#who offered to buy my mothers broken gun off her hands. who waited with us while the cops went on a manhunt

[2024skin]

Not me realizing that a man breaking into my house is the source of all my stalker dreams and all my breaking and entering dreams and all my late night paralyzing anxieties about someone being in my house uninvited. Duh.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale's Story Idea: 'Those of another world must die' or 'Isekai no mono ha shi ke re ba naranai'

(I probably butchered the Japanese. But the point is to give it a light novel title feel)

(Since a few people have been asking what my light novel idea was. I decided to explain it and go a bit more in-depth)

Premise: Rumors have been circulating about a Killer known only as 'Hero Eater' is targeting heroes in the Human Kingdom of Itsumo. But not everything is as it seems, Itsumo has many dark secrets and the kingdom may need a change...

The world of Itsumo.

Now the setting would be similar to most fantasy Isekai worlds. Money consists of Gold, silver, Bronze coins. Platinum coins are for the super rich.

Magic exists, Magical items exist. Levels exist.

There are dragons, goblins, the typical fantasy fair/ D&D/MMORPG feel but with a lot more twists

Summoned Heroes

When it comes to Summoned heroes things get different.

1. 'Heroes from another world' are treated above the standard people. As being summoned from another world gives them stupidly over powered abilities compared to the average citizen of Itsumo. The Elites show them favoritism.

2. Aside from obviously enhanced strength, speed, durability, and magic. They level up faster, have overall higher stats, and Summoned heroes also get some sort of Overpowered ability.

3. These over powered abilities or OPAs are ranked from S to E. Depending on that OPA, determines your lot as a 'Summoned Hero'

4. E's are the lowest. The skill is just slightly useful. Summoned heroes are still MUCH stronger than the average soldier. So these heroes are often brainwashed Coerced and put as soldiers on the front lines, or bodyguards of the elite. (Basically they are just glorified meat shields.)

4.5 There is nothing ranked lower than E. Those summoned ALWAYS have a OPA.

5. C and D Ranks are considered worlds more useful. These heroes depending on their abilities are thrown into a field where their skills can be utilized. These heroes are usually thrown a boon by the king and get funding. These heroes are the ones responsible for the innovations in technology (such as guns, refrigeration, etc). (Though in truth they have done a lot of f***ed experimentation)

6. A and B Rank are considered 'Heroes of the Kingdom'. Those heroes are the ones that you see going around and fighting demon hordes with ease. The ones you see with the harems (usually of whatever their fetish is). They basically have license to do WHATEVER they want, so long as the King doesn't intervene.

7. S Ranks. These summons are incredibly rare, but their skills are 100% broken. To put it in perspective. 1 S Rank hero could easily beat 10 A ranks without breaking a sweat. This is where the OPA's become near god like. Fortunately for some reason, only 7 S ranks can exist in the world at a time. Only when 1 dies can a new S rank otherworlder can appear. Currently the King has some of them watching over different parts of his kingdom. But all of them are considered Legendary.

8. (Little known fact that summoned heroes are often loners, losers, incels, neets, and other lesser freaks of society. Who else would willingly go to another world if their life is actually good?)

9. Some heroes do start out doing good... but power corrupts

_____________________________________________________________

Religion:

The Religion of Itsumo in stated by King Tyran. Insists that there is a kind and loving goddess (Named Oveun Ativ) that blesses Itsumo with the heroes that appear. Basically making those from another world as 'Her blessed children'.

So often regular citizens range from worshiping them or at the very least respecting them. (Though this is simply a front, the average citizen HATES these arrogant s***s. Considering the awful stuff they put them through.)

The Church also has a monopoly on Hero summoning. The ritual that they use is as follows.

1. A young girl will be chosen once a year from every village. (basically not where the nobles live.) It was considered a great honor. (and if the town didnt comply the church would inform the king and that town would be burnt down and all of the young maidens there would be brain washed and taken anyway) A maiden will be trained in magic for several years until her 18th birthday. During this time she must not have relations with men, must not touch the blood of an animal, must read the sacred scriptures and serve the church without question. (Indoctrination)

2. According to the church, the Summoning ritual will then have the young Maiden perform the summoning magic in which if performed successfully, will summon the hero and she will take the form of a portal of light which summons him. After which she will ascend and become an angel that serves the goddess. (This is not true. Its a virgin sacrifice. Those girls are killed in a ritual. Its f***ed up what the s***)

3. If a maiden summons a B or A rank hero she is regarded as an example for others to follow. For she clearly followed the doctrine of the church. She was likely Heavily rewarded by the goddess.

4. If a Maiden summoned C or D rank, they are not discussed often except by friends and family.

5. Maidens that summon E ranked Heroes are considered disgraces. Maidens that clearly did not follow the teachings of the doctrine. Their names are stricken from the records.

6. Maidens that summoned an S Rank hero. Are written into the logs as Blessed by the goddess. They are treated like Saints and some worshiped like deities. Some doctrine claim that they serve at the hands of the goddess after achieving this.

_____________________________________________________________

Economics

Summoned Heroes basically caused Economic collapse for adventurers.

Summoned heroes often hunt monsters and get rare drops, and often those with rare skills can get much more value than typical adventure guilds.

Merchants initially loved Heroes getting them rare drops but when many other worlders started selling so many Rare drops like they were common... it made rare items worth much less and drove value of such items and materials down dramatically. Newer merchants will rarely buy goods from adventurers because of this.

Blacksmiths and artificers initially also had it great. They now get access to powerful materials for cheap. Since their work is labor intensive the value of the item is much less impacted on the product. Though Other worlders with Craft skills have popped up and open businesses that have been driving other types of stores out of business since they can easily craft higher grade weapons for cheaper and faster thanks to OPAs.

The only real way to make money was in the service industry. With rare items and monsters easily hunted and sold for cheap, Restaurants, inns and Taverns have less of a thin margin. And with Otherworlders constantly moving about, the inns had constant customers. Many of these customers would throw money around and expect to be waited on hand and foot. Inns that had pretty women were often the most popular.

Brothels were very popular among Summoned heroes. Though the places that experienced the most traffic were the ones that had more ... unique characteristics. (Animal ears, pointed ears, Wings, horns.) Beast-kin were often very requested.

Societal Impacts

Women would often try to sleep with Summoned heroes. Children made with those of another world often had a chance of producing offspring with an OPA. Which meant that the kid could have a much better life.

The 'Trope' of offering the daughter for saving them was more of a way to ensure their Family had a better life. But in reality this just meant Summoned heroes often obtained harems. This resulted in declining birthrates as many summoned heroes didnt actually often marry humans. Most would simply keep the harem. Or if they did marry they would often sleep around.

Heroes that dismissed companions often left them as single mothers. Some would be lucky to remarry, but many were left single due to social stigma. The claim is that men felt insecure marrying women that have been with heroes, because how could they compare. (In reality it was more like they felt the woman had little self respect to be willing to partake in a relationship with a hero with a harem.) And the off chance the hero did comeback to the woman to find her married, the new husband was likely slaughtered. (This selfish mentality of treating women as things to be owned was disturbingly common in the summoned heroes mind)

____________________________________________________________

The Main Characters.

Oralee: A maiden that was raised in the church as long as she could remember. Her family had a lot of faith in the church and were honored that she was picked. She followed the doctrine to very high levels. Never ate meat, Never even made contact with another of the opposite sex. She dreamed of summoning an S Rank hero and bringing great honor to the goddess (As a recent S Rank passed away and hasnt been replaced yet). Though the night she along with her fellow maidens were supposed to summon heroes. The 'Hero Eater' arrived and started killing everyone.

Hunter "Hero eater": A high level individual. A skilled fighter with a plethora of weapons in his arsenal. Skilled in strange magic that seems unorthidox yet effective. He wears a skull mask with a black cloak. He wields two daggers. One Named Malice, and the other named Mercy. His goal is to kill every other worlder he comes across. What is his motive? Does he want revenge? Power? Fame? Why did he spare Oralee. What does he look like under that mask?

[olivemac]

heartbeat | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence , smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | coarse language

master list | AO3 link

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prev chapter

_____

Kate is on the next commercial flight to Bucharest. She's worried Bucky will move on before she can get to him, but she knows Tony would never approve of the use of one of his jets to chase down an ex-assassin in hiding. The less he knows, the better. Which is why she told him she was escaping to Europe for a long respite after feeling oh so overwhelmed with her work at Stark Industries.

Tony barely bats an eye when she told him. There were some advantages to being Tony Starks' baby sister. The first being he feels guilty about his ineptness at raising her after their parents' death and would literally let her get away with murder. The second is an almost unlimited bank account left to her by her father and supplemented by Tony's previously mentioned guilt.

Kate Stark was her mother’s mid-life crisis. Maria, three decades younger than her husband, had – at forty-two years old – decided she wanted another baby. Tony, who was eighteen at the time, had balked at the idea. But Howard relented and called in the best team of fertility doctors money could buy, and Kate was born.

She doesn't remember her parents, not really. She was only three when they died, and she doesn't remember that event either. Though she was there, in the car, when it crashed on Long Island.

Tony's only ever spoken to her about it once, after she accused him of hating her for surviving when their parents died. Really, he hated that he survived.

When rescue workers arrived at the scene of the wreck, they found her parents dead in the front seat and her tucked safely into her car seat in the back, bundled up against the December cold. She was an orphan, and Tony, at twenty-one, was suddenly responsible for a toddler.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He hired a series of nannies to raise her, then sent her off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough, all the while playing genius, billionaire playboy.

He wasn’t surprised when it turned out she was just as smart as him or their father. And it surprised him less when she followed in his footsteps and attended MIT. What did surprise him was when she started hacking government databases for fun. She only agreed to work for him at Stark Industries in exchange for him not sticking Rhodey on her after she released documents regarding the US Air Force‘s involvement in some less that savory overseas dealings.

On the plane, she starts an email to Steve telling him where she was headed and what she had found. Then she deletes it and starts over. Then deletes that. She chews her thumbnail and thinks. If she tells Steve where Bucky is, he'll come blazing in, shield at the ready, and Bucky will.... She doesn’t know what Bucky will do, but she has a feeling the encounter would end with a fight and Bucky running. Which will kill Steve. Again. So, she decides she doesn't need to tell Steve – not right away. She'll see if she can figure out what Bucky remembers – if anything – before telling Steve where he is.

_____

A little over forty-eight hours after her software found Bucky, Kate is assembling IKEA furniture in her new studio apartment in Romania. Getting the landlord to lease her the empty flat next to Bucky's was easy enough when Kate offered him double what he was asking in rent. He was discreet enough to not ask any questions. Most of the people in the building were hiding from something so a young American woman who paid cash upfront wasn't the most unusual thing he'd dealt with.

She makes her bed, unpacks her suitcase, and re-reads the Winter Soldier file. That night she dreams of her parents and the wreck that killed them. In the dream there's always a man outside of the car, but she can never see his face. Her father begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help."

She wakes up sweating, a scream caught in her throat.

_____

The apartment next to his is no longer empty. Bucky can hear music and soft footsteps through the paper-thin walls. If he focuses his hearing, he can hear a heartbeat other than his own, but he's working to turn off the super soldier reflexes, so he tries to ignore it. He's enjoyed the silence that the empty apartment afforded him, and he hopes the new tenant isn’t as nosy as his neighbor in Kiev who had asked so many questions. He hadn't stayed long after that meeting.

Around two in the morning, he wakes to the sound of a strangled cry from his new neighbor. Bucky sits up straight, suddenly on alert. He listens closely, focusing for the sounds of a struggle, but he only hears the unfamiliar heartbeat. His neighbor was having a nightmare, he imagines. He had plenty of those himself.

Sometimes he was staring down the barrel of a gun, his only intent to kill. Other nightmares took him back to the HYDRA base and their machine that scrambled his thoughts over and over again. And others found him falling from a train, the blonde man from the Triskelion reaching out toward him. He always wakes up just before he hits the icy river he knows awaits him.

Bucky knows now that the blonde man is Steve Rogers. Without HYDRA's influence, he's started to remember more: flashes of Steve and a group called the Howling Commandos during the war, but also flashes of Steve before the war, smaller, shorter. And flashes of a family – his family – a father, a mother, a sister. Rebecca. The name comes to him one afternoon while he's browsing the used bookstore near his flat.

He's started eating plums and jogging to improve his memory. He isn't sure if it's helping, but the memories are becoming longer and more frequent. He sees himself with Steve at Coney Island, riding the Cyclone until Steve lost his lunch and Bucky laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face, and he sees himself flirting with an auburn-haired combat nurse in Italy, following her back to her tent and undressing her slowly.

He wakes the next morning feeling restless. He had slept in fits and starts, listening for any more disturbances from next door. None came.

He dresses and goes for a run, and when he returns, he catches his first glimpse of his new neighbor. She's coming out of her apartment, her face turned downward toward her phone. When he reaches the top of the stairs, she lifts her head and smiles. Bucky is struck by how pretty she is, a thought he hasn't let himself have since leaving HYDRA. He turns away quickly and slams the door to his own apartment. He doesn't need pink lips and dark curls reminding him of what he can never have again. He's too broken for her, or anyone else for that matter.

_____

Bucky has seen his new neighbor more times in five days than he's seen anyone else in the building over the past two months. They always seem to be coming or going at the same time.

The first time he actually speaks to her, she's dropping groceries up the stairs from a rip in her canvas bag.

"Fuck," she mutters as an apple rolls beneath the railing and falls to the landing below.

Bucky has a brief vision of her uttering that same word while his head is buried between her legs, but he shakes if off quickly.

"Let me," he says in English, scooping up some rogue potatoes and taking the bag from her.

"Thanks," she says before unlocking her door and holding it open for him.

Her apartment is the same layout as his – one room, with a tiny bathroom at the front and a small kitchen along the back wall. He sets the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and steps back.

"I should—"

"Thank you—"

They both speak at the same time. Bucky bows his head and motions for her to continue.

"Thank you for your help." She pauses. "And it's nice to speak English for a change. My Romanian is atrocious," she laughs. "How’d you guess?"

"All the music you listen to is in English," he replies brusquely.

She cringes. "Sorry. I'll turn it down."

"No," he says, "It's fine. Really."

There's an awkward pause as they both stare at each other.

Bucky breaks the silence first. "I should go."

"Right." She leads him to the door. "Thanks."

Bucky nods.

When his own apartment door closes behind him, he sighs and scrubs his right hand over his face. He needs to avoid her. He doesn't need anything to distract him from regaining his memories, and he certainly doesn't need to get close to someone he'll inevitably hurt. He doesn’t even begin let himself entertain the thought that she could be a HYDRA agent waiting to turn him in.

_____

Later that evening, he's startled by a knock at his door. When he peers into the hallway, there's a plate of food on the floor, covered with a cloth and a note. He picks it up.

Thanks for saving my groceries.

- Kate

Bucky considers the possibilities that she is a HYDRA agent and the food is poisoned, but he decides it's unlikely HYDRA would take that approach. If anything, they would want their soldier back, and if they didn't, they wouldn't kill him quickly. Also, he can't remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal – definitely before the war – and he’s starving. Protein bars aren’t really cutting it anymore.

He studies the note as he eats. He runs his fingers over the name written in curling handwriting: Kate, and debates what his next move should be. He needs to ignore her – for her own safety – but his mother raised a gentleman so he should at least thank her for dinner, right?

_____

Kate nearly steps on the plate when she leaves her flat the next morning for a run. It’s sitting right at her doorway, clean, the dish towel she had with it folded with a note peeking out.

Kate,

You’re welcome. Thank you for dinner.

- Bucky

If she knew how long Bucky had agonized over whether to write back, she probably would have cried. Kate definitely would have cried if she knew he had debated whether or not to sign the note “Bucky” or “James.” He’s been using James at any off-the-books odd jobs he can get, but with his memories returning, he’s been feeling more like the Bucky Steve referred to in DC.

_____

Kate makes a potato soup that night and leaves it outside his door sans note. She brings him dinner for a week straight before she asks him to dine with her.

"Come over,” she says the next time they pass in the hall.

"What?" Bucky freezes.

"Come over tonight,” Kate repeats, “for dinner.”

"Why?" He sounds rude. He should really work on that, but she’s caught him in one of his broodier moods after another sleepless night.

"Why not?” she shrugs. “I have wine."

He’s staring at her. He realizes he needs to stop staring at her and answer.

“Okay.”

“Seven thirty?” she suggests.

"Okay," he replies.

"Okay," she laughs.

For a second, Bucky wonders if she's laughing at him, but there's a softness in her eyes that makes him think not. Talking to women used to be easy, he thinks. It took him hours to come up with the simplest response to her note the other night, and now he can't even form a sentence in front of her. He spends the rest of the day worrying he's made a huge mistake in accepting her invitation.

He's not the only one. Kate has half a mind to call it all off, phone Steve, and get on the next plane back to New York. What if he doesn't remember anything? What if he's still the Winter Soldier? She has a brief vision of Bucky snapping and wrapping that metal hand he's been hiding around her throat – and not in a fun way. But when he knocks on her door at seven thirty, she thinks she might actually die from how sweet he looks.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," he responds, running his tongue over his lips nervously.

They're caught in another awkward moment of just staring at each other when she finally invites him.

The old Bucky would have bought flowers and then made some quip about how the flowers aren't nearly as beautiful as she is, but this Bucky – post-HYDRA Bucky – feels like he's forgotten how to interact with women at all and his tongue has suddenly turned to lead.

Kate's debated how much to reveal about herself. Finally, she decides she'll tell him everything. Well, mostly everything. He doesn't need to know that she's a Stark or friends with Steve Rogers or here on some crazy rescue mission to save the Winter Soldier because maybe, just maybe, she read his file one too many times and got caught up in the look in Steve's eyes when he talked about Bucky. No, he doesn't need to know that.

Kate's also considered how much to ask him about himself. She wants to know what – if anything – he remembers, but she also doesn't want to give herself away by revealing she knows who he really is. And she doubts he’ll tell her outright. The fact that he signed the note Bucky seems like a good indication that his memories are returning, though.

"How long have you been in Bucharest, Bucky?" she asks, plating their dinner.

"Almost two months," he says.

"Here for work?" she asks casually.

"Uh...it's complicated," he says, scratching at the back of his neck. "You?"

She looks up at him. "It's complicated."

They're staring at each other again, and Bucky has to force himself to look away.

"Family?" she asks.

"Also complicated," he says. God, he thinks, he sounds like a jackass. But it's not like he can tell her he's a ninety-eight-year-old ex-assassin in hiding so his family is probably long dead.

She motions for him to sit at her small kitchen table and sets a plate in front of him.

"You're not hiding a wedding ring under those gloves, are you?" she asks, a smirk on her lips. She knows about his arm; she just wants to see what he’ll give away.

He blushes and looks at his hands. Then he realizes he's taking too long to answer, and she probably thinks he's an idiot. "No... uh...no. No," he finally says without elaborating.

Kate can sense he's nervous so she does what Tony would do in a situation like this and just keeps talking. She tells him about Tony – minus the Stark detail. She talks about MIT and New York and the last book she read. He listens closely, laughing softly when she makes jokes and asking questions where appropriate. He likes the way her lips look when they form his name and the way her eyes light up at her own humor.

When they finish eating, Bucky helps her wash dishes. She considers asking him to stay, watch a movie or something, but then she thinks maybe she should take this slowly, not overwhelm him, so she bids him goodnight and closes the door behind him.

Bucky thinks Kate might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Then he thinks that might be because she’s the first woman he’s interacted with in so long. Either way, he tries not to think of her that night when his body remembers what it's like to be a man.

He decides that staying away from her would be too hard.

On the other side of the wall, she’s thinking of him, too. She hadn't expected his eyes to be so impossibly blue. She had stared at the black and white military photo for hours, but seeing him in person, she was caught in the Arctic waters that made up his eyes.

_____

next chapter

[vanillasakura]

IT’S FINALLY HERE <3

I first got into Red Dead around late July or so when I watched my friend and her dad speedrun the game, and one of the first things I came across for this fandom was Sapphic Week, so I’m very very happy to be able to contribute this year, especially as I’d be lying if I said the lovely ladies in this game weren’t the main reason I initially got into it and ended up buying it for myself.

Once again, a HUGE shoutout to @rdrsapphicships and Aldrig for hosting this event! I’m so excited to see what everyone creates <3 Without further ado, let’s get into it!

RDRSW21 Day 1: Music 

Title: Close Your Eyes (As it Eats at Us)

Words: 1857

Pairing: Abigail Roberts/Molly O’Shea

Warnings/Notes: Slight John bashing I’m sorry but this takes place early chapter 2 so... slightly warranted 

(Title from Close Your Eyes by The Midnight Club)

ao3 link

  ≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾

Don't you know, when your eyes are closed, you see the world from the clouds along with everybody else?

Indeed, Molly was on her own much of the time. Dutch could only afford her so much attention, and when he was away from camp or otherwise occupied, there wasn’t anybody who really came up to her on their own will. Not exactly like she could blame them, Molly wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. Growing up, she’d always assumed otherwise, but after seeing how Karen and Tilly had told her to stop coming up to them and “being a bitch for no good reason”, she began to wonder if everyone back home was nice to her because they had to be. Even if Molly herself wasn’t a picture-perfect example of politeness, being anything but an angel to the O’Shea daughter could have been considered blasphemy. 

It was lonely, terribly so, but Molly wasn’t quite sure what she could do to remedy the situation. She wrote poetry, she read books, she went on walks in circles around camp, she looked out over the valley (Horseshoe Overlook really hadn’t gotten its name from nowhere), but more than anything, Molly watched.

She watched how Reverend had gradually stopped bothering pretending to read the bible, instead choosing to start downing drinks earlier and earlier. She watched how Bill devoured Kieran with his eyes, all but confirming her suspicion that the man did indeed want to bed the new camp member. She watched how Karen would clench her jaw when Mary-Beth asked how things were going with Sean, but would then take his hand later and pull him out of camp, the pair slipping away to either do each other or to do nothing at all. She watched how Arthur hadn’t bothered to take down the photo of the woman who did nothing but cause him pain even after Hosea had told him to do so, instead still glancing at it longingly every now and again while he cleaned his guns in his tent. She watched Josiah practice speaking in all sorts of different accents on the outskirts of camp, correcting himself out loud whenever something wasn’t quite right. She watched how Jack would try and weave flower crowns for his mother, small hands shaking as he attempted to tie the stems of various blooms together, putting the ones he had broken too short or knocked a petal off of in a pile to his left. She watched how John admitted to Javier and Pearson that, if he could, he would kill Abigail and never think twice about it. 

The comment shouldn’t have startled Molly as much as it did. She knew that John was a good man deep down, but the way that he uttered the confession without so much as a second thought as to if what he was saying was okay made her sick. Abigail was nothing if not kind, hard-working, and strong, nothing like the type of woman you would imagine deserved those kinds of threats. What made John that angry at her, Molly didn’t know, and she wasn’t quite sure that she cared to. 

After that night, Molly didn’t just stop watching. She’d heard people say worse things, many times, but there was something about the raw earnesty in which John had spoken that made his words haunt Molly like nothing else had. She decided to start watching Abigail more, justifying it by telling herself that it was for the other woman’s safety, even though realistically, there wasn’t much protection that Molly could offer her. 

And one of the first things that Molly noticed as she began watching Abigail was that the woman could sing. 

Abigail had this habit, whenever she was sitting in her tent on her own while working on something that needed to be done, where she would hum a tune, letting her own voice pop in here and there with the words that she knew. It was an uncoordinated affair, but it was never intended to be anything but. 

It was also adorable.

So adorable, in fact, that Molly decided that maybe she didn’t just need to watch anymore, maybe she could actually go and sit with Abigail. After all, much like her, Abigail was alone, more often than not. What harm could come of it?

“You need any help?” Abigail looked up from her work, pausing her humming as Molly stood by her, close, but not so much so as to suffocate the other woman. 

“Didn’t know you offered that.” Abigail responded, expression unreadable. 

“Hasn’t been something I’ve extended before.”

“With all due respect, Miss O’Shea, I don’t need anyone’s help if they only do so because they take pity on me, especially someone who ‘isn’t anyone’s servant girl’.” Abigail’s eyes turned cold, her brow furrowed, and Molly felt anxiety beginning to set in. 

“That wasn’t my intention whatsoever, I just…” she trailed off, and Abigail cocked her head, “I just don’t want to be alone. Is it okay if I enjoy your company? Just for a short while.”

Abigail sighed, chewing on her lip. “I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t know that feelin’ all too well. Truth be told, you’re the first person who’s come up to me in weeks.”

“I have no idea why that is, though.” Molly picked a sock out of the basket by Abigail’s feet, grabbing a needle and some thread along with it. “You’re such a nice person, it truly is a shame that others don’t recognize it.”

“ ‘Nice person’? Miss O’Shea, you hardly know me.” 

Molly felt the same dreadful wave of anxiety begin to rise inside of her again. “I may not have talked to you much in the past, but I’ve watched.”

“Watched? Me?”

“I watch everybody.” Molly admitted, stabbing the cotton with her needle. “Although I must confess, I do enjoy watching you. I know that isn’t exactly polite, though.”

“You’re right in that it ain’t, but I suppose I’m a hypocrite, so what does my opinion really matter?”

“You, a hypocrite? How so?”

“Gets lonely when nobody comes up to make conversation. Sometimes, you’ve gotta get your fix by watching others.” Abigail laughed. “You never really feel like a part of the group, but it can help alleviate the pain sometimes.” 

“Have you ever seen how Karen and Sean sneak off all the time?” Molly asked. “Lord only can imagine what shenanigans they get up to.”

“If I know either of them, they’re probably finding some tree to fuck up against.” Abigail said, a smile appearing on her face. “Although, on second thought, maybe not, given what happened at his welcome party.”

“At the welcome party? I guess you must have seen something I didn’t. Mind sharing?” Molly asked, her interest thoroughly peaked. 

Abigail snorted. “Well, you saw how the two of them were all over each other that night, right?”

“Would’ve had to be blind as a bat to not have.” 

“Well,” Abigail continued, “at some point, I saw the two of them go into John’s tent, and given my proximity to them, it wasn’t hard to hear what was bein’ said and fill in the gaps.”

“So they slept together at the party? Can’t say that I’m quite surprised.” Molly tied up the thread as she reached the end of the tear, reaching for a handkerchief to work on next. 

“They sure did, but that ain’t the good part.” Molly watched as Abigail’s eyes laughed, full of a mischief that she had never seen present before in her usually quiet companion. “Sean has got to be the quickest quick shot I’ve ever seen, and given my history, that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

“No.” Molly covered up her mouth, stifling a laugh. 

“Yes! Poor Karen never even got hers, it had to have been the most pathetic thirty seconds in her entire life.” Abigail smiled, and Molly’s heart twitched. Why?

“Thirty seconds? Wow, if that’s so, then maybe they aren’t all over each other when they go out, and you’re right.” 

Abigail laughed, smiling at Molly. “Well, who’s to say, I’m not sure there even is such a thing as a constant when those two are involved.”

“You may be right there.” Molly puffed one of her cheeks out, trying her best to figure out what to bring up next. She was having a lot of fun, she should do this more often, especially as Abigail also seemed to appreciate the time they were spending together. “Okay, now is it just me, or does Bill look at Kieran a little too often for it to be considered friendly?”

“Oh, it’s not just you, no worries. I’m just a little surprised that out of everyone, he decided to be sweet on Kieran.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean, he’s nothing like the kind of men Bill’s been sweet on in the past.”

Molly stopped in her tracks. “Wait, you’ve known about Bill before this?” 

“Yeah, it ain’t that hard to figure it out if you know what to look for.” Unable to gauge Molly’s reaction, Abigail continued on. “I mean, I don’t have a problem with it, whatever makes you happy makes you happy, y’know? And if that means lovin’ somebody of the same sex, I sure as hell don’t see a problem with it.”

“We’re in agreement there.” Molly smiled, going back to her work, her heart beat now more palpable. “I mean, as nice as it can be to see everyone here fall in love-”

“Or lust.” Abigail interjected, a smirk on her face.

“Or lust, that’s true-- I still think that my favorite person to observe is you.”

“Hm? And why is that?” Abigail still had that smirk on her face, raising an eyebrow. “What about me is so interesting that you’d prefer to watch me than whatever the latest addition to the Sean and Karen saga is?”

“I, uh,” Molly flushed, suddenly aware of what she was saying and how weird it could be considered. “I just, I like watching you hum and sing whenever you work. Something about it is just, I dunno, very relaxing.”

Abigail clicked her tongue. “You really do notice a lot, huh?”

“Yeah.” Molly replied sheepishly.

“I guess it’s only fair that I tell you that I find watching you write poetry is quite calming.”

“You saw me doing that?” 

“How could I not? Both of us do a lot of watching and thinking, we’re both very similar in that regard.” she said, unbothered by Molly’s embarrassment. 

“I’m… glad, you can find comfort in something that I do.” Molly settled on. 

“The more we talk, the more I’m beginning to think that I just find comfort in you. Somethin’ about you just makes you easy for me to talk to.” Abigail smiled. 

“The same goes for you.” Molly sighed, nibbling on her lip. “We should do this more often. I’m having a good time.”

“So am I.” Abigail agreed. “It’s much better to be with you than to be alone.”

“It really is.” Molly shifted a bit, turning more towards Abigail. Maybe working wasn’t so bad after all.

[smallheathgangsters]

Habits | M.G.

A/N: So, I combined my submission for @maggiescarborough​‘s writing challenge with a request that I got. It’s pure angst, but I still hope you enjoy. Also, I’m glad I’m back to uploading regularly!

Pairing: Michael Gray x Reader

Word Count: 1649

Type: angst

Summary: Michael leaves for America and when he gets back, there is nothing left to save.

Tag List: @livingforbarnes​ @multi-fandom-iimagines​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @peakyblindersengland​ @lucillethings​ @callmesunshinexx​ @simonsbluee​ @anyasthoughts​ @sophieshelby​

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You had never met Henry. You had never met the sweet, innocent boy who knew nothing about guns and murder and violence, who knew nothing about the Peaky Blinders and their business. The boy that had helped his foster mom pick apples from trees and his foster dad cut the lawn. The one that had worn colourful ties and light brown trousers with suspenders.

But you had had the privilege to meet Michael before everything went south.

You had helped him find his mother’s home after he had escaped from the country. Birmingham was big and easy to get lost in. You had run into him while he had been wandering cluelessly around Small Heath, a piece of paper with an address in hand.

“May I help you?” you had asked him.

There had been uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m looking for my mother.”

“Is that her address?” you had said, pointing at the note between his fingers. Michael had nodded and passed it over to you. Only a quick glace was necessary for you to realise who he had been looking for.

You had huffed surprised. “Polly Gray is your mother?”

“That’s what the man had told me …”

His voice had been a little shaky. You had quickly noticed that he was from the city. “What man?”

“He said his name was Thomas Shelby.”

You had inhaled deeply when the two last words had left his lips. If this young man really was Polly Gray’s son, then he clearly did not know what he was getting himself into. And of course, Tommy had made sure to take this boy away from his foster family just to expand his army. At least that’s what the Shelby family seemed to have become.

Still, you explained the way to Mrs. Gray’s home to the quiet stranger in front of you. Though, you couldn’t hold back a comment. It had hung at the tip of your tongue. “Be careful …”

He had noticed that the unawareness of his name was the reason for your pause.

“Michael.”

“Michael,” you had repeated. “The Shelby’s are living a very dangerous lifestyle. You don’t seem anything like them. Don’t get caught up in their business. It’ll ruin you.”

You had saw him gritting his teeth. Probably not what he wanted to hear from some random girl on the street in an unknow city.

So, he had simply thanked you for your help and took off.

After that, you didn’t see Michael for a while. And you had almost forgotten about the handsome country boy, when one day you spotted him walking towards you on the street. You were on your way to get some groceries at the shop nearby, planning on baking a lovely apple crumble for your family.

At first, you were unsure if you should keep your head down and ignore him. Walk past and act as if you didn’t recognise him. But your eyes wouldn’t obey. They kept moving to the young man, now dressed in a clearly expensive suit. His hair was slicked back, making him look like a million pounds.

You cursed under your breath for being so captivated by him and tore your gaze away with much effort.

Since Michael was not born yesterday, he had spotted you looking at him. He stopped in his tracks just as you were about to pass him and greeted you kindly.

“Oh, hello Michael.”

“How have you been?”

You shrugged. “Normal?”

Michael chuckled at your response.

“What about you? Have you settled in with your new family?”

“Well, technically they’re my real family,” he corrected you promptly. “But yes, they have been very welcoming. I even got a job in Tommy’s company. Since I went to school the longest, I’m pretty good with numbers.”

“Sounds great,” you said. You felt uneasy knowing he was a Shelby now. The ones who people avoided when they went to the pub or walked down the Small Heath alleys. The ones that made their blood run and their heart beat faster. That made deals with men even more fearsome than themselves.

“Are you on your way home?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I’m going to the store to buy a few things for dinner tonight.”

“I could accompany you, if you like,” Michael offered, giving you a gorgeous smile. You frowned at his proposition. “Don’t you have to be somewhere? You look rather put together to pick up some groceries.”

He laughed. “I don’t mind. And I’m sure waiting half an hour won’t hurt John either.”

Michael went with you to get groceries and escorted you home. He “accidentally” bumped into you the next day again and you had lunch together in a café just a few blocks from your home. Michael invited you to the Garrison one Friday evening and introduced you to his family. He made sure you felt comfortable around the men that intimidated you so much. He started telling you more about the work they did and slowly but surely opened up to you about the aspects that obviously clashed with your morals. He understood and accepted the fact that you could and would not identify yourself with the illegal side of their business.

Nevertheless, you fell in love. You fell in love with Michael because he cared about you so much. He was attentive and gentle and interested in hearing about your day. About the things you liked to do and were passionate about. He was there when you were feeling down and he was there to enjoy the days that simply could not get any better.

You didn’t believe in soulmates, but if they were real, Michael was yours and you were Michael’s.

Then he left.

Fucking America.

Fucking Wall Street.

Fucking stock markets and money and drugs.

He left without an explanation that would help you sleep at night. That would help you with getting up in the morning and going to work. That would calm down the burning anger you had towards the Shelby family.

With Michael leaving, you decided to leave the Shelby’s. As kind as they had been to you, they did not bring any positivity to your life. Not anymore.

Michael did not call. Michael did not write. It was as if he had never existed. But your heart was aching so much, you knew he wasn’t gone. Your heart in his hands, fingers squeezing tightly around it. Almost stopping it from beating.

You had noticed him changing. You had felt his touch getting colder and his words getting fewer. He came home later and went to work earlier.

As foolish as you were, you told yourself to ignore the signs. And in the end, whatever you were trying to save, came crumbling down.

You had counted the days after he’d left. But you eventually stopped. How many years had it been? Two? Three? Four even? You had lost track of time. And just as you thought you were over Michael Gray, he was back in Small Heath.

With a woman.

You tried to push through the busy crowd of a sunny Saturday morning after accidentally locking eyes with him. You wanted to get away. Erase the images that were now spinning around in your head.

Just as you thought you had saved yourself from an unpleasant encounter with the man you had once called yours, a strong hand placed itself onto your shoulder.

“Please wait …”

You spun around, holding the handle of your basked tightly, as though it was giving you the support you needed in this situation.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you spat. Against your own expectations, you didn’t look away.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back his hand awkwardly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about if you did it willingly and on purpose. And since you’ve never officially broken up with me, I take your new girl as an indication that our relationship is over, eh?”

You were never one to mince your words, but you knew where to draw the line. Usually. Whereas Michael, standing right in front of you, seemed to be triggering the worst in you. You would not try to be nice. You would use words that hurt. That would stab into his chest and rip out the little of a soul he had left.

Michael winced at your remark. You could see that this conversation was painful. Too bad, he didn’t understand the pain he had put you through when he left you. “I never meant to hurt you–“

You rolled your eyes.

“You know that this business changed me, Y/N. You knew I wasn’t the same man you met when I asked you about Pol’s address,” he continued.

“Oh, how romantic, referring to that day?”

“Please don’t be like that,” he begged. You knew he tried to sound pitiful. It wasn’t working. You were over and done with this theatre.

“It wasn’t the business that changed you, Michael. You yourself decided to change. And you decided to be cruel,” you told him, the tone in your voice harsh. Merciless even.

You watched him close his eyes for a moment, most likely annoyed at your unwillingness to talk this through, maybe even come to an understanding.

There was not one fibre in your body that was having any of it.

“I can’t change the man I am deep inside,” he tried explaining his behaviour. You huffed and shook your head in disbelief. “You’re an asshole, Michael Gray. And just for the record: Cruelty isn’t a personality trait. Cruelty is a habit. And you deliberately made it your habit.”

Then, you turned your back on your former boyfriend and began walking away. Taking the largest and proudest steps possible.

“Where are you going?” he shouted after you, baffled by the outcome of this dialogue.

“Home. To bake a fucking apple crumble.”

[snelbz]

Reckoning and Retribution {5}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, House of Earth and Blood, & Throne of Glass Crossover, Western AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 4k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Ok hear me out: WILD WEST AU CROSSOVER”

A/N: Another chapter written with my love, @tacmc​.

Reckoning and Retribution Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

My Ask Box

There weren’t many days Feyre didn’t have to be at the saloon, but even when she did, she tried to spend as much time as she could with her sisters. Nesta had left to run a few errands  before she had to report in to Maeve and she was sitting out back with Elain as she clipped the excess branches off of her rose bushes.

“I’ve never understood how you were able to make such beautiful flowers out of nothing but dust,” she said, gently brushing her finger over a soft petal.

Elain looked thoughtfully at the rose bush she was tending to. “I like to think we were all born with certain gifts. Perhaps this was mine.”

“Agreed,” Feyre replied, gently. “You seem happy this morning.”

“Shouldn’t I be happy?” Elain followed.

Feyre huffed a laugh. “You should, but I suppose I was wondering why. You keep humming a little song as you work. You never hum.”

Elain was quiet for a moment. “What is it you know of the new sheriff?”

“The new sheriff?” Feyre repeated. “Sheriff Whitethorn?”

“Yes,” she said, carefully. “He’s a very kind man, don’t you think?”

Feyre was left staring at her sister’s back. “I guess so… I haven’t really had much time to get to know him, personally.”

Elain hummed contentedly and continued pruning the roses. Feyre waited for a moment and then crossed the garden to sit next to her sister. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Elain murmured, shrugging. She found a couple of roses that were just shy of blooming and clipped back the foliage around it.

Feyre watched her sister, narrowing her eyes. “You never were a good liar.” 

Elain’s cheeks turned pink. “I just...I find him rather handsome.”

Feyre blinked. “Handsome? Who?”

Elain cleared her throat before stating, quietly, “Sheriff Whitethorn.” 

“Sheriff Whitethorn?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Elain asked, with a shy giggle. 

“Yes, so I can make sense of the words coming from your mouth,” Feyre said, but her voice was light.

“He just…seems like a good man, and I might like to spend time with him,” Elain admitted.

Feyre raised an eyebrow, picking up the spare shears and beginning to prune the neighboring bush. “I wasn’t aware you two had spent enough time together to determine whether or not he was a good man.”

Pretending not to notice her sister’s obvious snooping, she admitted, “He came by while I was at Azriel’s yesterday.”

“What was he doing at Az’s?”

“Inquiring about the bodies, of course,” Elain said, wiping her dirty hands on the towel hanging from the apron she wore tied around her waist. She’d learned long ago that without both a towel and an apron, she was bound to stain all of her skirts with dust, dirt and other unsavory things as she worked.

Feyre nodded, and asked a moment later, “And what did Azriel think of your interaction?”

With a shrug, Elain said, “He doesn’t know. He wasn’t there when the sheriff arrived. I answered what questions I could for him, though.”

After a beat of silence, Elain looked over to her sister. She was staring at her, chewing on her full bottom lip. “I don’t care for that look,” Elain murmured. “What?”

“Well,” Feyre asked, gently. “What about Azriel?”

Elain sighed. “What about him?”

“We all thought the two of you would end up married one day,” Feyre replied.

If Elain admitted it to herself, she thought they would have, too, but it seemed after years, Azriel either didn’t have the feelings whe thought he’d had or he wasn’t going to act on them. 

But the sheriff, he’d had no issue making his intentions clear.

“Azriel and I have always been close, but he has no intention of marrying me, Feyre,” Elain said, quietly, shaking her head. “If he intended to marry me, he would have by now.”

It was true. They were all beyond the age that their mother had hoped to see her daughters married.

Feyre opened her mouth to protest, but Elain charged on. “I admire Azriel, greatly, but perhaps he is not meant to be my husband, but only a great friend.” 

“And Sheriff Whitethorn is?” Feyre pressed.

Elain sighed, exasperated. “I am only saying that I would not protest to get to know him more. He is handsome, he is kind, he can surely protect me. I cannot stay in this house forever, Feyre. I want to be a wife. I want to be a mother.” 

Feyre couldn’t fault her for those wishes, she, too, wanted that one day. She just wasn’t sure if it would be in Rose Creek. “Just…be careful, please. He may seem to be a good man, but we’ve really only just met him, Lainy. There may be skeletons in the closet we don’t know.”

Elain nodded, beginning to cut full roses from the bush. She pricked her finger on a thorn more than once, but she didn’t stop. The small hurt was a part of her everyday life now. “I understand that, and I will. Believe it or not, I can protect myself, you know?”

Feyre refrained from telling her that she’d never shot a gun, much less used it when she had to. Instead, she said, “He usually comes into the bar on Thursday nights. Just so you know.”

Elain’s eyes lit up, as she realized what day it is.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

It had been a long morning and Cassian was near his breaking point. He had no help, had delivered a stillborn calf in the middle of the night, and had one too many glasses from the saloon the night before, which resulted in a constant, pounding headache behind his eyes.

Now, he had spent his morning working his land beneath the warm sun.

He was tired, frustrated, and wanting another glass of ale to keep his hangover at bay. 

A neigh broke him out of his inward moping. As he looked over at his horse, he arched a brow. “Yes?”

The mare huffed, shaking its head.

“I don’t need a break, I’m just fine,” Cassian muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Besides, it’s your stall I’m improving.” 

The lock had broken days before, and although he was certain (insert horse’s name here) would never leave her master, he felt better when the gate was secure.

Horseshoes slowly clip-clopped in the dust before Cassian was nudged in the shoulder. With a sigh, he looked into the face of his old friend. “Fine. A short break, but only because you won’t take no for an answer.” 

The horse’s stall wasn’t far from Cassian’s house, so he left her there as he crossed the vast landscape to where his little home sat.

Only to find that he had guests. 

Guests that he wanted as far from his property as possible.

“Can I help y’all with something?” He asked, stopping by the small steps leading up to his front door.

The couple turned and Maeve Alastair and Erawan Black looked him over from the dusty hat atop his head to the old, muddy boots at his toes. They couldn’t have kept the sneers off of their faces if they’d really tried. Cairn, Maeve’s hired muscle, leaned against one of the pillars keeping his roof in place, whittling away at a chunk of wood in his hands.

“Mr. Nazari, I don’t know if we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction,” Maeve crooned stepping forward, holding her hand out. “I’m Maeve Alastair.”

Cassian knew her very well. No matter how much he disliked the woman standing in front of him, his manners won out. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, shaking her hand. He tipped his hat to her companion. He hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting either Erawan or Hybern Black, but Aelin’s words from the previous weeks rang in his head.

This is a lot of damage for a person to inflict. This is brutal.

Of course it is. Because it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to scare the shit out of you, Cash.

If Aelin was right, the Black brothers were trying to run him off of his land, land that his family had owned, worked, and poured their blood, sweat, and tears into for three generations.

Over his dead body, he thought.

“We’d like to discuss a business proposition with you,” Erawan said, stepping forward. “Do you have a moment to talk to us?”

No, he thought, I really don’t. But he sighed and said, “Sure, come on in.”

He stomped up the stairs and entered the home, one of the largest ones in the small town. They followed him, Cairn included. “Can I offer you anything to drink? I don’t have much, but…” He held up his hands, gesturing around to his barren kitchen. The house may have been large, but that didn’t mean it was filled.

“No, thank you,” Erawan replied, and when Maeve nor Cairn said nothing, Cassian assumed that Erawan was answering for all of them. “We won’t be taking up too much of your time.”

“Very well,” Cassian said, leaning up against the wall of his den. “How can I help you all?” 

“We’ve been admiring your land for a while now, Mr. Nazari,” Erawan continued, his voice laced with a compelling drawl. “You see, we’re trying to expand our businesses and feel your land would be of great value to us.” 

Cassian took a deep breath so that he wouldn’t seem too eager to shut them down. “And what business is it that you’re hoping to expand?”

Cassian was fully aware of Maeve’s business and wanted nothing to do with it. 

“Is it necessary for you to know such a thing?” Erawan asked. His voice was light, but his eyes were hard. “Surely you simply want our money and nothing more.”

“I do not want your money, Mr. Black,” Cassian replied, simply. “And, you cannot buy my land, it is not for sale.”

“You won’t even entertain our offer?” Maeve said, laughing softly. Cassian got the distinct impression their first tactic was kindness, their second akin to childish bullying, and the third…

Well, if Aelin was right, he knew what the third would be.

“There’s no price I can put on this land,” he said, simply. “This has been Nazari land as far back as I can remember, and it will remain Nazari land if I have anything to do with it.” Erawan opened his mouth to say something else, but Cassian cut him off. “I don’t mean to be rude, but if that is all your visit was in regards to, I’ve got a stillborn calf to bury.”

The sickly sweet smile on her face didn’t match Maeve’s reply at all. “That’s a shame.”

“We’ll be in touch, Cash,” Erawan said, with a tip of his black hat.

The fact that he was calling Cassian Cash had him thinking that Erawan had certainly done his research on the rancher before stepping onto his land. 

“We’ll be in touch,” Cassian agreed, and tipped his hat as Erawan and Maeve slowly turned toward the door and back out into the bright afternoon. 

As Maeve followed Erawan out the door, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Do consider our offer, Mr. Nazari. We will pay generously.” 

Cassian nodded but said no more as Erawan and Maeve trekked back toward their carriage. 

He waited for their companion to make his way toward the door, as well, but the large man remained where he stood, just inside of the entryway. 

“Your party is leaving,” Cassian said, meeting Cairn’s eyes. “I’m sure you’d rather ride with them back to town than walk.”

“And I’m sure you’d like a nice little wife to take care of this place,” he said, taking another chunk of the wood out with his knife. The blade was too sharp and too long to whittle, so he took the presence of the man and his blade as what they were: veiled attempts to threaten him. “Too bad she’s a whore.”

Cassian’s nostrils flared as he took a calming breath. It was the only reaction he allowed.

“Well, that and the fact that she has no idea you exist.” He moved toward the door, toward the still open carriage he could see through his kitchen window. “I’ve never had my fun with her, I just might have to. Unless, of course, you consider Ms. Alastair’s offer.”

Cassian let no indication of his utter rage show, although his blood was boiling within his veins. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lifted his chin as Cairn showed his unruly smile. “And you should know that I do not take well to threats, even if they’re pointless.”

“I can hold my own,” Cairn assured him. “I also keep my word, Mr. Nazari.” 

“I am going to politely ask you to leave my home,” Cassian said, trying to keep the growl from his voice. 

Cairn’s grin only widened, and it had Cassian sucking in a breath to keep himself calm.

“Very well,” Cairn said, at last. “Remember to consider Miss Alistair’s offer. I’ll come by in a few days to collect your final answer.”

“I’ve given you my answer, sir,” Cassian snapped.

The man tsk’ed a few times. “May want to reconsider that answer, then.”

Without another word, Cairn was out the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The town was as dusty and dry as Rhysand’s letter has made it out to be. Hypaxia was glad for the clouds that blocked out the sun as she stepped out of the carriage that had brought her from Lunathion.

It was a bustling town, at least at this hour, even though small. Much smaller than Hypaxia was used to.

It was a charming change of pace. 

“Pardon,” Hypoxia said, reaching out to the first person she saw. “Could you point me to the saloon?”

The woman turned around, eyeing Hypaxia curiously. “Who’s asking?” 

“I was walking there myself,” the woman said, smiling brightly.

Even though that smile sent a chill down Hypaxia’s spine. 

“Care to join me?” she asked. “Miss…” 

“Enador,” Hypaxia supplied. “Thank you...”

“Miss Alastair,” the woman supplied. “Follow me, Miss Enador.”

Hypaxia inclined her head, and after she asked her driver to bring her bags to the inn she was staying in, she was walking by Miss Alastair’s side down the dusty road. 

“What business do you have at the saloon, Miss Enador?” Miss Alastair asked. When Hypaxia didn’t answer, Maeve went on, “You see, Miss Enador, I know everyone in this town. And I know, for certain, that you have never visited this town before today. At least, not since I have lived here. So, I will ask, once more, what business do you have here, Miss Enador?”

Hypaxia lifted her chin. “I am a doctor.”

“A doctor,” she said, looking at her with a judgemental eye. “You’re far too pretty to be in the medical field.” Hypaxia blinked as they continued walking, not even sure what to say. She didn’t have time, as they approached the stairs of the saloon. Miss Alastair continued, ��Even so, what business would the doctor have at the saloon, Miss Enador?”

“A friend of mine wrote to me and explained that he knows of a girl who’s in some trouble and thinks she might be pregnant,” she said, removing her hat, allowing her mess of dark curls to fall loose. “I have come to confirm that pregnancy and help the young woman in any way that I can.”

Maeve’s footsteps began to slow. “A pregnancy?” 

Hypaxia gave a curt nod.

“With one of the girls at the saloon?” Maeve pressed.

Hypaxia stopped in her tracks and turned to meet Maeve’s gaze. “Surely you understand that I should not be speaking with you about such matters, Miss. There is such a thing as doctor and patient confidentiality.” 

For a moment, Maeve said nothing. Her silence made Hypaxia nervous. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Miss Enador.”

Hypaxia laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “Excuse me?”

“I operate a business inside of these walls,” she said, walking past her, where she’d frozen by the doors. “In which case, I have the authority to bar entrance to whoever I wish from this establishment.”

With nothing to say, Hypaxia’s mouth fell open and she stared at the woman.

“Good day, Miss Enador. I hope you didn’t travel far just to waste your time.”

Entering the building, Maeve left her on the front porch and immediately found the eyes of the barmaid wiping glasses at one of the tables.

“Are you the little bitch who needs to mind her own business?” Maeve asked, pulling a cigarette from her purse and putting it between her lips.

Feyre lifted her chin. “Pardon?” 

Hypaxia stayed on the front porch, although she never entered the saloon. 

“Keep your eyes on the shit you’re cleaning,” Maeve snapped, lighting up her cigarette. 

Feyre’s eyes stayed in Maeve, her expression cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “I do a service to your sister by allowing her to stay in your house, stay with you and that other sister of yours, when you all pay nothing for it. Tamper in my business again, and you may not regret it, but pretty, little Nesta will.”

“Just as you have a right to stop interference in your business,” Hunt said, coming down the stairs in the corner, “I have a right to tell you not to threaten my barmaid.”

Maeve’s eyes burned as she watched him descend into the main hall of the saloon. “And may I ask what you were doing upstairs, Mr. Athalar? Dabbling on the side?”

“Bringing drinks to your girls,” Hunt corrected, coming to stand behind the bar, next to Feyre. “Figured they’d be thirsty after enduring hell all night.” When Maeve’s gaze turned darker, Hunt said, “Don’t worry. I left the beverages on the table in the hall. Didn’t want to…disrupt anything that may have gone on all night.”

The distaste in his voice was obvious. 

“You’ll watch yourself, too, Mr. Athalar,” Maeve spat. 

Hunt’s jaw locked, but he said no more.

It was Feyre who said, in a perfectly calm voice, “Can I get you something, Miss Alastair?” 

Maeve looked at them both for a long moment, taking a drag from her cigarette before slowly shaking her head. “Just stay out of my business, and we won’t have problems.” 

With that, Maeve was up the stairs, leaving the brutish bartender and his headstrong barmaid on the level below.

She had a problem she had to handle and she needed to handle it fast. Before that doctor returned and Athalar allowed her to see the girls. She knew they were to blame, had no reason to believe otherwise, and she needed to find out which of her girls was expecting an unfortunate surprise in about eight months.

Pulling out the monthly calendar she kept locked in her desk drawer, she ran through the list of her girls, seeing who had and hadn’t alerted her of their monthly cycle. The few days a month of their cycle, they were allowed to be off. Not only could there be sanitary issues, but it gave the girls a reason to inform her of its arrival. It gave them a reason to want to tell her.

Running her finger down the list, she narrowed it down to three possibilities. She wouldn’t confront them tonight. No, it was too close to the time they needed to get ready. She couldn’t deal with emotional distress. Tomorrow, though, they’d be making a trip to Morath and having this little problem...taken care of.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Rhysand was sitting in his office when Hypaxia stormed in, looking perplexed. 

He was instantly sitting up, surprised. “Miss Enador? I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“I arrived early,” she said, with a sigh. “And had an interesting greeting from, who I assume, is the owner of the brothel.”

Rhysand frowned as realization lit up his features. “Ah, Miss Alastair. Yes, she owns the brothel.”

Rhysand offered her the chair on the opposite side of her desk. She gladly accepted it. 

“We’ll talk business in a moment,” Rhysand promised, setting his cigar down on the tray on his desk. “First and foremost, how are you, old friend?”

“Old friend,” Hypaxia smiled, shaking her head. ‘That makes us sound old.” 

Rhysand huffed a laugh. “Not yet. Although, we’re getting there, I’m afraid.”

Hypaxia’s smile widened. “I’ve been good. Busy. And you?”

“Good, good,” he said, leaning back. “How is your mother? I last heard she was doing a bit better, after her fall.”

Her dark eyes fell slightly. “Unfortunately, she passed back in the spring. Nothing that I could do, with modern medicine, was helping. She eventually contacted a healer, from my grandfather’s tribe, but even her belief in the old spirits wasn’t enough to give her the strength to heal.”

Rhys leaned forward, his chair creaking under the weight. “I’m truly sorry, Pax. Your mother was a wonderful woman.”

“She was,” she said, returning his sad smile with a genuine one. “She was proud of what she’d accomplished in her life, bringing peace to these lands was something she was proud of to her last breath.”

Rhysand’s grandfather was the mayor of these lands when the Valbaran tribe attacked, claiming the land belonged to them, by right, passed down by late ancestors. The bloodshed lasted many years, and many lives were long on both sides, but Rhysand’s father, only months into his own tenure as mayor, before Hypaxia and Rhys were ever born, had signed a treaty with the leader of Valbarians, Hecuba Enador.

It was strenuous for a few years, small battles still breaking out here and there. Even some of their own friends and family had ended up in unexpected battles with Valbaran rebels during the war, taking advantage of their focus elsewhere. But finally, under Hecuba’s later rule, a true peace had fallen between them. Not a single attack had taken place in years. And thanks to Hypaxia’s graceful leadership once her mother passed, the calm seemed to be holding strong.

“I wish I could have seen her one last time,” he said, smiling fondly. “Said goodbye, pay my respects.”

Hypaxia only chuckled. “Don’t worry, Rhys. She knew you cared and spoke of you often.”

Rhysand nodded. He knew what it was like to have parents pass away. 

“So, when you sent me your letter, you said it was urgent,” Hypaxia began, the mood shifting.

Rhysand cleared his throat. “Yeah, one of Maeve’s girls believes she is with child. Maeve’s not exactly…forgiving when it comes to that.”

“Forgiving?” Hypaxia repeated. 

“She makes them terminate their pregnancies,” Rhysand said, looking down at his hands. “It’s only happened a handful of times, but it always ends up the same.”

“By the gods,” she breathed. “Does she give them a choice?”

Rhys said nothing, knowing that would be answer enough.

 “That’s just evil,” she whispered. Shaking her head, she asked, louder, “Who’s the girl? I didn’t give her a name, because I didn’t have one.”

“Thank the Cauldron for that,” he said. “That’s at least a blessing. She’ll have to figure it out for herself. Her name is Ansel. She’s one of Maeve’s busiest girls, in her early twenties. She has dark red hair, like wine.”

Nodding, Hypaxia pulled her notepad out and began writing the information down. “I intend to go back to the saloon tonight. If I see her, I’ll try to speak to her, discreetly. If I can’t, we’ll have to find a way to remove Maeve for about an hour tomorrow.”

Rhysand was nodding. “We can figure something out, if need be.”

Hypaxia drew in a deep breath. “So, this Maeve... Has she been in town long?”

“Too long,” Rhysand muttered. “Long enough to be successful and dangerous. She’s in cahoots with the Black brothers, both of whom have horrid reputations in this town and countless others. She’s bad news, Pax, so keep your wits about you when she’s around.” 

Hypaxia nodded, grimly. “I had a hunch she wasn’t exactly good news.”

“She has far too much power for someone in such a small town,” Rhys warned. “Dangerous connections and even more powerful allies.”

Again, Hypaxia nodded, understanding his worry. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Where is your doctor and apothecary? And the general store? I’ve got everything I’ll need, and a little extra, but more is always best.”

Rhysand cringed and his reply gave Hypaxia pause. “The general store is to the south, a couple streets over, the apothecary is next door.” He paused and cleared his throat. “We don’t have a doctor, or even a clinic in Rose Creek, I’m afraid.”

Hypaxia lifted a brow. “No doctor?” 

Rhysand shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Our last one left about five years ago. Been trying to get someone on and off to come here since I became mayor, just like my dad had to do when he was mayor. It’s like the position is cursed or something.” 

Hypaxia scoffed, good-humoredly. “Cursed? I don’t believe in curses.”

“You should,” Rhysand said, leaning back in his chair.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Rhys?” she asked, head tilted to the side. 

“I’m just telling you to keep your mind open,” he sang, and although his voice was light, he really meant it. 

Too much shit had gone on in the last few years for her not to be warned.

She kept her eyes on him for a minute longer than he felt comfortable with, as if she was stripping him bare, looking into his very soul, the good parts and the bad, and—

And then she nodded. “Very well, Rhysand, I’ll stay and open a practice here.”

He blinked, his violet eyes going wide. “You’ll what?’

“I’m going to stay and practice medicine for the people of Rose Creek.”

“Pax, we don’t have the money left in the budget for a salary—”

“I don’t want one, money is not an issue nor an incentive for me,” she interrupted. “I want to do this as a favor to a dear friend who reached out to me for help. I want to do this for Ansel, for her unborn child. I want to do this for the children that I’m sure you’ve lost to the illnesses that have ravaged our lands.” She saw a shadow pass over his eyes and knew she was correct. A tragedy for so many towns, so many families, who’d lost sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. It wasn’t always children, but they had been the one the virus clung to so desperately. She leaned forward and held out her hand. “I want to do this for the good people of Rose Creek. It’s the least they deserve, if what you’re implying is true, and there are dangers in these lands.”

“Trust me, old friend, when I tell you this,” Rhysand said, leaning forward and taking her outstretched hand. “I imply nothing and only speak of the truth.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The saloon was in full swing.

The girls were down on the floor, making their rounds, and Feyre was pouring the drinks.

Hunt was behind the bar, his eyes scanning the horizon, waiting for something to go wrong. 

Rowan had never found much comfort in the bar, but it was different when Elain Archeron walked through the bar. She was so poised, so wild-eyed and innocent, that Rowan couldn’t help but find her intriguing. 

No, she was not the typical woman that Rowan went for, but maybe that was the point. 

She was sitting with Azriel Draeven and Cash Nazari and a few of their friends, but she didn’t seem interested in their company in the slightest. Not when every time he’d glance her way, she was just doing the same. It became so frequent that he nearly blushed at one point. He’d almost  built up the nerve — and proper alcohol consumption — to go speak to her, when Lorcan dropped into the chair next to him.

“This place is ridiculous,” he muttered.

“What’s got you in bad spirits?” Rowan asked, taking a gulp from his class. 

“Who says I’m in bad spirits?” Lorcan mumbled. 

Rowan just snorted and shook his head. Since Lorcan’s arrival, he’d been helpful, but stubborn and grumpy as shit. As the years went on, that fact remained the same. 

Rowan looked back across the floor at Elain, who smiled and quickly looked away, cheeks tainted pink.

“Really?” Lorcan mumbled. “The tombstone gardener?” 

Rowan’s eyes snapped back to Lorcan. “Pardon?”

“She’s too…” Lorcan paused as he searched for the word. “Sweet,” he finally decided.

“She’s too sweet for me?” Rowan asked, trying to understand his friend, but also to not take offense at his words. He didn’t deserve sweet?

“You know what I mean,” Lorcan said, taking a swig from his glass, even though Rowan really didn’t. “Too proper, sophisticated.” Another drink and he added. “Polite. That’s not the type of woman we take to bed, Ro, and do you know why that is?”

Before Rowan could reply, Lorcan forged ahead. “It’s because she’s not looking for someone to warm her bed, Rowan. She’s looking for a husband, to settle down.”

For a moment, Rowan said nothing, pondered Lorcan’s words. Finally, he asked, “Who said that’s not what I’m looking for?”

Lorcan just stared at him for a long moment, his glass halfway to his mouth. “You want to settle down?”

“Is settling down so bad?” Rowan shot back.

“You want a wife?” He said the last word with a hefty amount of disdain. 

“There is nothing wrong with settling down, Lorcan,” Rowan sighed. “And, there is nothing wrong with marriage.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Lorcan mumbled, downing the rest of his glass. 

Rowan wasn’t going to argue. Lorcan thrived on arguments. Instead, he nodded across the room. “What have you gathered about Arobynn Hammel?”

Lorcan’s gaze followed Rowan’s across the room. Arobynn Hammel sat at a table full of people, laughing and drinking and having a grand ole time. On his lap was a pretty one, one of Maeve’s girls.

Lysandra, Rowan knew.

He blew out a breath as he sat up, finally removing his hat and placing it on the table in front of them. “Not shit. The man’s secrets have secrets.” Rowan looked over at him. “I’ve sent a telegram to Fenrys, asking him to look through the criminal archives covering Adarlan, Prythian, Terrasen, and Lunathion back in Wendlyn. If we’re gonna find anything on him, it’ll be from there.”

Rowan leaned back in his chair and said, “I don’t need to know every detail, just the basics. Who he is, what does he do for a living, where’s he from?”

Lorcan was already shaking his head before Rowan had finished his sentence. “That’s what I’m saying, I haven’t been able to find out a damn thing, save for his name.”

Rowan slowly nodded, processing. “I don’t like how close to Maeve he is. I want to find out why he’s in Rose Creek.”

“Done,” Lorcan said, tipping his glass back and emptying his glass.

“You want another one?”

Lorcan turned, the pretty, little barmaid standing next to their table, a large stack of empty glasses in home hand, and empty plates in the other. He didn’t hide the way his eyes ran over her corset-less waist and loose hair. “Yes. One for him, as well.” He jerked his head towards Rowan.

“No,” Rowan said, shaking his head. “Just the one.”

Lorcan ignored him. “Two more and two shots of Busthead.”

She nodded and was off.

“Asshole,” Rowan muttered.

After dropping their drinks off, Feyre was back around the room, making her rounds. She, of course, checked on everybody, taking glasses and cleaning tables off, but she kept ending up at a certain table.

“Ruhn Danaan, I should have known,” Lorcan grumbled, looking over at the table where Feyre’s fingers were running down Ruhn’s forearm. 

“Have something against him?” Rowan muttered, fiddling with his new full glass, although he didn’t drink from it.

“He walks around this town with a piss-poor attitude,” Lorcan grumbled.

Rowan lifted a silver brow. “And that’s different from how you walk around...how?” 

A boot was reaching across beneath the table and hitting Rowan in the shin. 

Feyre was refilling Ruhn’s drink, yet again, even though he had hardly drunk out of it.

The spark in Danaan’s eyes was decidedly not one of purely friendship, so Feyre’s flirtatious touches were clearly welcome. An obnoxiously drunk man in the corner laughed, and Ruhn’s attention left the pretty barmaid and he turned. So did Lorcan.

Duke Perrington, one of the most foul men in Rose Creek, was among some of his friends, all four rip-roaring drunk, lost in the middle of a poker match. Ruhn’s younger sister sat on his lap, the empty look in her amber eyes one of practiced dedication. She’d been under Maeve’s control for years, Rowan and Lorcan had learned. She knew how to empty her mind and pretend she was anywhere but the present.

The men looked back to Danaan, at the barely concealed rage on his face. Rowan took a moment to look around the room.

Ruhn’s companions were with him, Aelin’s cousin as well, all still covered in the dirt of the mines from their day. Aelin was with Elide Lochan, not far from he and Lorcan, but the resident pain in his ass had not looked his way once.

No, she was focused solely on Arrobyn Hammel.

Arrobyn was still sitting with that stupid little grin on his lips, his arm slung around Lysandra’s waist. Lysandra laughed at every little thing that came from Arobynn’s mouth, although the light of her bright smile never reached her eyes. 

Rowan didn’t know the whole story, nor was he sure he wanted to. He had seen enough of Maeve’s business to know that he wanted to keep far away from it, for a handful of reasons, the fact that Maeve treated these girls like shit and kept them working under unforgivable debts at the top of the list. 

That, and the fact that Rowan believed that paying for sex, especially from someone who didn’t want it, was one of the worst things you could do as a man. 

He looked back to Aelin, at the hatred in her eyes. 

He looked back to Arobynn, and found the need to kick his ass.

“She’s looking at you again,” Lorcan muttered.

Rowan’s eyes shot across the room, to where Elain was watching him with the smallest of smiles.

Even though his own shy smirk was involuntary, Rowan wasn’t sure why his eyes fell back on Aelin Galathynius when Elain blushed and looked away.

Across the room, Feyre stopped at another table. Nesta was sitting on the lap of a young man, who barely looked old enough to be in the bar, much less to purchase time with one of Maeve’s girls. The older man, with him, sneered at Feyre as she paused in front of them. “Everyone okay over here?”

Neither of them noticed she wasn’t looking at them when she asked the questions. Nesta’s tight-lipped smile was her only reply.

“Another ale,” the man said, looking away and writing her off.

Walking away, Feyre said, “Of course,” and as she was heading back for the bar, an arm reached out and grabbed her.

A friend of Perrington’s, Cain, smirked up at her. He looked towards the bar, towards Hunt, and said, “Tell that dishonorable piece of shit behind the bar to get me a whiskey. On the house.”

From where Ansel stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders, her eyes went wide, but she trained her face back into the happy whore she was expected to be.

The man was drunk, she knew it, but she didn’t take kindly to people thinking less of Hunt for his past or the decisions he’d made. “Tell him yourself, if you’re so inclined,” she spat, ripping her arm from his hand.

He stood, grabbing her wrist again, and Feyre lifted her chin. “Aren’t you meant to be this bar’s little whore?”

Feyre’s body tensed, and those around them began to quiet, intrigued by the scene playing out. 

Ansel’s hand slid up Cain’s arm. “How about we go find a corner and I’ll ease your frustration.”

Feyre appreciated what she was trying to do, but she hated that Ansel had to do it. Hated men like the one before her, who paid for girls like Ansel who had zero control over their own lives. 

“Back off, whore, I’m taking care of an issue,” Cain said, shrugging Ansel off as he took a step closer to Feyre, whose wrist he still grasped. 

“If you wish to talk to the bartender, you may tell him yourself,” Feyre spat, repeating her words from before. “Now, let go of me.” 

“I will,” Cain said, his voice low. “Now, go tell your master to get me a whiskey. On. The. House.”

“You’re drunk,” Feyre hissed. “Careful or we’ll throw your ass out of here, and you won’t be welcomed back.”

Cain’s head tilted to the side. “Is that a threat?”

Feyre only smiled up at him. “It’s a promise.”

She tugged her arm back once more and began to walk away when blinding pain exploded all around her and Feyre cried out. Cain yanked her back by her hair, throwing her down on the floor  and stood over her. Heavy footsteps pounded on the wooden floor and Feyre looked up just in fine to see Ruhn’s fist connect with Cain’s jaw. The man must have been anticipating it, even though he did stumble backwards, because he was swinging back right after.

“Ruhn, stop!” Bryce cried, as Perrington was on his feet.

“Ruhn,” Feyre breathed, trying to scramble back up onto her feet.

A shot rang out, the bang! echoing in the room.

Everyone froze, the music died down., 

Feyre couldn’t breath, was terrified as she looked up at Ruhn. Ruhn, who was perfectly fine, who was looking down at Feyre with wide eyes, then back up again, across the saloon. 

Duke Perrington stood with his gun out.

The gun was pointed at Ruhn.

He must’ve been trying to break up the fight, Feyre thought, and as she looked back at Ruhn, she reexamined every inch of his body.

No. He was alright. He was safe.

A gasp broke Feyre out of her thoughts, and she looked over to Ansel.

Ansel, who brought her pale, porcelain hand to her ribs, where it was quickly coated in blood.

She fell to her knees, her breathing quick and shaking.

“Ansel, breathe,” Feyre said, hurrying to her side and catching her before she slumped to the floor. “Keep breathing.”

Someone screamed for a doctor and Rowan and Lorcan were already dragging Cain and Perrington away, Aelin hurrying over to drop in her knees beside Feyre.

Ansel’s breathing was becoming a wet rasp and her eyes were already fluttering shut.

“Ansel, honey, I need you to keep your eyes open,” Aelin said, softly smacking her cheek, trying to keep her awake. If she let her eyes fall shut, both women knew they wouldn’t open again.

With a hard swallow, Feyre knew the doctor someone was rushing to find would never make it in time. There was nothing to do to stop the death looming over them in that moment. Not only the death of an innocent girl who deserved better than this, but of the baby in her womb.

[chicgeekgirl89]

A Tale of a Fateful Trip: Chap. 2

Fandom: NCIS LA

Characters: G Callen, Sam Hanna, Kensi Blye, Marty Deeks, Nell Jones, Eric Beale, Otis

Read Chapter 1 Here

                                    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Callen returned much sooner than he should have, a grim look on his face. “Radio’s out,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure even if the engine is working, we’re not going anywhere. The board does…not look good.”

Kensi paused her bagging and swiped a hand across her forehead. “And we’re too far out for cell service.”

“Does Sam have a spare radio?” Nell asked.

“He does,” Callen said. “But Kam is camping with friends this weekend and he sent it with her.”

“Well that’s perfect timing,” Nell said. 

“Did you find anything interesting up here?” Callen asked.

“Just your standard bullets and whatever shell casings we dropped,” Kensi said. “Nothing special or unusual that would help us identify whoever was on that boat.”

“Okay then,” Callen said. “And Eric? How are things over the side?”

Eric was still hanging over the railing and gave him a thumbs up without lifting his head. 

Callen nodded. “Excellent.”

Meanwhile downstairs Sam was pulling up the panels that hid the engine. The area was already full of water. Sam swore. “Get a bucket. We’ve got to get some of this out of here.”

It took them ten minutes to bail enough water out to find the hole. “I’m guessing we need to patch that?” Deeks asked.

“I’ve got some supplies in the wheelhouse,” Sam said.

“I’ll get it,” Deeks said, moving back up the stairs. He and Sam worked for nearly thirty minutes to get the boat water tight again. “It’s a temporary fix,” Sam said finally. They were both soaking wet and dirty with engine grease. “At least we won’t sink.”

“What about the engine itself?” Deeks asked.

“Too wet to say,” Sam said. “Might dry out enough on its own, might need to be replaced.”

“But either way, we’re not going anywhere for a while,”  Deeks said.

“Nope,” Sam sighed. “We’re dead in the water.”

“What’s our status?” Callen asked when they’d returned topside.

“Water in the engine,” Sam said. “The radio?”

Callen shook his head.

The weight of the situation started to fall over all of them. Eric lifted his head, eyes wide. “Are we—-“

“No,” Callen cut him off. “No, don’t say anything. Let’s just…take a moment, and we’ll figure this out.”

It was certainly something of a shock to all of them to find themselves at the mercy of the ocean. Not that they hadn’t been in tight spots before, but this one seemed particularly tight and unexpected.

“Oh my god, we really are an episode of Gilligan’s Island,” Eric finally said in horror.

“No we’re not,” Sam snapped. “We’re on a boat, not an island, and I have enough supplies to last us a month at least.”

“Yeah spare blankets and water bottles aren’t going to be much help if our new friends show back up,” Deeks said, sinking down onto the deck since they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“And I’m not really interested in subsisting on a diet of hardtack and MRE’s for the rest of my life, Skipper,” Callen said.

“Don’t call me Skipper,” Sam snapped.

“If Sam is the Skipper and Callen is Gilligan, who am I?” Deeks asked.

“You and Kensi are the Millionaire and his wife,” Eric said.

“What’s your reasoning on that?” Callen asked, pretending to feign disinterest. 

“Well they’re married.”

“Unless Beyoncé or Brad Pitt take a sudden interest in buying out the bar I think ‘millionaire’ might be a stretch,” Deeks said.

“And I’m not sure I’m good with being reduced to ‘and his wife,’” Kensi said.

“Wait,” Nell said, “if they’re the Millionaire and his wife who does that make you?”

“The professor,” Eric said with a grin. “Naturally.”

“I assume I’m Ginger then?” Nell asked.

Eric squinted at her. “No Ginger would be Hetty if she were here.”

“So I’m Mary Ann?!” Nell cried indignantly. “I don’t want to be Mary Ann! Eric I have red hair.”

“You can be Gilligan if you want,” Callen offered.

“We are not Gilligan’s Island!” Sam practically yelled.

“Okay, this isn’t productive, we can’t just sit here,” Kensi said, getting to her feet. 

“Some of us are lying here,” Deeks said, from where he was stretched out on the deck, an arm thrown over his face.

“Nell’s right,” Callen said. “We need to figure something out.”

“I can work on the radio,” Eric said right before he blanched and had to lean over the side again.

“Yeah I think maybe I’ll handle that,” Nell said, her nose wrinkled.

“I’ll come with you,” Callen offered.

“I’ll go take another look at the engine,” Sam said.

“And Deeks and I will gather up any other weapons and ammo we can find,” Kensi said.

“And I’ll—“ Eric gagged and then caught himself. “I’ll stay here.”

“Good plan buddy,” Deeks said, patting him on the shoulder. 

Nell stopped short when she walked into the wheelhouse. “Wow. Lucky shot indeed,” she said as she took in the damage.

It had apparently been more than one shot, the entire board was full of holes. She took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to need a drink.”

“C’mon,” Callen said, reaching out and touching a couple of switches, one of which fell off and dropped heavily onto the floor. “You’ve seen worse than this right?”

“Have I?” Nell asked, raising her eyebrows. “This thing looks like a piece of Swiss cheese.”

“Come on Mary Ann,” Callen nudged her shoulder. “The Professor’s been hit on the head by a coconut and the Millionaire and his wife are searching for their missing diamond so you’re our only hope.”

“Haha,” Nell said as she began to pull out wires. “You don’t have to stay up here with me.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t have the skillset to help you with this task?” Callen asked with mock hurt.

Nell sent him a bemused look. “Would you rather I say it outright Gilligan?”

“Fair point. But I can hold things.”

“Fabulous.” She yanked hard and the entire top of the console came off. “Hold this.”

“Ah,” Deeks took a deep breath. “Nothing like an afternoon of weapons requisition on the high seas. Maybe after this we can swab the poop deck or walk the plank.”

“Don’t let Sam hear you say that,” Kensi told him as she pulled a Beretta from behind a wall panel. “He’ll probably take you up on it.”

“Touché.” Deeks looked at the weapon she’d given him and checked the chamber. “God this boat is better armed than the entire Navy. Where does he keep the grenade launcher?”

“I don’t think grenade launchers are standard issue for boats,” Kensi said as she clicked the panel back into place.

“Yeah well neither are Glocks, Sigs, and shot guns,” Deeks said. “I’m surprised the boat hasn’t sunk from the weight of the ammo on board.”

“And aren’t we glad he not only follows Navy mottos but the Boy Scout ones too?” Kensi said as she straightened.

“This takes ‘always be prepared’ to a whole new level,” Deeks said as he strapped a Glock to his thigh.

Kensi checked her watch. “Well I guess we’re not getting back in time for dinner with your mom tonight.”

“Gee what a shame,” Deeks said. “Missing dinner with my mother and her new boy toy might actually be the silver lining to this tragedy.” He scratched at his neck. “Although she is definitely going to freak out if we don’t show with no warning. She’ll probably call the Pentagon.”

“Well then at least someone will be looking for us,” Kensi said. “Can you imagine if your mom ends up being the one to save our asses out here?”

“Oh god,” Deeks groaned. “We’ll never hear the end of it. She’ll want a medal of honor.”

“Well at least then we’d be rescued instead of having to live out our days on a deserted island,” Kensi said. 

“I don’t know,” Deeks said. “Might not be so bad.”

Kensi raised her eyebrows at him. “You realize there are no cronuts on a deserted island.”

“Yes,” Deeks said. “But there are also no bad guys with guns. Or bills.”

“No indoor plumbing, no beer…”

“We can make coconut beer,” Deeks said then did a double take. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

Kensi grimaced. “Yeah, no. It’s a pretty terrible idea.”

“Damn it!” Sam swore as the wrench he was using went splashing into the water. 

“Everything okay down here?” Eric’s voice drifted down the staircase.

“My boat is full of holes everything is damn well not okay,” Sam huffed.

Eric finished his descent and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “You need any help?”

“I thought you were losing your lunch over the side,” Sam said.

“I think the bracelet is finally kicking in,” Eric said, holding up his wrist. “I’m ship shape now!”

Sam studied him for a moment and then pointed the rescued wrench at him. “If you puke down here…”

Eric held up a hand. “I will not. I promise.” He took a step closer. “Mind if I take a look?”

Sam sat back. “Be my guest.”

Eric poked around for a few minutes. “Nothing looks cracked or broken.” He fiddled with some more connectors. “I’m guessing you got water in the fuel.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought,” Sam said, face showing defeat. “Nothing we can do about that out here.”

He tossed the wrench against the wall where it made a dull clanging sound before it dropped back into the water. “Hey, this isn’t your fault,” Eric said.

“I know it’s not my fault. Doesn’t stop me from being mad about it.” Sam was seething. “If I find out who did this I’m going to put them in the ground.”

“You could send them to Davey Jones’ Locker,” Eric said with a grin, which he quickly wiped off his face at the sight of Sam’s now perpetual glare. “Or not. The ground is fine.”

Sam stood. “Come on. Nothing else we can do down here. Might as well go be useful somewhere else.”

“Aye aye Skipper!” Eric said with a mock salute. 

“Call me Skipper one more time and you’ll be floating home in a life preserver.”

Kensi and Deeks headed up to the wheelhouse to arm Callen and Nell then met Sam and Eric on deck to do the same. “Any luck with the engine?” Kensi asked.

“Tank is full of water,” Sam said. “Can’t pump it out here.”

“So we’re sitting ducks,” Deeks said.

“Pretty much,” Eric said. “How’s Nell doing with the radio?”

“It’s a mess,” Kensi told him. “There’s wires and tape and I don’t even know what else.”

“I’ll go see if she needs any help,” Eric said.

“You doing okay?” Kensi asked Sam.

He shook his head. “I’m just sorry we’re in this mess.”

Deeks put a hand on his shoulder. “They got the jump on all of us. There’s literally nothing we could have done.”

“Hey,��� Callen appeared. “Eric said the engine’s no good?”

Sam shook his head. “Looks like Nell’s our only hope.”

“So…no different from any other case?” Deeks asked with a grin.

“Pretty much,” Callen said. 

“So I guess we just…wait?” Kensi asked.

It turned out they were incredibly bad at waiting and doing nothing. And it didn’t help matters when half an hour later Nell and Eric returned, Nell in a particularly bad mood. “It’s totally fried,” she griped, dropping down next to Callen on the deck. “Nothing we can do.”

None of them liked being beaten. It might have helped if they could have just sat back, had a couple beers, done a little more fishing, and hung out while they waited for a rescue from some passerby. But with the threat of possibly sinking or their new enemies returning to finish them off, nobody felt safe enough to get even slightly inebriated. 

That didn’t seem to matter after a while as Eric and Deeks began to brainstorm increasingly complicated scenarios to get themselves out of this mess. “Titanic!” Deeks said with a snap of his fingers.

“Yes!” Eric said excitedly. “We just take the door off the wheelhouse—“

“No one is taking my boat apart anymore than it already is,” Sam growled.

“One of us could swim for it,” Callen said mildly, stirring the pot in the subtle way he enjoyed so much. 

Eric eyed Sam critically. “How long can you hold your breath?”

“What about Otis?” Deeks asked.

“What about Otis?” Sam was looking beyond irritable at this point.

“Lassie got little Timmy out of the well every week…” Deeks said with raised eyebrows.

“He’s not a trained monkey!” Sam said. “Besides, he doesn’t come this far out.”

There was a moment of stymied silence. “What if we manage to make landfall and spell out SOS in the sand?” Eric asked.

“If we make landfall I want my hut by the good coconut tree,” Callen said.

“First of all we’re anchored, second of all if we did make landfall it would be on an island controlled by the Navy, so we’d already be rescued,” Nell said.

“Smoke signal?” Deeks asked.

“Build a raft out of life vests?” Eric countered.

“Train two dolphins and water ski!”

“Oh my god I can’t live on an island for three years with the two of you!” Kensi said.

“You don’t want to reenact Castaway with me babe?” Deeks asked.

Callen raised his eyebrows. “In that situation, which one of you is Tom Hanks and which one is Wilson?”

“Oh my god, this is starting to feel a lot less like Castaway and a lot more like Lord of the Flies,” Nell huffed.

“I think it’s about to get a lot more Captain Phillips,” Eric said in alarm, pointing toward the water.

Sure enough the boat from before was speeding back toward them. “Everybody arm up!” Sam yelled.

They all ducked below the railing, weapons at the ready. “They’ve got us seriously out gunned,” Callen said as he cocked his rifle. 

“Then we’ve got to make them think we’ve got more firepower than we do,” Sam said.

“Any chance you’ve got a harpoon on this thing Captain Ahab?” Deeks called.

Within minutes gunfire began to pepper the side of the boat again, all of the agents returning fire as best they could with their limited supplies.

“I’m out!” Deeks yelled far too soon.

“Me too!” Callen yelled.

Kensi popped up over the side and spent her last few rounds. “That’s it for me!”

A terrible realization began to settle over the group as their ammo was spent. “Okay,” Callen said, voice slightly thick with emotion. “They’re going to take the boat. Do what they say. And if you can see a way to get out…take it. Don’t worry about the rest of us.”

Kensi and Deeks locked eyes, their hands automatically finding one another. Nell and Eric did the same, both a little pale. Sam looked at Callen. “I’m not holding your hand.”

“Wouldn’t expect it big guy.”

The gunfire intensified, causing all of them to huddle closer to the deck as wood splintered and flew in their faces. 

And then, when all hope seemed lost, a siren shattered through the gunfire and suddenly they weren’t being sprayed with bullets anymore. The team exchanged quizzical looks and then Callen popped his head over the side, ducking back down almost immediately. “Oh thank god.”

“What? What is it?” Kensi asked anxiously.

Callen took a breath and let his head fall back in relief. “It’s the Coast Guard.”

“Seriously?!” Everyone scrambled upward to take a look.

“Oh my god,” Nell said, thumping down onto the deck in relief. “Oh my god.”

“I will never make another negative Coast Guard joke as long as I live,” Deeks said fervently. 

The gunfire finally ceased all together and the Coast Guard ship drew close to them. “This is the US Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded.”

Weapons were dropped immediately as they all found their badges and ID’s. Within minutes they were being hooked up for a tow as a second Coast Guard vessel appeared to help deal with their drug runner pals. “How on earth did you find us?” Callen asked one of the guardsman.

“Craziest thing I’ve ever seen. This sea lion came up to the boat and wouldn’t leave us alone,” he said. “We ended up following him and he led us right to that drug boat.”

Shock and surprise crossed all their faces. “Somebody owes Otis is a very large mackerel,” Callen said.

By the time they reached the dock everyone was exhausted and more than a little cranky. “Ow!” Deeks said with every move. 

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Kensi admonished.

“I was a little busy trying not to die,” he shot back.

Nell was still bemoaning her inability to get the radio working. “If we’d just connected the—“

“Let it go,” Eric advised, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“You can’t stay on the boat tonight,” Callen argued with Sam. “It’s full of holes and doesn’t have a working engine.”

“I’ve stayed in worse places,” Sam argued back.

“Sam, why don’t you come to our place,” Kensi offered.

“Yeah at least we have furniture for you to sleep on,” Deeks said, looking pointedly at Callen.

“I have a bed!” Callen protested.

“Yes, one bed. Are you two going to cuddle all night long?” Kensi asked.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Sam declined. “My boat and I will be just fine.”

As it turned out it was not fine. The dockmaster wouldn’t allow the boat to stay in the condition it was in. “Well then Skipper, looks like you’re coming home with us,” Deeks said.

“You can rub some aloe on Deeks’ back,” Callen said with a smirk.

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Nobody had better be rubbing anything near me.”

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.  

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

*************

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving  you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

**************

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.  

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.

 Also read: Masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho. 

[blackevermore]

x Wade In The Water

{ Chapter 3: He Who Came }

Summary: Estar Scott was once in love. She thought the days of her shortcomings were over and that the man she found was her one and only. But all that was taken away when the demons she had became too accustomed to finally took the one thing she had left. Louisiana was her home but the devil down below was calling her name. She only has herself to blame when it came to the hands dragging her under.

Notes: It’s Hazbin Hotel, be ready for everything. Also I apologize for all my mistakes in advance!

Word Count: 4,848

We might ask for forgiveness for those above but it's those that lie below that hears our words first. The dead are right at our feet, snickering at how foolish we are talking to the sky. God has a waiting room even for the beaten, the broken, and the damned. I would know for I was the one that told people to take a seat.

-Ester R. Scott

Mama used to take me to the parades downtown every year when it was time to see the new queens. I remember we would always wear these beautiful white dresses that had so many ruffles and lace ribbons tied into the fabric. Mama said these dresses were special and should only be worn on special days. Back then, I didn't care why we got to wear the dress; I just wanted to spin around in circles and see how the fabric danced in the wind. Mama also used to braid my hair back into cornrows and wrap my head in a white scarf decorated with hanging beads. Mama used to tell me to pick any colour beaded necklace I wanted and to make sure when I chose one, I blessed it. I always preferred the blue ones, it was my favourite colour, and they were the shiniest ones mama owned. When we got downtown to New Orleans, the whole city and blocks were lit up with colourful lights and decorations. People of all kinds were dressed up in their best or costumes. The music was loud and the food was good and mama would let me run off with the other black kids while she talked to her friends. By the time the parade started I would be back by mama's side holding her hand. On the other side of the street were all the white folk who looked just as happy to be here as we did. I didn't understand then why we couldn't stand on the same side of the street as I do now. The one time I asked mama she just kissed my forehead and told me it was the way of things. But no matter what the way things were, when the parade started, everyone had a grand time.

Mama kneeled beside me and pointed up towards the king and queen, "One day the queen will be black and we will be her people."

"Could I be queen one day?" I remember how optimistic I was, eager to wear any form of royal crown and have the people cheer for me. My mama would smile, close her eyes and clap her hands four times around my head.

"You are already a queen, your people are waiting for you to grow up so they can give you your crown."

I remembered how happy I was to hear that, that the whole ride back home I waved at people the same way the queen in the parade waved at us. I used to shout out random noble titles to people as we passed them and promised them I, their queen, would be on top of the float one day.

}~~{

"You'll come to the grand Mardi Gras ball won't you Miss Ester?" Chemintine pouted from across the table while I tried to pull the fabric I needed for the suit. I wanted to start on it as fast as possible, but that was hard to do when a little white girl was crawling at my arms for attention. "The Luxsher family invited the whole shop and it's only right you get to go. You did make the Madam's dress after all." Chemintine didn't have a mind to think of the few reasons I couldn't go. She was native and wanted to have a grand time with anyone she considered a friend. Maybe she got it from how backwards she was compared to the rest of her family. Maybe forms of ignorance was different for everyone in her family, that's why her name was Chemintine and not Clementine.

"I don't believe I'd be welcomed with all those people. Not my place to go." I tried my best to sound as uninterested as possible so that Chemintine would get the hint. But like most things, it went right over her beautiful pretty head. She shook her head and hurried from around the counter and grabbed my hand that didn't have much to carry. 

"The Madam knows you're black, so does her husband, if they didn't take kindly to you, they wouldn't have handwritten you an invitation to come tomorrow." Maybe not everything went over her head as it should. I wish this did, so I could come up with another excuse on why I couldn't go. Or why it was best I stayed at the shop in case of customers. I then found the perfect excuse tucked between my arms.

"I have a suit that requires my attention and I would prefer it if I focused on it rather than be distracted." I nervously smiled at Chemintine and pulled away to walk back towards my bench. I rolled out the yards of red fabric on the table and the pattern I needed to cut out. Chemintine wasted no time in following hot on my heels and stomping her foot like a child.

"We all know you could get that suit done before it's time for the ball. Why are you so scared?"

"Because even if two people stand with you, that doesn't mean everyone else has a change in heart. Do you know what happened in Bogalusa eleven years ago? They killed a black union worker trying to get to a meeting being escorted by two white men with guns. They killed the white men too for trying to protect that 'damn nergo.'" It felt nice barking at the girl, it didn't help my image, but it felt downright blissful. She really had no idea and though I didn't expect her to but I did expect her to understand and read the room. The girl didn't seem to mind it one bit. She took my snapping and dusted it off her dress as she stood as tall as she could against me.

"Times are changing Ester."

"Your daddy would slap you if he heard you say that. He would ring you up and tell you off. The world may be changing but it's not fast enough for people like me." I took Chemintine's hand and whispered my apology and she accepted it as she said her own. In the short time we've known each other we grew to understand our tempers tended to get the best of us. Just in time a huff came from in front of us as the sound of the curtain swooshed open. 

"Maybe times shouldn't change at all, I think you and your kind are doing just fine." Monique, one of the older girls, came walking in with bags in her hands for her commission. I said nothing and took a deep breath and squeezed Chemintine's hand before letting go and getting back to work. Chemintine gave me a quick smile and hurried back to her station to finish on a pair of earrings she was working on.

"I still can't believe they invite you. It's not like you really do anything around here." Why Monique continued to open her dirty mouth was beyond me.

"She made the Madam's dress," Chemintine answered for me and Monique shot up her hand to silence the girl.

"That was the worse dress I've ever seen, Mrs Birdy must be a blind old bat to think you were able to make a stunning dress. Surely she gave it to you to make a fool out of you, you ain't worth nothin but a good laugh. Damn nigger ruining everything it does."

Chemintine threw down her tools and spun on her feet and marched up to Monique like a bat out of hell. "Shut your whore mouth! The only reason you're working here and even have clients is because Mrs Birdy took pity on you when your mother threw you out after you slept with your stepfather. We all know that man didn't seduce you like you tell everyone. You climbed in bed while your mother was out and opened your legs wide like a loose dog in heat!" I didn't know what to say or what to do. Chemintine had never blown up like that towards anyone in the shop. A loud smack sounded across the room as Monique's hand met with Chemintine's cheek.

"You don't get to talk to me like that, you bitch!" Monique's face was bewildered with anger and embarrassment.  It was true, after all. Monique had come from the high north of Louisiana from a well off family. Her father had died years before and her mother remarried a dying man. Monique was mad at her mother and wanted her step father's money all to herself, so the best thing she could think of was to take the man when he couldn't tell left from right. The mother was a cruel woman for marrying a sick man that needed care and her daughter was even worse with fucking him when he couldn't even use his legs. Mrs Birdy caught word of what happened when she delivered a dress to one of the maids the day Monique was being thrown out. Monique sobbed a great story of being raped by her stepfather and Mrs Birdy believed it for only three seconds. Either way, the older woman needed people at the shop and offered Monique work and a place to stay and the whore took it.

"What is going on back here? I can hear you in the front while I dress the windows." Mrs Birdy came through the curtain hands on hip. Everyone was quiet for a while, "Well?"

"I got too excited over the ball tomorrow but Ester said she doesn't want to go." Chemintine, still covering her red cheek, skipped over to her station with a fake smile. I could tell Mrs Birdy wasn't buying it but she wasn't going to push it either. She knew Monique was rude and had no respect for me, just looking for a reason to get rid of the girl. But sadly she needed the hands in the shop so she had to turn a blind eye to the bullshit. Kindly, at the end of the night, Mrs Birdy would always give me something extra for my troubles. 

"Ester you don't want to go?" 

"No ma'am, I have work to do and so much to get done that I don't have time."

"Ester you have to go."

"Ma'am I can't I-"

"Ester you will go, company orders, I'm closing the shop tomorrow and I expect everyone to attend this very honourable event." Mrs Birdy's tone was stoic and unbreakable as she told me what I was going to do. I didn't wish to argue, nor did I wish to try my luck at not showing up.

"Yes ma'am, but there is a problem, I don't have a dress to wear nor anything to make me look presentable." I tried my chances anyway with playing this card. But Mrs Birdy shook her head and pointed towards a stack of boxes.

"All of those dresses I had you stand for hours over there got sent back because Henriette Jacobs died of a heart attack on the boat, and you don't have a dress. Miss Scott I want you to pick a dress and have Chemintine fit it to ya if need be. I have shoes you can borrow and I know you still have your mama's jewellery. I would like for all my girl's to be ready to go." Mrs Birdy said nothing more as she turned on her heels and walked back to the front right as the doorbell rang.

"Yes!" Chemintine clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

"What?!" Monique blurted out in anger, not caring if Mrs Birdy could see her true feelings on her face.

"Oh Ester this is going to be fun! Come on now, let's pick you something good." Chemintine wasted no time running over to me and pulling me back towards the front to fiddle with the boxes. The suit I had to finish laid out, bare and cold, I told myself as soon as this was over I would hurry to start it and get some of it done. 

I would hate to know what would happen if I didn't.

}~~{

I hadn't been to a formal event in years, never been to a Mardi Gras ball ever in my life, the nervousness I felt poking at my stomach made me want to puke. Mrs Birdy offered to have me walk in with her and her husband and I happily accepted. I didn't want to be alone, not tonight when I felt like a fish out of the bayou, I would stay as close as possible to the old woman if it is my dying wish.

"That dress looks good on you, though Chemintine's stitching could use some work, but none the less you bring it to life." Mr Birdy pulled at the shoulder fabric a bit to bring it up from falling. The dress I chose was an empire waist royal blue silk gown that had an open back and cape sleeves that fell to the floor. At the knee of the dress were extra fabric to give the dress more flare. The problem Chemintin ran into when it came to refitting the dress to my body was how different my figure was from the owner before. I wasn't chest heavy nor was my thigh as big, but I wasn't skinny like most. All my life I was told I was my mama's corn fed baby. Despite the fact I wasn't sporty like the other women I wasn't unpleasant nor was I ugly. I took great pride in my looks with full lips and chubby cheeks. I looked like my mother and my mother was a beautiful woman. 

"She tried her best; most of her clients are no bigger than a pole. I had to help her around the waist." I pulled on the white gloves and did my best to put in my earrings. Lucky for me this ball gave the opinion for the attending to wear a mask, I didn't feel like putting on heavy makeup, so I jumped at the chance to cover my face. 

"Come on child, the doors will close if you keep fussing with yourself." Mrs Birdy patted my arm and I nodded as I picked up the ends of my dress to follow her in. The young black man at the door looked surprised to see me with an invitation. When I handed him my invitation for him to check it, he didn't look at it and just bowed his head to gesture me in. It was a bit unnerving for me but I thanked him and went inside the venue. This year's ball was held at the brand new ballroom that was built to replace the grand french opera house that burnt down years ago. All around me felt like I stepped into a fairytale book with the high pilers and hanging plants. Decorations with french writing paint in greens, purples, and golds circled pillars, tables, and chairs. All the men wore black and white except for a few who seemed to be in a costume of sorts. Some wore crazy hats that matched their mask while others chose to go without either. The women were like the colour jungle I've seen in postcards in the store. So many colours and so many different types of gowns. Some women who weren't guests but rather performers wore Josephine Baker type outfits that showed more skin then it did performance. Ever since she took off in the lands beyond the water the shift in black folk became shift I wasn’t so sure would be a good thing.

It wasn't long into the venue when a group of people came rushing towards us. Chemintine and the Luxsher's were waiting for us at a giant table.

"Ester! Mrs Birdy! Over here!" Chemintine's voice barely peaked over the music as she waved us over. She wore pinks of all shades from her wild blonde hair down to his toes that peaked under her dress. She was more dressed up than the queen herself. It wasn't time for the crowning yet, so the Luxsher's wore more simple attire of purples.

"Afternoon Chemintine, Mr and Mrs Luxsher, thank you for inviting us." I grab the end of my dress and I bow as best I could. The fabric around my legs was tight so it wasn't much of a bow as it was leaning over a bit. 

"Ester you are always welcome," Mrs Luxsher pulled me in close and kissed the side of my face. "I wish only for the finest seamstress to be at my gathering." I smiled politely though wishing she hadn't done that. Her perfume reeked of layering and it made my eyes water. We take our seats at the table and I sit in silence as I watch everyone else engage in a conversation. I didn't know how to talk to people very well, never have, if me and someone was meant to be friends it just happened over time and of being in the same place for so long. God bless Chemintine who had seemed to notice and turned her attention towards me. 

"Ya still thinking about that suit?" She rested her face in his palm on the table and leaned as close as she could get so I could hear her.

"I'm thinking about how I wanna be home." I shook my head and looked around at how lovely everything was. It was all a bit too much.

"Oh hush now, you can't stay at home all the time."

"Easy for you to say, you sunk out of yours to be here."

"Sure did! And won't be home until daddy comes marching out of bed to get me." There were only two years between us, me being 21 and Chemintine being 19, yet compared to her I felt like I was so old. That's what happens when you come from two different skin tones. One gets to live free of worry while the other is scared all the time. Maturity handpicked it's lucky few. Eventually, a conversation of the expansion of radio sparked between us as Chemintine told me of what she heard from New York. She kept asking me when I plan on going to New York and I always shook my head and told her I had no idea. 

"I wanna go to the Cotton Club!" Chemintine yelled with excitement as she spoke of the nightlife my people could be having right now. It was ironic how eager she was willing to explore something that didn't belong to her.

"Maybe one day when I go up to visit my aunt, I'll take you with me."

"Really?" I shouldn't make promises I couldn't keep.

"Really."

"Oh Ester! Make it soon. I have no idea when daddy will finally have enough of me and send me back to Texas." Chemintine dramatically fanned herself and giggled.

"I'll try darling," I reached for my water in a wine glass and took a sip. Just then the big band started playing a jive that got everyone up on their feet. The first to leave the table was the Luxshers' then went the Birdys, leaving Chemintine and me all to ourselves swaying back and forth in our chairs.

"Excuse me, miss,  may I have this dance?" We both turned to our left and saw an awkward young man who looked no more than twenty, held out his hand for Chemintine. The girl looked at me and I nodded and she whispered a 'thank you' before running off.  For once, I now felt a bit better being all to myself. I could enjoy my drink, my peace, and be entertained by how sloppy everyone was becoming on the dance floor. However, I did feel left out by how many couples there seemed to be in the room. Everyone had a date or a friend to keep them company and yet I sat at the table alone, my friend being swooshed away by a knight and black armour for the night.

I had always dreamed of having a date, or a night of fun with someone who I could secretly call a date. Before my papa died when I was young he loved my mama more than he loved himself. Every night when they put me to bed he would dance with her in the living room to no music. They didn't need music, they could hear the songs in their heads, and I wanted to hear it too. I wanted to have someone that could hear it and ask me for a dance. But I never had the confidence to talk to anyone I thought was charming. If I tried I would get choked up and coward to myself. Mama tried to pair me off with neighbourhood boys, but it never worked out when all they wanted was a piece of my skirt. Every time I had a 'date', I'd come home angry and tears on my face ready to yell at anyone that crossed me wrong. Mama told me not every boy would be like that and that one day, the man of my dreams would come asking to hold my hand rather than the hem of my dress. I believed her and I wished for it, but I also knew I had other things to worry about, such as making a living for myself and staying alive.

I took the mask off as it started to become hot against my skin. When the big feather and plastic was away, I took a deep breath and sighed against my chair. I was ready to go home. The sooner I could get home the sooner I could get out of this dress and bathe. I could also try and start a few stitching on the suit before I headed to bed.

"N'ont-ils pas l'air merveilleux? Ivre et stupide, profitant du temps de leur vie sans égard pour personne d'autre." I jumped at the sound of someone's voice so close to my ear. I pushed away from the table and spun towards the sound—a very tall fair-skinned man dressed in black and shades of reds seated himself beside me. He was dressed like one of the theatre performers, but without the big hat, instead, he wore a black half-mask that covered his eyes and had large antlers coming from the sides. He didn't look at me while he spoke, keeping his gaze on the people and laughing every so often.

"You shouldn't call people stupid," I said back, turning to watch the crowd as well.

"So you do know French."

"As much as my mama could teach a stubborn child." He snickered.

"Your mama would have loved to speak with mine. Stubborn children are worse to teach." It was my turn to chuckle a bit and I agreed with him.

"Do I know you sir?" I didn't want to be rude sitting with a stranger in the corner of the room.

"You may, you may not. Do you?" He finally turned his face towards me and I knew as soon as I saw those eyes it was my customer. He smiled slyly and chuckled at my expression.

"Alastor?" I whispered and his smile blinded me.

"Had I known you would be coming to the ball tonight I would have ordered my suit at a later date." His accents sounded like they were mixing. As if he was forcing himself to be cultured while here but also somewhere else. I didn't say anything and kept it to myself. I became bashful at his comment, feeling embarrassed that I wasn't at the shop hard at work, making him the suit he needed.

"I'm sorry, sir, my boss told me I had to come." I hung my head slightly and away from him.

"And you should be here, it's a grand party, everyone is enjoying themselves. I'm sure the working kind enjoys a few luxuries. I know I sure do." His voice dropped from his chipper tone to a slightly annoyed.

"Sometimes but not like this. Parties weigh me down, too much is going on, I like the peace of being at home with the radio."

"Do you?" He seemed a lot more intoned with me when I said that. His eyes grew wide behind his mask with curiosity.

"When I can," I replied, I had no idea what this man was thinking about nor what he could say next. But I did know that now that he was sitting next to me something felt off about him. For a while, he kept his eyes on me looking me up and down then snapped his gaze away.

"How about a dance?" He finally broke the awkward silence that lingered between us. "They're about to play a song I'd requested and I seem to be lacking a partner."

"I wouldn't want to make you look like a fool."

"Can you dance?"

"Yes I can but nothing too hip."

"Good enough for me," I was off my chair and being whisked away to the middle of the floor. As he bowed in front of me and I did the same another fast moving song started to roar. Eyes were on me, I could feel them, I could sense them, they were on me with the bewildered curiosity of why a black girl was mingling with a white man. Or what they taught to be. Alastor threw me around like I was the lightest thing he ever touched and I followed his every move. Our dance had started steady and paced but as the band noticed us, the music got louder and crazy. I hitched up my dress as best as I could to free my legs and soon we were dancing on a table. With every lift and spin Alastor held me up like I was flying. I was laughing and screaming the whole time. I, for the first time since mama died, was having the time of my life doing the swing. By the end of the song Alastor dropped me into a dip, the audience around us roar with cheer and delight. When he pulled me back up I was in shock that only a few seemed to be bothered by our dancing. The others were too drunk and too high on life to care about anything else but the party.

"Ester! Ester! That was amazing! I didn't know you could dance like that, girl!" Chemintine pushed through the people and pulled me into a hug. She had stars in her eyes as she looked at me.

"I-I didn't either," I said, trying to catch my breath as my newfound high started to come down a bit.

"My god that was amazing, you had the whole party watching you, you were like a star. Who was that man with you?"

"He," I turned to my side where Alastor should have been but wasn't. I tried to find him in the crowd but he was gone, the sight of his red costume was nowhere to be found—the hornes from his mask were gone in the wave of people. "I don't know."

"Well that's a downer, you two looked like yall was the king and queen of the ball." Chemintine didn't know what she was saying; there was no such thing, me and Alastor danced, it was all just fun. 

Then by the door of the venue, I saw him. Alastor was removing his mask and tossing it to the ground. Next to him was the devil who was chatting away about something. At first, I didn't think it was anything wrong, the devil tried to talk to many people, but they all ignored him, but then when Alastor turned and replied, I gasped. I wiggled my hand away from Chemintine and started towards the door. I excused myself through people as best I could and nearly tripped as I stumbled towards the entrance. When I pushed through the door to outside, I shivered in the spring night chill and looked both ways. Alastor and the devil were both out of sight. How in the world could a man dressed in all white and another dressed in all red vanish into air?

"Miss?" I turned around in haste and the boy at the door jumped. "Were you looking for the two men that just left?"

"Y-yes." I said breathlessly. I walked closer to him and he took off his hat and held it against his chest. His eyes seemed nervous and weary to look at me. "Did you see where they went?"

He shook his head, "You shouldn't follow the devil when he has company."

[artificialqueens]

Hot as Hell and No A/C, Chapter 3 (Branjie)- Blackhighheels

(Read at AO3)

Three

Jose knows it might not be the best idea to come to this run down bar, but he is bored and he needs a drink. Since he left Los Angeles he hasn’t been to any clubs or bars and this shack is the only thing nearby in the middle of motherfucking nowhere.

The offer is somewhat limited and so he orders a whiskey, since that seems to be the only thing they have beside shots and beer. He remains sitting at the bar and the woman behind it, Lindsey, is a hoot and he likes talking to her. From what she’s telling him she used to be the queen bee around here, about forty years ago, until she got pregnant too young and out of wedlock and found herself working in this bar to keep a roof over her head and care for her son.

He’s so engrossed in Lindsey’s stories that it takes him a while to realise that a couple of guys by the pool table are talking about him. The words ”Faggot”, ”Gay” and ”cocksucker” are a dead give away and he doesn’t think they’d say that about anyone but him around here.

”Hey, assholes! Got a problem with my gay ass?” He yells at them. It might be the alcohol or simply his frustration about the town and what it does to people, but he isn’t willing to just take it and keep him mouth shut. And he’s not afraid of them. He’s had his share of fights in his life, both because of the area he grew up in and also because of him being so obviously gay.

The four men, or boys, come closer and he can already smell the cloud of beer that surrounds them.

”Did you faggot just call us assholes?”

”If you’re the assholes who just talked smack about me, then yeah, I did.” He turns around in his bar stool and is glad that it gives him a bit of a height advantage.

”You better watch your mouth you filthy cocksucker.”

”Mmmh…. Sucking dick’s only filthy when it’s done right. You ever tried it?”

Jose expects a punch or kick, maybe something thrown his way. He doesn’t expect one of the guys spitting right into his face.

”Guys like you are dirt and god will take care of you,” the smallest one says. He seems to be believer amongst them.

Jose doesn’t want to talk anymore though. They just spit at him. He’s done talking. Before the god-fearing idiot has even finished speaking, Jose smacks the fucker who spit at him right across the face with the back of his hand.

”Imma end you, you motherfuckers. No one spits at me, bitch! You got hands, show me! Show me!” he yells, as blood drips from the drunken teenager’s nose.

”Hey!” Lindsey grabs him from behind. ”No fights in my bar. House rule. If you really wanna beat each other up, take it outside. But I’d advise all of y’all to just leave it. You four shouldn’t even be in here or drinking, and you,” she turns to Jose ”better not make more enemies than necessary while ya here. This is a small town.” Jose looks at the four teenagers in front of him, then throws a couple of dollars on the bar and leaves. So much for grabbing a drink and enjoying a night out.

***

Brock walks out of the stable when he hears a voice he would recognise everywhere. He also knows the car parked in their driveway.

”Fuck,” he curses quietly and hurries towards the house, wiping his hands on an old rag as panic settles in his stomach. This can’t be happening! Also, he is painfully aware that his hair is a mess, he is sweaty, dirty and his clothes are stained. Usually when he sees Jose, he at least gets a chance to shower beforehand.

For the last two weeks Jose has driven Rachel and him home after each dance practise. Sometimes they stop for ice cream or food on the way back. Brock is aware that Jose only makes little bets with Rachel, bets he always loses, and then has to invite them to whatever it is he promised her. Brock wouldn’t be able to buy ice-cream and take-out three or four times a week for three people.

The time he spends with Jose and Rachel has become the highlight of his life. He doesn’t mind walking half an hour to a dance studio and then watch for nearly two hours in the overheated studio as his niece prances around the room with other girls. The short drive back with Jose makes it all worth while.

He is the funniest and kindest guy Brock’s ever met. It feels a bit like having a friend, a real friend for once, and Jose is probably the only person he can really be himself with. He can giggle when he feels like it, talk with his hands and even admit that he likes colourful sprinkles on top of his ice-cream.

However, none of it explains why Jose is here now, parked in front of his parents’ house. It’s already too late, Brock realises when he makes his way around the front-porch and find both his mother and father standing on the porch talking to Jose.

”Aw, that’s too bad you can’t tell me. Thought I’d save them the long walk, now that I’m in town anyway.”

”Sorry, we can’t help ya,” his father says in a brusk tone.

”Ok, never mind. Thanks anyway,” Jose turns around to leave. That’s when he spots Brock. Immediately Jose’s face lights up. He is looking really good today, wearing a white wife-beater, a short black and red flannel shirt and tiny black  shorts. ”Hey Brock!”

”Hello,” Brock replies as neutral as possible and it takes a lot not to return the smile. He is very aware that his parents are watching their interaction with stony expressions. ”What are you doing here?”

”Thought I’d ask you and Rachel if I should drive you to dance practice today. I have to take care of some shit here in town and could take you back with me. Don’t think ya got your car fixed yet, huh?” Jose still smiles and casually leans against his Porsche. He looks like someone straight out of an ad or a tv show. Already Brock’s stomach tightens because he knows what he has to do.

”I’m sorry Sir, but that’s not necessary. Rachel and I can manage on our own. Thank you for the kind offer though,” he declines and watches the smile melt off Jose’s face when the icy tone of Brock’s voice registers with him.

”Brock! You know him?” His mother asks. She sounds surprised. What did she think? That some stranger would just show up and offer driving him and Rachel?

”This is Jose. He is Rachel’s dance teacher for the next couple of weeks. Jason hurt himself.” He informs both of his parents.

”You done with the hay?” His father stops any further explanation.

”No, not yet. I just heard voices and thought I’d check on ya.”

”I don’t need ya checking, that’s what we got guns for. I need ya working!” His father barks.

”I better get going,” Jose says quietly and his eyes appear to be so large and defeated that Brock nearly drowns in them.

”Thank you again for the offer but we can manage,” he says and softens his tone. He doesn’t want to decline. If he had a choice, he’d gladly drive around in Jose’s car all day and talk to him about everything and nothing. But it’s not an option he has.

He can’t move, he can’t do anything when he watches Jose get into the car and then drive off, leaving dust and a hint of cologne in the air.

”Don’t ya have work to do?!” his father asks him from the porch and snaps him out of his daze. Quickly he hurries back to the stable to work, to hide and to hopefully forget about the scene he was just a part of. He swallows a couple of times to keep the tears inside that his stupid overly emotional heart wants him to cry for how he just treated Jose.

***

”Care to tell us what that guy wanted today?” Brock’s father asks as soon as he sits down at the table for lunch.

”I told you, he’s Rachel’s dance teacher and I know nothing more than you do. He wanted to drive us to her dance class.”

”How’d he know your car’s broken?”

”We were late a couple of times,” Brock sighs and takes a piece of bread, rips a piece off and stuffs it in his mouth so the words he really wants to speak won’t burst out.

”I don’t like ya hanging with that folk! It’s bad enough that Ada allows Rachel to take dance lessons at that place. You being around these faggots a couple o’times a week… ya know what the people in town gonna say if they see this gay guy here? Ya know what the minister’s gonna say? You stay away from them, ya hear me!” His father is basically yelling at this point.

”I take Rachel to dance class because no one else has the time to do so, not because I wanna hang out there. I don’t know this guy any better than I know Jason, so what’s the big deal? He is a good teacher and Rachel likes him.”

”Stop eating before we said grace!” His father slaps the bread out of his hand, which drops to the floor. ”And Rachel shouldn’t be anywhere around these faggots, this music or these whore dance moves! It’s not right! Their lifestyle and everything they do’s offensive to the lord and every god fearing Christian. They don’t belong here and I want none of my family have anything to do with them. If you wanna hang out with these sinners you get your ass out of my house and better never come back.” Now his father is really yelling.

”How else is Rachel supposed to get there? By the time the lessons are done it’s dark out. It’s too far for her to go on her own. It’s not safe!”

”If I had a say in it she wouldn’t go there at all! But ya sister is letting her kids do whatever! If she lets them run with the wrong crowd, they should know what’s waiting for them!”

It’s nothing Brock hasn’t heard before. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen or felt before. He knows if he speaks another word now the fight will most likely become physical. Brock has never raised a hand against his father, but for a while now he’s taken to defending himself and his mother when the beer gets to his father’s head again.

He hates how he judges Jose without even knowing him. He even hates him for judging Jason. For a split second he wants to scream at him that he’s a sinner himself, gay like them and that even all the beatings he got as a child and teenager didn’t take it out of him.

Then he glances at his mother and her wide, scared eyes let him bite his tongue and lower his head. ”I’ll tell Ada I can’t take Rachel anymore.” He leans over and picks the bread up off the floor and uses the second to wipe his face clean of any emotion. Fury is still burning in his gut, nearly making him sick as he swallows it down and nearly chokes on it.

This is not the time though, not the time to risk it all for nothing. Jose will be gone again in about three weeks and their tentative friendship will become only a memory. What does it matter if he stops it all now, goes back to life how it was before Jose got here and starts living his harsh reality again three weeks earlier? His father probably just saved him a lot of pain and heartache. Brock knows that Jose and his friendships means too much already and he’s gotten too used to it.

”Good. Brock, can you say grace?” His mother ends the discussion with a grateful look and Brock knows he’s made the right decision.

***

”Hey, uncle Brock,” Rachel greets him after the mass on Sunday, when they are all still standing in front of the church.

”Hey honey,” he smiles.

”Can you take a look at my bike? The breaks’ not working and mommy can’t fix it,” she asks him and of course Brock follows her to her bike on the other side of the lawn. He doesn’t care that his good pants get dirty as he kneels down beside the small bike. It’s more important that his niece has a functioning bike, now that she has to ride it to dance practise and back. Brock doesn’t like it. He worries about her constantly, but there is nothing he can do.

”It’s just a bit loose, honey, that’s easily fixed,” he assures her.

”Thank you!”

”Do your lights work? I don’t like you riding your bike in the dark after practise, so we have to make sure at least these are working.”

”Can I tell you a secret?” Rachel whispers after checking that they are alone.

”Always.”

”I’m not driving back on my bike. Vanjie takes me until we reach our house and then waits with the lights turned off until he knows I’m safely inside.”

Brock feels a warmth spreading through him that nearly knocks him on his ass. He grasps the bike to keep his balance. He should have known Jose would make sure Rachel is safe. It’s so much like him that Brock feels like weeping. It’s only been three days, but he already misses their talks so much and hearing about how he cares for his niece only makes him miss Jose more. If only he could just talk to him sometimes.

”That’s very nice of Vanjie. He’s a very good guy,” Brock tells her just as quietly as she told him her secret.

”Then why do you hate him?”

”What? What makes you think I hate him?” he asks surprised and slowly gets up.

”Vanjie asked why you not taking me anymore and if you’re sick or something. I told him ‘bout the stuff grandpa said and that you can’t take me ‘cause they’re offensive and sinners and you don’t wanna be around him and can’t be his friend.”

Brock nearly crumbles to the ground for real this time. ”Rachel, how do you know about that talk?”

”I wanted to see you but then I heard the yelling through the open window and ran off. I don’t like grandpa when he’s mean like that.”

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his curls. There are so many things wrong with what Rachel just said and what she overheard. But there are also things he can maybe fix.

”Honey, I don’t agree with grandpa. Vanjie is a very good and nice guy and don’t let anyone tell you anything else about him or Jason, ok? ” Rachel nods her head. ”The only reason why I’m not taking you anymore is because grandpa gets very upset about these things and he’s scared that people will say mean things about me in town.”

”Like the things they say about Jason?”

”Yeah, like that. And he doesn’t want that for me or any of us. And I don’t want to make grandpa angry.”

”Uncle Brock? I like Jason and Vanjie.”

”That’s good. Make sure you tell them. They sure need to hear it.” He strokes his hand over Rachel’s strawberry blond hair.

”Will you tell them, too? Vanjie was really sad that you not there anymore. He said, he thought you was his friend.”

”I’ll tell him,” Brock agrees.

”Promise?” Rachel goes in for the kill.

”Promise,” he says and knows he now really doesn’t have choice but to talk to Jose. Rachel will know.

***

He waits until his parents are in bed and then sneaks outside to the orchard behind their house. It’s far enough so he won’t be overheard, dark enough so he won’t be seen and close enough to the cellphone tower so he’ll have reception.

Jose has given him his phone number the first week, but he has never used it and he hasn’t given him his own. It simply hadn’t been necessary. Jose said to use the number if he needed a ride or if Rachel couldn’t come to practise. Brock had no such excuse for giving him his number.

He takes a couple of deep breaths and then finally brings his thumb down on the dial button.

”Hello?” Jose picks up after only a couple of rings.

”Hey, uhm, it’s me, Brock,” he stutters and feels stupid already.

”What’d ya want, Sir?” Jose’s tone is snide and Brock knows he deserves it.

”Rachel told me she talked to you and I think I need to clear some things up.”

”You made it more than crystal yourself what you really think about me. Ya don’t need to drag Rachel into this.”

”I’m not! I just think, like… it’s not what it seems.”

”So you not avoiding me like the plague ‘cause your father’s a bigot asshole who thinks just talking to me will sully your reputation?” Jose is yelling at him through the phone, then he suddenly stops. When he continues his voice carries the hurt he must be feeling. ”God, I hate this motherfucking town and all of y’all religious lying assholes.”

”I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. You’re so nice to Rachel and to me and helped us out so much and just…I’m sorry.”

”If you’re really sorry you’d have come here and told me this shit in person like a man. But I guess you just as much of a weaselly liar as the rest of these fucked up wanna be cowboys in this town. Grow up, start thinking for ya’self and learn how to make an apology real.”  Jose hangs up on him and Brock stares disbelievingly at his phone.

At first he is shocked and sad. He’s just lost the only friend who really knew him. Not only that, but he also thinks badly about him now. How can he think that Brock agrees with his father? He must know that he doesn’t have a choice, right? He thought Jose knows… That’s when Brock gets angry himself. He is so sick of all of these people and their opinions about him and his life and what he is supposed to do and to think. He’s used to it from his family and the town and the parish. But Jose? How dare he!

Before he really knows what he is doing, he has run inside, grabbed his mother’s car keys and is on the way to the dance studio. Jose wants him to talk to him in person? He can have it!

***

Brock bangs on the front-door and his hand is still in the air when the door is ripped open.

”What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?”

”You told me to talk to you in person, didn’t you?” Brock raises his voice as well.

”Aaaah and of course the good little christian boy always does what he is told,” Jose sneers. For a second Brock wants to punch him. Instead he pushes past him into the apartment. Jason or whoever else is around, really doesn’t need to hear this conversation.

Jose lets the door falls shut and crosses his arms over his chest. ” Say what you gotta say, then leave.”

”Why are you acting like this?”

”Acting? Acting bitch! Imma show you who’s acting! You lucky I’m not kicking your ass right now for pretending to be my friend, acting all nice and cute while we eating ice cream and then you suddenly stabbing me in the back, pretending you don’t fucking know me and stop talking to me without any explanation. I don’t need any more backstabbing hoes in my life.”

”Do you have any idea what my father would have done, if he knew we were hanging out after dance practice? If he knew we were so much as talking on the regular? I don’t know who he would have shot first, you or me!”

“I’m not scared of your asshole father. I don’t give a shit about him! But I give a shit about loyalty. And you not who I thought you were! You not fucking loyal! If you’d been at that fucking bar last week, you’d have spat on me too and tried to beat me up, just ‘cause you scared of your father. You pathetic!” Jose is full on screaming at him now.

”So you got a taste of what it’s like to live here for one night? Do you know what it’s like to live here every fucking day of your fucking life? When they beat me up as a kid ‘cause I was too girly, my dad beat me up again when I got home. They threw rocks at me, spat at me and slapped me all the way through school. I couldn’t tell my parents, the teachers didn’t care and I didn’t even understand what the fuck was wrong with me!” Brock starts pacing in the small living room.

”You’re the only person who knows. The only person who knows that I’m…” he can barely get the word over his lips. ”…that I’m gay.” There, he’s said it out loud for the first time in his life. Well, yelled it at Jose. ”And you know what happens when that gets out? When only a rumour will spread? What you experienced at the bar will be my life every fucking day and worse. My parents will kick me out, I’ll lose all of my family and I’ll have nothing, NOTHING left. Maybe that’s what I deserve for being that way, maybe that’s really god’s way of punishment. But I’d rather live a lie every day for the rest of my fucking life than to lose the little I have left.” Tears are dripping from Brock’s chin by the end of his confession. He’s laid it all out now to Jose, a guy he barely knows and just because he’s the first one who has shown him any kindness. Fuck! What if… what if he tells people? What if he is so angry he will take revenge and..

”Hey, it’s ok. I understand,” Jose is suddenly standing in front of him and places his hands on his upper arms. That’s when Brock realises he’s shaking. ”It’s ok.” Jose tries to wipe his tears away with the back of his hands, but they fall faster than he can wipe them off. ”Come here, boo, sit down. You still shaking like a fucking tree,” he says. Brock has to laugh about the mishap.

”Leaf,” he corrects through his tears and hiccups.

”Smart ass. Imma get you some water,” Jose smiles and disappears for a moment, before he comes back with a bottle of water and some tissues. Brock takes the water and drinks it down, before he accepts the tissues and dries his face and his eyes.

He feels stupid now for getting so upset, for crying, for yelling all of his secrets at Jose and for coming here in the first place. ”I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” he starts but Jose stops him.

”You know what, boo? You look like you need a hug. That ok?” Jose asks him with a tender and worried look.

”I’m not good at hugging,” Brock shrugs self-deprecatingly and looks down.

”You lucky, ‘cause I’m the best at giving hugs.” A moment later Jose slowly pulls him in his arms and hugs him tightly. It’s a strange feeling for Brock and he can’t remember when he has ever hugged anyone other than his sister or his nieces and nephews. Then however, he slowly relaxes against Jose’s warm body and lets the last couple of tears fall.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks. It’s nice and soothing, comfortable and exciting. He feels safe and cared for. Jose starts running his hands up and down his back and if Brock could, he would start purring like his favorite kitten. He closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling.

After a while, he turns his head, his nose bumps against Jose’s neck and the scent of cologne gets stronger. Jose’s hand slides up his neck and into his hair. When Brock looks up and their eyes meet, it only takes a split second and then Jose brushes his lips against his. It’s not even a peck, more like a butterfly like touch, but Brock wants more. He stops thinking as he leans up and captures Jose’s mouth in a soft kiss.

When he pulls back his brain suddenly starts working again and he jumps back. ”Oh my god!” he covers his tingling lips with his hand and stares at Jose.

”Please tell me that’s not been your first kiss,” Jose begs, equally wide eyed.

”No! But.. Like… we can’t do this. I can’t..not… here… I’m…”

”It’s ok, Brock. It don’t gotta mean nothing. You can go back to ignoring me now. I get it, I promise. No hard feelings.” The hurt in Jose’s voice tells Brock something else though.

”I don’t wanna ignore you.” He tells him honestly. ”But I can’t… do this here. It’s too risky.”

”Alright. Friends then?” Jose smiles.

”Friends,” Brock nods. ”Just… no one can know.”

”‘Cause I’m too fucking gay for this town, I know, Miss Thing. Then you better get your secretly gay ass outta here, before anyone sees you.” The words are harsh, but the smirk on Jose’s face and the hug he gives him, let Brock know he really means it.

”We could get ice cream again some time?” Brock suggests when he is already halfway out the door.

”Text me tomorrow if you still feeling that typa way and we can do that.” They smile at each other for a moment and if Brock wasn’t such a coward he’d kiss him again. Instead he quickly leaves and vows to himself that he will text Jose in the morning and make sure he won’t lose the only friend who now really knows all of his dirty secrets and still likes him. Despite it all. Maybe because of it.

TBC

[dumbbitchenergy17]

I’m sorry (Part 1)

Based on this Imagine check out the link HERE

Summary- You are Michael’s vessel as you are dean’s kid and letting him use you instead of your dad

Dean x daughter!reader 

Word count- 2,599

“Who are you?” You stuttered surprised that the angels fighting you all collapsed dead.

“Michael.” The voice calls out seeing a man walk out from the fog a shadow of broken and torn wings slowly disappears. He wore a dirty coat with dark shirts and pants covered in dirt and blood from his victims.

“You’re a murder stay back.” You yell pulling out the angel blade our dad gave you for your birthday. A flick of his wrist sent your blade flying and you held in place fear began to course through your veins. ‘Why didn’t you bring someone with you’ you thought.

“I’m not going to hurt you why would I hurt my perfect vessel.” He smirked running a finger down the side of your face. “Dean’s your vessel I’m nothing.” you frown staring back at him.

“You share the Winchester’s blood making you perfect. I have an offer.” He smirked releasing you, taking in a breath of relief. “What do you want from me.”

A smirk graced his face.

“All right, let’s go!” Sam yells leading everyone to the portal that was slowly fading these included Mary Maggie and Bobby and many others that were the very last of the population.

“Come on. Come on.” Dean guides everyone through the portal while most of us stood by in case any angels showed up. “Let’s go. Single file.” Sam states.

Lucifer comes even with Gabriel and stops, hearing a loud boom. Sam and Dean join the two archangels and look skyward.

 A flaming ball is approaching from the sky. It hits the ground in a violent explosion, blasting three of the remaining survivors off their feet including you sending you flying.

“Y/N!” Dean yells seeing you hitting the floor the wind getting knocked out. More fireballs fall killing the last of the survivors. Gabriel puts his hands up to protect his head, but Lucifer just watches passively. 

Lucifer recognizes the fireballs as an angel attack. Sam raised his weapon trying to peer through the dust that has been kicked up by the explosions. While Dean ran towards you helping you up “You okay Y/n?” he says but there is a loud ringing noise as he pulls you to your feet putting most of your weight on him.

We see Michael. Michael’s wings are unfurled, showing as shadows against the dust. He walks towards us, curling his wings back up and making them invisible again as he walks.

“Gentlemen and lady,” Michael says starnig at all of us. Lucifer steps forward, “Lu. You don’t really want to try this again, do ya?” he says arrogantly

Lucifer shrugs “Um...Yeah.” They nod at each other, then Lucifer’s eyes glow red and he flings his hands out, blasting Michael with invisible power. Michael is knocked back a few steps but stays on his feet. We all look surprised at how little effect Lucifer’s attack had. Michael casts a bluish-white ball of power at Lucifer with one hand, then another. It knocks Lucifer to the ground where he moans in pain, a bit of blood coming out of his mouth. Michael smiles at Lucifer, but then looks up and notices Gabriel.

“Can it be? Gabriel?” Michael shocked 

Gabriel looks at us Winchesters and takes a step forward. “Go. I can buy some time,” he says a small smile on

Sam shakes his head “Gabriel, don’t-” Gabriel cuts him off “All I did on Earth was run. I’m not running anymore.’

Gabriel takes a few more steps forward and Michael smiles cruelly. Gabriel takes one more look at us “Go!”

Dean beginnings to leads you guys to the portal feeling suddenly dizzy not noticing that you were bleeding falling. Only for Dean to pick you up bridal style “Hey babygirl keep your eyes open.” “Dad..” you mumbled your head tilting back. 

Dean carrying you pulling Sam towards the rift, but they stop just before it placing you down as Sam puts pressure on your wound, eyes turned back to watch Gabriel’s fight with Michael. We see an archangel blade slide out of Michael’s coat sleeve and into his hand. Gabriel raises his own archangel blade and moves into combat position. Gabriel lunges, Michael deflects, Gabriel tries a backswing, but Michael blocks then slam a fist into Gabriel’s face, knocking him back. Gabriel seems shaken, but Michael is grinning.

Gabriel turns back to the battle and Dean and Sam watch anxiously, steps from the rift as Sam keeps the pressure on your wound. This time Michael lunges at Gabriel who blocks the swing then powerfully punches Michael in the face.

Michael staggers back, wiping the blood from his lip, but he seems enthused not beaten. Gabriel throws some wild swings, but Michael just dodges. Gabriel tries again, but Michael catches his arm this time, twisting it and forcing Gabriel to drop his archangel blade. Michael stabs Gabriel through the torso. Gabriel screams, blue light streaming out of the wound and out of Gabriel’s eyes and mouth.

“Gabe! No!” Dean goes to charge forward but Sam holds him back. Showing him you as you are barely holding on.

Michael watches with glee as Gabriel’s light flows out of him. Then Gabriel’s body slumps forward against Michael. Seeing that Gabriel is dead, Sam urges Dean towards the rift as Dean picks you up heading through.

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

Sam steps up to jump through the rift but stops just in front of it, a determined look on his face. He turns back to see Michael slide Gabriel off his blade and onto the ground. Gabriel’s eyes are open and unseeing. Michael stares down at his dead body. Lucifer staggers to his feet clutching his arm and makes for the rift, but Sam stops him grabs him by the throat.

“Sam, what are you doing, man? I’m hurt. Please”. Lucifer coughs out

Sam growls out “How did you think this was gonna end?”

Sam shoves Lucifer until he falls to the ground. Sam takes a look at Michael who has noticed him and then turns, quickly jumping through the rift. Michael sees the rift starting to close behind Sam.

“No. No! NO!” Michael screams out

The rift closes just as Michael gets there. He looks around, furious and frustrated and sees Lucifer on the ground in front of him. Lucifer seems resigned.

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

Back at the Buker, you’re sent to get help from some people from the apocalypse world who were doctors. You're dad right by your side the last thing you see is your dad’s face before darkness consumes you.

No one’s POV

Mary pulls a beer bottle out of a box and hands them out. Bobby is beside her looking at the lit map table. The survivors are standing around drinking and talking. Cas and Dean are in the doorway to the Library with Charlie. Jack is hunched against the frame of the doorway near Dean. He is holding a bottle but looks upset, not happy like the rest of the room’s occupants. Ketch is sitting at the other side of the door. Sam is leaning against one of the old-fashioned computer consoles with a glass of whiskey in his hand, talking to Rowena who is sitting in an office chair. Rowena’s head is in her hand, still obviously very tired.

“It kept closing. I couldn’t keep it open another five seconds.” Rowena said

“Well, you did it, Rowena,” He says looking appreciatively around the room, “You got us all here.”

On the other side of the doorway, Charlie and Ketch clink glasses as if in a toast. Jack sits on his side of the doorway, looking despondent.

Sam smiles at Rowena “We owe you one.”

Rowena looks up at Sam with a fond smirk. “Don’t think I won’t collect.” Sam just smiles at her and they raise their glasses in a toast. 

“Gabe-he’d been on the run for so long... He sacrificed himself. He’s the reason Sam and I got out.” Dean sighed he mind flicking from Gabe to his daughter that was still asleep

Sam steps up the few steps to join Cas and Dean. “We owe him everything.”

“What about Lucifer?” Cas asked

Dean shoots a look at Sam who keeps his eyes on his drink. “Sam handled it,” Dean answered

Sam looks up and meets Cas’ eyes for a second, nodding before looking back down. Dean looks over and sees Jack, sitting alone and looking sad.

“All right, listen up.” Bobby gains everyone's attention he’s standing across the room, partway up the metal staircase, glass in hand.

“We made it. Don’t know much about this place, but it’s a place without Michael, so that’s a turn for the better. I don’t want none of you goin’ soft on me because we are going to get ourselves ready and go back home and set our people free.”

A chorus of cheers come from the crowd of survivors who raise their drinks.

“He’s been here for five minutes. Look who’s taken over the joint.” Dean joked talking to Sam and Cas

“While we’re celebrating, let’s not forget our brothers and sisters who didn’t make it. They will never be forgotten, and we will do right by them.” Bobby continues

“And now a toast to our new brothers and sister -- Sam, Dean, and Y/n Winchester. Thanks. Welcome to the family.”

“Sam and Dean! Welcome.” The survivors cheer

Sam and Dean raise their glasses in salute to Bobby. Dean sipped his glass until mary came up to him “She’s awake.” Dean places his glass down heading off to his daughter’s room.

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

Sam, Jack, Dean, and Cas were off on a hunt as they stood outside a boathouse

“How many are inside?” Sam asked loading up his gun “I can hear three. Wait, maybe -- maybe four. They're talking about whether Kylie Jenner would make a good mother. The consensus is no.” Cas says

“Yeah, well, that's why I'm a Khloe man. All right, we're talking werewolves,” Dean takes an ammo clip out of his pocket and loads his gun. Then he gestures towards Jack, “which means...”

“Silver bullets.” Jack answers

“That's right. So, you know the play. Let's do it to it.” Dean said cocking his gun

They all walk towards the boathouse. A man exits and struggles to light a match for his cigarette. He turns his back and continues to struggle with the match. When he turns back Castiel stabs him with an angel blade. The man's eyes turn green and fangs descend from his gums. Inside the boathouse, two men are drinking beer and laughing

“And that...that is why I'm a Khloe man.”

Sam, Dean and Jack bust through the door. The men’s fangs descend as the jump up out of their seats. Jack holds out his hand and holds them back as Sam and Dean shoot the men several times.

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

“So, you really like rain?” Mary chatted both her and Bobby holding umbrellas

“When it's this beautiful, I do.” He answers “So what are you gonna do now?” Mary asks

“Honestly, I got no clue. Everyone seems to be settling in okay in town. Ketch is out doing Ketch things. Rowena and Charlie are roads tripping it through the Southwest.” he states

“That's trouble.” Mary grins

Bobby laughs “Ginger trouble -- the worst kind. Anyways...without an archangel, it's not like we can go back home. And I'm not sure I'd want to. I...I like it here,” Bobby looks down as if embarrassed and notices something on the path, “Is that...”

“Blood,” Mary answers both smiles dropping

They follow the blood further until they get to a large blood-streaked rock. On the other side of the rock a young girl is lying on the ground, blood along one side of her head

“Y/n.” she gasps

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

“Jack...” Dean sighs sitting on the edge of Jack's bed “it's not about being strong. I mean...Look, I don't know what you saw over there, and I don't know what you went through. I know it was bad. But I also know that you came out on the other side because you are strong. But even when we're strong, man, things are gonna happen. We're gonna make mistakes. Nobody's perfect. Right? But we can get better. Every day, we can get better. So whatever you're dealing with, you know, whatever...whatever comes at us, we'll figure out a way to deal with it, together. You're family, kid, and we look after our own.” 

Sam runs towards Jack's door, holding his cell phone.

“Dean?”

Dean looks up, sees Sam's face tears in his eyes and gets very concerned

“What's wrong?” He asks

Sam, Dean, Castiel, Jack, Bobby, and Mary are standing around the young girl lying on the ground. Sam is behind Dean.

“I-I... I said I'd protect her, and, ...” Dean said emotion gone his precious girl gone before she had a life.

“Stop, Dean. This isn't your fault.” sam tried to reassure his brother

“What happened to her?” Dean asked his voice harsh

“I don't know. Doesn't look supernatural.” Mary said tears already stained her face her only granddaughter dead.

“Looks like some son of a bitch beat on her until...” Bobby frowned

“Who would do something like this?” Castiel said he watched over all the Winchester the world needed all of them and they just lost one.

In the bunker, Dean is walking around a young girl sitting at the table his face dark tears drained from his face.

“Word is, you're friends with Y/n,” he growled

“Uh, yeah, since we came over. Me and y/n, we didn't have anybody else, so we kinda stuck together.”

Sam, Castiel, and Jack are also around the table

“So I'm sure you know she went out last night. Well, she didn't come home.” Sam asked his eyes also red.

“Um...is Y/n in trouble?” she asked

“She's dead.” Dean spat out

“She...No, that's not...We were supposed to be safe here.” She stuttered Sam placed a hand on her shoulder “We need to know where Y/n went, who she was talking to.”

“I don't...There was a boy.” She said

“What boy?” Dean growled

“Nate. He works at that store out on Route 281. Y/n, she had a crush. That's why she snuck out last night. She was going to meet him.” She says

“All right, well, let's go talk to this boy, Dean,” Sam says Sam turns around and dean is gone. Jack and Castiel turn around in their seats looking for him, “Dean?”

Inside a convenience store, a boy is stacking shelves while listening to music with earbuds in. He walks into another aisle and Dean walks towards him and grabs him around the throat, lifting him into the air

“Why'd you do it?! Tell me!” He barks out

“I-I didn't.” Nate whimpered

“Liar!” He yells

“Dean! No!” Cas yells Castiel grabs Dean's shoulder to pull him away. Dean punches him sending him falling. “Dean?” Jack looks at him

“Let him go.” Sam calmly says

“He killed Y/n.” He replied

“Y/n? Y/n's dead?” Nate looking at the two wildly “Dean, listen to me. He didn't kill Y/n.” Sam says, “Look at him.” Dean lets him go and walks towards the exit and Castiel goes to follow him “Dean!“ Sam grabs Castiel's arm “No, hey, just -- just let him go.” The lights begin blinking as the store starts shaking and rumbling “You need to go. Now.” Sam yells at Nate

A loud piercing noise accompanies the shaking and Sam, Jack disappears and Castiel cover their ears

Jack appears in the middle of the woods he hears a fluttering sound and looks around to find Lucifer standing on the path “Hi, son.”

[wee-chlo]

I know it seems like RDR1 negates the sacrifices of RDR2 so here’s a happy thought.

Jack, sad and depressed and bitter and alone in the run-down ruin of Beecher’s Hope, finding the journal Arthur and John ended up sharing. Reading it. He doesn’t remember much of what they talk about, he was only four, but there are very faint memories of moving a lot. Names that seem vaguely familiar.

It becomes a bit of an obsession with him. Like vengeance but a little lighter, a little more hopeful. He transcribes everything in the journal because the thing’s falling a part a fair bit, and then starts trying to figure out who these people are.

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s running around to Valentine and Strawberry and Blackwater and Saint Denis, or the places that hold the historical archives of those towns. He’s pawing through paperwork and going through slides of newspapers finding scraps about the Van Der Linde Gang. 

He finds out where Mary-Beth is first, since she’s a writer with a mailbox for fan letters and official correspondence. He writes her a letter that he’s rewritten a hundred times or more and gets one back within a week bubbling with joy and excitement and inviting him to meet her. He gets a haircut, shaves, takes a bath. He didn’t do any of those things much before but recently he’s found it’s easier to get into places if you don’t look like a deranged hobo.

Mary-Beth is beautiful and elegant and kind and has an excellent memory. She tells him about Arthur and John and Dutch and the gang. She remembers Kieran fondly and Lenny and Hosea with grief and love and Micah with disdain. She tells him about Miss Grimshaw and Pearson and Karen and Javier and Bill. She directs him to Tilly, who she keeps in touch with.

Tilly is older now, but still kind and understanding and with no patience for nonsense. She’s married to a good man with two children who scurry underfoot as she and Jack talk about the gang. He’s taking notes. He’s always taking notes. Sometimes he forgets, he’s so engrossed in what she’s saying, but she’s good about gently reminding him to. She directs him to Reverend Swanson.

The Reverend’s the easiest to find but maybe the hardest to get a hold of, being a respected reverend with a large congregation, but when Jack sheepishly approaches him after a sermon, he enthusiastically ushers the young man into his office. Swanson wasn’t young during the heyday of the gang and he’s old now, his red hair and mustache grayed out and joints achy enough to need the support of a cane but he’s still remarkably sharp.

Reverend Swanson and Jack talk for a very long time about more than just the gang. Jack didn’t tell Mary-Beth or Tilly about Ross and the riverbank. He told them about Uncle and Abigail and John but not Ross. Not Ricketts or the family he left as broken as his own out of spite. He tells Reverend Swanson though. And Reverend Swanson takes the same stories that Tilly and Mary-Beth told, the ones that Abigail and John were too heartbroken or angry about to tell, and turns them into words of encouragement. Faith. Hope. How men with violent pasts can move past them, live good lives, redeem themselves, live and die with honor and dignity. He recites a piece of scripture he would say often to the gang, eyes a little soft with memory and sadness and wistfulness. 

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings of eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint.”

Will you read me that passage Reverend Swanson used to read? You remember that?

Jack Marston did a lot of things after his father died, and a lot of things after his mother died, but he never cried. He’d had to be strong for his mother, so he’d grit his teeth and blinked past them and by the time she’d died and he’d buried her next to John on the hill above Beecher’s Hope, they’d all fossilized in his chest, locked at the base of his throat like a scream. 

Here, though, he feels something snap like a wishbone in his chest, and they just spill out.

“Jack?” Reverend Swanson asks gently.

“I couldn’t remember it,” Jack says. “M-Mama asked me to read that and I... I couldn’t remember.”

That’s not quite it but it’s close enough. Reverend Swanson seems to have some experience with men like Jack. He smiles and nods and reaches over and takes Jack’s hand in his and lets him weep.

Charles is harder to find, in a reservation far up north in the Canadian Yukon. People there aren’t terribly interested in telling him where Charles lives and don’t really seem to buy that he’s an old friend, so he just asks them to let Charles know where he’s staying. 

Charles finds him a day later, still a bear of a man, still surrounded by this air of silent, simple serenity. Jack wonders if he’ll ever be able to do that. He doubts it.

Charles speaks softly and simply. He doesn’t gush the way Mary-Beth did or meander the way the Reverend did. He doesn’t beat around the bush or shy away from harsher memories. The treatment of the Wapiti tribe is still a bitter thing, something sharp around the edges that Jack hesitates to press, but he offers details the others didn’t have. He was a rider when the others were at camp. 

Like with Reverend Swanson, Jack feels an instinctive need to speak. To tell Charles things he didn’t tell the others out of shame or fear or a desperate need to forget. Maybe because Charles offers details like that of his own, things that he clearly doesn’t enjoy talking about but because it’s Jack...

“I killed Edgar Ross,” Jack says quietly when Charles mentions Hosea. Charles pauses.

“Why?” He asks, and that brings Jack up short.

“Because... because he killed my pa!” he stammers. “He hunted us down and, and...” Bile rises in his throat, that old scream that he didn’t let out, the smell of blood and his mother’s sobs and the screams of horses and guns and...

“Is it over now?” Charles asks, cutting off his thoughts easily. Jack doesn’t know what to say. Charles smiles slightly, sadly. “Let it be over now. It’s what they wanted for you.” 

Jack feels tears tearing at him again but this time he fights them back.

“You deserved better,” he says, his throat tightening and betraying everything he’s trying to hide. “You all deserved better.”

And he finds that he isn’t just talking about the Van Der Linde Gang,  who all died somehow, either grandly or softly or in some small, dark way that left them waking up at night in a cold sweat. He’s talking about the Wapiti Tribe, and Eagle Flies, and Rains Fall. He’s talking about Beau Gray and Penelope Braithwaite. He’s talking about those legendary gunslingers who lived on the run or died in the dirt. He’s talking about Lyndon Monroe and Thomas Downs and Luisa Fortuna and Nastas and everyone but himself, who was too stupid to let things go, too stupid to do what his mother begged him to on her deathbed and just find a quiet place to live and grow old and die.

“Maybe,” Charles agreed, standing and holding out a hand for Jack to shake. “Too late for that, though. Better to keep going.”

[fierywizardmon]

>//:INTERMISSION: HOT SPRINGS

>//:BEFORE THE WARNING. BEFORE WHAT IS TO COME:: -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The trio after securing their ride over the digital ocean come to see the city ahead of them coming closer. It was massive, buildings intricate in their design and nature crowded together. Their structures rose high in the sky reaching the clouds and all the three could do was stare in awe, but not don...he knew this place fair well. The airship they were on blared a jingle in a robotic tone for all of them to hear. “We’re arriving at PRIMARY CITY airship drop off, thank you for riding and enjoy your stay.”

“Thank Yggdrasil..” Donovan said aloud, the two looked at him. Chester opening his mouth to ask “Why are you thanking Yggdrasil about?” Donovan then looked back to him then to Werner “Because since we’re here, first things first...We’re going to the hotsprings.” The other two digimon stared before in unision “What???

Chester saw that the other two were already settled in the water though he himself stood there nervous. "I thought you said you didn’t want to share a bath?” Chester questioned to Donovan. Donovan scoffed “Well Werner is already here and you’re going to come in anyways so...whatever.” he huffed. Chester still stood there and Werner spoke up “Comeon ches it’s going to get cold out there with you being naked and all! don’t worry the water won’t burn you” he said with a smile. Chester turned red “F-Fine okay I’m...getting in.” he then slowly walked over and eased himself into the water. Donovan and Werner just sort of watching as he did so “see! told you Ches” The wizardmon wanted to sink into the water and nearly did “y-yeah..” ---

Don is finally starting to relax after a while, seeing Werner and Chester interact, when he blinks, eyes set on Chester "wait a minute... i've seen this before"

The wizardmon had his upper body turned to Werner, and looks back to Donovan puzzled.

“You’ve what”

“I knew this rang a bell when Werner first pointed out” Don says pointing to Chester’s neck “your tattoo. It’s one of those ancient crests”

Chester’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t say anything. Don continues:

"I thought they weren't used anymore..." he goes silent and then looks to Chester.“What” replied the wizardmon, in a defensive tone. Don lifts a finger to his chin: "So did you buy it on the black market, or did your dumb luck found the old code"

The water starts to boil near Chester "No, I didn’t buy it! Where would I even get the bits?!" he punched Donovan in the arm. Though after that the bubbling stops then he sinks into the water further "I didn't know shit about it alright?" With a sigh he continues "Some old decaying cave was a bad place for an egg to hatch and I couldn't just leave it there."

Werner’s mouth opens in awe:

“You found a digiegg!? That’s so cool! I always wanted to see one”

“You thought it was a common egg?” Don asked

“How was i supposed to know? I only found out when a blacktailmon tried to take it away from me…”

Don presses his lips together, gesturing dismissively:

“Instead of playing the protective mother hen, you could have sold it for a lot of money. What a waste of a golden opportunity”

"Well whatever everything's all done and gone now" he shrugs then looks to Werner ignoring Don "What have you seen anyways..you seem uhh.." Chester puts his hands together "...like you've been out - well I mean, before me and Don"

He stops, unable to find words to articulate his question. Werner’s smile wavered, but remained there:

"Oh, I don't think I have seen as many cool things as you guys! The region my family's from is quite peaceful, or... used to be until recently"

"So you broke your horn tripping on a flower?" Don crosses his arms.

Werner smile softens in a sad one, his eyes looking down "oh, so you've noticed....."

There’s a heat wave in the spring water from Chester’s end, enough to bring steam up. Werner pokes the broken tip of his horn with his metal hand:

“I used to wander off the village when I was younger. I just... I guess I always felt a bit antsy, more eager to explore the world than anyone I knew. And I got into finding things, old things, you know? Things that have a history in it, that you could tell something about the world just by studying them. So I’d go out by myself and find ruins, old and forgotten areas, trying to look for something that could offer me a glimpse of the past” he sighed, looking up to the sky “and… well, when I was out near a lake, I accidentally tipped an old electrical tower onto the water and that woke up the Seadramon living there. He wasn’t very happy with the commotion, I think he uh, thought I was attacking him…”

He paused. Both Donovan and Chester were listening to the story intently.

“I was lucky I got out of that alive. Recovery took a while and some of my data was too damaged to repair. I’m lucky I got my hat, or I’d be rather embarrassed by it. It’s not a very exciting story at all…” he lets out a chuckle in an attempt to make things sound more lighthearted than they were

Despite Werner’s attempt to keep the mood up, the other two were clearly somber. Don was looking down to the water, seemingly lost in thoughts. Chester had only his head out of the water, a concerned frown on his face.

“What about you, Don?” Werner asks.

“What…?” Don replies absentmindedly, snapping back to reality.

“How was your first digivolution?”

“Oh. Oh, uhh…” he shuffles, sits back straight against the rocks “it was… it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary”

“Nothing about you is ordinary, tho” Werner says “You’re a very unique digimon. You even got your own name all by yourself!”

“Well, you know what they say, labels are for archives” Don says with an odd modesty, clearly not accustomed with honest compliments “but my evolution was a bit of a blur. There was a fight, and a flash of light covered my vision, and suddenly I was several feet taller”

“Who started the fight?” chimes in Chester.

“Which digimon was it?” Werner asks.

“Why are you guys so curious all of a sudden?” Don asks indignantly.

“Well I remember you asking about mine and you never told me yours sooo..” Chester didn’t continue but he just kept looking at donovan waiting for an answer.

Don lets out a sigh, but his body is still tense and his eyes are anywhere but towards the other two digimon:

“It was a Megadramon and a Gigadramon. I was told to fight them. Her ord-- I mean, my order was to, well, defeat them. In order to get to Machinedramon…”

The wizardmon raised his eyebrow at the moment he said ‘her’ “So….some other digimon told you to fight them? What for I mean what was your job? I don’t see you the type to fight with anybody just cause someone told you.”

Donovan snapped his head towards Chester, and for a moment he almost looked offended for… something. But he quickly took a hold of himself, and waved his head away from Chester:

“I wasn’t supposed to fight them per se. It wasn’t meant to be a fight. The idea was to distract them and then defeat them with an item I received from, uh, my boss. A Dramon killing item. It just... “ he hunched his shoulders, curling up on himself “... it got a little messy”

He paused, fighting against either his own words or his own feelings, and then looked back to Chester.

“And why I took the contract is none of your business”

“Two Ultimate level digimons…” Werner mused, almost to himself “that must have been really hard. I don’t think any of us could win a fight like that. Especially without knowing how to digivolve! It just seems unfair”

Don huffs, but says nothing.

Chester sat there in the silence before he spoke up again “So basically you were used as a bait. Where was your boss or coworkers in all this? I mean two ultimates and one little… you. I’d think they’d of made you data and ate you for lunch.”

Don this time didn’t bother not to look offended - he leaned his body towards Chester, poking at the Wizardmon’s bare chest:

“Remind me how much do you know about teamwork? Because last I checked the only person you ever cared about in your life was a stupid egg that couldn’t even hatch!”

Werner left out a small gasp of surprise, one of his hands reaching his mouth.

Chester looked down to Donovan's finger poking at his wet chest. With a blink while frowning he looked up to Don with a fire in his eyes and grabbed at his finger.

“One. don’t poke me. Two. you don’t know shit about me, so how about you piss off? If you don’t,I don’t know if I can stop the instinct to light you on fire.”

“Big words for someone partially immersed in water. Try it and see how well you fare on that, matchstick”

“Guys!” Werner waves his arms, which shouldn’t look threatening except for the fact his arms are two big machine guns “we’re here to relax…”

“I just wanted to talk” Don complains, and tries to yank his hand away from Chester’s grip. Chester smirked as Donovan’s failed attempt, after Werner had him go dead quiet.

“I’m not the one that lost his shit at a question.”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap, I heard the disdain in your voice. And you may think you’re so cool being all rebellious and free from any burden or responsibility but you don’t know shit about me either. I thought there was too much to lose! I’d do anything to get that job done, I would gladly kill myself for her if--”

He cut himself sharply amidst his rant and leans back, having said too much but too proud to admit it.

“Let me go” he says after a short pause, pulling his hand yet again but with less intensity, merely a statement.

“No, I won’t let you go.” his tone still aggressive towards Donovan and kept him in a grip. “I mean I don’t know shit about you, true.” giving a pause realizing don cut himself off then continued “That’s why we’re talking in the first place and I’m curious as to why a digimon like you would kill yourself for another digimon.”

Don gritted his teeth. His first thought was to materialize the data of his gun and aim it straight at this misshapen puppet-looking, broad shouldered asshole right between those fiery, deep blue eyes. Why were his eyes SO blue?

But then he glanced quickly at werner, his concerned expression, and took a deep breath, leaning forward towards Chester.

“There’s no point in talking about it. What do you know about the emotion the humans call love? Nothing” his mask muzzle was but  inches away from the Wizardmon’s forehead “You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it to you”

Chester didn’t say anything he kept frowning and let Donovan go from his grip. The tension that had been building up at this point snapping, he then grabbed Donovan by the shoulders. Roughly kissed him afterwards pushing him to the edge of the spring and slapped him hard.

The sequence of Chester’s actions were so haphazard and unpredictable the Astamon got literal whiplash, and all he could do was to stare at the other digimon in a mix of shock, outrage and slight arousal (much to his annoyance).

“Stop implying that I can’t understand things” Chester added, and made his way to step out of the springs pool to go and dry himself off.

“Oh, you know all about it, don’t you?!” Don finally snapped his mind from his gutter, and his hand grabbed Chester’s ankle as he crawled off the spring, while at the same turning his upper body and yanking Chester back towards the water “alright then! Sit down and listen if you want to so much”

Chester’s weight gave way and he got slammed into the water, almost immediately making the water start to heat up to a boil entirely. Werner in the meantime was able only to let a tiny yelp escape his mouth.

All that came up was Chesters hand at first grabbing Don’s arm then yanked on him to pull himself up. “Start talkin’ cause I’m this close.”

The wizardmon’s hand was almost scolding hot, but Don withheld the wince, and put a single open palm against the other’s chest.

“Her name is Lilithmon. I don’t expect you to recognize the name, being the shut-in you are…”

He pushed Chester away with his hand slowly, just enough to have space between them (and thus avoid the distracting warmth underneath the water) “for starters, I wasn’t hatched in the Primary City. I’m not sure why… my best guess is that i was a leftover from the digiegg black market. Digimons with enough resources are able to bribe or steal digieggs from the city before they hatch, and they’re either sold or raised for cheap labor. A pretty smart move from a business point of view… you don’t have to worry about betrayal if the first words your minion learn is ‘Yes,sir’”

“Anyways, I met her when I was already a rookie, falling under her orders… and falling hopelessly in love with her as well. She was sophisticated and alluring and when she gave me an attachment to help me absorb data faster, I was hooked. Which led me into a blind quest to prove my worth to her since she would treat a chair with more kindness than she treated me. I was determined to become stronger, and I went quite the lengths to achieve that. I didn’t care what I had to do, or who I had to use, or how many times it took, if I became a Demon Lord, I would have a chance with her… or so I thought”

He shook his head “when I finally became Astamon I realized those feelings weren’t real. The attachment wasn’t for data absorbing, it affected my emotions core. It was turned off once I digivolved, and…” he shook his head. He still remembers it so vividly “I didn’t want to believe it, at first. But when I looked at her, and felt nothing, I knew that I had to go”

He leans back and lets his head fall backwards, his muzzle pointing to the sky.

“I’m pretty sure she meant for this to happen too. Not that it matters anymore…” his voice tone was absent minded, his thoughts clearly somewhere else.

“Is that why you’re being chased right now?” Werner tilted his head.

“Partially. They want me to keep working for them, with a change in… job titles” Don kept his eyes lost on the sky above as he replied.

“I digivolved because of her… because I loved her so much. Because I wanted to be a Demon Lord like her. And now I have to wonder if I would be a different digimon if I had never gone through that hell. Forever.”

With a sigh, he straightened his back and got up “there you have it” he said, and Chester knew it was directed at him despite Don having his back to the other ones “hope you’re happy” with a slight flap of his wings, he stepped out of the water.

Chester was silent listening in, the water's heat toned down and his hand cooled off. The threat wasn't there anymore after hearing that, why would he? Chester watched Don step out the water and just said a tiny “I guess...” before sinking into the spring again turning his head over to werner not sure what to do now.

Werner offered Chester a look that said “I don’t know what to do either”. Once Don was out of sight, he moved over to the Wizardmon, and whispered:

“We should do something for Don… it seems the city brings him sad memories”

“Yeah, I get that” Chester replied “but what can we do to cheer him up?”

The Gargomon looked up, tapping his finger against his chin, and his expression lit up.

“I think I know what we can do” he paused, and then frowned in a concerned smile “but you will have to put in an effort not to lose your temper”

Chester looked at Werner with a puzzled expression.

Half an hour passed by since the hot spring, and the door of the bedroom creaked open. Don wasn’t sleeping, too many thoughts in his mind to do so. He was leaned against the window, still on his hotspring robe, and peeked over his shoulder to the sight of Chester and Werner’s head coming from the door gap.

“What do you two want?”

“Uh… we were thinking… maybe… maybe, we, uhh, we could…” Chester stuttered.

“Can we sleep with you?” Werner asked. Don blinked in surprise.

“Why…?”

“Why?! Well I mean, isnt… isnt it obvious?” Chester tried to speak though it was very rough.

“We like you and we are sorry about what you went through and we wanna be close to you” Werner said without skipping a beat. Both Chester and Don showed a visible blush.

“Uhm… yeah” Chester agreed, practically curling up on himself.

Don had an almost outraged expression, but it was mostly a mix of confusion and embarrassment.

“Also we are naked and it’s kinda cold out here so can we get an answer soon?” Chester said.

“Wha-- gods. Come on in already”

Chester practically fell into the room as Werner pushed his way in as well. Don took a few tentative steps towards them.

“After all I said… do you still really wanna…” he bit his lip and couldnt finish the sentence. Then he felt two arms embracing him.

“Of course Don”

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 45

Last time: Beard and Al had Awkward Family Bonding, Ed pimped out his ride, and Greed paid the Bradley’s a visit. Onwards!

We pick up with Bradley blocking Greed’s attack, yelling at Mrs. Bradley and Selim to stay back. Greed demands that Bradley explain what’s happening to him, why he’s getting these images clawing at his mind. And why was Bradley there? “Why did you destroy my possessions?!” Selim is off to the side being “protected” by Mrs. Bradley, a few shadows lengthening while Bradley mocks Greed for missing his garbage. Suddenly Mrs. Bradley accidentally knocks over a teacup, Greed’s distracted just long enough for Bradley to break the clash and go on the offensive. Greed’s dodging this way and that and actually manages to knock Bradley’s sword out of his hand, but Wrath just throws him across the room and catches the blade in midair anyway. A slice… and Greed’s Ultimate Shield breaks the blade! And with that Greed’s out the window.

[Guard]: “Fuhrer Bradley! Madame Bradley, are you and Selim alright?” [Madame Bradley]: “Y-yes.” [Selim!Thoughts]: “I hope you enjoyed your last day alive, you incompetent human fool.” Pride is not happy that he had to play Weak Little Human Boy and let Greed get away. But the shadows pull back for now. Light string music at a fancy house with a fountain now as [Armstrong the Great]: “Father- WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWHAT?! [Armstrong the Great]: “- I demand you retire.” [ARMSTRONG SR.]: *sparkle* “Oh Oliver, it’s been years since we last seen one another, and that’s all you have to say to me?” What the Leto?! Young lady, you have the gall to disrespect your father? To march into this home, call your father old, and demand to be named head of the family? I mean I get what you’re trying to do, order your family out of the country so they are safe from the Goth TC and all, but still! And to usurp The Mighty Armstrong as heir- He’s here! Aw, but The Mighty Armstrong is a pushover when it comes to his older sister. If she presses him now he’ll- [ARMSTRONG SR.]: “OOOooOOooh, Alex! Perfect timing!” [The Mighty Armstrong]: “Oh?” [ARMSTRONG SR.]: “Engage your sister in combat.” [The Mighty Armstrong]: *wat* Holy shit is this happening ARMSTRONG SR. is saying that the winner shall become the head of the family, that Armstrong The Great is insisting he retire and go to another country. [The Mighty Armstrong]: “She what?! How can you treat father with such insolence?! For shame! You’ve given me no choice!” The shirt’s off, the music’s up, this is happening. Move out of the way everyone, it’s an Armstrong Fight! Hey. Hey! Don’t you dare cut away now! Yeah it’s amusing that ARMSTRONG SR. is nonchalantly talking about taking a rest but we’re missing the fight. Oh. Ouch. They’re just going ahead and getting out traveling clothes and emptying the safe already? You have that little faith in your son? I feel bad for The Mighty Armstrong. Ah well, at least they’ll be safe. Damn. We can’t even see all of the fight, but with The Mighty Armstrong’s panicked screaming and Armstrong the Great yelling “Get Over Here!”-

-it’s pretty clear who’s winning. Oh jeez, The Mighty Armstrong got thrown through a door into a wall, and Armstrong The Great’s just dragging him back into the dining room as he screams for mercy. The guy’s tapping out for pete’s sake, you’ve won! The Elder Armstrongs and young Katherine are just walking to the car now, talking about souvenirs as poor The Mighty Armstrong gets tossed into the fountain NO. HIS HAIR!

For Leto’s Sake woman, enough! You’ve thoroughly thrashed your little brother, there’s no need to ruin his hair as well! Have mercy! Finally, Armstrong the Great’s had enough of beating on poor little The Mighty Armstrong. As the clear victor, she’s the head of the family now. Still, The Mighty Armstrong calls her out on associating with the Senior Officers, she snaps back that she can judge their complicity with her own eyes. [The Mighty Armstrong]: “And what have your eyes seen? Have you exiled Mother and Father to a foreign land so they can’t be taken hostage?” Armstrong the Great just smiles. And then orders the loser to get out of her mansion before his cowardice stinks the place up. ...so are we getting an episode title anytime soon? Now we’re at a train in Youswell? Have we been here before? Anyways it’s the east gate, oh it’s May! We’re seeing her off on her trip to Xing (maybe she’ll catch a ride with the Armstrongs?) when she runs into some Villagers, who are aghast at the idea that the little girl is going to cross the desert on her own. May’s quickly swamped with Small Town Kindness, everyone offering food and a place to stay the night. The young princess is crying at all this goodwill- oh shit. [Envy]: “They sure are nice, huh? You don’t even want to help them?” Damnit, what is it about putting Bad Guys in glass enclosures that turn them into master manipulators?

A half-dead Goth? No guarantee that the Emperor would be impressed enough to protect her clan. But bringing back the full secrets of Immortality. And save some innocent people, too. Yup, May’s off and running to Central, Envy sniggering about how he’ll stuff her in a jar once he’s gotten hold of a Philosopher’s Stone and restored his body. Mid ep-pictures of four people this time (The Mighty Armstrong, Wrath, Greed, and Armstrong The Great) and Ed (with an earring? Oh right, he needs to give that back to Winry). Late at night, Ed and the Chimeras have stashed the getaway car and are approaching a broken-down house. Hey, that’s the place they stored Gluttony, I recognize the carved-out earth from his Eraser Gun! Ed’s convinced that Al’s going to be here. [Monkey]: “Hey! There’s nobody here!” *smacks Ed upside the head* But wait, Lion just smelled something and pulled a gun. Monkey and Ed take cover as someone approaches- oh hi Greed! What’s up? Not you, you just collapsed on the ground. You ok, buddy? You’re kind of wearing our friend, so I’d rather you be alive. *stomach growl* [Greed]: “Hungry… need food…” [Ed]: “No, it’s Ling.” Quite a few cans later wait hold on it’s Ling? What, did he finally overpower Greed? Awesome! Less awesome that he ate all of their food but whatever Ling’s back! Ed introduces Monkey (Darius) and Lion (Heinkel). Now how to explain Ling’s backstory- [Ling]: “I’m a Homunculus.” Wow. Ok yeah, but maybe ease into the backstory? So Ling’s saying that Greed “had a falling out” with Wrath, in the confusion Ling regained control and needed a place to hide wait he’s wincing is he losing his grip? Hey! Stop hitting him, that’s not gonna help Ling fight back! Ok Ling’s still here but he’s telling Ed about Uncle’s plan to open the Gate of Truth. And Ling thinks the Elric Brothers should jump in? Ok yeah that might work to get Ed’s body back. Buuuut if the portal opens then that would mean the Nationwide TC was activated which is a Bad Thing. Setting that aside for now, when is the Day of Reckoning? Nope Ling’s on the way out, he can barely ask if Ed passed on his message to Lan Fan. Ed’s able to confirm that Al told his bodyguard, so Ling is thankful even as he’s overpowered. Now we’re back to Greed. Who… just leaves? Huh, I guess he did give his two weeks when he attacked Wrath. Now what’s he going to do? Start up a new- No. NO. [Ed]: “Then why don’t you team up with us?” [Greed]: *wat* [Ed]: “You’ve got nowhere to go. Why not come with us?” YES. Greed has flashes of his old crew as he turns wide-eyed to Ed… before he starts laughing at the idea of following the Protagonist. It’s a valid point, Greed is not the best team player, he’s got his fair share of pride and the idea of taking orders from someone else is against his very nature. Them following him’s a different story, but that’s not happening. Still, as he walks off thinking about how he’s so alone-

-Ling taunts him, saying if he’s just gonna whine he should join up with the folks who are offering. Or he could let Ling take control again, and tag along as the Prince becomes Emperor of Xing. [Greed]: “The ruler of a whole country?” [Ling]: “Not bad, huh?” [Greed]: “Pfft, get over it. You think too small. That’s just not enough. Now ruler of the world? I could enjoy that.” Hmm. And what about after that, Greed? Once you’ve taken over the world, aside from the massive headache it’d be to run everything, what are you going to do after that? Hey, it’s Ed and the Chimeras! Greed snipes at Ed for calling him Ling again (and decides to call him Greedling from now on, hah!) Ed- oh! So Ed accepts Greedling as his new boss (and drafts the Chimeras too, to their annoyance), saying that he’s been a follower ever since he joined the Military. As long as Greedling isn’t going to work with the Goths, why not follow him and get all the info from a former Goth that he can? Greedling flashes back to the original Greed chiding Ed way back when for losing his temper and laughs. New Crew Get! Monkey and Lion roll with the change in leadership, as long as they get food. As Greedling chats with his new mooks, Ed remembers that he still has Winry’s cold-proof earrings. Doesn’t look like he’ll see his girlfriend or brother for a while. Seems like the MPs are still looking for Izumi, bothering an employee at the Curtis Butchery. When Employee get’s a call the MPs head out (“We’ll be back.” “Well maybe you could buy something next time.” Retail, am I right?), but it turns out to be the Curtis’ checking in. Employee passes on a message from Al and Beard. So Izumi and Curtis are up north now? Curtis gets the message about the Day of Reckoning (do we have an actual date for this now?), meanwhile there’s some shooting in the forest as some poor sap in Lookout Post B calls in about an attack. Just one? [Headquarters]: “Hey! Are you still there? Point B, who’s attacking?” [Izumi]: “A housewife!” Uh, as happy as I am to see the Curtis’ again, why are you attacking Briggs troops? I can’t see any reason, other than make poor Sideburns and Buccy look bad for when the boss comes back home. Wait, Izumi got caught? Oh! So she pulled a Loki to pass on the message to Armstrong The Great’s flunkies. Who get Falman to pass it on to Grumman, who… goes to visit a black-haired female sniper? (I’ve been getting titlecards with each scenery change here but they’re all in Japanese for some reason). Grumman greets the sniper WHOA HEY NOW not cool dude! What is it with old guys in anime being pervs? Moving on the very understandably pissed off Rebecca is friends with Riza, she gets gussied up to meet the hostage in Central for coffee and complain about how Riza has all the military dudes for herself. And slips a paper into Hiyate’s collar along with a request to pass her “well-wishes” to Havoc. Now Riza’s visiting Havoc (still in the hospital after Lust), passes on some cigarettes and Rebecca’s hello, asking Havoc to say hi to Roy. Who was lurking behind the curtain? Ah right, with all the surveillance the most they can get away with is code in the cafeteria, a private meeting in the hospital would arouse too much suspicion. Here Roy, have a smoke to ease the stress. No really, “have a smoke”. And we end with the message passed from Beard to Al to Employee to Curtis to Izumi to Buccy to Falman to Grumman to Rebecca to Riza to Havoc to Roy: “Be prepared for the coming spring, when the Promised Day arrives. The North and East will make their move.” End cre-hey, the credits are different! Scenes of our guys preparing for the Promised Day it seems; Al and Beard are going over the Anti-TC, Winry and Rose are in the kitchen, Boar and Toad are working while Yoki struggles with a single rock, Izumi and Curtis are looking over their shoulders as they go to a snow-covered cabin, Falman’s pointing out a diagram for Sideburns and Buccy, Breda’s doing the Anime-Late-For-School-Toast-In-Mouth-Run while dressing, FUERY’S STILL ALIVE YAY a couple of bandages but he’s still fighting stay safe little buddy, Riza’s checking her pistol, Havoc’s in a wheelchair and boarding a train (he said he was heading back East earlier), Armstrong The Great’s sitting at an officer’s meeting probably wishing she could unload on them like she did her poor brother, said brother is feeling much better now doing his trademark Manly Shirtless Sparkle to a bemused Brosh (did anyone ever tell the poor guy his partner survived?), Scar and Marcoh are trekking through a desert, May is unfortunately heading straight back to Central, Greedling’s got his new crew probably trying to figure out what to do next now that he has People again, and Ed’s thinking about how to direct Greedling into helping save the country while still acting as a follower. Overhead image of Central, then down to Uncle’s Pipe Room where there’s Sloth, Gluttony (boo, he’s already regrown?), Pride and Wrath around a bored-looking Uncle. So many players, when they really get moving it’s gonna be- wait hold on, after-credits scene. Roy’s still walking along reading that note (dude you started reading at sunset and now it’s night, how slow of a reader are you?), wait dude that’s sensitive info if you just drop it the Goths could oh right finger-snap and the note’s ash. Episode 45 - “The Promised Day” ...episode title at the very end. Sure, whatever.

[ecotone99]

[NF - Non-fiction] A Night with John

In a dimly-lit room in the city of Cebu, you will find a man named John. Right now, he’s smoking by the window, while a huge mirror from across the room reflects the faint light of his cigarette.

See, John’s mind has been troubled lately—disturbed even—by a question that wouldn’t stop echoing inside his skull. The question i— oh, pardon me. Where are my manners? How could I tell you a story about John without introducing who I am? My name is Adam and you could say that I am John’s roommate. Yes… Let’s… Leave it at that.

I’ve known John his entire life, from back when he got bullied in high school and he threw a rubber pot at his assailants, to when he got his first job as a corporate slave who let his ears be bukaked by hundreds of ringing telephones that never stopped ejaculating the irate voices of customers from distant lands. I’m pretty sure you get the picture of how… Close John and I really is.

John is your typical guy. Typical looking. Typical built. Typical intelligence. Everything about him, from the nails of his toes to the last strand of hair on his head, is typical. He’s also a quiet and shy guy. He mostly keeps things to himself and would deliberately avoid social interaction whenever he gets the chance. But John does have a confidant (I really wish it was girlfriend though) and that confidant is none other than yours truly.

On this chilly night, the skies offered a gentle drizzle to the lands below. It slightly moisturized their parched, asphalt skins and slightly wetted their dry throats caused by the summer. You would expect John to go out and visit the beach, but we are talking about John here. Being the ever socially awkward and bashful him, John just stayed inside and played video games all summer long. One could say “that’s so like John!” But tonight… Tonight John is different. Looking from across the room, I could see how the plateau between his eyebrows scrunched up from tension. I could see how his eyes were blankly fixated on the streets where cars sprinted towards home after a long day at work. “This is so not like John,” I whispered to myself, so I got up from the floor and called his attention.

“Hey John! You okay dude? You seem kinda lost in thought there,” I casually sparked a conversation with him.

“Hey Adam. Yeah… I mean no… I mean… I don’t know. I guess I just have something in my mind,” he answered, while letting smoke slip through the crack between his lips.

“So… What are you thinking? Is this about the new game you’ve been waiting for?”

“No, I just… I just feel…”

“You just feel what?”

“Nothing… It’s nothing.”

“C’mon man, you know you can tell me anything. Wait, I know! Let’s play a game! I’m going to try and guess what’s on your mind in the form of a question, and you’ll go ahead and answer the question. Deal?”

“But you always win—“

“Stop. I don’t want to hear excuses. Let’s begin!”

I took a moment to read John’s body language. He was sheepishly looking at me, his eyes reluctant to meet mine, indicating that he doesn’t want the truth to be seen through his pupils. His sitting position was very defensive: legs close to his chest, one arm wrapping his legs, while the other held the cigarette in between two digits. He looked like an upright fetus sitting down in his mother’s womb, signifying that he was trying to defend himself because he felt exposed. He was also silent, like he was keeping his tongue from saying too much. In a normal situation, one where he had someone else in the room, he could’ve just stayed silent and they wouldn’t know what’s wrong with him. But like I said, I’ve known John for a very, very, very long time.

“Hey John, do you think you belong in this world?” I asked. Judging from the sudden stillness in his eyes, I’m sure he felt every letter of that question seep into his bones.

“No. I honestly think I don’t belong in this world.” John answered without hesitation. His words were calm and collected, as if he was certain of the very weight each of them held.

“Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s because I think differently from others. My mind doesn’t work in the same manner that ‘normal’ people do. I’m not as invested in material things that most of my peers seem to go berserk about. A new phone comes out and they lose their shit. They jump up and down in anticipation of buying it and how powerful it could be. On the other hand, I’m fine with buying a second-hand phone that was released 2 years ago.”

“Is that all?”

“No, that’s not all. I’m not as focused on looking good as well, particularly being vain about my physical image. I don’t know… I just think that there’s so much more to a person than their physical appearance and that they shouldn’t focus too much on being pretty or being handsome. I honestly believe that what we should be focusing on is being more honest with ourselves and to each other. We should also be kinder too, but every time I say my opinion, everybody goes insane! They end up calling me a misogynist, a beauty shamer, a self-righteous cunt, and so on. Hell, if I ever get into a relationship, I’m pretty sure my partner would be calling me manipulative and controlling for trying to make her see that physical appearance isn’t everything. Also, with the rampant rape and the perverse individuals out there looking for a meat to pound, my efforts of wanting to keep my partner safe by telling her to stop wearing ‘revealing’ clothes would be considered an attack to her femininity, and it would be interpreted as a means of ‘controlling’ a female when it was just out of concern. It’s fucking messed up.”

A bead of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead. It seems that it took a lot of courage and effort for him to say those honest and unfiltered thoughts; but I could tell that wasn’t all. I could tell there was still something brewing deep within him, judging from the bubbles of cold sweat that began to slowly manifest. I knew I just needed to ask the right question.

“Hey John, do you still want to live in this world?”

His head turned and his eyes quickly locked unto me. His gaze had such intensity that it felt like his eyes were magnifying glasses positioned directly beneath the sun, burning a hole to my face. For a while, I felt a bit nervous. Maybe I struck a wrong chord and I must now make amends for such an insensitive question. But before I could open my mouth to ask for forgiveness, John started talking.

“If I’m honest with you Adam, I don’t want to live in this world anymore. You want to know why?”

There was authority in his voice now, like a businessman having lunch with his apprentice and confidently asking questions to show how “wise” he is. I knew what I had to do. All that was needed for my part was to ask “why?” and the answer to the question would immediately follow. However, am I ready for the answer? If you were there, you’d see how my laryngeal prominence moved in my throat to make way for the lump of spit that I had to swallow.

“Why?”

“Because this world is not worth living in. This world is so unfair and it rarely gives you what you want. It’s even sadistic sometimes because just when you think you’ve finally gotten what you’ve wished for, it then brings out the hidden cameras and shouts at your face ‘It’s just a PRANK bro!’ Sometimes, you even end up with something that’s completely different from what you thought it was, waking you up from a lie that you never asked for via punch to the gut. Sometimes, it even takes away the people we love the most, either from disease or by suicide, and it juat leaves you with this emptiness that no amount of drinking, having fun, and passion can fill. This world is fucking scary with all the wars and deaths that we bring to others like, who died and made us grim reapers with guns for scythes? I can’t even go outside without having to worry about white vans snatching people away, or motorcycles that spit out lead have their barrels aimed at me. There’s so much apathy nowadays that taking videos of tragedies by phone is apparently more important than using said phone to call for help. You know what Adam? I actually want to kill myself so I could escape this hellhole—this simulation—and hopefully wake up somewhere better. This world is, and always will be, better off without me.”

John’s breaths were heavy. It’s apparent that his heart was beating faster than his lungs could dance to. I guess conversations like these really feel like physical confrontations or altercations to him. He begins to rub his chest, trying to calm down and prevent a full-scale panic attack from happening. Now I know that he, and other people, sees himself as typical and boring, but I would beg to differ. What he just said were not words from a typical and boring guy. They were words from a genuine, empathic, and broken individual who is trying to live in an uncaring and vain world. I know John better than anyone, and I might be the only one who really knows how special he is, which is why I couldn’t let him keep his thoughts about dying.

“You know what John,” I said while trying to catch his gaze “Yes, the world is messed up. Yes, the world is vain. Yes, the world is apathetic, unfair, and all of the terrible things that you mentioned, but that’s exactly the reason why the world needs more people like you. People who are not perfect, yet willing to be honest with themselves and to others. People who are not perfect, yet willing to be kind to others. People who are not perfect, yet prefer to look at others beyond their physical appearances. The world needs more people like you, John. People who are not afraid to feel, to think, to be vulnerable, and to bleed.”

The wind began to pick up and the drizzle was slowly starting to become a light shower. Given enough time, the skies would soon cry their hearts out and the lands would be quenching their thirst by drinking the skies’ tears; but not before John’s eyes began to pour, as he cried in front of me, inside the four corners of solitude that this room offers. I knew what I had to do. I needed to leave John with something… A food for thought, perhaps? Something that would keep him thinking. Something that would help him process what he was going through…

“Hey John,” I gently called his name as a precursor to my final question.

“Yeah, Adam?” His voice was deep and crackling. He sounded a bit like an improperly tuned radio.

“Do you think this world belongs to you?”

Suddenly, a flash of lightning ripped through the skies followed by the loud boom of thunderclap, as if they were cued to happen after I finished asking the question. For a split-second, the flash brightened up the room to a point where even shadows ceased to exist. For a split-second, the flash brought light into this dark place and might have sparked something in John because now, he was smiling at me. His gaze met mine and he said “Thank you, Adam,” and it was at that moment, I once again saw him genuinely smile after a very long time, which in turn made me smile pleasantly.

Rain has now descended upon the city, and if you were there, you could clearly hear the roof being turned into a xylophone. John picks his lighter up and proceeds to place a cigarette between his lips. But before he ordered the flint to create a spark, he stared at the mirror, muttered something unintelligible, and smiled.

In a dimly-lit room in the city of Cebu, you will find a man named John. Right now, he’s smoking by the window, while a huge mirror from across the room reflects the faint light of his cigarette.

12-05-2019 16:56 Kregian Vareare Miral

submitted by /u/Miralian459 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2OUsrAc

[meteora-writes]

Ok Since I noticed there wasn’t any, & since the show in s1 did kinda started out there, Request for High School Trick AU, it’s so intriguing, maybe with Troy being the new troubled transfer student w/ a shady past & being just removed from the ranch? Thanks :-D - Sarah

Sorry this took me so long, but here’s part one of the series

Out of The Dark

If there is one thing Nick Clark knows, it’s ‘at-risk youths’. He is one, after all. And one that has a way of sniffing out others and figuring out what makes them tick what motivates them and what they want out of life. Some he befriends, others he abandons quickly. Some brands of crazy just don’t mix, after all. And the last thing you want is a volatile mix. He’s been burned enough times now to know better.

So when a new kid appears in the halls of Paul R. Williams High School with hunched shoulders and one hell of a shiner surrounding his right eye with all the hidden charm of a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Well, Nick can’t help but be curious. His instincts telling him to check this guy out.

Nick doesn’t approach him right off the bat. Just kind of hang back in the halls between classes and observes him. They have Biology together, so he at least knows the guys’ name now. And that he’s apparently been “homeschooled” for most of his life and has an interest in science.

When they have to pair up for a project a week into Troy being there, Nick takes the opportunity and slides into the seat beside the taller boy, offering a charming smile to the blank look he gets in return. “Hi, I’m Nick,” he says as he offers a copy of their assignment worksheet.

“Troy,” he says carefully, taking the paper with one hand while the other tightly grips a pencil like a lifeline. His posture is hunched again, even though he usually seems to relax during class. Nick attributes it to having to interact with new people. Homeschooled kids never get enough social interaction.

“You really don’t want to be here, huh?” Nick can’t help but ask as he looks away. He doesn’t mean to make the kid uncomfortable, and he’ll play nice and be his normal chill self around him until given a reason to act otherwise.

“Got no choice,” Troy shrugs, trying for indifference but he’s still so tense that the motion fails horribly and is jerky and awkward. Nick tries not to find it oddly endearing, he really does.

“Sure you do, you could ditch. Or drop out,” Nick offers in return, lowering his voice when the others in the room start to quiet and work on their assignment.

“No, I can’t. Now shut up and work on the assignment,” Troy bites out harshly, surprising Nick. There’s a kind of quiet anger radiating from the other boy all of the sudden, and Nick makes a mental note to not push his luck.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want man.” Nick concedes, raising his hands in a placating manner before starting to move the items they need for the project around on the table. They barely talk for the rest of the class and Nick figures that’s that.

~~~~~

Or it was until the next day when Troy actually sits at Nick’s table at lunch. Nick usually sits with only a few people. Gloria and Calvin and one or two other kids to the whole picnic style metal table that can seat a dozen easily. Glo and Cal give Nick a questioning look, to which he just shrugs and goes back to eating his spaghetti. He isn’t going to pry. If the guy wants to sit with them who’s he to question it.. He isn’t sure what Troy is aiming to gain here, but he can wait and see.

“Hey,” Cal says despite the look Nick gives him that clearly reads ‘wtf dude, leave him alone?’.

Troy glances up from his meal to stare warily at their group. “Hey,” he greets back with a small wave of his fork before rather violently stabbing a meatball on his tray.

“You’re the new guy, Troy, right? What brings you here, Troy? Parent’s drag you here from another town?” Cal asks, all cheery and personable. He’s one of the better actors Nick knows. But from the looks of it, Troy isn’t buying the act.

“Moved in with my brother. Had to go to a school and this was the closest one to where we live.” Is the only answer they get before Troy drops his fork onto his tray and gets up to leave.

Once he’s gone the group trades looks of interest and confusion.

“Maybe something happened to his parents?” Glo guesses with a shrug before tucking a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear and looking in the direction the gangly brunet left.

“Maybe,” Cal agrees. “Or maybe he got in trouble with the cops and his parents kicked him out so he had to come to live with his brother. You saw the bruise on his eye when he got here, he has them all over. Saw hem all over his back when he was changing for gym the other day. Dude looks like he belongs in Fight Club.”

That gets a worried look from both Gloria and Nick. Both have been smacked around by their parents, and they know the kind of shit that can push you to do. Neither says anything though. Cal doesn’t get it. His family is great. A little poor. Which is why he started dealing. When things are bad he keeps Nick and Glo well supplied. But he doesn’t get their addiction or what it’s like to have a parent be so enraged that they just start hitting you.

To a degree, Gloria doesn’t entirely get it either. Her stepmother slapped her a few times over the years. Nothing like the beatings Nick’s taken when Madison is drunk or just plain furious for whatever reason.

The bell rings, bringing Nick back to reality and the clamor of trays and grumbling of kids who don’t want to go back to class. They don’t have any classes together that day, but Nick finds his mind wandering back to Troy Otto and what kind of secrets he must be keeping.

~~~~~

The next day Troy isn’t in their biology class, and the teacher doesn’t call his name at attendance, which means he either called out or switched classes. A quick glance at the class roster on the teachers’ desk when he goes up to, write on the board reveals that Troy called out for the rest of the week.

That strikes Nick as odd. Usually, if a student is sick they just do a mark meaning until further notice. The note beside his name clearly said out for x number of days. That detail nags at him the rest of the day. In fact, it nags at him to the point where he waits around after school to ‘catch a ride home with his mom’.

Which means he has an hour to sneak into the file room and find out what he can about Troy. Something doesn’t seem quite right here. The guy’s too quiet. And knowing what he does about the bruises and the flash of a temper he saw he wants to at least find out the other boys address so he can maybe walk by and maybe take a peak. See how he’s doing, maybe offer to go over what he missed in class if he gets caught in the neighborhood.

Picking the lock to the room he needs access to is ridiculously easy. The school is old and the locks are cheap. They may have gone all high tech with the metal detectors that are being installed, but they still lack security cameras in key areas, and they sure as hell haven’t upgraded the locks.

Slipping into the room, Nick lets the door close behind him with a soft clock. He doesn’t bother with the lights. Just uses his phone to see what he’s doing. The cabinets are alphabetized, so he just has to find O for Otto, Troy, and take a quick peek.

The quick peek turns into a full half hour sitting on the floor with his back to the cabinet as he reads and re-reads the few short pages in the folder. His school records go as far as third grade when he was referred to counseling for his issues interacting with other children. His father pulled him out to ‘home school’ him after that.

The next paper in the folder is a letter from a court in San Diego explaining that Troy comes from an abusive home and was never homeschooled as his father said he would be. He was raised in a hostile setting and was removed from the home when a raid was done by the FBI on their ranch to search for a stockpile of illegally gained guns and military equipment.

Troy was found in the basement with several bruises and was quickly taken to the hospital where they found evidence of past trauma and improperly healed broken bones. Residents of the ranch claimed not to know anything about the abuse, but his mother confessed to everything.

Troy’s legal guardian is his older brother, Jake, who is 8 years older and a lawyer. He has a house only a few blocks away from Nicks own.

A text causes Nick’s phone to buzz in his hand, shocking him out of the stupor he’s fallen into. He had to read the pages before him three times for it to make sense.

The text is from his mom, asking if he’s ready to leave. He shoots back a quick text of yes and he’ll meet her at the car.

It’s clear that he’s shaken when he gets into the car with Madison, and she turns to face him rather than starting the engine and leaving the parking space. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Blinking, Nick considers lying and saying it’s nothing, but he just doesn’t have it in him at the moment. “I’m just worried about a friend. Well, he’s not really a friend, he’s the new kid, Troy? He wasn’t in school today.”

A look of surprise flashes across Madison’s face before she turns back to face the wheel and start the car. “You don’t need to worry, he had somewhere to be today, but he’ll be back in a few days. I spoke to his brother this morning.”

His mom’s word don’t exactly do anything to ease his worries, and Nick sinks down into his seat and hugs his backpack to his chest as he looks out the window. He took a picture of Troy’s address with his phone, he could just go for a walk and take a look. See for himself that Troy is indeed fine.

“Don’t worry so much, Nick. Everything with Troy is going to be fine. You have my word,” Madison assures, her tone more counselor like than motherly. He hates when she talks like that.

“Yeah, right…” he agrees a beat later with a sigh. Her words just make him want to go even more.

Unfortunately, Alicia has other plans and demands that he helps her with her science project when he gets home. That eats up a good three hours, then dinner takes another, and by the time he’s able to slip away, it’s getting close to dark.

Lucky for him that just means Madison is out on a date with Travis until late and Alicia is busy with her homework, so he can easily slip out undetected.

The walk to Troy’s street doesn’t take long, maybe ten minutes, and what he sees when the house is finally in view is surprising. Troy is out in the driveway in a rumpled black suit, back to a silver pickup and looking very uncomfortable while a man who Nick assumes is Troy’s brother yells at someone over the phone from inside of their house. His figure clear through the large bay window.

For a moment Nick thinks he should turn tail and run, but then Troy spots him and it’s too late. The brunet looks confused a moment before stuffing his hands in his pockets and starting to walk down the block towards Nick.

He looks good, despite the yellow shadow of a still-healing bruise around his eye and across his cheekbone. “What are you doing here, Nicky?”

The question is a mix of curiosity and threat, though Nick isn’t really sure how it is, just that he feels vaguely threatened by it. “Needed to get out of the house for a while and walk around,” Nick says with a shrug. “What’s with the suit? Someone die?”

Troy actually flinches at the question, and Nick instantly regrets it.

“Shit, man, I was joking. Did someone actually die?”

Troy shakes his head before bringing a hand up to rub at his face tiredly, a gesture that makes him look much older than 17. “Not any time soon,” he grumbles before meeting Nick’s gaze, intense blue eyes meeting warm brown. “Look, I need to get outa here for a while. You know a place? Preferably without other people?”

The question has Nick taken aback for a moment and he only nods before pointing behind himself with his thumb and gesturing for Troy to follow. He does, and they walk in silence for a good three blocks before Troy speaks up.

“Your buddy Calvin is a real piece of work,” he notes, tone sounding much more chipper than Nick would expect from the air of tension hanging around the guy.

“What’d he do this time?” Nick asks cautiously. Cal can be a dumbass at times. And just as much of a gossip as Gloria.

That gets a snort out of Troy, who shakes his head like he can’t decide if he wants to elaborate or not. After a beat, he sighs and gives in. “He had the gall to follow me home the other day and ask why I’m so banged up and on edge all the time. Like my life is any of his damn business.”

Thinking about it, Nick isn’t surprised Cal did that. The guy likes to poke at people’s weaknesses. Find the cracks in them. If he can’t get you to trust him he does shit to make you think he’s just a curious idiot that didn’t mean anything by it. Nick doesn’t think Troy would buy that play for even a second.

“Cal’s an idiot. Just ignore him,” Nick says dismissively with a wave of his hand before stuffing it into his pocket. “Him and Glo like to know everybody’s business.”

“But not you?” Troy asks with a chuckle.

Nick rolls his eyes at that before pointing to an old blue house with peeling paint that’s surrounded by a fence and multiple signs saying it’s condemned. “Nah, man. If people wanna tell me what’s going on with them that’s cool, but I won’t push for info on something that’s none of my business.” It’s not a total lie. He’s curious as all hell, but he can feel the tension radiating from Troy, he’s a powder keg and Nick is a lit match. He knows better than to risk saying the wrong thing and set the other boy off.

His words seem to strike a chord with Troy, and he actually relaxes a little. “So what is this place?” he asks as they reach the fence and start to slink around towards the backyard, where there are a few loose boards hidden by a large bush that they have to crouch to get behind.

“It was some old couples house. They died about a year ago and their family found out the house had been falling apart of years when they flew out to try and sell it. They decided to have it torn down instead, but I guess it’s tied up in court or something and they can’t do anything until that’s all settled. So, for now, it’s where I go to get away from my family,” Nick explains as he holds the broken boards aside for Troy to slip into the yard first.

Troy gives him an odd look before climbing through the opening. A moment later Nick’s in behind him and quickly leading the way to the back door, which has a broken lock thanks to a crowbar Nick snagged from Travis’ truck one night.

Once they’re inside it’s a bit hard to see, most of the windows have been boarded up or painted over. Without thinking Nick reaches back and grabs hold of Troy’s wrist, causing the other boy to freeze on the spot. Nick let’s go a second later and turns to look at him. “Dude, sorry. Just try and relax, there are some weak boards in the floor and I was just going to help you avoid them.”

Nick can practically see the gears turning in Troy’s head for a long moment before he holds out his hand for Nick to take. Which he does, and he’s honestly surprised when Troy closes his fingers around Nick’s hand and holds on a bit tighter than necessary. His hands are rough, but warm, and Nick wonders if that’s something that will change now that he isn’t living on a ranch.

The back door opens into an old mud room and connects to the kitchen from there. Once they’re inside the actual house it’s easy to see why it’s going to be torn down. There are boards missing from the floor, panels gone from the ceiling, and something that looks like vines is growing up a wall from a crack at the bottom.

Troy holds onto Nick’s hand all the way into the living room, which has several pieces of plywood strewn about the floor to make it safe to walk on. The old owners’ furniture is still there, and there are two large overstuffed couches and an armchair to match. Nick leads Troy to the first couch and actually has to wiggle his fingers to remind the other boy they’re holding hands still and get him to let go.

To his credit, Troy looks embarrassed and ducks his head sheepishly before taking a seat on the end of the couch in front of him. “So, what do you usually do while you’re hiding away here?”

“Smoke weed and listen to music,” Nick admits with a smirk as he flops down onto the opposite end of the couch to stare at Troy, who looks a bit surprised.

“Got a bit of a drug problem, Nicky?” Troy asks, tone teasing.

That makes Nick snort a laugh before he stretches out on the couch with his feet just shy of touching Troy’s leg. “Depends who you talk to, but basically, yeah. I’m an addict. Been to rehab twice for heroin. The pot is nothing, it’s just what I do when I’m trying to stay clean.”

The wide-eyed look Troy is giving makes Nick want to laugh and maybe ask if he’s alright. “I get the feeling you’ve never met anyone like me before, have you, Troy?”

Clearing his throat, Troy shakes his head and shifts in his seat to better face Nick, one leg pulled up onto the couch and an arm over the backrest. “What got you started?” It’s a simple question, but a loaded one. Too many ways to answer and too many ways things could be taken wrong.

“Well, if you ask my therapist it’s because I was born this way and was basically doomed to start using thanks to genetics and stupidity.” It’s true, that’s basically what he’s been told. Though when he says what he knows triggered his first decision to use, nobody has really believed him yet. His home life is too perfect despite his father dying in a car accident.

“Sounds like bullshit,” Troy chuckles. “Tell me what made you start using, not the reasons some crackpot therapist came up with. Don’t give me the psychoanalyzed version of the truth.”

That has Nick taken aback for a second. Nobody’s ever wanted him to really explain. Not even Glo or Cal. They just think his home life sucks and his mom smacks him once in a while. “Real deal? My mom’s abusive and I kind of think she’s the reason my dad died. But everyone thinks she’s this saint of a woman that lost a husband and has a problematic junkie son. Now can we talk about something else? This shit is too heavy.”

Troy actually laughs at Nick’s bluntness and leans back so he’s resting against the arm of the couch. He eyes Nick in a way that Nick can’t decipher for a brief moment before his gaze slips around the dimly lit room. “Can we get some more light in here?’

Chuckling, Nick gets up and wanders over to where a box is sitting beside the armchair. Inside are all the things he keeps there for his alone time. A dozen candle filled mason jars that are painted different colors to make the place feel more comfortable, his spare junky old brick of an iPod, and a few things of canned soda and various snacks.

He takes a few jars out and brings them over to the coffee table before fishing a book of matches out of his pants pocket and striking one. When he looks up Troy’s watching with one eyebrow raised as he carefully lights the candles in each jar and gets them arranged on the table to create a glowing rainbow of sorts. “Gotta have the right mood when you’re getting high. Nothing sucks more than the vibe of a place bringing you down.”

Troy gives a slight nod at that. “I’ll take your word for it…” he drawls, a hint of an accent that Nick had noted before growing stronger.

“Dude, I gotta ask, where are you from? You mostly sound like you’re from somewhere in Cali, but then there are times when you have like a hint of a southern accent thrown in.” It’s been bugging Nick since the day he first heard Troy speak in the halls.

“Two hours east of San Diego,” Troy grumbles as he shifts on the couch so he can kick off his shoes and loosen his tie. “Grew up on a ranch. Picked the accent up from the workers and my dad.”

Nodding, Nick looks around the room to see if he’s missed anything. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some chips ‘n stuff kicking around. I might even have some cookies left.”

Troy snorts at the offer. “I’m good. Think I just need to lay back and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a while,” he admits with a tired sigh. In that moment he once again looks much older than 17, and Nick really wants to do something to help. Nobody their age should look like they have the world on their shoulders.

“You like music?” Nick finds himself asking as he wanders back over to his box of goodies and snatches up his iPod, along with a few cans of ginger ale and the big bag of Doritos he stashed there a few days ago.

“You like breathing?” Troy counters with a small scoff as he stretches out on the couch, his long frame taking up most of it. He’s tall, at least two or three inches taller than Nick, and Nick is almost six feet and supposedly still growing.

Nick rolls his eyes but says nothing as he tosses the bag of Doritos on the floor right where two couches meet at the armrests and sets the sodas on the corner of the coffee table that’s easily within reach. Kicking off his own shoes and flops down onto the other couch so his head is on end closest to Troy’s. “Here,” he says, holding out one earbud for the other boy to take.

After a moment’s hesitation Troy takes it and examines it briefly before popping it into his left ear. Nick does the same with his right and after a moment’s scrolling through his options, he puts on a playlist of the heavier songs he has. He figures Troy can appreciate them, seeing as the guy has a Rise Against bumper sticker on the truck that he’s fairly certain is his and not his lawyer brothers.

The first song to come on is Attack by Thirty Seconds to Mars, and Troy makes a little surprised sound at it but doesn’t comment on the music otherwise.

They spend a good hour laying like that, Troy occasionally asking what song is playing while they munch on Doritos and drink room temperature soda.

Eventually Troy gets a text from his brother asking where he is and if he’s okay. He reluctantly texts that he’s fine and is just out walking with a classmate and he’ll be home soon. “I need to get headed,” he grumbles as he removes the bud from his ear and holds it out for Nick to take.

“Yeah? You want me to walk you back?” Nick asks, already clocking off the old iPod and winding the cord of the earbuds around the bulk of it as he sits up.

Troy looks conflicted, glancing between Nick and is phone a few times before nodding. “Sure,” is all he says as he stands and slips his shoes back on.

Nick says nothing as Troy grabs his hand on the way out, he did say he’d guide the other boy through the house earlier, and it is dark. If Nick lets himself enjoy it a little that’s nobody’s business but his own, and he finds himself missing the warmth just a little when they’re outside and Troy hesitantly let’s go as they walk through the tall grass of the back yard.

Soon they’re walking down the sidewalk in the direction of Troy’s house, bodies close enough that they bump shoulders now and then. There’s still a tension to how Troy carries himself, but he’s more relaxed than Nick has seen him in the week the other boy has been attending the same school as him. It feels like some kind of victory that he’s the reason why.

When they reach Troy’s block he pauses, and Nick turns back to look at him in the glow of the street light. “Listen, I really appreciate you taking me to your secret hangout for a few hours. I needed that.”

Nodding, Nick stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives a small smile. “No problem, man. You’re welcome to go back and hang if you need to get away for a while. You’ll have to bring your own tunes though, I need to charge my iPod.”

That gets a chuckle out of Troy, who nods and steps forward to place a hand on Nick’s shoulder before he passes. “I think we can be friends now,” he says in a warm tone that gets Nick laughing.

“Yeah, man, we’re friends. Which means if Calvin is a dick again let me know and I’ll deck him for you,” Nick offers as he turns to watch Troy as he walks away.

“I’d pay to see that,” Troy calls out without looking back. “Good night, Nicky. Be seein’ you.”

“Night, Troy,” Nick calls after as he turns and starts to walk in the direction of his own home.

He goes back to the abandoned house the next night, not surprised when Troy showed up not even half an hour later with what appears to be a shiny new iPod full of music and a bag of snacks that he drops into Nick’s supply bo,x without a word.

They take up the same positions as the night before, Troy sprawled on one couch while Nick is sprawled on another. Troy occasionally asking if Nick has heard of this band or this song that his brother loaded onto his iPod for him.

It becomes an almost nightly occurrence. Nick sneaking out to chill for a few hours and Troy showing up not long after. Eventually, they end up on the same couch, both still laying down but with their feet up by the others sides as Nick smokes a joint and tells Troy about what he’s missed at school the last few days.

He doesn’t pry about what Troy is going through, and Troy doesn’t share any details. Just says one night he’s been getting dragged to court with his brother for family stuff. Nick tosses him a bag of mini snickers and asks if he wants to lie to his brother and Nick’s mom and just crash there for the night. It’s Saturday. No court or school the next day. So no reason to go home if they don’t’ want to.

It only takes a few moments for Troy to give a slight nod and pull out his phone, calling Jake and asking if he can crash at his buddy Nick’s house for the night and explaining they only live a few blocks away so it’s not like he’s far if Jake needs him.

His brother agrees readily and actually encourages Troy to ask to do so more often.

Nick isn’t honestly expecting Madison to agree, in which case he’ll go home for an hour before sneaking out his window. When he gets a text back saying to have fun and call if he needs anything he lets out a manic sounding laugh that gets Troy looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

“What’s so funny, Nicky?” Troy asks as he pokes Nick in the ribs with his toes.

“My mom actually agreed. The only place she’s ever okay with me staying is Calvin’s house. And that’s because we’ve been friends since we were 7 years old.” Nick admits with another chuckle.

“She probably figures you won’t try and pull anything since my brother is a lawyer,” Troy wagers with a grin. “So, do you have blankets stashed somewhere around here?”

Rolling his eyes, Nick drags himself up to sitting and takes another hit from his neglected joint before standing and wandering over to the stairs that go up to the second floor. He hops over the few broken ones, minding the loose nails here and there and the broken bit of banister before reaching the top. There are several boxes in each room, and it’s easy to find the boxed up blankets that were left behind.

He returns downstairs a moment later with the roach of his nearly gone joint between his lips and an arm full of puffy blankets. “You want a pillow too or are you good?” Nick asks, words a little muffled from the way he speaks without opening half his mouth to keep from dropping the last of his weed on the blankets in his arms.

“I’m good, but I’ll settle for a lullaby since you don’t seem like the type to read me a story,” Troy jokes as he reaches out and takes one of the blankets from Nicks grasp. It isn’t really cold in here at night, but it’s easier to sleep with a blanket and Nick gets that.

“Sorry, fresh out of lullabies. Lucky you, you brought that nice new iPod to listen to,”  Nick says in mock sweetness as he stubs out the end of his roach and moves to get situated on the other couch with his own blanket.

Snorting a laugh, Troy doesn’t argue as he shakes out the blanket he’s been given and covers his legs with it. Things between them fall silent again and both men lay in the near dark as the candles Nick lit early slowly burn out in the multi-colored jars.

Nick thought for sure that Troy was already asleep as he starts to doze, but soft words draw him back to consciousness.

“Hey, Nick…” he pauses and waits for Nick to hum in acknowledgment before continuing.”y’know before, when you said your mom’s abusive? So’s mine. And my dad. S’why I’ve been goin’ to court ‘n why I was beat to crap when I first got here. They took me away and brought me to live with Jake after keeping me in a hospital for a week to make sure I wasn’t majorly fucked up after ten years of being a punching bag.”

Nick stays silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say at first. “I’m glad you got out, man. I like having you around.”

“… Yeah, I like havin’ you around too…” troy agrees, tone showing how close he is to sleep. There’s a sound of shifting fabric, probably Troy rolling over or something. And that’s the last thing heard before they both nod off.

~~~~~

Nick isn’t sure what wakes him, he just knows it’s still dark and he’s not anywhere near ready to be awake. He’s about to roll over and go back to sleep when he hears the unmistakable sound of a whimper.

“Troy?” He asks blearily as he rolls onto his back and forces himself to sit up despite the heaviness in his sleep addled body. When there’s no response he reaches out and grabs his phone off the coffee table. Hitting the power button casts the room in a faint glow and it’s just enough for him to see that Troy is tangled in his blanket and looking miserable. Most likely from a nightmare.

“Hey, Troy, wake up,” he says it louder this time, and the other boy jumps awake with a start, clearly not recognizing his surroundings in the low light. “Dude, you’re alright, it was just a dream,” Nick offers softly, not wanting to startle him further.

“Yeah… Right…” Troy says, sounding a little out of breath and shaky.” Right… Yeah… I’m good. Sorry.”

Considering his options, Nick decides to go with his big-brother instinct here and kicks off his own blanket before standing and stretching with a jawn. “Move over,”

That gets Troy’s head snapping around to look over at Nick in the dim light still being cast by his phone screen. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t kid about things like this. You had a nightmare and I know from experience going back to sleep after one is either a major bitch and takes forever, or you nod right off and go right back into it. So the best thing to do is not sleep alone. Now move over, dumbass. Or I’ll shove you over,” Nick reasons as he moves so he’s standing by the middle of Troy’s couch.

It’s hard to make out his expression in the dim light, but Troy’s studying Nick with an unreadable one for a good long moment before he sighs and shifts on the couch so his lithe frame is pressed to the back cushions. He rolls so his back is to Nick, which makes the shorter boy snort before he carefully climbs onto the couch behind him and gets situated under the blanket.

It’s a little awkward and takes them a bit to figure out how to lay, but eventually, they end up with both of them using Nick’s bent arm as a pillow, as Nick wraps the other around Troy’s waist and lets his hand sort of loosely hold Troy’s shirt.

“This good?” Nick asks, still tired but also nervous. He’s curled up like this with Cal before. But doing so with Troy is sending his heart racing in his chest like it’s looking for an exit.

“… Yeah… This is good… Thanks, Nicky,” Troy mutters softly,

Nick doesn’t respond, doesn’t trust himself not to say something stupid or give away how he’s feeling all of a sudden with the other boy in his arms.

Sleep comes again for Troy quickly, but Nick finds himself lying away for a while longer just listening to him breathe softly. At one point Troy snuffles in his sleep and nuzzles into Nick’s arm as he leans back into him a bit.

It’s warm and comfortable, and eventually, the pounding of Nick’s heart slows and he joins Troy in sleep. Neither of them says anything about Troy’s nightmare in the morning, but Troy does give Nick this smile that’s honest to god the most breathtaking look Nick has ever been on the receiving end of and it’s all he can do not to kiss Troy then and there.

He wants to. But he’s not ready for that. And he knows Troy sure as hell isn’t either, assuming he even swings that way.

But then again, Troy grabs his hand once more as they make to leave in the morning, and he doesn’t let go until they’re at the fence. They part ways on the other side, Nick promising to come by and help Troy with his homework that afternoon and Troy promising to not fall asleep on him when they get to the boring shit.

Things go on like this for a few more weeks. Meeting up at the old house to get away for a while and just be in each others company. They crash there at least one night each weekend, Now with Nick and Troy curling up on the same couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world to go to sleep in each other’s arms.

It’s more than friendship, but not something they talk about or try to define. It works for them. And it makes the hell of Troy’s family drama and the hassles of being a junior in high school bearable. Nick doesn’t even want to do drugs when Troy is around, except for a joint here and there.

Nick thinks their time together is having a positive impact on Troy as well. He starts to be more relaxed at school. Actually talking to people and coming out of his shell more. He still has that little flame of rage hiding inside him that comes out when someone crosses him, but he’s also charming, and quick-witted. Nick’s initial thought of the other boy being a wolf in sheep’s clothing was right. And god help him if he doesn’t love it.

Troy Otto coming to Paul R Williams High School might just be the best thing to happen in either of their lives. And their time there together is far from over.