has been using that lab for the last year now. When he needs to avoid the stares and rumors from his classmates, Tristan goes to the lab. At first, he was sneaking in there during lunch hours. But he was caught by their teacher who was experimenting with a recipe he was going to use later in the year.

Mr. Sato explained that he was once young and similar to Tristan. So, he made him a deal. If Tristan could successfully prepare whatever dish that was placed in front of him; he would not only be able to use the lab. But could get an extra copy of the key so he could use it whenever he wanted. As far as Mr. Sato was concerned, it would be better for him to be in school versus out in the streets like he previously was. Tristan wasn’t given the fair shake that his classmate was given, and he was sympathetic to that.

“The mint chocolate chunk cookies on the red rimmed plate?” Sinking in his chair, Yugi shakes his head with a small grin working its way to his face. “Yes, that’s that very plate. You’ve been making those for me? Making the notes with it to?” Hiding his blush, Tristan turns his attention to the window and the partygoers stumbling to get to the nearest afterparty. “I didn’t make them for you. I made them for whoever wanted it. Didn’t know it was you” He snarls at Yugi. “I understand Tristan” raising his eyebrow up at him. He would never say it but those encouraging notes really helped him when he first completed the puzzle. There were moments when Yugi would lose significant blocks of memory and time. Suddenly, people would look at him as if he were a danger to them or as if he wronged them somehow.

Gaming and studying were the only two things that got his mind off of that. His new friends were a huge help for him but sometimes, all he needed was equations and games to ease his troubles. One night, when he was walking down the narrow halls of the school, the moonlight illuminating the hallway; he was starving. The small of fresh chocolate chips stopped him in his trackers, leading him to the source. Twisting the gold doorknob slowly, he pokes his head through the door. ‘So far so good’ he thinks to himself, pushing the door further in. Flipping the white switch, warm lights bring the room to life. The kitchen lab was one of the oldest rooms in the school that was next on the list to be remodeled. Three white, well-loved ovens were lined up against the wall side by side with cabinets, sinks and drawers around each one. Sewing machines along with many sheets of fabric around each one is on the other side of room just below a twenty-inch tv. Sitting next to Yugi was a plate of cookies with a crumpled piece of notebook paper under it.

“Don’t study too hard or next time there will not be any cookies.” Yugi folds the note and puts it in his right pocket. “Wonder who left these?” Shrugging, he reaches for one of the cookies and takes a small but tentative bite. When that chocolate and his taste buds collide, he has no choice but to go for seconds and eventually thirds. “These are amazing! Tastes professional!” Yugi grabs the plate and closes the door behind him, shutting the light off. Little did he know, leaving Tristan in the dark in the orange supply closet where the teachers kept the knifes and older pans and tins. “Look, you look like you are done and doing better now. I know a place where you can get the latest Oishi if you want? It’s not too far from here and we can spend the night. Blankets, cots and even a change of clothes if you want. You down?” Tristan asserts, rising from his seat after finishing his plate.

“Yes.” There he goes again, saying yes to this kid without even thinking about it. He doesn’t know Tristan and knows that he doesn’t like him. Tristan could be trying to set him up for something bad. Yugi’s heart tells him otherwise, however. His heart is telling him that Tristan might be…rough around the edges but he’s not a horrible person. He wouldn’t have defended him in the past if he felt that he was anything other than that. “I’ll show you a series just like that and maybe some others too while we are over here. You’ll love it” Tristan says with more energy than before, feeling excited to show something he loves to someone else.

Flashing, multicolored lights are shining in Yugi’s face as he reads the sign above them. “Bonsai” “Yep! They have a new net room which is so much bigger than the booths that they usually have. I mean don’t get me wrong, it does the job. But I want to get really comfortable, especially since my eyes start to get sore after about the fifteenth manga.” Following the taller teen, he notices a sign for a strip theater next door. “I’ve been to that, and I’ve actually seen better. The skyrise parties are the best of the best. Even have a few celebrities there once in a while. I’ll have to take you sometime if you interested.” Tristan explains, ushering him to follow him up the green carpeted stairs to the lobby. A pale, young woman wearing a navy-blue dress with the Bonsai name tag looked up when she heard the door swing open. “Hey Akemi!” Tristan smiles and greets when he sees her. Akemi knew that Tristan was a regular and tipped well when he was there. It wasn’t until he protected her from three guys that tried to attack her during one of her shifts, that she decided to look out for him. Pulling out his membership card, Akemi waves her hand at him. “Don’t worry about it! Enjoy your night!” She does a double take when she sees Yugi by his side and giggles. “Akemi! Get your mind out of the gutter.” “I did not say anything!” She teases, sitting back down on her stool. “I felt it. It was all in your mind!” He replies, waving at her for a final time. “Don’t mind her Yugi, she always does me like this.” Tristan explains, “Always accusing me of something!” Making sure she heard that last part, Tristan adds a tip to her account on his phone app.

Yugi nods his head at the woman, who blushes when Tristan isn’t looking at her. Leading him through the corridors of the room, Yugi can’t help but think this is a hotel versus a manga café. “Feels like we are at a hotel and not a café.” Yugi commented when he saw the shower signs and blanket compartments outside of each room. “That’s because in a way it is. It’s pretty new and is really for travelers who want to save some money. The booths were ok for just a few hours but now that I’m here more often because of their new shipment of books, it’s worth staying a night or two to enjoy them.” Yugi couldn’t help but agree. The chairs were soft enough but for the amount of time he spent reading, he needed something softer for his back. “The one I went to had an open bar and hookah in the very back for older guests.” “Really? I need to go to that one…. Have you ever had a drink?” Yugi shakes his head blushing, looking down at the signs on the grey hardwood floors. “It’s cool. Let me know if you ever want to go out like that. I can get you a good fake id and they will none the wiser. Cost about two hundred but I can get it to you for half.” Smiling, Yugi can’t help but think about the kind of trouble this kid must get into all the time. He just casually speaks about fake id’s and running off to who knows whereas if he is talking about a bright, sunny day. “Tell me, why are you trying to help me? I know you don’t really like me that much.”

Surprised that Yugi of all people is getting straight to the point, he stops where he is. “The truth is that I really don’t know. You’re right, I don’t really like you because you took my only friend from me. But when I saw you crying, something in my spirit told me to try and help you. I took you here because it seems like we are into some of the same things. Remember, though, you chose to follow me. You could have gotten a bus and gotten home but yet you are still following me. Why is that?” Yugi remains silent and walks shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Because my spirit said the same thing.”

[staranon95]

colourful

a red hood au drabble

Gavin doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he feels he needs to do something. He needs to do this on his own. He can’t wait for Trevor to scheme and come up with a plan. He can’t wait for the crew to say they have his back. He can’t wait for Geoff to swoop in and save the day. In many respects, this feels like Gavin’s issue and only his. He can reach out to Alfredo. He can get past that hard exterior and reach him, not Red.

He just has to find him first.

He goes to his apartment first to grab his go-bag he keeps stashed in his closet. He leaves his phone and any other equipment Matt might be able to track his movements from. He’s got a few burner cellphones in his bag he’ll use for emergencies, but for this he’ll be going off the grid.

He leaves his apartment. He leaves his motorcycle and heads for a 24 hour garage that does business with people like him. There he’s able to get a bike the crew won’t be able to find him on. Then he stakes out a new place to work out of. He stays the night at a hostel and finds a cheap motel to work out of, paying cash at the front desk under a fake name.

Day one of finding Alfredo is literally all online. If there’s some new crew making its rounds in the city, people will be talking about it in forums. If you’re a civilian in Los Santos, you’re probably a fan of a criminal and talking about conspiracy theories and keeping up on the news. There are some smatterings of ‘Red’ on the forums that Gavin pays close attention to. If Alfredo is working for someone, then Gavin needs to know about it.

There’s some chatter about something called ‘Spectrum.’ Some people think it’s a group of highly trained grifters, conmen, hitmen, and more. An elite group. Others think it’s a person named ‘Spectrum.’ Like the Corpirate or Edgar. A moniker for a titan of crime. Or it’s an international organization that comes to massive cities like Los Santos to sow corruption into the municipal government for the betterment of mega-corporations and CEOs. Either way, Spectrum is something Gavin needs to consider. It’s information he’ll need to send to the crew.

Some people on the forums have said they’ve spotted members of Spectrum. And that an identifying feature is brightly coloured clothing for important members. That might explain Alfredo’s red sweater and why he wore it last night.

Gavin builds the profile based on what he has. He has some locations to work with that he’ll haunt for the next few days. It’s tedious work, but Gavin has the mind for it. He’s always been a puzzle guy, willing to sit and wrestle with something until he has the answer. So he builds his routine, makes note of locations, potential names and descriptions of people he’ll encounter.

It’s not that easy for him to move around—the so called ‘Golden Boy’ of the city. A lot of people know him on sight. So he shaves his beard, which easily takes a few years off his appearance. He ditches his designer jeans for loose cargo shirts and a shirt that’s two sizes two big. It makes him look younger, more immature, allowing him to pass by unnoticed when he needs to be.

In his room he hangs a map against the wall, using red thumbtacks to track the locations he’s checked out that he knows Spectrum has been by. He notices clusters of activity, attempting to triangulate to a location where this group might be working out of.

There’s one location in the downtown he decides to check into. It was one of the first apartment buildings built in the city, from the 1910s. The historical aspect of it is overlooked by the absolutely squalor that’s taken residence in it. There’ve been attempts to refurbish and remodel it, but it’s located smackdab in the crime district. Any politician worth their salt would know attempting to gentrify this area will end in failure, so no one is going to make an attempt on it.

He takes the fire escape all the way to the top of the building. It comes to an elegant point on top with slightly curved arches at the four corners. There are four massive eagle statues at each point, wings folded to make them look sleek and imposing. The age of the building means that very little surveillance has been incorporated into its architecture. It would make it great for hiding a criminal organization within it.

The entire top floor, what would’ve been the penthouse suite, is in constant sate of repair. Nearly all the fixtures had been torn down. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling in sections. Gavin has to admit, though, the view from the city is nice up here.

When he hears voices at the door, he ducks out one of the windows to crouch near one of the statues. It’s dark enough he shouldn’t be noticed.

“Prism has asked Blue and Yellow to move up to the docks,” says one.

“Yeah? And?” That’s Alfredo.

“Prism thinks you’re moving too slow. Once Blue and Yellow are in place and have the docks secure, Orange will be paired with you.”

Alfredo scoffs. “Prism can fuck off. I know the Fakes. I know how to handle them.”

“You had the opportunity to have three of them put in strict lockdown the other night and you gave them an out. How do you think that looks to the rest of Spectrum?”

“The Fakes have the most resources out of any crew in this city. They would’ve made bail no matter how high the DA would’ve set it. They have the best lawyers on retainer. You think a little burglary would’ve stopped them?”

“No, but I do find it odd that they were tipped off to the raid of their penthouse. They’ve been there for, what, almost ten years since Ramsey signed that lease? And someone tipped them off.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me. You think I tipped them off?”

“I don’t know what I think. Just that a lot of coincidences have been happening concerning the Fakes lately. I’d be careful if I were you, Red. Prism doesn’t hand out second chances like they’re candy.”

“Is this a threat, Violet?”

“No. Just a thought. Careful, Red. Your true colours might start showing.”

The second voice moves off. Gavin hears the door close. He peers around the statue and spots Alfredo’s silhouette. He wonders if he should make his presence known, try to talk to Alfredo and try to understand what this is all about. Or should he try to make his escape. Or possibly trail this Violet person.

But he’s not ready for that, not yet. He decided to do this, go off on this quest to talk to Alfredo. Just talk.

He creeps along the edge and back towards the open window. He sets one foot in, toes then heel before the rest of his follows. He balances himself with his fingertips on the ground, looking for Alfredo’s figure in the dark. He hears a sigh off not too far. He stands.

“So you sleeping here or is it more of a vantage point?”

Alfredo whirls. He still has that mask in place, but his hood is off. Gavin knew his hair was longer. He kept it pretty short back in the day, but now he gets to see it fully, see how much Alfredo has changed.

“Gavin.” Alfredo scoffs, pulls up that wall of cold and sarcastic indifference. “I knew one of you would come looking. Thought it might be Fiona. I hear she’s more of a solo player. But you? Didn’t know you did shit like this anymore.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah, apparently. Thought you were the one who stuck by your friends. Even in the ugly times.”

Gavin swallows. It’s time he faces the past. “Everything pointed to you being dead.”

Alfredo laughs. “You for real right now? I know the type of impossible shit you guys have pulled. You broke Geoff out of a maximum-security prison in broad daylight. You guys once faked your own deaths! And what happens when you don’t find my body? You wash your hands and walk away.”

“We were there on the scene. I was just about to run in and get you when the building exploded in front of me. And I still ran in! If there was any chance you were still in there, I was going to look for you.”

“But you still didn’t find me,” Alfredo says, softer this time.

His admission makes Gavin pause because isn’t that what happened? Did they give up? Did they stop looking when they realized they were out of their depth? Geoff took Alfredo’s death very personally, and having Geoff demoralized like that affected the rest of the crew.

“We didn’t,” Gavin settles on. “And it fucks with me every day that we didn’t. I feel like I held on the longest. Kept some things of yours afterwards.”

“Yeah?”

Gavin nods, takes a step forward. He sees Alfredo shift his weight into a more relaxed position with his arms crossed over his chest. “A sweater of yours. This dumb disposable camera you had. Even got the photos developed. And your old Gameboy.”

“You kept all that?”

“They were important to you. I was hanging onto them for you. And for me.”

They never really had a deep talk about what they meant to each other outside of the crew, outside of their work. Does Alfredo still think of those times like Gavin does?

“Gav.” And then Gavin thinks Alfredo will drop the act. They’ll talk. They’ll leave. They’ll figure out this Spectrum/Prism mess together, and then—

Alfredo moves quickly. He swipes Gavin’s legs out from beneath him, sending him crashing onto the ground. Before Gavin can move, Alfredo is straddling him, pinning his arms to the ground.

“I can’t believe you’d fall for that. The sappiest trick in the book! You taught me that one and you fucking fell for it! Man. You’re out of practice. Or maybe you’re just too in deep to notice you’re drowning.”

“’fredo, I—”

“No. I’m not your ‘fredo. I’m not your ‘freddie. I’m not one of your fucking boys! I didn’t come back for you.”

“Then why are you keeping an eye on us?”

“Maybe because I like to screw around with you. Now get the fuck out.”

Alfredo stands and stalks off. Gavin is left shaken, but no worse off than before.

He retreats. He takes the fire escape down to the street and takes a twisting path back to his hotel until he knows he’s not being followed. Then he digs out one of his burner cellphones and calls up Trevor.

“Trevor, I think we need to get Geoff in on this. It’s bigger than I thought.”

[holylulusworld]

Three are one too much

Request: Would you please write for Bucky & reader, wherein he's in love with Natasha but is forced to marry reader, he's never home ignores her even when she tries hard. She even has to work as a waitress for money, one-night Brock tries to rape her, Steve arrives just in time and saves her. They become good friends. It's on you if you want her to stay with Bucky or get married to Steve. It could be an au where they are not Avengers.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader, Mobster!Steve x Reader, Clint Barton

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, tension, arguments, two men fighting over one woman, love triangle, mentions of murder

Consolation Bride Masterlist

True to his word Steve came around a few hours later but Bucky refused to let him see you. Steve yelled and fought against his friend until you walked out of the bedroom, looking confused at both men fighting.

“What’s going on here?” Sleepily you rub your eyes, looking at Bucky holding his friend's arm in a tight grip behind his back. Steve is grunting, trying to break free.

“I wanted to visit you and your so-called husband wants to keep me away from you. Bucky, you can’t do this. Days ago, you ignored her, treated her worse than a dog and now you fight for her attention?” Steve is struggling against his friend’s strength.

“James, let Steve go. I want to talk to him. I’m a free human being, not a slave. I can meet whoever I want to meet. You will not put me into a cage as my father did years ago. Do you remember Mark? He asked me out when I was sixteen and dad locked me into my room for three weeks.” Sighing you look at your hands. “Never heard of Mark again. People said his family moved away.”

“Oh, he moved away?”

Bucky can hear the mock in his friend’s voice and let go of his arm. Steve cocks a brow, smirking as he tilts his head, glancing at Bucky. “Is that so, Bucky? Mark and his family moved away? I heard something else…”

Bucky turns pale, trying to hide the panic in his eyes. Steve’s grin widens as he passes his friend to get closer to you, holding out his hand to lead you out of the house.

Stepping out in the sun, looking around the garden you were not allowed to enter you look at the pitiful dead flowers. No one took care of these flowers for years.

“So sad seeing his mother’s roses die. No one took care of them. She would be so sad seeing her beloved flowers die.” You whisper as Steve watches you touch the flowers.

“Y/N, do you want to come with me? I can take you with me right now.” Steve moves his hands up and down your arms, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Steve…”

“He doesn’t deserve you, Y/N. Come with me and let me take care of you, let me show you a better life. I can give you all you deserve. Money. Beautiful dresses. Anything you wish for.”

“Steve, I don’t want dresses, money or anything.” Turning around you meet his eyes, giving him a cracked smile. “I know you mean well but that’s not what I want. I can’t change the cage my father tossed me into with another cage you or Bucky want to create to keep me as a nice bird to look at.”

“Y/N, I would never lock you away. I want to protect you, doll. Please let me show you I can be the right man for you.” Steve cups your cheek, leaning closer to brush his lips over yours.

“I can’t, Steve. I don’t know what to do right now but I know I can’t just run into your arms as Bucky never wanted me. When my father married me to Bucky I was happy, ran into his arms but his embrace was cold. I have to stand on my own two feet.” Gently touching Steve’s cheek, you kiss the corner of his mouth, holding back the tears.

“Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything to help you, Y/N. Anything you need.” Steve’s voice cracks, feeling your hand trembling.

“I don’t know what I want or need. Since I’m a child my dad told me what to do. Then Bucky ruled my life and now I’m at the point of no return. I can’t go back to letting a man deciding what to do. I’ll grab my stuff and move in with friend for a while.” Steve can only watch you entering the house again, knowing it will be the wrong way to push you right now.

----

“You can’t just leave me, Y/N. We made our vows and you…” Cursing Bucky watches you packing your belongings. You don’t need long, it’s not as if you own much lately.

“I’ll leave, James. We can have an annulment or a divorce. I don’t care any longer about anything. I don’t care about your hatred or my father’s threats. I don’t fear any of you anymore. Kill me, or let my father end me. It’s unimportant by now…” Voice trembling you toss the photo frame with the picture of your wedding day into the bin, not caring about the hurt look on Bucky’s face.

“I will not let you go! You can’t leave my house, Y/N. It’s the only safe place in town. Your father will try to get hold of you and hurt you. I can’t let this happen. He already took Jason from me…” Bucky gasps as you try to brush past him, try to leave so he does the only thing coming to his mind, using his strength to toss you over his shoulder.

“Let go of me! You can’t keep me, hostage here. I want to leave.” Wiggling in his tight grip you curse as Bucky carries you into his bedroom.

“I know you are mad. I know you hate me right now but believe me I can’t let you go to Wanda right now.” Bucky says placing you carefully onto the bed. Angrily clenching your fists, you glare at your husband, trying to escape once again.

“I want to leave, and you won’t stop me, Barnes. I’m not your slave!” Jumping up you try to scratch Bucky, try to hit him. All the anger, hurting and disappointment reached its peak and now you want to fight back, let the frustration out.

Stronger than you Bucky pushes you onto the bed, covering your body with his. You fight against this strength, pressing your hands against his chest as he kisses down your neck.

“Please let me protect you, Baby Girl. I need to know you are safe. I can’t forget the moment Steve called me and told me about Brock attacking you. Please…” Bucky whispers against your skin but you fight against him, shaking your head.

----

“Boss?” Clint watches Steve, not knowing what to say to lighten his mood. Steve believed you would follow him right away. He saw the struggle and knows you will need time; still he wants nothing more than storming into Bucky’s house and carry you out.

“What, Barton?” Steve barks glaring at his friend.

“Does she know what happened last night? Maybe we should drive back, and you can tell her. We still don’t know who is behind this shit, but I bet Barnes won’t protect her the way she deserves it. We can still get her, boss.” Clint tries but Steve shakes his head, glancing out of the window.

“I saw it in her eyes. Y/N needs to decide without me or Bucky pushing her around. Three are one too much, I guess. She’s strong and smart, Clint. Y/N will make the right decision. I can’t act like her father or Bucky and try to force her into something she doesn’t want to do.”

Clint nods, glancing out of the window, licking his lips. “What about the juicy information we gathered? Wouldn’t this change her mind, boss?”

“Clint, in her situation she needs someone to protect her, someone doing anything to keep her safe. If it’s Bucky doing so, it’s fine by me. All I want is for Y/N to be safe and sound. Send Vis (Vision) to observe Bucky’s house. If she leaves the Mansion, tell me so and we pick her up.”

“I’m on it, boss. Shame you didn’t tell her the truth about Mark…”

Clint silently leaves the room while Steve still looks out of the window. Recalling the day, he closes his eyes, feeling your hand on his cheek, your lips pressed against his. “Soon…” He whispers as his lips curve into a smile.

----

“Stop fighting me, Y/N. Give me five minutes to tell you something. While you were sleeping I got a call from Fury. Do you remember Nick? One of my father’s friends? He is still a cop, a Captain by now and keeps me up to date with cases and investigations around my business.” Bucky explains while you glare at him.

“I don’t want to know anything about your shady business. Now let me go!” Wiggling you start cursing feeling Bucky’s erection pressing against your thigh.

“Sorry, Baby Girl. If you are mad you’re so fucking sexy. I’ve missed my bad girl, missed the girl fighting back and kicking my ass with all might.” Bucky groans.

“Let me go!”

“I’ll let go of you if you promise to give me the chance to tell you what Fury told me last night. If you still want to leave the Mansion I’ll call Steve to bring you somewhere safe.”

Weighing your options, you look up at Bucky, nodding. “Fine, I’ll give you ten minutes.”

“Good.”

Letting go of you Bucky sits next to you, nervously moving his hand through his shaggy hair. Clearing his throat he gets the wedding band you tossed onto the floor out of his pocket, playing with the simple golden band.

“Last night Fury called me, telling me someone broke into Wanda’s apartment.” Bucky begins and you gasp.

“James…” Voice trembling you feel tears breaking free. “What happened…?”

“I don’t know how to tell you, but someone broke into her apartment and shot her. I don’t know how; she should’ve been protected by her family’s security. I…”

Composing himself Bucky takes your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “She didn’t make it, Y/N. I’m so sorry. She meant a lot to all of us. I swear we will find out who killed her.”

Bringing you into his arms James let you cry into his chest. Wanda was your only friend left. The only one ready to help you without awaiting something in return.

“She was my only friend…”

“Shh…Baby Girl. I swear we will find out who was after her, but we know one thing for sure. You are in danger too. The killer left a list. Wanda’s name was crossed out, just like Maria’s and Marcos. Both died last week. Maria in Cannes and Marcos died in a car accident in New York.”

Bucky holds you tighter as you ask him why you are in danger too. “Your name, Y/N. It’s on the list, just like mine, Steve’s and some other names.” Holding tight onto James you try to process your best friend got murdered and that you could be next. “Please stay with me…”

“I’ll stay if you answer one question.”

“Whatever you want to know, Y/N. I’ll promise to answer honestly…”

Clearing your throat, you wipe away a few tears before you place your hands onto Bucky’s shoulders, locking eyes with him.

“What happened to Mark back then?” You ask and Bucky turns pale…

All works Tags

@yolobloggers, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove , @mogaruke, @shatteredabby, @soryuwifeyxx, @letsdisneythings, @i-love-superhero

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove, @thedoctorscamanion , @officialmarvelwhore, @randomgirlkensy, @juniorhuntersam, @lumar014, @doctorswife221b, @badboysdoitbetter2, @sister-winchesters99, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@hhiggs, @roonyxx, @stylesismyhubs, @multisuperfandom, @mrspeacem1nusone

Consolation Bride Tags

@booktease21, @mc225g, @i-alyssa, @retrxbarnes, @cloudyskylines, @plums-and-peaches, @thisartemisnevermisses, @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark, @donteatmycookiesplease, @aruvdreeh, @scarlett-berserker

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you weigh less than 130 pounds? Yeah, quite a bit less.

Do you straighten your hair every day? No. I haven’t straightened my hair in years.

What kind of car do you drive? I don’t drive.

What’s your favorite kind of ice cream? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, and cookies and cream are good. I haven’t had ice cream in quite awhile, though. 

Do you wear earrings daily? No. It’s been awhile since I’ve worn earrings as well. 

Do you prefer purple or green grapes? Green.

When’s the last time you got your eyebrows waxed? I only got them waxed once and I was like 14.

Have you ever been in a tanning bed? No. Talk about claustrophobia. And I have no desire to do so anyway. 

Did your last kiss mean anything to you? Yeah.

How’s your hair right now? It’s up in its usual messy bun.

Have you ever wanted to go to Australia? I would love to.

What’s your favorite fast food restaurant? I’m not as into fast food as I used to be, but the ones I go to when I do have it are Chick-fil-A, Carl’s Jr, McDonald’s, and Jack in the Box.

When’s the last time you washed your hands? A few hours ago.

Who were you with the last time you were drunk and where were you? I was with a group of friends in a hotel room I rented for my birthday back in 2013.

What is one thing within the last year that if it had gone differently you feel might have changed things now? If I had done some things I should have been doing and managing things better regarding some of my health related issues.

What is something that you associate with summer? The miserable heat.

Have you ever ran around outside completely naked? Uh, no. Absolutely not.

When you’re hungry, does your stomach hurt? Sometimes. My body is super dramatic like that. I’ll feel weak sometimes and it’s like omg stop acting like you haven’t ate in days.

Would you say that you have a nice smile? No.

Have you ever walked in on your parents doing something kinky? Ahhhh, no.

Do you use mouthwash? No.

Do you eat anything out of a box? Yeah.

When’s the last time the fire alarm in your house went off? It’s never gone off. The only time it has made noise is when the batteries need to be replaced.

Can you be trusted with secrets? Yes.

Pill to make you braver or one to make you smarter? Braver. I’d be able to get some things taken care of that I’ve put off because I’m anxious and scared.

Are you in a hurry to grow up? I am grown up at 31 I guess, but I’m in no hurry to get older. I was never in any hurry.

When was the last time you used a bar of soap? Yesterday when I showered.

Do you keep notes, drawings or letters that people give you? Yes. I’m big on that.

Have you ever been locked in a car with a bf/gf? No. How would we be locked in the car?

Have you had a bf/gf that you never kissed? No. 

How many true best friends are present in your life? No friends, but I have my family.

Do you currently have a significant other? Nope.

Do your parents approve of the people you hang out with? They never had an issue with any of my friends.

Would you be able to stand being in the same room as someone you hate? I don’t hate anyone, so.

Have you ever lost a close friend? Yes.

Think of your current or last bf/gf. Do you/did you love them? I did.

Has anybody criticized the way your significant other looked like? I’m single, but no one said anything about the way my exes looked.

Have you ever stayed up late talking to a bf/gf on the phone or online? Yes.

Do your friends like the people you date? Do their friends like you? They had an issue with Joseph because they saw what I didn’t want to see, which was that he was using and playing me and wasn’t treating me right. I haven’t had an issue with their friends.

Do your parents let you date, or do you sneak around? I’m 31 years old. I can’t blame my non-existent dating life on that haha.

Have you ever felt backstabbed by a close friend? Yes.

Do you have any handshakes with anybody? No.

Do you feel you can rely on anybody to always be there for you? I know my family will always be there.

Have you ever regretted ignoring anybody? I’ve pushed people away and messed up good things. :/

What has been the stupidest reason someone has broken up with you? Joseph just didn’t want to commit. He wanted me when it was convenient and when he felt like it.

Have you ever kissed someone in their bedroom, or in yours? No.

Has a friend of yours ever confessed their love to you? No.

Have you gone out with someone, then ruined the friendship you had before? My first boyfriend and I were good friends before we started dating and yeah it definitely changed things after.

Can you trust any of your friends at full capacity? No friends. I trust my family, though.

Is the word 'love' even in your vocabulary? Yes.

Who do you think is more confusing, males or females? People are confusing.

Have you written or drawn anything for somebody else? No.

Do you have any pictures of yourself with a bf/gf? I have photos of myself and my exes.

Do your friends know how to make you smile in tough times? My family does. My doggo always can.

Has anybody said they loved you, but you didn't love them back? Yes.

Is there anyone you don't like that always seems to be everywhere you are? No.

Is there anyone you care about more than you care for yourself? My family.

What/who do you take the most pictures of? My doggo.

How long did you spend in a vehicle today? I’m not going anywhere today. 

When you make a mess are you more likely to clean it up right away, or do you get to it later? I clean it up right away.

Who do you blame for your bad mood today? I’m just annoyed because yesterday I slept until 6PM and today I’ve hardly slept at all, I kept getting up like every hour. It’s 10AM now and I first fell asleep around 6, so yeah not much sleep going on. :/

By what age would you like to be married? I don’t plan on getting married.

What are you looking forward to right now? Nothing at this moment.

Do you have any split ends? Yes.

Is there a book you're currently reading? Yeah, I’m finishing up this book called, “Anything for You” by Marissa Finch.

Did you ever want to be a fashion designer? No.

When was the last time you went to the dentist? It’s been awhile. :/

The last time you cried, what was wrong? Oh ya know, life.

Do you sleep with a fan on? Yes, even now in the winter.

What's the last video game you played? Animal Crossing: New Horizons. 

What do you usually drink at meals? Coffee or water.

Are you going to a library tomorrow? No.

Do you sleep better during thunderstorms? No, but I do enjoy them.

Has anyone pissed you off based on their actions recently? Yes.

What language did you take up in high school? I took Spanish all 4 years.

You’re single, correct? Yep.

Is the last person you texted good looking? My mom is beautiful. 

At this very moment, what exactly are you doing? Besides the obvious I’m listening to an ASMR video.

How do you feel about girls smoking? I don’t care what gender is doing it, I personally don’t like it.

Have you ever been in a perfect relationship? No. Perfect relationships don’t exist.

Is the person you last texted in a relationship? Yeah, my mom is with my dad.

Do you think someone is thinking about you right now? Nope.

Do you like “good morning” texts? I don’t get those.

Last movie you watched? Wonder Woman 1984.

Name something you like about winter: I love Christmastime, the weather, the clothes, the colors, the smells, the coziness...all of it.

What’s your favorite color? Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow.

Would you rather be called hun or baby? I don’t really care for either one.

Is there someone that you miss being close with? Yes.

Have you ever fallen asleep in someone’s arms? When I was little.

Does anyone completely understand you? I don’t think completely. I certainly don’t completely understand myself.

In the last 12 months can you say you truly cared about someone? My family.

You were single last month, why? Uhh, because I’m not interested in or talking to anyone in that way. Like, there’s literally no one right now. No one is interested in me either.

Would you rather get 1, 12, or 24 roses? I’d appreciate any amount.

What is something you like to do when you’re down? Cry and one of my go-to activities I do normally as a distraction.

Do you believe teenagers can fall in love? Sure.

Have you ever received a text message that made you cry? Yes.

Did you enjoy your summer? Last summer was even worse because I wasn’t able to go to the beach, which is the only thing I like about summer.

When you watch movies at home, do you like the lights on or off? I tend to just keep ‘em on.

Do you think relationships are even worth it? Yes.

Is any part of you sad at all? All of me.

Do you like your first name? Sure.

What’s most stressing right now? Health and life stuff.

What are you listening to currently? An ASMR video.

Have you done anything embarrassing lately? Not recently.

Dark hair or light hair in the opposite sex? Whichever.

Do you judge people you don’t know? Not to the point that I don't want to get to know them, but yeah. <<< That’s a good way of putting it. Like, I think we all judge people to some extent and that’s normal and not always a bad thing, but some people are judgmental people and they make up their own assumptions and opinions without getting to know a person. They have their mind made up and it stops them from getting to know someone. 

Would you date a boy/girl if you knew they were capable of cheating on you? I guess anyone is capable of doing so, so it’s something that could possibly happen in any relationship. However, if I knew someone had in fact cheated before or was known for that, then no I would not. Even if they had cheated once it would be something I’d worry about happening to me.

Did you sleep alone last night? I always do.

If you could have one thing right now what would it be? I’m kinda hungry, but meh.

Would you rather have ten kids, or none? None, hands down. I don’t even want one kid, let alone TEN.

Do you tell your mom or dad everything? I tell my mom a lot.

Does it matter to you if your boyfriend or girlfriend smokes? It would absolutely matter to me if they smoked cigarettes.

Have you ever been hurt by someone you never thought would hurt you? Yes.

Do you have siblings? I have two brothers.

[ak47stylegirl]

Life Changes: Chapter 16

Chapter 16 is done! wooohoo! XD 

This fic is dedicated to @gumnut-logic (also thanks Nutty for letting me use Jack XD) 

The rest of the chapters can be found here. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! XD

----

Virgil pov

He rolled over in bed, staring blankly out at the city skyline; the sun having risen long ago. Three days have passed since that dreadful night, and Alan still hasn't woken up. 

Their baby brother had fallen in to a coma. 

The doctors had started to suspect that Alan could have suffered undetected brain damage, ordering brain scans to be performed. And as it became clear that Alan wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, the hospital had moved him to a more secure, more permanent room in the ICU.

Where they could visit him freely and without restrictions on how many of them could see him at a time. Kayo had also doubled their security immensely in the last couple of days, doing background checks on all of the hospital staff. 

And it was no surprise to any of them that Dr Jim Smith was on the list of ‘don’t come ten feet near Alan or you die’ list. Kayo had been very insistent on that. As well as background checks, Kayo had also (somehow?!) compiled a team of vetted and trained security guards for them.  

There were three guards standing watch outside their hotel room right now, along with two more guarding Alan’s hospital room. Plus Kayo, who insisted on protecting Alan personally and not even hell freezing over would change her mind. 

And in a sense, Kayo was also guarding Scott, who had barely left Alan’s side; only leaving to eat, sleep and take bathroom breaks. Even Grandma couldn’t get him to leave on the threat of home cooking…

Which wasn’t a threat that you take lightly, she would actually follow up on it but even that time old trick has lost its magic in the last few days. Their world was falling apart, and a little bit of burnt food didn’t scare them like it used to. 

The hospital was encouraging them to talk to Alan like he was awake and could hear them, that hearing their voices could help him regain consciousness. 

But he couldn’t even step foot in the hospital after seeing Alan laid out on that hospital bed; Neck in a brace, unable to breathe on his own, almost lifeless in his stillness. 

He had stumbled out of the ICU and into Scott’s arms, sobbing his heart out on his big brother’s shoulder. Repeating over and over again that he was to blame, that it was all his fault!

Scott had pushed him away slightly, his hands placed firmly on his shoulders with an almost furious look in his eyes. “It is not your fault, Virgil!” His brother had snapped, blue eyes ablaze with emotions. 

“There nothing-” Scott’s voice cracked, wavering slightly, “-you could have done, so please stop this…” 

He had been so startled by...well the fact that Scott had been pleading with him, begging him to stop blaming himself, that he had just nodded mindlessly. He was just so tired at that point, that he just wasn’t going to fight Scott on it.

That first night, he was in such a state of distress that the only way he was even able to fall asleep was because Grandma had chosen to sit by his bedside until he fell asleep; effectively comforting him enough that he was able to finally fall into a much needed deep sleep.

He was a complete wreck of his normal self. All while falling asleep that first night, all he could think about was how much of a failure he was. And he still was thinking that, because he couldn’t even muster up the will to get out of bed. 

It was like his mind and body had just shut down completely. Before he was feeling too many emotions; now, he was struggling to feel anything. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat…

Every time he closed his eyes, he would see his baby brother bleeding out on that gala floor or on that hospital bed, so still, so lifeless…

And with every day that passed with no sign of Alan waking, his nightmares got worse and worse. He knew John and Gordon had noticed, how could they possibly not have? They were sleeping just a bed or two across from him.

He hated that he was worrying his brothers, because why else would they be here with him when they could be at Alan’s bedside instead? He thought with a sigh, looking over at his brothers, who were sitting on the bed across from him. 

John was sitting in the corner of the bed, legs crossed as he furiously typed away at his tablet.  All while ignoring Gordon, who was spread lengthways across the bed, half-heartedly strolling through his phone. 

The room was filled with an anxious boredom as they waited for Grandma or Scott to call them with some form of news on the results of Alan’s brain scans. 

But the nearly endless wait was driving them stir-crazy…

When will they hear some news? And would they like what they may hear? If he was being honest, he was dreading that phone call. Because what if the results came back positive? 

Hasn’t Alan suffered enough? 

“Honestly!?” Gordon yelled, causing him to jump and look over at his brother, who was glaring at his phone. “you would think they would have better things to report on then our family!” 

“Unfortunately” John lowered his tablet with a weary sigh. “Anything happening to our family is front-page news to those people..”

Gordon scowled, throwing his phone down on the bed; missing John by a thin margin. “Well, I don’t care if it's front-page news or whatever, why can’t they just say out of it?!” 

Gordon’s face crumbled slightly as he moved into a sitting portion, hugging his knees. “His face is plastered all over the interwebs John…” Gordon whispered, his voice losing its anger and in its place was an immense sadness. 

“Along with those grainy photos of Virg-” Gordon frozen, suddenly realising that he was, in fact, awake and looking right at him “Um, I mean-”   

He sighed deeply, forcing himself to sit up, “You mean those cellphone photos of me desperately trying to keep Alan from bleeding to death?” He answered almost emotionlessly as he rubbed at his face tiredly. “I have seen them already, Gords..”

He couldn’t even turn the TV on or go on his phone without getting blasted with reminders of what happened. And even then the news networks would be blasting it from the tallest skyscrapers. 

It was like it was haunting him everywhere he went... 

He frowned slightly, moving so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He could feel John’s eyes on him, scrutinising him like he was a complex math problem John was trying to figure out. He didn’t like it...

“Um...yeah, those photos…” Gordon mumbled, rubbing his arm nervously, his eyes flickering between looking at him and not looking at him; Gordon’s reddish-brown eyes filled with barely masked concern.  

Everybody has been giving him that look lately…

Gordon looked over at John, “Can’t you or Jack do anything about it? Like maybe get them taken down?”  Jack was their lawyer and a pretty good one at that. 

John sighed again, shaking his head. “Jack is already flat out busy with making sure the people responsible for all of this get life in prison..” John explained, his frustration and fury at the people responsible for hurting their little brother clear in his voice. “Doesn’t help that the GDF is being difficult…”

“Difficult?” He wondered softly; his curiosity peaked, “how so? I thought It would be clear and easy?” 

They attempted to kill Allie; the GDF should easily see that they deserved to get life in prison? 

John’s eyes flashed to him again with that same masked concern in them as Gordon’s eyes had. “You would think so, but the higher-ups of GDF are thinking of treating this as an attempted robbery gone wrong, rather than attempted manslaughter because, well-” John hesitated, avoiding their eyes. 

“Because?” Gordon questioned. 

John sighed wearily, looking up at them with a deadly serious expression, “-Because apparently to them there isn’t enough proof to prove that Alan getting shot was intentional...” 

His eyes widened in horror. 

What?!

“What?!” Gordon exclaimed, jumping up from the bed in outrage “Not enough proof?! Alan is in a coma and paralysed because of that asshole!” Angry tears had gathered in Gordon’s eyes. “Maybe even brain-damaged! How is there not enough proof?!” 

He stood up and walked over to the window, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and keep some kind of control over himself; what happened to not feeling anything?

Deep breaths Virgil, deep breaths... 

“What about all of the witnesses?” he questioned, facing away from his brothers as he glared out the window. “Everybody saw it, you…” his voice shook “you couldn’t miss it if you tried..” 

Alan’s terrified eyes, a flash and a loud bang. Allie on the floor, blood everywhere; baby brother crying in pain. That man laughing...

He gripped the windowsill tightly, glaring out at the skyline, “Everybody knew why, it wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t a stray bullet…” He took a shaky deep breath, feeling his eyes fill with moisture, “He looked right at me and said ‘International rescue couldn’t save my sister from being paralysed, so now I’ll return the favour!’” 

He turned to face his brothers, both their faces bleached pale; Gordon’s more than John’s. This was the first time he has spoken in detail about what transpired that night to his brothers. “There's no way that wasn’t intentional..”

“They’re going to get what they deserve Virg, Jack and Lady Penelope are confident of that…” John spoke, his voice taking on a gentler tone, the tone he uses when he’s talking to distressed and panicked rescuees. 

He hated the fact that John felt the need to use that voice on them, on him...

“It may not seem like it but…” John’s shoulders dropped, his brother’s eyes filled with exhaustion. “But it only has been three days since that night; court cases take time...”  

“Feels way longer than just three days…” Gordon muttered softly, scuffing the sole of his shoe into the carpet. “Especially with Allie not..” Gordon dropped back down on the bed next to John, wrapping his arms around himself tightly, “you know, waking up..” 

Every single one of big brother instincts was screaming at him to go and comfort his brother, but he hesitated, and in that time, John had beat him to it.

“I know Gordy...” John sighed sadly, pulling Gordon in a loose one-armed hug; their little brother collapsing like a rag doll against John's chest with a little sniffle. 

His already broken heart seemed to break even more at the sight of their mischievous and fun-loving little brother looking so down; so drained of happiness and hope. 

Sometimes he forgot that Alan wasn’t just Gordon’s little brother but his best friend as well. How didn’t he noticed that he wasn’t the only one that wasn’t dealing well with Alan's injury?

The self-hatred he was feeling towards himself seemed to double at that thought. 

“They’re not going to get away with this Virgil; I promise you that..” John promised, aqua blue eyes looking right at him, voice leaving no room for argument. “Jack, Colonel Casey, Penny and I are going to make sure of that..”

“I know…” He sighed, running his hand through his ungelled hair, turning to look out the window again; just being able to make out the hospital in the distance. “I’m going to have to testify, ain’t I?” 

“If you’re willing and that is what you want to do, of course, you can..” John explained with an odd, almost worried tone to his voice. “but Scott, Grandma and I were talking, and we think it’s a better idea if you don’t..” 

“What?” He turned around in astoundment. Even Gordon looked confused, looking up at John with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean, don’t testify?” His fist clenched slightly as anger started bubbling in his stomach. “If I don’t, they’ll get away-I..”

He bit his bottom lip, glancing out the window as anxiety flooded him again at the thought of those people being able to walk free. “I…I have to testify, or else they’re...they’re..”

“Virgil..” John’s voice cut through his panic, sounding incredibly sad as well as concerned.  “With how many witnesses there were, you don’t necessarily have to testify for there to be enough proof to prove them guilty..” 

“But…” He glanced back at his brothers, and the first thing that hits him is just how concerned they looked, both of them; even Gordon. They weren't even trying to hide it from him anymore. 

His fists clenched as he turned his face away from his brothers. They did think he was broken, didn’t they? Why else would they be acting like this? 

“We just don’t want to push you too far by forcing you to relive that night, Virg” John explained gently, “you have been through a lot these last couple of days after all..” 

Understatement of the year, he thought with a scoff. 

John continued, “and we don’t want to see you get hurt any more than you have been..” 

His eyebrows furrowed, the anger starting to bubble in his stomach again. He wasn’t the one that was hurt, what was John going on about?! Alan was the one that was hurt! 

Not him! He thought as he gripped the window sill tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to push his anger down. He didn’t understand why he was getting so angry at his brothers; they were worried about him because they cared.

But maybe he wasn’t really angry at them but more at himself? Because deep down, he didn’t feel like he deserved their worry; he was the one that had let their baby brother get shot after all. They should hate him...

Like he hated himself...

“That’s why we think testifying in front of all those people, including the guys responsible for this, isn’t such a good idea..” John explained, his voice filled with brotherly concern; which just seemed infuriated him more. “Especially when you don’t necessarily have too..”

Things went silent for a moment; like his brothers were waiting for him to say something, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk, he didn’t trust himself not to start shouting if he did.  

John sighed, sounding slightly disheartened “Scott wanted to be the one to talk to you about this, he thought you’ll probably take it better from him than anyone else..”

He rolled his eyes, looking out at the skyline. Of course, Scott would want to be the one to talk to him. That was typical Scott, always wanting to be the one to shoulder the burden. 

But that meant that even Scott, his best friend, though he was..was broken? He realised with a shaky gasp, a feeling of betrayal missing into the anger he was feeling. Sure John had mentioned Scott being a part of this before, but the meaning of it all was only just hitting him now...

“I’m not made of glass…” He whispered tensely as he turned to face his brothers, anger seasoning his voice like a strong chili, hot and burning. “So will you please stop acting like it?!” 

His voice had raised to a shout, like he feared it would; but right now, he didn’t care. John’s eyes hardened a touch, but they were still filled with that same concern that filled him with rage. 

Gordon flinched, brown eyes wide with startled fear and concern, “Virg, John was only saying-”

“I know what he was saying, Gordon!” He snapped at Gordon and instantly regretted it as Gordon’s eyes filled with hurt. “Gordon I-”

“Forget it..” Gordon muttered as he got up from his position on the bed, “I’m going to take a bath; closest thing I'm going to get to a swimming pool for a while..” 

The shared bathroom door slammed shut. 

“We're just trying to look out for you, Virgil..” 

Just as fast as his anger appeared, it disappeared just as fast; maybe even quicker, leaving him feeling empty and hollow once again. He turned to look at John, feeling horribly lost. 

“I..i know, I just-” Suddenly being stuck in a room with the people he had just yelled at, was too much for him to take. “I’m going for a walk, call me when you hear news…” 

Then he ran, only stopping long enough to put his boots on and grab his phone before he was out the door; not looking back. 

He was getting really good at running away it seemed...

[writing-royza]

Royai Week Prompt Four - Crackle

Crackle

She had no idea he was on his way to see her. Roy had kept the fact of his brief furlough from almost everyone; Vanessa had met him at the train station and run interference with the Madame so that he could sneak into the bar and surprise his mother. But when he had left Central this morning, heading east on the train, no one in the small town knew he was coming… least of all one Miss Riza Hawkeye.

Solstice had only been the week before, and he hated the thought of her rattling around that big, empty house alone. It had always been a quiet, almost melancholy place to begin with; he couldn’t imagine how it must feel now, only a few months after her father’s death.

Roy refused to let the somber thoughts gather too much power over him. He had been lucky enough to spend Solstice with his family, and now, he was dead-set on spending New Year’s with his old Master’s quiet, pretty daughter.

On spending it with his friend.

The word still didn’t sound right. ‘Friend’ seemed so… banal, so understated for describing their kind of…. His mind balked at the word ‘relationship’ as well. To him, that meant a girlfriend, a lover, not… whatever he and Riza were.

Accomplices, his mind whispered. Roy shivered, and tried – unsuccessfully to convince himself it was from the chill of the three-mile walk from the town to her house.

He turned off the road to cross a farmer’s barren, snow-covered field, following the shortcut to the Hawkeye house that he and Riza had used dozens of times in days gone by. More innocent days, back when what they had could still be called a friendship. Since the day she had showed her secrets, though, that word had had to change. A connection. Roy considered it. Something that went unspokenly deeper than mere camaraderie, but only when you knew to look for it.

One gloved hand patted the pocket of his heavy winter coat, reassuring himself that the box was still there. Her Solstice gift, a few days late but still something he hoped she would like. A thought occurred, and he pulled the small parcel from his pocket.

It was nothing fancy – a delicately filigreed picture frame and a photograph – but the same paranoia had gripped him three times since leaving for his furlough. The fear that due to its delicate construction, some part of the frame or its glass pane might break before it found itself in Riza’s hands.

He felt carefully at the cardboard box beneath the paper, checking for dents or punctures and finding neither. Lifting the little packet to his ear, he shook it gently, alert for any sound of broken metal or glass.

Roy was still listening, still gently shaking when, on his next step, his foot sank to the knee in a snowdrift and he lost his balance. He pitched forward, the gift flying from his hand to sail in an ungainly arc. It landed on, and went skidding across, the frozen surface of a nearby pond, leaving a trail of ploughed up powder in its wake.

He pulled his face up from the snow, spitting rapidly melting flakes and shaking clumps of them from his hair. Dark eyes searched briefly, frantically, before widening as they spotted the wayward gift.

“Dammit,” he muttered, pulling himself up. “If it wasn’t broken before, it sure as hell is now….”

Stepping carefully, he made his way to the edge of the pond and tentatively slid a foot onto the snow-dusted ice. A quick check showed it to be following the saying Riza had taught him: ‘thick and blue, safe for you. Thin and crispy, way too risky.’ This was reflecting the grey sky overhead, so it wasn’t blue, but it certainly seemed thick enough to support his weight.

He eased further from the bank, moving one careful step at a time The ice was a little bit rough-textured, but still slippery, and while simply walking might not break it, a fall almost definitely would.

Roy was perhaps five steps from retrieving the present when the ice beneath his foot gave a soft, ominous creak.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to keep moving; standing still would only make the ice crack faster. It’s just one weak spot, he told himself. They’re more common close to the centre like this, but it’s okay. Just get her gift and get clear.

He had just managed to pick up the gift and straighten up when the ice under his feet gave a final crackle like the burst of a firework… and shattered.

Roy dropped almost straight down into the water, only coming to a stop as his feet hit the bottom, the icy water sloshing around his waist. His surprised yell died in a hurried gasp of shock as the cold hit first his feet, then his knees, and then – most uncomfortably – his groin.

The gasp faded into a groan as he folded involuntarily forward, resting his chest and forehead on the ice. One hand held the present aloft, well clear of the water. He needed to get out, he knew, and he would have to be careful, but for the moment, the cold shock wouldn’t allow him to move.

“You all right, there, son?”

He lifted his head, finding a man in a coat and overalls – likely the farmer who owned the property – nearby. He stood with his hands on his hips, watching Roy with a mixture of concern and bemusement.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I think so. Hang on….”

Moving carefully, he hauled himself out of the hole in the ice on his stomach, using an all-too-well-practiced military-style belly crawl to reach the edge of the pond. Once there, the farmer grasped him by the arm, helping him to stand.

“You can’t stay in those wet clothes and boots, boy.” He waved to a farmhouse not too far away. “Come on back to the house with me; my wife’ll see you get warm and get some dry clothes.”

Well, it was certainly better than showing up on Riza’s doorstep soaked through and shivering. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” Roy nodded back toward the pond as they started off. “Sorry for the trouble. I suppose that’ll teach me not to test my luck with winter ice.”

“I suppose so.” The man gave him a sidelong glance. “What were you doing way out here?”

A bit of colour seeped into Roy’s cheeks that wasn’t from the chill air. “I was trying a shortcut to get to the Hawkeye place. Berthold was my alchemy teacher until he passed, and his daughter Riza is a friend–” That word again. “– of mine. I thought I’d surprise her for a belated Solstice.” He smile lopsidedly. “Might be a little extra belated, now.”

The farmer stopped, and it took Roy’s slowly numbing feet another few steps to do the same. “I don’t know how good of friends the two of you are,” the older man said slowly, with the air of someone who knows they are delivering bad news. “But, uh… nobody’s been in that house for, oh… a good four months, now.”

Roy felt his jaw drop. “What?!”

“Little Miss Hawkeye, she pulled up stakes and moved,” was the reply. “I can’t tell you where, since I don’t know as if she told anyone where she was going… but you won’t find her here, boy.”

———————-

He came across it in one of the boxes after moving to Central. Lifting out the little box – looking admittedly worse for wear after several years – he turned it over in his hands and winced at the sound of shifting glass shards and metal. His old worry had finally come true; it was well and truly broken.

“What do you have there?”

Half-startled, he glanced back over his shoulder to see Riza re-entering the room, her head tilted curiously. “A keepsake?”

“Technically, yes.” He held it out to her. “But it’s more for you than me. I got this for you a long time ago; I think it’s high time you had it.”

Still curious, she took the box, her eyebrows lifting. “You weren’t kidding when you said ‘a long time.’” Her fingers touched the faded, slightly frayed red ribbon. “What’s the occasion?”

“Originally, it was for Solstice.” Slipping his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. “I think it was for… Solstice 1905? I made a trip to your hometown, made it most of the way to your dad’s place before I found out you weren’t there.”

“1905… I’d left for the Academy at the end of that summer.” Riza smiled, the expression a little bewildered and taken aback. “You’ve held on to this for almost ten years?”

“Like I said, it’s high time you had it.”

She undid the ribbon and pulled back the white – now a decidedly off-white – paper to expose the dinged and dented cardboard box. She moved to pull off the lid… just as Roy remembered something important.

“You’re going to want to be careful,” he said hurriedly. “It isn’t in one piece anymore. Here….” He stepped forward, helping her to gingerly remove the lid from the filigreed frame – broken now on two sides– and a pane of glass that lay in several small shards.

Riza ignored the damage, picking delicately past the glass to pluck the photograph free. “Roy…. This is….” She set the box to one side on a stack of his looseleaf research documents, freeing her hand to cover her mouth in shock. “This was taken at that carnival that came through town, the summer you finished your apprenticeship.”

“Only a couple of weeks before I left for the Academy myself,” he said quietly. “The memory of the day that photo was taken… it got me through some of the tougher days of basic training.”

She looked up, smiling. When she gave the photo a small wave, the paper crackled. “And so you thought to share that happiness with me, while you were going to be away.” Setting it aside with the box and broken frame, she took a step closer. “Thank you, Roy. I’ll get a new frame for it, and I’ll keep it safe.” Her hand grasped his gently. “That was a very happy time for me, too.”

In the photograph, a young Riza, barely sixteen, had her hair cut short above the high collar and longer sleeves of a simply-styled but pretty dress. Her right hand descended out of frame to hold the hand of the boy pictured there.

Roy’s bangs had yet to grow so that they nearly fell into his eyes, a faint blush visible as a slight change in the sepia toning of the image. He was laughing, one eye squeezed shut as his Master’s daughter pressed a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

Mimicking the image of her younger self, Riza rose slightly on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek, just below the cheekbone, just as Roy broke into that same boyhood lopsided grin.

[artxyra]

In Her Darkest Moment - Part 2

Part 1 | 2 | 3

Note: The song inspiration came from Utada Hikaru & Skrillex Face My Fears. Yes, there will be a part 3. It just felt right to end the part where it was rather than continue it to be a completed two-shot story. Don’t know when the next part will be out but I did start it. 

Marinette’s day started off okay. Her usual clients emailed her for some design commission, her lovers decided that today they would the day that they make breakfast for her, but the day comes to still when she sees an official letter in the mail.

You Are Invited to Lycée Fantômette Dupont Reunion!

Oh yes, an invitation to the worse years of her life. It still amazes her how she was able to graduate with all her absent days and constant visits to the dean’s office.

“Did you see the news?” Marinette turns to see Kagami, dress in a casual black and red jumpsuit.

Marinette sighs and places the letter down. She didn’t know how to answer this. There were already too many memories running through her brain to even think of a proper reply.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Kagami comforts placing a kiss on the conflicted woman’s cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, we don’t have to go.”

Marinette shakes her head, “No, we should go. I want to see whether or not they have changed enough to understand that her lies have consequences.”

Kagami takes a step back, a hand coving her heart. A smile sneaks it away onto the Japanese’s native woman. “Of course, you would. Should I tell Fe and Luka of your decision?”  

Marinette nods, “That would be wise. Actually…I might have something better in mind.” The designer teases biting her bottom lip.

Kagami has known Marinette long enough to know that mischief is that woman’s best friend through thick and thin. Nodding, Kagami notices the time and rushes out of the room. Marinette lets out a small chuckle and returns to reading the letter.

There is never a bad time to face her past, and as much as she blocked out everything regarding her times in Lycée, there were still some good memories. It’s an odd feeling to have ten years’ worth of fear piling in her small body structure, but she didn’t want to linger on to that feeling any longer.

Burying herself in her commissions, Marinette barely heard the slamming of her office door late on that evening.

“This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!” A certain blonde shout to the heavens. Marinette stops her sowing and turns to see one of her closest friends, who’s chest is out and seething. Pushing the fabric aside, the bluenette gets up and lightly push against the blonde’s shoulder.

“What happened?” She asks looking at the blonde in the eyes.

Chloe huffs and folds her arms, “Our favorite liar decided that it would be useful to use your name once more for personal gain.”

Marinette’s bluebell eyes widen. She stands frozen against Chloe. Her breathing quickens as the once buried memories flood their way into her mind. Subconsciously, she touches her shoulder and rubs her forearm.

Chloe quickly notices the woman’s actions and guide her to the futon. Siting blue-haired woman down, Chloe immediately tries to get her to do some breathing exercises. Realizing that wasn’t working, Chloe pulls out her phone calls the others. Luka’s the first to answer.

“She’s having a panic attack,” Chloe immediately states, placing the call on the speaker.

Luka immediate sings a soft lullaby, as Chloe adds Félix and Kagami to the call.

“Netta, listen to us, you are safe, she can’t get to you now.” Félix states in the softest voice he could muster.

As the three lovers try to soothe their love, Chloe paces back and forth thinking of possible ways to get the panic woman out of her attack. She hates seeing Marinette like this, Lycée was hard on all of them and here was the past creeping its way back up to them.

They have created a life outside of lycée, away from their former classmates and tormentors. Marinette became a successful designer despite doing it under a pseudonym named Fortunate Red, Kagami being a fencing instructor and agent, Félix becoming a well-known lawyer, Luka taking off in his solo career as a rock star, and her being the best damn PR specialist for the group.

“I think she’s coming to.” Chloe acknowledges seeing the clouded look in Marinette’s eyes fade away. Immediately after saying that, the three on the phone simultaneously sighs in relief.

“That’s good to hear, Chloe,” Kagami states what they all were thinking. “Please keep an eye on her. We know how much she hates it, but I wouldn’t want to take the risk.” The others were quick to agree but not without promises of being home soon.

The call ends; Marinette shakes the daze away and looks around. “What happened?”

Chloe pinches the bridge of her nose and murmurs, “You don’t want to know. Anyways, as your PR, I advise you to stay away from social media, especially your old accounts.”

Marinette tilts her head sideways, why would Chloe mention her practically dead social media accounts? She hasn’t posted anything on there in ten years—perhaps it was longer than that.

“I won’t. I promise.” Marinette promise. “I think I need to take a walk—a break, maybe. I promise Madeline that I would meet her at the café.”  

Chloe gives Marinette a reassuring smile.

“Maybe I should go with you, besides I miss Madeline.” Chloe offers.

“You don’t have to do that; besides, I will have Tikki and Plagg with me.”

“I thought Plagg was with Félix.”

“He didn’t want to listen to another long meeting without cheese being present.” Marinette giggles.

Chloe loves these moments. Moments when Marinette is herself, carefree, and the weight of her past behind her even if it’s for a moment.

“Fine, you can go but the moment Madeline calls us, we’re going in.” Chloe readjusts her purse, “Also tell her to call me, she missed our last dinner date because of the late-night rush at the restaurant.”

Marinette nods and calls for the two kwamis out of their miniature house. Due to Marinette becoming the guardian of Miraculous box once she was fully trained, she felt bad for the kwamis and decided to make them a little house—similar to a dollhouse—for them to live and have fun in. It works out as it gave something to come back to and give them all personal spaces.

“So, Marinette are you going to go to the reunion?” Tikki wonders flying next to her chosen.

Marinette didn’t answer. Her mind wanders off to the possibilities that could happen regarding the decision to go. They always did say the best way to be free is to face the fears that are holding you back.

~*~

Breaking News: Lila Agreste nee Rossi claims that her husband Adrien Agreste is having an affair with a former Lycée classmate!

“I caught them in our bed!” Rossi claims. “This wasn’t the first time, either!”

Headlines: Adrien Agreste remains silent at this acquisition.

Headlines: Are Rossi and Agreste getting a divorce?

Breaking News: Rossi claims that former classmate Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a homewrecker!

~*~

Marinette couldn’t help but feel an enormous amount of guilt. Chloe’s warning may have done her good on the social media part, but it didn’t stop her from seeing the newspaper and hearing the whispers behind her back as she continues with her daily routine.

“You shouldn’t be reading those, Netta. We don’t want you to have another relapse.” Luka states wrapping his arms around her shoulder.

“I-I-I can’t help it.” She stutters, her voice cracking. “I haven’t seen or spoken to any of them in a long time, so why put my name out there?” She ponders covering her face an attempt to hide from the world around her.

“You’re not obligated to attend the reunion.” Luka reminds her, but Marinette shakes her head.

“It won’t do me any good to stay away now. That will only make me look guilty to those that still believe her lies.”

She did have a point. Everyone in their graduating class received the invite and nearly everyone in Marinette’s class believed the lies especially after the photo incident.

Luka sighs and a quick text to Félix.

“I guess I’ll get the car prepared, then.”

Marinette goes to kiss Luka’s cheek, allowing herself to feel a little peace with this decision.

~*~

Lila couldn’t believe how easy it was to bring the Dupont’s everyday Ladybug name back into her crazy schemes for attention and power. All it took was a little bit of blackmailing on some well-known reporters and the waterworks.

No matter what, she will get her happy ending. Lila believed she thought her plan entirely through. Soon Juleka would be able to sway her rock star of a brother into her scheme allowing her to be his lover. Adrien was dead to her. She dried him the minute they got married, but her spot-light fantasy faded away when Gabriel Agreste had to file bankruptcy. It was then that Lila knew she needed someone better, richer, and handsome than the former model.

“I can’t believe that Marinette would do such a thing to you Lila.” Alya spats clearly angered at her former best friend for all the pain she causes the Italian woman.

Cue the waterworks, “It’s true, I caught them. She didn’t bat an eye when she rushed out of the house.”

Alya immediately goes to comfort the teary-eyed black widow.

“I would feel embarrassed for Marinette if she dared showed her face here tonight.” Lila couldn’t help but internally smirk at the damage she has caused.

“Oh look, there’s Rose, Juleka, and Alix over by the punch bowl.” Alya attempts to direct the conversation to something else.

Lila cheekily smiles and allows herself to be dragged over to the punch bowl. Alya immediately greets the small group of women.

“I heard about your divorce, Alya, how are you doing?” Alix cautiously asked despite the concerned look she’s giving to the reporter.

Alya sighs, “It was hard, but we manage to get an agreement for the kids.”

Alya wasn’t alright, she loved Nino with all her being, but when he asked for a divorce, it was out of the blue and she was going through a hard time finding a new journalism agency. Together they have twin boys that were as energetic as their mother when she was teen chasing after Ladybug.

“Oh my, I didn’t realize and here I am in tears about my marriage.” Lila gasps bringing the conversation back on her. Alya gives the Italian woman a soft smile and hands her a glass of punch. “So Juleka, is your brother joining us this evening?”

Juleka shrugs and pulls Rose into a side embrace. “He told me it was possible as his girlfriend is also a part of our graduating class.”

Lila nearly spits out her drink, “G-girlfriend.” She stutters cursing in the back of her mind that her plan was already going down like a sinking ship.

“Uh…yeah. I think he’s planning on proposing soon but we haven’t been in contact since the start of his tour.” Juleka adds cautiously seeing the slight change in Lila’s behavior.

Lila sends Juleka a sheepish smile and turns around to fold her arms against her chest.

“Well I do hope he shows up, it will be nice to see whom he’s dating.” Alya wonders, probably thinking of a new scoop for her blog.

~*~

Marinette is feeling a panic attack approaching, that or a nervous breakdown. Since the last time she saw the news, more information regarding the cheating scandal came to light. Reporters are going at each other throats about the lack of truth and trying to make as much sense as to why this story is just now coming out. Few of them tried to contact her, but she told them they had the wrong number.

“Deep breaths, Netta, we’re almost there.” Félix softly whispers into her ear holding the bluenette’s hand in his own.

Félix’s right, she does need to calm down.

The limo stops in front of the venue that the school provided for such an event. It was time for her to face her fears.

Exiting the limo, Marinette could only wish that she had taken up Tikki’s offer for her to accompany her, but she denied seeing as Félix, Kagami and Luka would be there with her. Even though their poly-relationship is hidden from the public they every much have a plan. Kagami’s dating Luka while she’s dating Félix. They only hope to marry one another one day but they’re happy with their dynamic.

“I’m ready.” Marinette murmurs, but her tense shoulders and quicken breathes would say otherwise.

“Baby steps, Netta, baby steps.” Kagami grabs hold of her black and blue-haired lover’s arm and walks towards the entrance.

Entering the banquet hall, Marinette could spot her other favorite blonde amid a conversation she clearly did not want to be in. Thankfully, Chloe caught sight of them and excuse herself from the conversation.

“Nette!” Chloe exclaims, but not before wishing that her voice was a little bit lowered.

Everyone has their eyes on the group of newcomers. Gossip spread throughout the adults and the majority of it was how Marinette showed her face to them after what she had done to Lila’s marriage.

“How are you doing?” Chloe asks her friend. “Don’t worry, my guys and I are working overtime to get this scandal handled. I’m sure Félix is putting together a case against Rossi and whoever’s involved with this.”

“That would be wrong of me to not help save my Netta’s reputation, Bourgeois,” Félix states wrapping his arms around Marinette’s small waist.

“Félix!” Marinette stares at him in shock. A small weight of negative emotions are lifted from her shoulders.

Félix gives her heartfelt smile and gently place a kiss on her temple.

Very audible gasps fill the ambient sounds.

Alya angerly charges towards the happy group with fire in her eyes. “How could you, Marinette! You show your disgraceful face here and have the audacity to kiss another man when you’re hoeing around with Adrien.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cesaire. I haven’t seen Agreste in years.” Marinette states clinging to Félix’s blazer.

Alya screeches, her hand making a swing at Marinette. However, if it wasn’t for Félix grabbing her wrist mid-swing, Marinette would have been hurt.

“That is enough, Cesaire.” Félix growls, his cat-like instincts kicking in. “Marinette and I came here to have a good time and it would rude of you to act out at such a formal event.”

He then violently shoves her wrist away. Alya gawks at him.

“Your so-called girlfriend has been hooking up with another man behind your back and you’re acting like everything is okay.” Alya shrieks and if there wasn’t a crowd before, there was one now.

“I have not been hooking up with other men. I love Félix and I would never cheat on him.” Marinette sneers, her fears of the past coming at her was being boiled away by fury red anger. If Hawkmoth was still in action, this would have the perfect time to become Scarlet Moth. The amount of fury, confusion, and sadness ran high at the reunion.

Part 3

Tag List:  @zebrabaker | @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay | @kuroko26 | @ayuchan07 | @whitennerdiest | @mewwitch | @hauntedfreakdeputyhero | @captainmac6 | @somedayillwrite

[ayankun]

coffee shop au bitches (working title)

here, have this rough draft of the first half of part 1.  consider it proof of concept.  (the concept is Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but actually good) (”good;” YMMV)

9.3k words; Cas is human like everyone else so to compensate I made him socially anxious af; there’s a brief unpleasantness wherein someone in customer service gets harassed so watch out for that I guess; Cas is also carrying a lot of baggage (literally and metaphorically) and it’s vague for now but a little wearisome so GLHF I promise when it’s done-done they all get the kind of happy endings they deserved from the show

The town of Lebanon, Kansas sprang up without warning, its tree-lined streets shockingly claustrophobic after the three hours of patchwork browns and greens streaming by the smudgy window, the rolling plains uninterrupted to the very ends of the earth until the blank blue September sky finally picked up where the horizon left off.

Castiel felt his eyes strain, forced to reel in his thousand-yard stare, as he squinted at the blur of tidy little houses perched along Lebanon's brief outskirts.  He blinked away from the window and pushed himself to his feet, sidling carefully into the aisle to pull his duffle down from the overhead rack.  In short order, the bus turned onto the tidy little Americana main street and rolled up to a tidy little bus stop, and, reaching back into his seat to retrieve his briefcase, he squinted out at this, too.  

The screech of well-worn brakes, the brace against the final lurch of inertia, the hiss and clack of the doors at the front and back folding open; with no more pomp and circumstance than that, Castiel's journey reached its end.  Clutching the handle of his briefcase and slinging the straps of his duffle over one shoulder, he edged down the aisle and nodded his thanks to the driver on his way down the steps.  Finally, Castiel planted his sensible shoes on the cracked sidewalk, looked carefully up and down the stretch of unremarkable, middle-of-nowhere civilization, and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing here.

The bus shrieked and rumbled back into the non-existent late afternoon traffic, a thick gout of black exhaust signaling its farewell, leaving Castiel behind before he had a chance to change his mind.  He watched its departure absently for half a moment, road-weary and numb.  Then he hiked his duffle a little more snug against his back, turned around, and began an unhurried stroll the shady two and a half blocks back to the motel on the south side of town.

---

"Been expecting you," the woman behind the counter said the second Castiel pulled open the glass door to the motel office.

He paused, looked over his shoulder, saw no one among the growing shadows of the motel's empty parking lot, no one except a trucker hopping out of his cab parked at the gas 'n sip on the opposite corner.  Castiel watched him jog across the street towards the Biggerson's, the lights of its enormous, highway-facing sign flickering on in welcome, and turned back to shoulder his way inside.  "I did reserve a room over the phone," Castiel said, approaching the counter, "And I was told that a few . . . personal items would be held for me at the front desk?"

The woman, Billie, according to her name tag, responded with a nod, less in answer to his question and more in the way one does when one is not surprised by what they've just heard.  She pulled the keyboard to the old desktop computer closer to herself with one hand, and held the other out, palm up, to Castiel.  "ID and credit card."

Setting his briefcase down on the floor, Castiel dug inside his overcoat's interior pocket for his wallet.  By rote he thumbed out the military ID to give her, but at the last second his heart gave a sharp little twist and he drew it back.  Her lips twitched, nonplussed, but she waited patiently until he handed her his driver's licence instead.  She studied the picture on it for a second, mouthed the name, and carefully considered the face on the photo compared to the face on the man in front of her.  He shifted his feet nervously, thinking he should have just given her the first one, if only to avoid looking any more disreputable than he already did.  

Evidently their hangdog looks matched to her satisfaction, though, and she snapped the plastic down onto the counter, shifted her attention to the computer to check him in.

"Room's yours for the week," she read off the screen as he retrieved his licence and put the credit card down in its place.  She slid it over to herself without looking, only glancing down to read the numbers, obsidian black fingernails clacking proficiently over the ten-key peripheral plugged into the side of the keyboard.  "Checkout's at eleven on the 25th."

When she slid the card back over to him, Castiel palmed it off the counter, put it back into the wallet behind his IDs (driver's license on top), tucked the wallet back into his overcoat.  "Um.  I'm not exactly sure yet -- I may need to extend my stay."  Absently, he wondered why he sounded like he was apologizing for it.

Billie looked up from the computer screen at him, neutral.  "Whatever you need.  We can do you by the week, month, whatever.  Got your card on file, so you just let me know when I should stop charging it."

Castiel tried a smile he didn't feel, thinking as he did so that he probably shouldn't have bothered with one, what with how it seemed to crumple his face in unnatural ways.  "I will let you know, thank you."

She pulled a blank key card from a drawer and ran it through the machine to code it for his room.  "Here you go," she said, slapping it onto the counter with another plasticky snap, "Room 401."

"Thank you," he said again, taking the key card and putting it into his coat's front pocket. She held up a hand to keep him from running straight off to the room, a slightly unnecessary gesture, since he had no intention to do so.  Not without the banker's box that she was now pulling out from under the counter.

It was sealed with tamper-evident tape, noticeably intact as she spun it 180 degrees so he could also see his name and a brief description of the contents inked with a tidy hand in the space provided on the lid.  Billie pushed the box toward him and then tapped a nail over one of the items on the contents list.  "She's parked out front."

Castiel peered down at the item she had indicated.  "Keys," it said, rather cryptically, in that unfamiliar, efficient script.  He nodded.  "Thank you."

He bent to pick up the handle of his briefcase, letting the duffle fall farther across his back as he did so in order to free up space under his arm for the banker's box.  It worked, albeit inelegantly, and he felt a little foolish as he fumbled the box off the counter and turned to go.  He felt even worse when Billie said to his back:  "I'm sorry for your loss."

No part of him wanted to say "thank you" again, so he just paused long enough to indicate that he had heard her, and then went out through the glass door and back into the shadowed parking lot without saying a damn thing.

---

Room 401 opened into a concise sort of entryway that pointed him toward a small kitchenette lit primarily by the glare of the Biggerson's sign falling in through the window.  The space featured a round table with peeling laminate, two plastic-and-stainless-steel chairs, a sink and a microwave and a loudly humming fridge.  It was downright lavish compared to the accommodations Castiel had shifted between for the better part of his life.

The banker's box went onto the table, to be ignored until the time came Castiel felt ready to pry inside.

He shrugged his duffle off onto the end of the bed, the briefcase going onto the floor at its foot.  Successfully offloaded, Castiel turned and sat beside the duffle with his hands in his lap, looking at the boxy little TV set sitting on top of a banged up little dresser; at the dusty looking armchair shoved back in the corner to his right, under a dusty looking lamp; at the dim alcove immediately to the right of the TV, keeping discreet the bathroom sink and mirror and the door to the toilet and shower.

He didn't know what to do now.

Twisting to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, he marked the time with no real interest.  Just after 6:30.  Not enough daylight left to try and find his way around town, too early to sleep.  Not that he really felt compelled to do either of those things.  Not that he felt compelled to do anything.

But he had to do something, though, didn't he?  He had to keep moving forward, in whatever small way he could manage.  He had to.

With a long sigh that seemed almost to empty him completely, Castiel got to his feet.  He pulled his overcoat off, went to the alcove closet to hang it up, stopped at the sink to splash some water on his face.  He took a moment to appreciate his appearance -- mournful and aggressively unkempt after two solid days on the road -- before stepping out of the alcove to retrieve the briefcase.  He opened it on the bed and slipped the laptop out, digging around for the charger, and brought both to the dresser, setting the laptop to one side and plugging it into the outlet he found by tracing the TV's power cord.

He stood there, hunched a little over the open laptop, waiting for it to wake from its hibernating state.  He could check his email, at least, or scroll through the news he'd missed while in the air and in taxis and in the air again and in buses that sailed too quickly through isolated islands of 4G signal that lit up only a single bar before going dark again.

His desktop loaded, the wallpaper a heavily-filtered photo he'd pulled from who-knew-where:  just an expanse of faded teal, adorned only by a single, old-fashioned kite, bold and bright with primary colors, pinned there on the sky by an unseen breeze for all eternity.  He had set it a long time ago and never changed it; the image was a small comfort, though for what reason, he couldn't tell.  It wasn't his memory.

The fleeting sense of well-being provided by the tranquil wallpaper faded as quickly as it had come.  The only Wi-Fi network in range was named "Big D's iPhone" and it was locked.  Castiel refreshed the network scan a few times, hoping to see something that looked like it was related to the motel, but nothing else appeared.  He fished his phone out of his pocket for a second opinion, but it, too, displayed just the one fishy looking hotspot and very little 4G, even though he swung it around like an idiot, dowsing the room for a signal, watching the littlest bar wink at him no matter which out-of-the-way corner he took it to.

He even found himself squeezing between the table and the window, pushing the curtain aside as if the radio waves were having trouble making it through the few millimeters of dusty fabric.  He knew better, but it couldn't hurt.  In the Biggerson's lot, catty corner to the motel, a sleek black muscle car came to life with an animal growl, and he watched it prowl out onto the street and streak out towards the highway, taking Big D's iPhone with it.

---

It wasn't Billie manning the motel office when Castiel made his way back inside.  He didn't know why this should surprise him, but the fact that his expectations had been subverted in such a minor way somehow made him stutter his step as he entered.

The woman lounging in the office chair with her boots on the counter didn't wear a nametag.  She did look up from her magazine -- Knives Illustrated -- but only for a second, just a cool, cursory glance to let him know that she knew he was there and also that she wasn't too bothered by it.

"Howdy there, Clarence," she drawled.

Castiel didn't look over his shoulder, this time, but he did falter to a premature stop halfway to the counter, searching the vast middle distance as he tried to quickly figure out if he had enough information to parse the greeting.  He didn't.

"My name is Castiel," he informed her cautiously, eyes lifting to meet hers over the cover of her magazine.

She turned a page.  "Knew it was something hokey like that."

"Yes, well . . . hello," he said, brow furrowing.  She turned another page and he pulled his hand down over his rough five o'clock shadow, a token from his time on the road.  He probably should have cleaned up before leaving the room, but here he was.  He stepped forward, "Excuse me--"

"You're excused," she sing-songed at him.  The magazine dropped just enough to reveal her razor-sharp grin; it was not too dissimilar to the image on the front cover.

"--I was wondering if you knew where I might find a decent Wi-Fi signal in town."  He arrived at the counter as he was speaking, and placed both his hands palms down on its surface.  When she didn't stop looking at him, he picked his hands back up and dropped them to his sides.

She went back to the magazine.  "Depends.  Business or pleasure?"

"Alright," Castiel said, defeated, hands clenching irritably at nothing, "I apologize for having bothered you.  Enjoy your evening."

He turned his back on her, and wasn't going to stop even when he heard the magazine slap closed and her boots clump to the floor, but still that's exactly what he ended up doing as she called, "Hold up, C."

It was the impromptu nickname more than anything, since hearing it inspired him to send a pinched look of consternation back in her direction, where she was now leaning towards him with her forearms planted on the counter, her straight dark hair falling over one shoulder.  "I was only having a little fun," she told him once she was sure she had secured his attention, "We don't get fresh meat like you too often around these parts, and a girl's got needs.  How could I resist?"

"That is a very forward way to speak to a customer," Castiel intoned, the dip of his head turning judgemental.  He'd seen looks like that before; his skin crawled when they were for him.  His hands balled up and flapped open again, trying to shake it off.  "Good night."

"Best bet's the Roadhouse," she told him just as he reached out to push open the door.  Again, he paused, against his better judgement, and she took that as her cue to continue, "Just head on up Main Street, you can't miss it.  If you hit the prairie, you've gone too far."

Castiel ducked his head, hiding the twitch of a small, rueful smile at the joke that slipped its way in at the last second.  "Thanks," he said, more to the half-opened door than to anyone else.

"You watch yourself out there, fresh meat," she hollered a parting warning as the door swung shut behind him, "The freaks come out at night."

---

Castiel walked back to his room to get his overcoat, taking in the rosy hues of twilight that striated the western sky dead ahead of him, chewing over the likelihood that the insouciant woman meant what she'd said.  He couldn't imagine that a small town like this would be terribly dangerous after dark, but, then again --

Stopping at the door to 401, he carefully prodded his better judgement into at least considering taking the car -- he looked at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to dwell too long on the idea that its previous owner would have left indelible personal traces behind -- and, sure enough, he wasn't ready to go digging.  Not in the box, and certainly not in the car.

Castiel gently shook out the fist he had made, swept his eyes over the brilliance of the western sky, and decided he was in the right kind of mood for a walk.

He unlocked his door, entered the room to grab his overcoat, stuffed the laptop back into the briefcase, exited again, pointed himself towards Main Street without giving the car another thought.

---

Turned out she was right about one thing, the Roadhouse was impossible to miss.

From the way the neon sign lit up the rustic wood siding of the cowboy-chic exterior, he half worried the establishment was a bar of some sort.  The windows were dark, the shades drawn down against the setting sun, so he only could only make a guess based on what the exterior looked like.  Hesitating on the sidewalk under a street lamp, Castiel squinted up at it and waged a minor civil war with himself as to whether it would be worth it to go in and find out.

He slowly turned around on the spot, in his little pool of light, casting up and down the nearly deserted street for some kind of sign that would help him choose one way or the other.  Small town Kansas didn't seem to have much going for it, in the way of nightlife; from what he could tell, the storefronts looked exclusively like the little mom-and-pops one would expect from the heartland -- the highway-adjacent Biggerson's the evident exception -- and all of these were either closed or closing.

He completed his inspection, coming face to face once again with the Roadhouse.  On the one hand, it purportedly had Wi-Fi, his current mission being to locate the same.  On the other hand, it looked like a bar, and he didn't want to walk in there with his out-of-towner face, with his uncool overcoat and his briefcase, and specifically avoid ordering alcohol.

He was just coming around to the idea that he could very well survive off the grid for a night when a pair of headlights attached to a shadow came roaring down from the north end of the street at him, the car banking into a smooth, undoubtedly illegal U-turn in the middle of the block, slinking confidently into the open space directly under Castiel's street lamp.  The engine cut off, then the lights, and then a man was ducking out of the driver's side, slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel was stuck.  He hadn't counted on this particular type of social awkwardness, caught loitering on the street without anything to say for himself.  He averted his eyes, expecting the man to pass him by and go on with his business, but to his increasing embarrassment and frustration, the guy stepped up onto the sidewalk and shoved his keys into a pocket of his green canvas jacket and definitely didn't continue on his way.

"Coming or going?" he asked.  The voice was something of a deep growl, but the tone was friendly enough.  

Castiel looked up to be polite, or, at least, to be less weird.  "I don't know," he found himself saying.  Any chance to possibly come across as a reasonable human being was thoroughly smashed, he thought.  He couldn't talk his way out of this one, even if he tried.  Especially if he tried.  "I've only just arrived," he added.

The guy looked him up and down, not in a lecherous way, or even in a macho, sizing up the competition way; just an unguarded appraisal of his bus-rumpled appearance, the suspicious looking briefcase, the disconcerting way he was caught standing in the dark looking at the door of a place without going in.  The inspection was over in a second, and concluded with a good-natured nod and an open-handed wave that clearly said, "yeah, I figured out that much on my own."

"Well, we don't bite," the guy said aloud, slapping Castiel hard on the shoulder, making him rock from the impact and almost exactly undermining the sentiment.  He immediately turned and stepped up to the Roadhouse's door, hauling it open and beckoning back at Castiel to get his ass inside.  "C'mon, at this rate they'll be closed before you make up your mind."

If Castiel had been looking for some kind of sign, this was clearly providence's way of sending him one.

Even so, he realized he had started moving forward to accept the invitation without consciously meaning to, and, well, he had a lifetime of conditioning to thank for that.  Castiel, ever the good little soldier, taking orders at face value, instead of thinking for himself.  He frowned a little on the inside -- remembering to briefly tug a smile of thanks on the outside -- until the wave of warm, coffee-scented air hit him in the face along with the unavoidable understanding that the Roadhouse was not, in fact, a bar.

The relief of this revelation was powerful enough to enable him to put his weird little hangups back inside the box where they belonged, his outside smile going soft and honest around the edges, and he ducked his head sheepishly at the guy, who had followed him in.  Automatically angling himself towards the register, as one did one when one entered a coffee shop, he said, "I was informed there was Wi-Fi here.  Just not what 'here' was.  'The Roadhouse' sounds -- I thought perhaps it was a bar."

His honesty caught himself off-guard, uncertain as to where the need to explain himself to this stranger came from, exactly.  It was probably because he had already demonstrated the kind of small town friendliness that made Castiel feel like it would be read as rude if he didn't attempt a bit of smalltalk in return.  The guy looked like a nice enough sort of person to meet halfway; about Castiel's age, a little younger, perhaps; kind of a non-threatening good-ol'-boy with his ripped jeans, plaid flannel, and his not-quite-scruffy-not-quite-clean-cut style.  Castiel thought that maybe he could survive being social for a minute or two, with someone like this.

Instantly, this thought hit a bump in the road, as his new friend twisted a funny look at him.  "Got something against bars?"

Castiel dropped his eyes and tried to ignore his obvious misstep while he drifted into the back of the line, behind a towering mountain of a man in a black leather jacket.  Castiel wasn't short, by any stretch of the imagination, but the two men hemming him in were both taller still.  He thought about his answer to the question, flicking rapidly through the options, but wasn't able to pick one that was both simple and truthful before the guy abruptly leaned in.  This startled Castiel, who instinctively shifted away a half step, shoulder bumping up against the glass that separated him from a shiny brass espresso machine.

The guy didn't notice his discomfort, having breached Castiel's personal space to say in a stage whisper:  "If it's rough company you're worried about, nothin' to be afraid of, around here.  The real seedy joints are across town.  Ain't that right, Tiny?"

At this last, he straightened up and raised his voice some, directing the question straight past Castiel.

Castiel turned his head to see the huge leather jacket man fixing the tall canvas jacket man with a full-bodied glare.  He also, at this time, took in the man's shaved head and appreciated the twisting serpent logo coiled on the back of the jacket.  He shifted even closer to the espresso machine, clearing the space between the two men as best he could.

But "Tiny" didn't otherwise react, just turned back and stepped up to the register, boots heavy on the wooden floor.

"Wi-Fi's pretty decent here, yeah," Castiel's companion went on.  Castiel looked back to him, surprised to see him relaxed and indifferent, like he hadn't just specifically tried to antagonize a 400-pound member of a biker gang after dark.  "And the lattes are alright.  Fair warning:  your choices are pretty much either that or black coffee, those're the only things the kid can't mess up too bad."

Off the guy's nod over Castiel's shoulder, he obediently turned and saw the referenced kid -- in actuality, a young, sandy-haired man of about seventeen or eighteen -- working the espresso machine on the other side of the glass.  The milk frother hissed demonstratively for a moment, the kid's face pinched in comically serious concentration on the task, but when he shoved the arm back into the off position, he looked up to see who was watching him and broke out into one of the purest smiles Castiel had ever seen.

"Hello!" the kid said, sunnily, like Castiel was his closest friend and not a literal stranger gawking at him like a zoo animal.  The hand that had been operating the machine was summarily raised in greeting, palm forward, fingers wide.  He radiated a positively angelic energy that instantly made Castiel feel at ease, despite the anxiety of the last several minutes, somehow even despite the soul-crushing weight he'd brought with him to town.

"Hello . . . Jack," Castiel replied, after realizing he could make out the kid's name tag pinned to his apron.  Pinned to their apron, rather, as he belatedly noted the "they/them" pronoun declaration stuck on underneath the name with white label tape.  He smiled, the desire to return just a small portion of the hospitality he'd received so far rising ferociously inside him, one of the strongest emotions he'd had the pleasure of feeling in recent memory.  "I've been informed I should try one of your lattes."

He nodded at the stainless steel carafe of foamed milk in the kid's hand, and they looked down at it as if they'd forgotten it was there.  "Oh!  Yes, I suppose you should."  They poured the milk into a waiting paper cup of espresso, face contorting back into that look of supreme concentration for only as long as it took to pour, smiling back up at Castiel the second the task was done.  "I'm still learning how to make everything, but I'm getting better at the basics."

"Yeah, you are," the guy behind Castiel said, in that manner of speaking that was as aggressive as it was supportive.  Jack grinned shyly, ducking their head at the praise, and shuffled the drink off to the pick-up counter on the other side of the register.

Castiel looked back over to see the guy grinning after the kid, and a thought hit him.  "Are you their . . . parent?" he asked, tripping and catching himself on Jack's pronoun only slightly, a very jarring rush of panic hitting him in time to swerve around using the word "father," just in case gender-nonconformity ran in the family.

The . . . person met Castiel's eye and then looked away, shrugging a little.  "Oh me?  Nah.  I mean.  Sorta.  We're kind of just, looking after them, I guess you could say."

The use of the first-person plural pronoun seemed like something Castiel would pry into next, were he the prying sort.  Instead, he very, very briefly wondered what the average household looked like in Lebanon, Kansas, these days, or if he'd just stumbled into the exception on accident.

A hand was extended his way, along with a name.  "Dean," Castiel was told as he accepted the handshake, "He/him, in case you were wondering."

Castiel let out an inward sigh of relief, and the guy winked before adding:  "Aquarius.  Stones, not Beatles.  Star Wars and Star Trek, but not the garbage that came out after the nineties."  Dean let Castiel's hand go with a chewed-on smile and something of a self-deprecating eyebrow wag.  "That's basically all the important stuff you have to know about me up front."

"Castiel," he returned, "And . . . I am also a man."

Dean snorted a short little breath at that, eyes bright.  He rubbed his chin, scratching through the close-trimmed stubble.  "Castiel, huh?"

Castiel pressed his lips together and took a moment to take stock of the state of his shoes, squaring himself for the inevitable question about his uncommon name, but for once it didn't come.  Dean didn't have the chance to ask it.  When Castiel glanced up, Dean was looking over Castiel's shoulder in the direction of the register, all traces of his friendly disposition replaced by a cold scowl.

As one did, Castiel, too, turned to follow Dean's gaze, searching out the source of his sudden displeasure.  For a second he assumed it had something to do with Jack, maybe getting into some difficult situation with a customer, but at a glance he saw that he only had it half right.  Instead of Jack, it was the young woman behind the register, who pulled her wrist out of Tiny's pawlike grasp as Castiel watched.

Castiel's throat closed up, his second-hand anxiety over the situation momentarily flooring him.  Embarrassed, he looked away, out over the sparsely populated cafe, everyone he saw slowly doing the same:  turning back to their screens and their friends, pretending nothing had happened.

Everyone but Dean, Castiel saw as he finally looked back up at him.  Dean was still watching Tiny closely, his brow drawn down and his mouth set in a firm line.  He flicked his eyes down to Castiel when he caught him looking, and did a stuttered double take when he realized he had accidentally leveled that glare at him.

Dean relaxed his expression into something more neutral, obviously seeing the stress on Castiel's face; while Dean was clearly angered by Tiny's overreach, Castiel couldn't help but project a grim ache that he didn't want to name.  Dean's head tilted, as if he was slowly cottoning on to the depth of Castiel's discomfort the longer he looked at him, and Castiel saw his jaw clench the moment before they both looked sharply back over at the register, hearing the woman's voice rise, frustrated and disgusted, over the country twang of the canned music pumping through the coffee shop's speakers.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?"  The young woman had taken a full step back into the space behind the counter, dodging out of the way of Tiny's reach.  Castiel could see fire in her eyes, and barely registered Jack standing nervously on her other side.

Tiny laughed, a rolling chuckle that filled Castiel's gut with acid.  The huge man leaned up against the counter, shoving a shoulder as far as it would go into the open space next to the register, and curled his hand around the far edge of the counter.  "Why, you jealous?  How 'bout you pucker up, sweetcheeks, let me show you what you're missing."

In an instant, the nerves and disgust flushed out of Castiel's system, and in its place a white-hot righteous anger swirled up.  His hands twitched, settling for fists, and he took a lurching step forward, his briefcase swinging roughly into his leg, the emotion spilling out of him in a growl of "Hey, asshole--"

"Yeah, alright--" Dean growled at the same time, taking the same step forward, bringing him even with Castiel, the two men suddenly a solid wall staring daggers into Tiny's back.

"Stay out of this, Dean," the young woman said, fierce.  The tone in her voice caused Jack to flinch, snatching back the reassuring hand they'd been tentatively reaching her way.

Tiny heaved himself off the counter, turning to face them slowly, deliberately, letting them appreciate his size and giving them ample time to reconsider the hill they might be about to die on.  Castiel's chin went up, eyes narrowed.  At his side, Dean sniffed and thumbed his nose, aggressively nonchalant.

A devil-may-care smile on his face, Dean put one arm wide.  "No can do, Jo.  There's a quick way to handle huge, steaming piles of human garbage like our friend Tiny here," he said, making stabbing motions with his hand at the man in question, "and I'd hate to see you lose your job over a broken jaw."

Castiel glanced sharply up at Dean, trying to gauge the realistic chances of an all-out brawl going down right here between the novelty mugs and the last of the day's homemade baked goods.  Lebanon, Kansas was quickly proving to be something other than the sleepy, middle of nowhere hamlet he had assumed it would be.  

In fairness, though, he had been warned that the freaks came out at night.

Dean didn't exactly look ready for a fight, though, loose-limbed and calm, fixing Tiny with a cocky grin that was daring the biker to make the first move.  Castiel forced his own shoulders down, his fist to relax around the handle of the briefcase he was gripping like a weapon.  He cut his eyes over to Tiny, who was equally not rising to the bait, just sneering at them for what he was reading as biteless bark.

"Like to see you try, pretty boy," Tiny said, digging in his heels.

Castiel frowned, seeing that the situation had ground into a stalemate before it had even started, two immovable objects sizing each other up, both content with the fact that the one who either struck first or walked away first would make himself the de facto loser of the conflict, one way or another.  Even so, Castiel strongly felt that neither of these two would be the type to walk away.  He raised a hand, palm out, and tried to press some sense into the moment before one of them exhausted their patience and decided to throw a match onto this powderkeg.

"No one has to try anything," he warned, making sure Dean knew he was included in the list of people encouraged to stand down, "Let's all conduct ourselves as civilized people.  Please, just leave the young woman alone, let her do her job in peace."

Tiny peered down at him and made it clear it wasn't about to back off just because a stranger in a rumpled trenchcoat asked him to play nice.

Dean, meanwhile, licked his bottom lip and looked like he might actually be considering his options.  He nodded, ducking his head as though coming to an overdue realization.

"See, I know Tiny's mom," Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Castiel.  

Castiel dropped his own right back at him, a suspicious squint pinching his face as he felt in his gut that the situation was about to spin off the axle in some unforeseen way, despite his best efforts to prevent that exact outcome.

Dean went on, unperturbed, sliding one hand into his pocket as he half turned away from Tiny, like he was just carrying on their friendly chat from before, like they didn't have a behemoth of an audience listening in.  "And I know she would be appalled -- shocked, even -- if she found out what her son was up to when she ain't looking.  Sweet old Martha, she's been in hospice for what, six weeks?  Seven?"  

He swiveled suddenly and jabbed his free hand at Tiny--  "Please, correct me if I'm wrong--"  Back to Castiel, he tapped his own chest twice to demonstrate-- "The ol' ticker's just not what it used to be, or so I hear.  Can't imagine what a bit of bad news might do to her delicate constitution."

As he said this last part, Dean's arm fell, and with it his cheery facade.  He rolled his head Tiny's direction, offering him one of the coldest, meanest looks Castiel had ever seen on a person.

All seven feet of Tiny was now quivering with a quiet kind of rage, his boiled egg of a head going pink as he struggled to hold it in, to not lose the game of chicken he and Dean were playing.  "You're not gonna tell my Ma nothing, you hear me?"

Dean exploded forward a half step, a finger viciously stabbing the air in the vicinity of Tiny's face.  "You stop being a dick, and I'll have nothing to tell," he roared.

"Dean!" Jo shouted over the top of him, slamming her hands down on the counter.

Everyone in the coffee shop flinched.  Castiel felt himself hang his head, feeling the sting as if he himself had been scolded.  But he'd made himself a part of it, stepped in and got involved, hadn't been able to prevent escalation.  He looked out of the corner of his eye at Jo, thinking that maybe he should apologize, but she was just glaring at Dean with hard eyes and a furious shake of her head.

"Out," she ordered.

Dean ignored the way she obviously meant him, and swung an open grin Tiny's way, canines and tongue showing.  "You heard the little lady."

Jo grit her teeth.  "Both of you, out.  We don't need your kind of trouble here."

Something about what she'd said or how she said it got Dean's attention.  He dropped his arms to his sides with a slap of canvas on canvas, twisting her way with a schoolboy pout pulling down his face.  "C'mon, Jo.  You know I didn't mean it.  You know me.  I would never--"

"Save it," she cut him off.  "Jack's shift ends in twenty-five minutes.  Go wait in the car."

There was a second where Dean gaped, fish out of water, at the order, but the cool, commanding look that came with it forcibly shut his mouth with an audible click and he reared back, bumping into Castiel slightly.  "Alrighty, then," he huffed, stomping the wrong way through the line and on towards the door without looking back.  

Castiel watched his boots retreat over the polished wood of the floor, heard the bang of the door being slammed open with more force than absolutely necessary, then tilted his head to catch Jo giving Tiny the same icy treatment.

"What are you waiting for, then, an invitation?  Go on, get.  And if you try something like that again, trust me, I won't bother with your Ma.  I'll go get mine."  She smiled, sweet and sharp, leaned forward over the counter, right into Tiny's personal space, to make sure her point wasn't missed.  "And we can see how many bones she can break before the Sheriff hauls her off your dead body."

An ominous kind of tension straightened Castiel's shoulders, surprised at Jo's candid threat, doubtful that hers would work where Dean's had failed.  After a moment, though, Tiny heaved his bulk away from the counter, gave Castiel a dirty look, and similarly made his inglorious retreat into the night.

Castiel wondered what was going to happen now between the two men, whether they were going to carry on in the street or just back off to lick their wounds until their next meeting.  He hoped Dean had sense enough to actually get in the car, at least.

"Next!"

Distracted from the errant thought of the well-being of a near stranger, Castiel turned to see Jo smiling at him from behind the register, the picture of award-winning customer service, and nothing like the stone-cold demon who had seconds ago threatened to have her mother bludgeon a customer to death.  He stepped up to place his order, thoroughly cowed.

"I apologize for the scene, for my part in it," he told her quietly as he leaned to one side to set the briefcase on the floor at his feet, reaching for his wallet.  "You clearly didn't need us to butt in, but still, I hope you're alright."

She waved his apology away, shaking her head.  "Nothing to be sorry for, it's fine.  Small town like this, hard for some folk to avoid bumping into the folk they shouldn't be bumping into.  It happens, you handle it, you move on.  What can I get started for you tonight?"

Castiel offered her a small smile, feeling it press a little tight around his eyes, his misplaced guilt swirling harder at her need to project such a tough exterior.  It was unfortunate and unfair that the world demanded the thickest skins from some people more than others, and his heart ached in a vague, nameless way, wishing there was something he could do to alleviate the need for someone so young to have constructed such a defensive worldview.

Off her expectant look, he willed himself to remember what he ought to be doing in the here and now.  He gave the menu board on the back wall a cursory review, not really consuming its contents in any meaningful way, until he looked down and caught Jack's eye from where the eager barista floated at a respectful distance between Jo and the espresso machine.

Castiel smiled, this time with notable ease as he remembered Dean's earlier suggestion.  "A small latte, please.  It came highly recommended."

"You got it," Jo nodded, punching the order into the register and pulling a cup from the stack.  "Your name?"  She looked up at him, reaching into a mug with a missing handle to fish out a Sharpie.

"Uh, Castiel," he supplied, and spelled it for her benefit, just in case.

"Castiel," she repeated, as most did when confronted with his name for the first time, trying it out for themselves, "That's got kind of a Biblical ring to it, doesn't it?  Don't tell me you're some kind of guardian angel?"  

"Hardly," Castiel murmured, dropping his gaze to focus on pulling the correct currency out of his wallet.

Jo passed the cup with his name on it to Jack, who immediately took it to the espresso machine and got to work, that same serious look of concentration commandeering their entire face for the duration.

"Anything else for you today?" she asked.  

It was one of those scripted niceties that Castiel truly appreciated about by-the-book social interactions.  A perfect sequitur that spared him the effort of trying to come up with one on his own.  "Do you have a password for the Wi-Fi?"

She nodded, slipping a business card sized piece of paper from a loose stack next to the register, and handed it over in trade for the cash he gave her in return.  As she punched open the till and dug around for his change, he glanced down at the code.  It read "N@turomDem0nto," which, as far as Wi-Fi passwords went, was certainly one.

The till banged shut with a ring, Jo handing him back his change.  Seeing his bemused look as he inspected the hotspot info, she explained, "Sorry, I know it's a little out there.  Our IT guy, Ash, he's a bit of a supernatural freak."

"I see," Castiel said agreeably, though he felt fairly certain that there was some additional piece of trivia he was missing to be able to recognize the significance of the unintelligible string of letters and numbers.  He put the paper into his pocket, dumped the loose change from his palm into the tip jar, and retrieved his briefcase.  "Thank you."

Jo's eyebrows came down, not unkindly, as her lips pursed in baffled amusement.  "No problem," she laughed, shaking her head at him.  "Jack'll have your drink out in a minute."  She waved him in the direction of the pickup counter, and Castiel went gratefully on his way, looking forward to the upcoming stretch of time where he didn't have to make small talk, or try to avoid physical altercations, or accidentally say "thank you" after tipping.

The remaining patrons of the Roadhouse appeared to have cleared out since he had last looked, but whether this was due to the late hour or the recent potential for violence, he couldn't be sure.  Castiel thought about Dean waiting for Jack out in that beast of a car; thought about Tiny (or men like him) lurking out on the streets.  

He pulled out his phone, noting the time as he thumbed to the Wi-Fi settings.  Again, the hotspot listing was sparse, just the one named after the Roadhouse -- finally, full bars -- and, to his muted surprise, "Big D's iPhone."

He was still looking curiously at the cafe's curtained windows, in the direction where he knew that sleek black muscle car with the animal growl was parked under a street lamp, when a bright voice chimed behind him:  "Here you go!"

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Castiel turned to face Jack, finding a bloom of warmth filling the hollow of his chest to see them sliding his latte over with an exceedingly proud look on their face, certain of a job well done.  Right on the drink's tail, Castiel was surprised to see a small plate with a piece of apple pie being pushed his way as well.

He held up his hand to stop or question the freebie, thinking he hadn't done anything today to have earned getting rewarded with pie, but Jo popped up at Jack's side and gave him one of those looks he already recognized as meaning he wouldn't be allowed to decline.  His bottom lip pursed, he reached out and obediently pulled the plate the rest of the way over with one finger.

"At closing time, we either have trash all the leftover perishables or give 'em away," Jo explained.  She nodded down at the plate with something of a wicked grin, "Normally I'd be packing this up for Jack to take home for Dean, but here's hoping I can teach him something by revoking his pie privileges for one night."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and his hand flew off the rim of the plate as though it had burned him.  Before he could figure out a way to articulate how uncomfortable it made him to know he was stealing someone's pie, Jack laughed and shook their head.

"No, it's okay, really.  Sam's always saying Dean needs to watch what he eats.  So, you're helping!"  They chirped this last bit with a scrunch of the eyes and a jerky shrug of their shoulders.  Jo backed the assertion, a tilt of her head and a jag of her brow to say Castiel really didn't have the room to argue with either of them on this.

"Ah," Castiel said, eyeing the pie like it was a plate full of gold, feeling completely unworthy, "If that's the case. . ."

He looked up, met Jo's and then Jack's eyes, and told them solemnly, "I appreciate it."

Jack's endearing smile crinkled onto their face again, and Jo patted them on the arm.

"Hey, we're all set here," she said to Jack, "Why don't you clock out a little early, okay?  I won't tell my mom."

Castiel kept his small smile to himself, busied himself shifting his briefcase to his other hand as Jack eagerly tripped off to head out for the night.  Still, he lingered a little at the pickup counter, not missing the guarded way Jo eyed the front door, which gave nothing away as to what kind of trouble might still be skulking in the night on the other side.

She caught him noticing, which was fine, because his thoughts were running along similar tracks.  It gave him the cue to share his own.  "Um," he started, glancing away, "Would it be a problem if I stayed until closing?  There's, uh, no Wi-Fi at the motel."

When he looked back over at her, shy, she was giving him a soft eye roll with her mouth screwed up to one side to hide some kind of smile.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment, then looked heavenward with a good-natured sigh.

"You know, for a guy who swears he's not a guardian angel--"

Behind her, Jack, who had traded their apron for a colorful windbreaker, swung through the half-door at the far end of the counter, on the other side of the espresso machine, and called out a chipper, "Good night, Jo!  Good night, sir, hope you enjoy your drink!"

Oh.  Castiel hastily lifted the paper cup, Jo waving her own goodbye as Jack trotted across the shop floor towards the exit.  He took a sip of the latte, cringing a little to discover that it was still far too hot to drink without caution; even so, he smiled at Jack and gestured with the cup.  "It's very good, thank you."

He was treated to another of those full-face, joyous smiles, and then Jack was out the door and Castiel was left alone with Jo, his scalding latte, and his unearned pie.  He thumbed the lip of the plastic to-go lid, only half-certain she had approved of him sticking around now that she was on her own behind the counter.  For all she knew, he could be just as rotten as any of them, just biding his time until--

"Please help yourself to our Wi-Fi for as long as you'd like," Jo told him, fixing him with a kind, if ever-so-slightly bemused, look.  

He nodded his thanks, and, using the bottom of his drink, shifted the pie plate over to the edge of the counter where he caught it in the fingers of the hand already tucked under the handle of the briefcase, maxing out his awkwardness in doing so.  Jo was biting her lip, watching the juggling act unfold before her, but she didn't otherwise comment.  With a short smile of parting, Castiel fled -- cautiously -- to a small table at one of the shaded windows, far from Jo and close to the door.

As he went, the sound of a car engine, startling in both how loud and how familiar it seemed to him, rumbled up through the coffee shop's backdrop of picked guitars and singing fiddles.  By the time Castiel took a seat, it had already roared off into the distance.  He was glad its driver seemed not to have run into any further trouble, after all.

Drink settled, pie settled, Castiel himself settled, he set the briefcase on the floor beside him and clicked it open just enough to drag the laptop out from the pocket. He slid it onto the table between his other items, determined to connect to the Wi-Fi and check his email, to do the one thing he had ventured out to do, even if only to say he had.

As suspected, he now saw no trace of "Big D's iPhone" nearby, and carefully punched in the access code to the Roadhouse's network.  The computer connected without fanfare.  Dutifully, he clicked on his email app and watched the logo splash pop up over the muted periwinkle of his desktop wallpaper.

While the program loaded up, he reached out and pulled the pie over and dug a chunk out of it with the fork that had been so kindly provided.  The first bite reminded him that he hadn't eaten since Kansas City, and his focus narrowed to the singular task of slicing and chewing until there was nothing left but crumbs stuck to the cinnamon-sugary tracks his fork made as it scraped over the plate's inexplicable cowboy boot pattern.

Returning the plate and fork to the table with a sigh, Castiel took up his latte, now sufficiently cooled, and sipped this while flicking his fingers over the laptop's trackpad, disinterestedly scrolling through his inbox.  The loss of a few of his taste buds notwithstanding, he found he was able to appreciate the quality of Jack's handiwork, and he felt retroactively absolved for the preemptive high marks he'd given.

He stopped scrolling.  Not that he'd been paying attention to the task anyway, but thinking about the young person's ineffable good cheer and the mercurial temper of their guardian had him staring at the curtain as if he could see straight through it, into the street and the night, imagining the shine of the street lamp off the hood of that dangerous-looking car.

He drank the rest of his latte while absorbed in the expanse of his mind's eye, the limitless vistas of the day's bus ride peppered with half-remembered moments of the evening so far,  impressions of the short stretch of Main Street Lebanon he'd traversed, the faces of strangers blending one into the next into the next.  There was one face in particular that he kept circling back to, though, and one moment that was sharper than the rest.

Standing under that street lamp, waiting.  Waiting for--

"Sorry to interrupt," Jo said, tentative, seeming to materialize at Castiel's table.

He whipped his head away from the window -- had he really just been staring blankly at the curtain this whole time?  What must she think -- and pushed back his chair to try to get with the program.  "Sorry -- you've probably been waiting--"

She laughed and held up her hands, and he slowed his frantic sweeping of his belongings from the table.  "Whoa, there.  I was just gonna give you a five-minute heads up, is all.  Didn't mean to spook you."

Castiel perched the briefcase he had snagged from the floor onto his vacated chair, and gently slid the laptop back inside.  "I'm fine," he said, snapping the clasp closed, "please don't let me hold you up."

"No worries," she told him, and when he darted his eyes over to her, she was giving him that slightly amused, slightly puzzled look she'd been giving him since he walked in.  She cleared his plate and cup from the table and made off with them.  He picked up his briefcase and pushed in the chair, standing purposelessly there at its side.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, seeing him not leaving.  "Five minutes," she said again, "and then I'm going to let you walk me to my car, okay?  You seem sweet, and I just can't help feeling like you'll have an aneurysm or something if I walk out there alone."

"Sorry," Castiel repeated.  He frowned, suddenly very invested in the stitching on his briefcase handle.  "I've overstepped again."

Jo pushed open the swinging half-door of the counter and regarded him from across the coffee shop floor.  "I'll let it slide, this once.  Just don't make a habit of it," she told him with mock-gravitas, fighting back a telling smile before disappearing into the back.

It was a joke, he could tell, something to dispel the awkward energy Castiel had fomented up around himself.  It worked, just a little, and he took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh at himself.  Anyway, he could promise her that, and easily.  He didn't know exactly how long he'd end up spending in Lebanon, Kansas, but it wasn't like he was planning on sticking around forever.

He shuffled his feet, waiting on Jo's return, and willed himself to imagine opening that sealed box.  Digging out the keys to the wide, boxy, gold-colored Lincoln Continental.  Climbing into the driver's seat and watching this speck of a town vanish in the rearview mirror.

He wondered what tape would be playing in the deck, or maybe what radio station it was still set to.  What the scent of the air freshener hung over the mirror was, and whether the built-in ashtrays needed to be emptied.  What he might find forgotten under the seats.

All at once, a full-body shudder rolled over him, overwhelmed by all these questions with answers he couldn't yet face.  

"Ready?"

He looked up as Jo crossed to the door and flicked the bank of switches to shut off the overhead lights, leaving them both shadows lit faintly by the glow of the displays on the equipment behind the counter.

Ready?  Not in the slightest.

"After you," he murmured, reaching out to push the door open.

---

Castiel showered with military efficiency, the rushing water just about drowning out his empty thoughts.

He changed into his sleepwear mechanically, put himself into the bed, and flicked on the television because there was nothing else left to do.  The day was finally catching up to him, and his body ached as it reluctantly gave itself over to the support of the mattress.  His bones felt heavy, his eyes raw.  He flipped channels without comprehending anything he saw on the tiny screen.

Maybe it was the jangle of espresso in his veins, or maybe it was his internal clock's confusion regarding what time zone he'd ended up in, or maybe it was his white-knuckled refusal to find out what his subconscious had in store for him, but it was several long, dull, droning hours of late-night soaps and infomercials before Castiel finally let go and allowed himself to sleep.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 1 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29 Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort level, and Gene’s libido, this situation must be rectified. Sexswap fic.

Notes: This has been on the backburner pretty much since the quarantine started. I really wrestled with posting it at all since it’s a weird premise, and most of my fics have a more realistic bent, but I decided that if it perked me up while working remotely, eating ramen, and feeling like I was back in uni in all the worst ways (when was I in uni? why, during the Great Recession!)-- then maybe it’d perk someone else up, too. So here we are.

           Gene really didn’t think too much of it at first when Paul vanished just after the tour. He didn’t take it personally, the way Peter did, and he didn’t get too quizzical about it like Ace did. The whole band was burnt-out on each other. The days where they had to share hotel rooms were gone, and the days where they wanted to share vacations were gone, too. Gene couldn’t pinpoint when it had gotten like that, and it made him a little regretful, sure, but it was just another inevitability. The Beatles had made it ten years before imploding, all those hurt egos just smushing together and screwing everything up. KISS had four years under its belt now, and already he could feel things faltering.

           So maybe Paul was trying to ease all that via his disappearing act. Spend his tour break at home, probably with a bevy of girls lining up at his front porch, and come back refreshed and ready for another nine-month stretch with only a wall between him and his bandmates, assuming Ace and Peter didn’t tear a hole in it on a drunken whim. It made sense. The first time Paul didn’t return his phone call (the tinny sound of his $400 answering machine the only response), Gene wasn’t concerned. The second time, Gene assumed Paul had gone to a disco, or was spending the night at some chick’s house. The third time, Gene immediately called up Bill, who said he hadn’t heard from Paul, either.

           That was cause for concern. Paul could, and did, blow off anybody but their manager. Still, Gene figured he’d give it one more day, and one more lay, before he started to investigate.

           That was the plan, until he got his mail late one morning. There was always a fat stack of it. The actual sackfuls of fan mail would end up at some office, where a poor secretary was stuck stuffing envelopes with their pictures and a canned response. Sometimes a real sleuth would find his address, and he’d open those out of sheer novelty, when he had the chance, only to be disappointed when the writer turned out to be a twelve-year-old who’d spent his paper route money on several books of stamps, and mailed the same letter out to every Gene Simmons in the greater New York phone book. Every so often he’d get the good stuff, like a saucy letter from a college girl, with photos and pubic hair taped inside. “See you next time in Sacramento.” He never wrote them back, but he’d put the photos in a separate album from his conquests. Almost a hope chest of photos, there.

           Gene thumbed through the newsletters and errant bills so quickly he nearly missed it. A glossy postcard, with Buckingham Palace on the front. It couldn’t have been a piece of fan mail, but he didn’t know anyone who’d bother writing him, either. He flipped it over out of curiosity. Weird.

           He recognized the scratchy longhand before he got to the signature. Not that it took long. Thee address was almost lengthier than the postcard message.

           “Gene—Do you know anything about curses? Write me back soon. Thanks, Paul.”

--

           He called up Peter about it that afternoon, still baffled. He didn’t really think Peter would have any insight on it—Paul and Peter hadn’t been as close as they used to be, though that went for everyone—but he surprised him.

“I haven’t heard from him. I figured you had.” Peter was chewing gum as he spoke. Gene could hear the smacks through the receiver. “Why the fuck would he send you a postcard? You live closer to him than I do.”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Talking about curses…” Peter trailed. “Shit, I went over there last week. Didn’t call him up first, just thought I’d go over like I used to. I banged on the door and some chick came out and screamed at me to go away. I told her who I was and she just stared at me.”

           “Paul doesn’t pick girls for brains.”

           “It was kinda weird, though. Picky bastard usually gets blondes.”

           “What, was she a brunette?”

           “Yeah, real dark, curly hair—you don’t think he’s shacked up with her, do you? Some New Age type, turning him on to something funny? ’Cause he doesn’t usually want ’em sticking around, either, and I stopped by after lunch…”

           Evidently, Peter paid more attention to Paul’s habits with girls than Gene ever had.

“I don’t know. Was she cute?”

“Yeah. She had nice tits.”

           Of course she did. Gene rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

           “I’m gonna look into this. I’ll let you know if I can’t get in touch with him.”

           “Sure.” There was a slight hesitation. “Hey, thanks for calling me. I thought he was pissed at me or some shit. But I guess he’s pissed at everybody.”

           Gene privately feared it was worse than that. If Paul had gotten a girlfriend, one serious enough he was ignoring everyone and everything else, even the looming tour, for her sake… well, that didn’t make sense, not unless she’d conned him into something. There were still plenty of cults and communes all over the place, the leftover remnants of disillusioned hippies. They’d join fringe churches or create their own religions and live in tents on the side of the road. He didn’t think Paul would have fallen into something like that, unless the girl had spruced it up with a bunch of psychobabble and talk therapy. Paul dug astrology and self-help, but it wasn’t something he’d trade his lifestyle for. Was it?

           “I’ll find out. I’ll see you, Pete.”

           He hung up, then dialed his chauffeur. An hour or so later, he was pulling up to Paul’s.

--

           He told the chauffeur not to wait on him. If Paul was at his house, he’d make him drive him back. It turned out they weren’t Paul’s only visitors. Ahead of them, walking up the driveway, was a kid carrying two grocery bags, his bicycle parked in the grass.

           Gene didn’t normally have an issue making his presence known. But he held back, curious. He wanted to see who would open the door—that supposed live-in girlfriend, some other chick, or Paul himself. As the chauffeur drove away, he hung back a bit, tucking himself behind a tree at the edge of the front of the house, near the front porch. The kid didn’t seem to notice.

           He watched the kid—he was probably about eleven—ring the doorbell with his elbow. After a couple seconds, the door opened, a girl in a blue bathrobe walking out, shutting the door behind her. Gene recognized the bathrobe as one of Paul’s, though she filled it out better than he ever had. She wasn’t even wearing anything beneath it that he could tell, cleavage obvious, the loosely-tied bathrobe hiding none of it. Curly, dark hair—Gene wondered if this was the girlfriend, or bedmate, that Peter had seen earlier. No telling.

           “How much was it?” she asked the kid.

           “Eight twenty-five.”

           “You have the receipt?”

           The kid pulled out the receipt. The girl looked at it, nodded, then took a wallet from the pocket of Paul’s bathrobe, tugging out a couple bills.

           “Here’s nine. Keep the change.”

           “Thanks.” The kid paused. “I thought somebody famous was supposed to live here.”

            “You thought wrong.” The girl took the two bags of groceries and turned back towards the door, trying to use her elbow to turn the knob. The kid was already back on his bicycle. As he kicked the stand up, he called back out to her over his shoulder.

           “Hey, you gonna need groceries next week, too?”

           “I hope not.” She set both bags on the front porch. The kid nodded, waving as he started down the driveway. The girl didn’t wave back, busy opening the door.

           Now was Gene’s chance. He stepped out from behind the tree and walked to the front porch as the girl picked up one of the grocery bags again.

           “Hey.”

           She turned around immediately. Her eyes got big.

           “Shit—Gene!”

           She recognized him. That didn’t narrow it down. She looked familiar, somehow—she wasn’t a Playmate, Gene always recognized those—maybe a model, or a groupie? But Paul didn’t bring those home. Gene raised a finger to his mouth.

           “Shh. Look, I’m here to see Paul. Is he in?”

           “Wh—no. No, sorry.” A tense, quick smile. Definitely not a model. Only Ali MacGraw could manage to make it with crooked teeth.

           “Can you tell me when he’ll be back?”

           “I have no idea. I don’t know where he is.”

           “So he just left you over here?”

           The girl set the bag down, folding her arms. Something about the mannerism made an eerie feeling prickle down the back of Gene’s spine.

“Are you telling me I can’t be here?”

           “No!” Gene pursed his lips. “Look, I don’t care who he’s with. But we’re supposed to go back on tour in a couple weeks and—”

           “I know!”

           “That’s great. So maybe it might be nice to know where he is beforehand.”

           The girl bristled.

           “I told you, I have no idea! I just—can’t you leave me alone?”

           “You’re living in his house, wearing his bathrobe—that wasn’t even your wallet, was it?”

           “Hey!”

           Gene scrambled for it. The girl was fairly tall; he probably only had about five or six inches on her, but she wasn’t quick. He grabbed her shoulder with one hand, then jammed his other hand into the bathrobe’s pocket, starting to tug the wallet out. She clenched his arm, nails digging in roughly, not nearly hard enough for him to drop the wallet.

           “Stop it! Let go of me, you goddamn idiot!”

           She shoved forward, stomping on his foot. Gene couldn’t feel that much of an impact, given the thickness of his boots. He kept a grip on her shoulder as he got the wallet fully in hand, opening it up as she screamed at him.

           “You don’t understand, Gene! It’s not what you’re thinking!”

           Unsurprisingly, Paul’s driver’s license photo was the first thing staring back at him from the see-through plastic card slot. Eisen, Stanley B. (God, the guy still hadn’t legally gotten his name changed) printed across it. Beyond the license was a handful of credit and business cards, as if Gene really needed to thumb through them for any further confirmation.

           “You stole his wallet.”

           “I didn’t steal it!”

           She had a lisp, Gene noticed out of nowhere.

          “Like hell you didn’t. Where is he?”

           “I told you, I don’t—”

           She jerked back abruptly, digging her nails deeper into his arm. He didn’t let go, but his hand shifted, accidentally yanking the bathrobe down at the shoulder. The girl’s eyes got huge. One of her breasts was exposed, which would’ve been plenty distracting enough, under normal circumstances, but for once, Gene’s eyes went to her bare shoulder first.

           More specifically, the rose tattoo on her bare shoulder.

           It wasn’t possible. It had to be a coincidence. He only saw the tattoo for a second at best, before she smacked his hand away and yanked the bathrobe back into place, covering her shoulder.

           It didn’t prove anything. But in a nice, W.A.S.P.y neighborhood like Paul’s, how many chicks had tattoos? And how many would have one like that, a Lyle Tuttle tattoo, when Lyle’s shop was clear across the country?

           She looked pissed-off. Scared, too. Something about the tight, sour way her lips were pressed together seemed weirdly familiar. The way she was acting didn’t add up. She’d called him by his first name on automatic. No deference or starry-eyed behavior. This girl didn’t give a damn about him being a rockstar. Those caustic responses made it come off like—like she really knew him.

That prickly feeling down his spine was only getting worse, even as he tried to dismiss it as impossible. If Gene was right, what he was about to do was incredibly cruel. If he was wrong, he’d just owe Paul Stanley’s latest chick a sincere apology. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.

           But he had to know. He let go of the bathrobe and quickly shoved his hand through the girl’s tangled, curly hair, starting just at the temple, lifting it up to fully expose the right side of her face. The abject horror in her dark brown eyes might have been confirmation all on its own, but the damage was already done. He’d already pushed back enough of her hair to see what he’d only ever been told about before.

“Gene, y-you fucking asshole!”

Not an inch past one wispy sideburn was a stub of cartilage where her right ear should have been.

           He wasn’t dealing with Paul’s girl of the duration. He was dealing with Paul.