#1) no one to bounce off 2) I’M SO EARLY ON STILL THAT I CAN’T

[remitro]

i have a rule in place where i can only listen to jrwi at work to avoid accidentally blazing through the entire thing in one sitting but it has the unfortunate side effect of. well. I GOTTA WAIT. FOR MY PODCAST. FUCK!!!!!!!

in a dream world i could blaze through all of prime defenders in a week and then slowly go insane. but no. I Have To Wait.

[buckysfaveplum]

krypto, take me home

summary: when Clark can’t make it to the fortress, Krypto brings him to you

pairing: clark kent x female reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: typical injury/kinda recovery warnings, blood, broken bones, etc. not much else. reader is mentioned have hair once. no other descriptions

a/n: sigh another fic the next day, that’s when you know i’m obsessed. here’s a lil idea i had as soon as i saw the opening scene. if you're new here cause i'm pretty much known for bucky barnes fics, I love angst so that's kinda my lil niche. hope that's okie!

oh and I loved @sharknutz idea of Clark calling the reader sunshine so yeaaa I had to try that out <3

masterlist | send requests

You were never a very light sleeper, per se. It wasn’t like you were waking up with each creak of the floorboards or gust of wind. But you never were one to sleep fully through the night without waking up just once. Clark had this little joke; he could always count on an extra cuddle sometime around 2 am. What could you say? You always slept better with him by your side.

Tonight, sleep proved to be a challenge. Clark had been gone for hours, off handling what you think you heard as some underground group of metahumans terrorizing the capital of Wales? After a while, you couldn’t find it in yourself to watch the news. Sue you, but the constant sight of your boyfriend smashing into concrete and brick buildings wasn’t how you wanted to spend the evening. It never was easy, knowing every time he left in that cape, there was the slightest chance he wouldn’t return. The habit of flicking on the television, just to become distraught and overwhelmed, and turning it off only to cave and flick it on again, consumed your evenings.

The bed was cold, feeling larger than normal without Clark’s large frame claiming more than half the bed and hogging the blankets. Your feet fluttered under the duvet, trying to shake the nerves and unease that engulfed your body. He should’ve been back by now, slipping through the door with a smirk and some half-funny quip about his injuries; it never was all that funny to you. You knew he needed to stop by the fortress first if he was hurt, recharge and heal, and maybe check on Krypto before flying back. Still, it was 4 am, and the news declared the situation to be handled by 1 am.

The thoughts swirling in your brain halted when a crash and the sound of shattering glass echoed through the living room. You jolted upright in bed, stumbling quietly out from the sheets and reaching for the steel pipe you had stashed under the bedframe. Clark always thought it was ridiculous, offering to get you a bat or something, but the pipe was found with your first apartment, and you’d had no issues in all your years since in Metropolis, maybe it was a good luck charm.

You slowly inched to the door as you heard grunts mixed with the sounds of stumbling feet and soft pounding. Any bit of drowsiness you had managed to build up while lying in bed was gone. If you needed to escape, the front door was in the kitchen, which was right next to the bedroom. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Unless they weren’t human.

Before you could continue to spiral and plan your first mode of attack, the familiar sound of a bark bounced up the other side of the door.

“Krypto?” you asked hesitantly as you lowered the pipe. The grading sound of that familiar yelp continued, confirming your suspicions.

You placed the pipe on the bed before slowly pulling the door open. You couldn’t even greet the superdog before he latched onto the hem of your shorts and tugged you out of the room.

“Hey, buddy, slow down,” you said as you stumbled behind him, trying not to fall. Something was wrong; the high-strung and chaotic pup you had come to know well was never this focused. He dragged you to the living room before letting go of your shorts with a bark. The white dog rushed over to the window- that’s when you saw.

The large bay window was shattered, exposing the crisp air of the early morning. Glass was strewn across the hardwoods. Lying face down in the middle was Clark. He looked wrecked, bruises covered the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and blood dripped from his lips and soaked parts of his hair. His arm twitched slightly, letting you know there was something damaged beneath the suit. He looked awful. The haunting rattling from his chest was the worst, filling the silent room and pounding in your ears.

“Clark!” you said, rushing to his side. As carefully as possible, you slipped to your knees, being sure to avoid the bits of glass that surrounded the scene. Your hands began to shake as you reached for him, scared to do any further damage. You rarely saw him like this, and if so, it tended to be through news footage. 

“Honey, hey,” gently, you tried to turn him off his face and onto his back. He cried out at the movement, but his voice quickly turned to a whimper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He didn’t respond, just fluttered his eyes open and glanced up at you. Through the blood on his lips, he still flashed you a smile. Your heart stuttered.

“Hi baby,” he said, through bloody teeth.

“Clark, honey, what are you doing here?” Your voice was frantic as your hands hovered over him, afraid to touch anywhere. 

“…needed to heal,” he said, trying to lean up into your touch, but the movement just brought more pain.

Delicately, your hands moved to cup his face, softly brushing a bit of glass from the sable curls that framed his face. As your fingers grazed the dark bruises by his eyes, you couldn’t help but notice how he relaxed under your hands. 

Krypto leapt up onto the couch beside you, crawling up to the front and watching as you tried to figure out what to do next.

“Why…why didn’t you go to the f-fortress?” You asked. He hated how he could hear the tremors in your voice, hated how visibly distressed you were. He hated that he was the one to cause it.

He tried once again to lean upright into a sitting position. This time, you grabbed him and quickly propped him against the couch. At this angle, it seemed the airflow in his lungs was strengthened.

“I���too far,” he said, his bright blue eyes fully opening and meeting yours. “I couldn’t…make it. I got as far as outside the city but...”

Your hands moved slowly down from his neck to his chest. Through the thick blue fabric, you could feel the cracked bones of his clavicle and sternum. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to relax.

“Then why …? Clark, why did Krypto bring you here? I can’t—I can’t fix this,” you said, your words spilled out in an almost incoherent ramble. Your panic stilled for just a moment as you felt Clark’s hand softly reach up for yours, guiding it to his chest where your palm felt the steady thumping of his heart.

“I told him to take me home,” he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

A soft sigh left your chest; you couldn’t place what it was, perhaps it was a mix of surprise or relief or even resignation. Those words were everything you wanted to hear. You wanted nothing more than to be his safety, his place to go and feel protected. If he wasn’t battered on your living room floor, those words would have driven you to kiss him silly.

Your hands came to rest on his neck, tenderly keeping his weary head up as you focused.

“Okay… okay, love,” you said, nodding to yourself as your thumbs brushed softly along the dips of his cheeks. Your eyes darted around the room, trying to remember where you placed the first aid kit. You began to rise from your spot beside him, hoping to find some hydrogen peroxide and gauze to clean out the gash by his hairline. A strong hand on your wrist held you back.

“Don’t… please stay,” he said, his brows curling up as he pleaded his case.

“Clark, I need to get stuff to clean you up…we need to fix you,” you said, brushing back some curls to get a look at the wound.

“The sun will be up soon… I’ll be fine,” he said. “Please, just stay, sunshine.” Your hands moved to cup his face once again, gently leaning in to place a soft kiss to his temple. 

“Please, I can’t see you like this. Just let me make you better?” you asked. 

Clark always knew his biggest weakness was kryptonite, but somewhere along the way, that changed. Somehow, it became you. He never could deny you, say no, or dare to not put your needs or wants before his own. It didn’t matter if it was inconvenient or difficult or even impossible; if it was for you, he’d make it happen. He could see the fear and devotion in your eyes; he knew the sight of himself was crushing you. You needed comfort, you needed to feel useful, as if somehow you could make it all okay for him. He knew he’d be fine with a few hours, but if you needed to patch him up, then so be it. Who was he to say no when you asked?

“Yeah… of course, baby,” he said, his hand gingerly squeezing yours before letting you go. With a relieved sigh, you rushed to the kitchen. You didn’t miss the needy sigh that left his lips at your absence. 

Krypto dashed from the couch, following you through the apartment as you checked your cabinets. You carded through the bathroom until you gathered everything you’d need. Rushing back to Clark’s side, you could feel the pounding of your heart begin to slow. Words ran through your mind, repeating like a mantra as you tried to compose yourself. He’s okay, he’s alive, he’s here. 

You spilled your medical stash along the rug as you returned to his side. You gently began to wash out the first cut you saw. You stretched over him as you worked, kneeling but no longer resting on your legs as you found the best angle to wash out the wound. Your hands worked quickly, stopping the bleeding before applying butterfly plasters to close it.

Somewhere lost in your mission, you noticed the weight of the superbeing below you melting into your chest. Clark’s head rested safely against your chest. His good arm wrapped around your thighs, keeping you as close as he could with the strength he had. The sound of his breathing still left you shaky, but his sighs of content helped. 

By the time you had finished, the sun began to creep its way over the sky-high buildings of Metropolis. Warm light filtered in through your apartment, casting deep shadows before banishing them with a brighter day. Your hands gently shook Clark.

“Love, sun’s up,” you said. His strength was returning, but he still had injuries only the yellow sun could fix. He slung his arm around you and helped you pull him up as you moved him over to the window. 

You did your best to hold him still and steady as the bright glow of the sun coated his body. You were never around when he took his time to heal; you never saw the way he thrashed and cried out at the pain. As much as it killed you to hear his whimpers, you held him firmly, using what little strength you had as a human to keep the god-like man in your arms upright.

With one last cry, Clark sagged back into your arms. You struggled to keep him rooted, but he soon caught himself. You watched as he drew in deep, long breaths, air finally filling his lungs without the eerie rattle you’d never get out of your head. His hands gripped your arm and hip. His arm was straightened out, firm and taut once again. With one last breath, he stretched back up.

“Are-are you okay?” you asked, your hands once again moving around in search of any surprise injuries you may have missed. With a soft laugh, Clark took your hands and pressed a kiss to your palms. He pulled you in closer, cupping the back of your head and slipping his fingers through your hair.

“I’m fine, sunshine. I said I would be,” he said, pulling you close and resting his forehead to yours. “You took care of me.”

You nodded at his words, falling into his chest as your arms wrapped tightly around him. Calloused hands stroked your hair and held you to him as he placed kisses on the top of your head. You peeked around Clark’s large frame to see Krypto stretched over the couch, his tail thumping at the faded leather as he watched you both.

“I’m glad Krypto brought you to me,” you said, resting your head back over Clark’s heart. The steady beat filled your ear and soothed any anxieties that settled in your bones. 

Clark rested his chin atop your head, sighing softly as he squeezed you gently, “He brought me home.”

---

I hope you liked it! kinda quick and eh but thx for reading <3

[bballesbolol]

Power Play | Chapter 2 (part 1)

PWHL Paige x WNBA Azzi AU

You can find the last chapter here

Warnings: Language

A/N: Okay I grinded this out but apparently tumblr had a text blocks limit that I managed to exceed so this gal is gonna come out in 2 parts (sorry?) the whole thing is like 8k words. Anyway sorry for putting this out so late and sorry that it isn’t one part—hope u still enjoy!! (pretty please tell me ur thoughts i crave validation—and feedback ig) Also If there’s mistakes please look away I’m too tired to care 🤗

Word Count: 5.1k

| Hotel after draft | 6:23 a.m. | Azzi’s POV |

She woke up way too early with a headache that must’ve been karmic punishment.

It felt like her body knew she shouldn’t rest. Or like it was trying to punish her for relapsing into her chronic Paige Bueckers horniness.

Either way she felt like shit.

Caroline was still asleep when her head stopped pounding enough for her to sit up. Wonderful. Alone with her thoughts. And her phone. And her free will—

She reached across the gap between the two beds and shook Caroline awake.

“What the fuck—“

Caroline’s voice was cracked and thick with sleep. She rolled to her back, eyes fluttering open, face screwed up with a mix of fear and confusion. Azzi wasted no time.

“Caro I think I’m still drunk and Paige’s story is still up and I need guidance before I embarrass myself completely.”

Caroline’s hands flow from her sides to her face, dragging down it like she was trying to peel her skin off.

“Good morning Azzi. I slept great, thanks for—“

”I can’t do this right now. You need to take my phone”

She scrambled to grab her phone from where she had left it last night—under her pillow like she was waiting for the horny DM fairy—and chucked it to the foot of Caroline’s bed.

Caroline slowly rose from her bed, one hand still on her temple like she was trying to keep her head from splitting in two.

“You need to calm down, like, right now. We’re getting through this.” She yawned and reached for Azzi’s phone, squinting as the screen lit up and unlocked at the sight of her face.

“You haven’t done anything yet, right?”

Azzi thought back to last night. As far as she knew, no, but there were definitely some gaps she couldn’t fill in. She dragged a hand down her face.

“Uh—I don’t think so?”

Caroline nodded, swiping through something on her phone. She blinked and let out a soft sigh, “No, you didn't. Thank god.”

Azzi let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding. It escaped from somewhere deep behind her ribs, raw and utterly relieved.

“Thank fuck” she groaned, flopping back into her pillow, and regretting it once she felt what she could only assume was her brain hitting her skull and bouncing around pinball-style.

“What do I do?” She groaned hopelessly, less at Caroline and more at the universe in general.

Caroline took a deep breath. Looked back down at Azzi’s phone in her hand, deep in thought, “Okay, you don’t want to look desperate—public or private. Thirsty DM is off the table”

She nodded, “Done.”

“But, if we’re serious about this whole—whatever—you need to make a move”

Azzi paused for a moment.

Was she serious about this? Nothing about it felt serious—it was more of a terminally horny fever dream. Something 20 year old her probably would’ve wished for when she was blowing out the candles on her Paige Bueckers birthday cake Caroline had gotten her as a joke.

It certainly wasn't something she spent every night thinking about anymore. But it wasn't something she’d rule out.

“Define serious”

“Are you still into her?” Caroline's question was clear cut. Unavoidable.

Shit.

Yeah. She was.

Azzi groaned and rolled over onto her stomach, smothering her face in the cheap hotel pillows.

She squeaked out a shameful, “mhm” against the fabric.

“Okay, so we have to do something.”

She rolled up onto her side, “define something?”

”God, Azzi, buy a dictionary—we’re making a move,” She grumbled, “Not a desperate one. Something small. Classy. You just want to start the conversation”

Azzi sighed, “like what?” She asked reluctantly.

“You can repost her story. Acknowledge her, athlete to athlete. Nobody should question that, considering you’re about to be a star on the only other major women’s sports team in Minnesota—”

Azzi cut her off with a desperate groan that sounded more like a death-rattle.

”God—all she did was welcome me to the state—what am I even supposed to say? ‘Thank you mommy’?”

Caroline snorted.

”Mommy? If anything it’d be—”

She cut her off before she got the chance to put that thought in her head, “Caro. Don’t even fucking think about it. I’m already dying over here”

“Sorry. You don’t even have to say anything, really. Could just repost it blank. Let people know you’re plotting on that—“

“Okay, you’re shutting up now. I need to think”

Caroline was silent. Azzi rolled onto her back again, hands finding their way back to her throbbing temples in an attempt to fight back against whatever vendetta her body had against her.

The logistics of this were fuzzy.

She was a public figure. So was Paige. Both made headlines if they breathed in the wrong direction.

Paige had made it pretty clear that she didn’t care about a scandal. Actually, it seemed like her fans loved her because of how little she cared. She didn’t care when the media criticized her for leading the Frost in penalty minutes. Or how she led them in hits, too. Or about her hot mic moments that would probably kill a Victorian child on the spot.

She didn’t care when photos of her with a new girl on her hip circulated through twitter once a week. Never cared to comment on the pictures of random women on their alleged ‘walks of shame’ leaving her apartment complex.

Paige’s career was built on her being the rat. Azzi’s, on the other hand, was not.

She was the people’s princess. She donated her NIL money to food banks and non-profits. Practically cried when she got her one and only career technical for complaining about a bad call—which was entirely justified. Helped girls on the opposing team up after particularly hard fouls. Offered words of encouragement to underclassmen. Never argued. Always smiled.

Kept anything personal out of the public eye. Avoided scandal like her life depended on it.

She was UConn’s golden girl. Had to be, considering the scrutiny she faced from pretty much every angle all the time.

If something were to happen—something were to go wrong—

If someone took a picture of her leaving an apartment late at night—cheeks flushed, hair a mess, clothes not hers—

Fuck. Why was that even a thought?

—She’d be ruined. And Paige sure as shit wouldn’t try and fix it.

But maybe that was what she wanted?

No, Fuck—

She needed to be sedated. Or lobotomized.

She took a deep breath and finally broke the silence, “I’m not gonna do anything”

Caroline whipped her head around to face her, “What? Why?”

“I can’t, it's not worth it—“

”Azzi. I didn't sit through months of your obsession with this woman for you to throw away this chance”

”I didn’t spend 4 years of my life building an image the media couldn't criticize just to throw it out over a crush I had—”

”have” Caroline corrected.

Azzi ignored her, “Had in college. I’m moving to Minnesota to be a star on the Lynx, not one of Paige's sneaky links. I can’t let myself—I’m not engaging. It’s for the greater good”

Caroline looked her up and down, “That’s…very mature of you. Can’t wait to see how it works out.”

She rolled eyes, “I’m serious. I’m just gonna go to Minnesota and be kick-ass at basketball, and she's gonna be sexy and do hockey, like, parallel to me. Our paths don’t ever need to cross”

Caroline nodded slowly, looking like she was doing some kind of mental math on the probability of that actually happening, “And if she wants them to cross? What then?”

she sighed, deep and hopeless, “Then I’ll just have to be strong.”

Caroline laughed. Not a little chuckle—a full bodied, uncontrollable fit. breathy and bold.

“Good fucking luck”

***

5 Tylenol and about a gallon of Gatorade later she was out of the hotel and on the phone with her team. Talking training camp. Apartments. Marketing. Brand deals. Plane tickets. Appearances. Social media roll out.

Fuck.

It was a lot. Especially for someone who had just fully sobered up about 3 hours ago. Even more so when the man currently talking to her was some freshly hired twinky 35 year old social media manager who sounded like he’d had a quintuple-shot iced vanilla latte with a side of coke for breakfast.

“We need you to be active on social media for the next few weeks before training camp, there are new people who came across Azzi Fudd from the draft, and we want them to get to know her on your terms”

“Got it, drafts will be posted.”

“We’re not just talking Tik Tok, I need you on instagram, that's where you’ll get the most interest. I’m thinking a draft dump for sure, and then some posts about training. And you should keep people updated on your move to Minnesota, and your relationship with the team—”

”Yes, instagram—“

”and this whole thing with Paige Bueckers? I think we should milk that—twitter is already going crazy and all she did was post a story. I’m thinking we bring you and a few of your teammates to a game as soon as we can—“

Oh god-she’d forgotten about Twitter. That hellscape was probably already filled with people speculating about what was going on between the two of them—which was absolutely nothing—but they sure could work with that.

“Uh—I don’t know. I have zero business even touching hockey, I don't think we have a lot of overlap in fans—“

”honey, the fans are all lesbians—or at least lesbian adjacent—they’ll overlap just fine if we make them—“

She groaned, “Why can't I just go to Minnesota and play basketball like a normal person?”

”It's called expanding your market, all the pro’s who do it always end up successful. You can't just be a basketball player, you have to be an entertainer”

”I’m going to Minnesota to play basketball. That’s all I care about. That’s all I’ll be posting about. And I will be letting this whole thing die out.”

“Come on—“

”I’m done talking about it.”

”We can be done for now, but we will be discussing this later. Call me when you're a little less hungover, kay babe?”

The line cut before she got the chance to verbally strangle him. Milk it—like there was an “it” in the first place. Paige's manager probably forced her to repost that story. That’s all.

Shit. No, that wasn't all. She liked the story. She followed her.

No. She was just being friendly, right? Because she’s famously so personable—

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

———————————————————

Caroline:

Thinking in a straight line yet?

Because these people are UNHINGED

———————————————————

Wonderful timing. Attached was a link to a tweet. She clicked it.

It was relatively tame. Just a screenshot of Paige's story last night, followed by a “👀”. The replies were what got her.

↳@/lesbsportsfan

My two world colliding 🤭cant wait to see where this goes…

↳@/bueckersbitch

Same!! Like did she just make a move on main??

↳@/pdubluvrrrr

She’s just welcoming the girl to the city, probably just saw the post and thought it’d be nice to repost it.

↳@/bueckersbitch

She doesn’t follow the Lynx 👀just Azzi

↳@/motherpucker

Doesn’t follow anyone ON the Lynx either

↳@/lesbsportsfan

WHAT?? Okay that’s DEFINITELY a move 🫣

↳@/bueckersbitch

AND she’s in Czechia after worlds, 6 HOURS AHEAD. She reposted that at like 2 a.m. her time, that’s kinda suspicious is she's just “welcoming” her

↳@/lesbsportsfan

I’m convinced 😭cant wait for more crumbs once Azzi gets to Minnesota!!

↳@/Uconntbeatem

I think someone needs to keep Paige away from this girl. From what I’ve heard/seen the girl is all trouble

↳@/brebballa

Yeahhhh, she definitely doesn’t JUST wanna say hi iykwim

↳@/phil.smithss

Don't blame her, Fudd’s hot 🤷‍♀️

Oh my god ew. Nope. No more of that.

Twitter was gross, but they really weren’t wrong. Story posted at 2 a.m.—Doesn’t follow the Lynx—Or anyone on the lynx—Just her. Bad reputation, rarely good intentioned—

The context certainly helped clear up the intention—no matter how hard she wanted to ignore it.

This was a move.

She sighed. Shook her head. Texted Caroline back:

————————————————-

I’m fucked.

Caroline:

Think that's her goal, actually.

| TRIA Rink | April 25th | Paige’s POV |

“All I’m saying is, I think we should get this practice off”

Grace's voice echoed through the locker room, along with the chatter of the rest of the team.

“yeah right, say that to coach’s face” Taylor grumbled back, bending down to strap on one of her shin pads.

“I will—actually, would—my skates are already on”

Taylor snorted “yeah that’s what I thought”

The door to the locker room swung open, and Kendal walked through, bag slung over her shoulder, “I hate to say it, but it sounded like we won’t be seeing pucks today”

A collective groan echoed throughout the locker room.

It was the first practice back from the international break. “Break” being a very loose term for most of the team, considering half of the first two lines had spent the past few weeks in Czechia fighting for their lives.

She could still feel the ache of her ribs from where she’d caught a puck in their last game. Was probably still hungover, even if it was just a little. A puckless practice was the closest thing to a living nightmare she could experience right now.

Paige looked up, halfway through strapping on her own shin pad, “you’re fucking lying.”

Kendal made her way to her locker and flopped down onto the bench, opening her bag, ”why would I lie about that? I'm still recovering from that final, plus a three day bender. If there was hope, I'd be clinging onto it too”

Paige groaned and leaned back against the hardwood in the back of her locker, “just tell coach your old lady joints are creaking and we should all get the day off—“

She was quickly cut off by a chorus of voices.

“I’m literally only 32–“

“Dude we’re like the same age—“

”she can still skate faster than you—“

Michela and Emma hopped in behind Kendal like they were in some kind of 30 and flirty solidarity club.

She raised her hands in self-defense, “chill chill chill I was kidding”

Kendal mumbled something like yeah right under her breath and went back to getting dressed. She wasn't so lucky with the other two. They were still staring at her, Michela with her head cocked to the side, Emma with her arms crossed, like they were cataloging ideas for every possible mistake she could’ve made over the break.

Michela finally spoke up, voice edged with suspicion, “why do you need the day off so bad? Too many late nights?”

Emma looked to her, and then to Paige, a smirk on her face, and added, “maybe sampling the foreigners?”

She groaned. This is how they always were—felt like they had the right to know everything about that side of her life just because they were the team's token happy couple. Claimed it was just because they wanted the same thing for her. Usually failed to consider the fact that she didn’t want what they had. That she was there for a fun time, not a long time.

She ignored them and bent down to tie one of her skates. That was met with a chuckle and a come on from the two of them.

Taylor took it upon herself to answer for her, “nah, she was pretty tame surprisingly”

“yeah right—”

“She was, really,” asserted Grace, who snorted and continued, “Probably because she’s got her sights set on someone more…domestic”

The locker room chatter died down ever so slightly. A few heads turned just enough for them to notice.

Wonderful. Now this was everyone’s business. Michela and Emma stared down at her expectantly.

Paige glared at Grace, bent down and pulled a sock up over her shin pad. Tried her hardest to avoid the question she knew was coming, “Can I borrow someone’s clear?”

Michela scoffed, “Nope. Not dodging that one—who’s the unlucky lady?”

“Hey—” Emma growled and elbowed Michela in the ribs. She folded dramatically with a grunt.

“no but, seriously, who is it” Emma added, looking at Paige expectantly.

Someone piped up from deeper in the locker room, “you guys didn’t see? she reposted her on instagram”

Paige groaned and continued to fuss with her socks, trying her hardest to remove herself from this conversation.

She heard Emma scoff from somewhere above her, “uh, we’re not online like that—you reposted her? like thirsty repost or friendly repost??”

“Babe, you know her, it was so a thirsty repost—”

Paige cut them off, “Oh my god you guys are so dramatic, it wasn't like that. I just welcomed her to the city—it was nothing, really”

“welomed who?”

She didn’t sit up. Refused to, actually. These kinda conversations weren’t exactly the type of this she needed before the team was forced to skate until their legs disintegrated.

She sighed, and lifted her head just enough to scan the room, “could really use that clear—”

A roll of tape came flying right at her head. She dodged it—narrowly—and sat up. Found Grace staring back at her, a smirk on her face.

Michela turned and nodded at Grace, then spun back around to face her, crossing her arms, “There, tape. Now fess up”

Paige groaned and ran a hand down her face, “Azzi Fudd. she just got drafted to the Lynx” she mumbled, like the confession had been dragged out of her. Which, for the record, it pretty much had been.

“Lynx? oh this is serious—have you even seen a basketball before?”

“yeah, on her draft table—“

“YOU WATCHED THE DRAFT?”

Shit. This was definitely going to become a thing. She was quick to defend herself, “KK and Laila wanted me to, then Taylor and Grace hopped on me and I couldn’t say no—“

Taylor interrupted her, a shit-eating grin across her face, “she got all starstruck when she saw her on the screen”

Paige groaned, “I did not. I just thought she was hot”

Michela paused for a moment, then asked, “I mean, is she?”

“MICHELA—“ Emma shoved her, a half disgusted, half disappointed look on her face.

”what? I just wanna know if it's valid?”

Paige paused for a moment. A smirk slowly spread across her face. A chance to get them off her back about this thing—if they wanted honesty, they could have it.

“Oh she’s hot. Lightskin, dark curls, insane body. The kinda girl I could eat off the bone—”

Emma cut her off and groaned, ”Oh my god P”

Michela gagged with mock-disgust, ”you’re nasty”

She snorted, “Nah, just tryna get nasty—“

Another gag.

“Paige, quit it—I’m actually gonna throw up”

She shrugged and grabbed the roll of tape that had nearly taken her head off, “you guys were curious”

Kendal stood from her locker, somehow fully in gear despite the fact that she was the last one to sit down, “You guys are slow—you included P. We gotta be on ice in 5, get your shit on and get out”

The room quieted down, chatter replaced by the ripping of tape and lacing of skates. Paige let out a sigh and returned to taping her socks.

Kendal made it halfway out the door, then turned around and poked her head back into the locker room and added, “Not a puck in sight, by the way”

The entire room groaned, her included.

It was gonna be a long night.

| MSN Airport | April 25th | Azzi’s POV |

She got to Minnesota late. Not late in the day—actually she’d woken up far too early for her flight—just late compared to the other rookies.

Saniya had touched down in Connecticut two days after the draft. The Mystics had their gang of rookies flown in within the week. But her? She’d lingered in Storrs as long as the Lynx would let her.

Her manager practically had to drag her to the airport and onto the plane to Minnesota. She wasn’t even sure why it was so hard to leave home. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was her friends. Maybe it was just the thought of change in general—

Maybe it was whoever was waiting for her in Minnesota.

Eh, probably the change thing.

Whatever it was, it had to be in the rearview tonight, because she was here. In Minnesota. On her way to the Lynx’s training facility for a meeting with their head coach. Her head coach. Goodbye Geno, hello Cheryl.

A car was already waiting for her at the front of the airport. Her bags, apparently, were already headed to her apartment. She’d have time to unpack them later. Right now all she needed to worry about was meeting the team—maybe—she actually wasn't even sure if they’d be there.

Her phone buzzed in her lap.

——————————————

Caroline:

Did u touch down?

actually idk why I’m asking I can see u on snap maps

congrats on actually making it!! 🎉🎉

lmk what happens in your meetings

if u don’t tell me aubrey will

Azzi:

just got into a car

on my way to the facility rn

trying to be cool about it

Caroline:

you’re so cool about it dw

you need to post that you made it there tho

people think you’re gonna skip training camp lol

Azzi:

uhg ik

idk if it’s a risk I’m willing to take rn

Caroline:

risk?

ohhhh

you’re still thinking about it aren’t you

Azzi:

idk what ur talking about

Caroline:

She hasn’t done anything since draft night

I think you’re safe

unless you don’t want to be 👀

Azzi:

Caroline.

not everything is about her

Caroline:

about who?

Azzi:

about Paige

Caroline:

you said it, not me 🤷‍♀️

Azzi:

i hate you

Caroline:

you love me.

post something when you get to the facility

if you don’t the lynx will

it’ll make you look a lot less forced to be there

Azzi:

do people really think that?

Caroline:

babe, people think anything

just make them think what you want them to think

aka post a story

and lmk what everyone’s like pretty please

actually just call me tn

Azzi:

don’t wait up 🤗

____________________

She turned off her phone. Caroline was obviously delusional. She hadn’t thought about the Paige thing since the day after the draft. Actually, maybe just once the next day. And maybe once or twice after that. It definitely didn’t cross her mind on the flight here—

Okay maybe it did. But it shouldn’t. Paige hadn’t tried to reach out to her since draft night. Maybe she got the hint. Ghosting somebody tended to have that effect. Not like she even ghosted her, she didn't have to respond to that story. Still, resisting the urge to felt like enough of a message—to herself at least.

Paige was off limits—even if she didn’t want to be.

God, especially if she didn’t want to be.

She probably didn’t even want to be, right?

Right.

***

She posted the story when she got to the facility—begrudgingly.

Just a picture of the front of the building, captioned finally made it, time to get to work. Nothing extra. She wasn't even in it, looked too disheveled to post herself on her own account.

She immediately put her phone on do not disturb after she put it up. Mostly out of respect for the coaches she’d be meeting with for the next hour. Partially to stop her from obsessively checking who saw it every five seconds like an obsessed idiot.

The meetings went as expected. Just a lot of shaking hands and congratulations. Laying out expectations for the next few days. Then came the tour of the facility. About an hour of wandering around through miles of hallways between gyms and film rooms and whatever else the professionals got.

They ended at the locker room. She could hear chatter on the other side of the door before she even reached it.

The assistant coach who had dragged her around the building turned to her and patted her shoulder, “I’m gonna leave you here. Team’s waiting for you, gear is in your locker—dont let ‘em keep you out too late, we need you breathing for training camp and media day.”

She chuckled weakly. Her coach kept a straight face. Apparently not a joke. Cool.

She straightened her face and nodded, “you uh—you don’t have to worry about me”

The coach nodded and turned away. She nodded again, at no one, like an idiot. Coughed to cover it up from—again, no one.

Shit. Okay

She reached out and opened the door.

Someone shouted, “There’s our rook”

Another added, “Better late than never”

She felt her face flush as she stepped into the locker room.

Napheesa pulled her into a hug before she got the chance to get her bearings, and said, “Hey Fudd, glad you finally made it”

She pulled back and took in what was in front of her.

A row of wooden lockers, each with a name placard above it. Her eyes tracked down the line until they stopped on one that said Azzi Fudd. A jersey—her jersey hung in the main cubby, a 35 emblazoned boldly on the chest. Folded on the shelf below it was what looked like a month's worth of gear—warm up shirts, shorts, sweatpants, sweatshirts, practice jerseys—you name it, it was in the pile.

“Holy shit” she mumbled, half to herself.

Phee clapped a hand onto her back, ”holy shit is right, this is just the half of it”

“Yeah, they gon’ keep feedin’ you gear all season.” Chuckled Courtney, who was leaned back up against her locker watching Azzi gawk like it was an award winning tellanovella.

She managed to blink and pick her jaw up off the floor after a minute of trying to absorb the fact that this was really her life, “It’s not just that, its—I forgot that this is like, my job. Like I’m getting payed to have all this”

Courtney laughed again, “yeah, payed”

Phee shot her a glare and turned back to Azzi, “I know, it's all crazy right now. Just take some time to let the city sink in—“

”Oh she’s letting it sink in. Gonna get to know it real well. we gonna be outside tonight”

Phee rolled her eyes, “T we have media tomorrow morning”

Courtney spoke up again, "don't mean we can't show a rook a good time”

“that is what it means, actually. We all need to look presentable tomorrow.”

”god Phee you're such a mom. We can control ourselves—”

”thats such a lie—“

Azzi swallowed, “I can go out if you need me to. I’m Still young enough to bounce back in time to be on camera”

Someone shouted hell yeah, another yelled damn straight. Phee groaned and ran a hand down her face, “You don't have to encourage them, you know—“

”OH YES SHE DOES”

”sorry” Azzi grumbled, glancing back to Phee.

“Dont be sorry, have a backbone. You don't have to go out—“

Someone laughed from behind them, “I think she wants to”

“I don't think she has a choice”

Yeah, it really felt like she didn’t. Not like she didn’t not want to, though. Tipsy Azzi was good at making friends. She’d be even better at team bonding. It’d be an excellent way to shake off whatever nerves she was having about being in a new city. But she was dog tired. Had her life waiting for her, packed up in shitty cardboard boxes back at an unfamiliar apartment. Didn’t even have a bed to flop down into after a late night.

Phee turned to face the locker room, “We aren’t going out. Period. I don't want everybody looking hungover in their headshots.”

The room erupted with groans and signs.

Courney shot up from her seat, “Can’t we just go somewhere lowkey? Like, that sports bar on Washington?”

“Yeah we’ll have her in bed by midnight.” Added T.

Phee raised her eyebrows, “Sober?”

Courney paused for a moment, crossed her arms and shrugged, “tipsy”

Phee sighed and shook her head, “This is just team bonding, okay? No shenanigans—”

Courtney nodded, “None at all.”

Phee turned back to her, “Azzi? You fine with this?”

“Uh, yeah—as long as I have some time to unpack my apartment—”

Courtney laughed from her seat at her locker, “Girl—you think we’re dragging you out right now? It’s like, 7 p.m. we not goin’ out ‘till like 9”

She flushed again, “Yeah, obviously.” She looked around the locker room. There was one face she still hadn’t seen, “Where’s Aubrey?” She asked.

“Training room. Still doing recovery even though she’s cleared. Can’t skip it, even for the rook”

She nodded. Aubrey was drafted last year, but she had knee surgery the minute she got to Minnesota. It was essentially her rookie year too, except she had a leg up on knowing the team. She looked around the room again. No one was dressed for practice. They didn't look like they had treatment either. No one seemed to be doing much of anything. It felt like they were just here to see her.

She cleared her throat, “So, like, am I free to go whenever?”

“Damn, we that boring?”

The locker room burst out into breathy laughs and snorts. She felt herself go red again, “oh my god not like that, I just need to unpack—“

Phee flung an arm across her shoulder and shook her, “we know, they’re just fucking with you. You can go whenever.”

“Hey, no she can’t. Do we have her number?? She’s not dodging going out—“

Phee sighed dramatically and turned around to face the voice, ”I have her number, Court, so does Aubrey.” She turned back to Azzi, “get out while you still can, we’ll text you later”

She nodded back at her, then turned to face the room, “Good to meet you guys, see you tonight”

Something about the way she said it sounded awkward. too formal. She felt like a middle schooler trying to fit in with the cool group of teens. Too late to take it back now. She cringed internally, turned on her heels and headed back out of the door. She let out a sigh of relief when she was finally alone in the hallway and reached for her phone to shoot Aubrey a text. Well, a couple, actually.

————————————

YOU DID NAWT JUST LEAVE ME TO MEET THE TEAM ALONE

I WAS SO AWKWARD

and APARENTLY were gonna be ‘outside’ tn 😭

Least you can do is give me a ride to my apartment

and maybe help me build my bed frame 🫣

————————————

—> Part Two <—

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[gayandbasic]

Silhouette in Bloom Part 2: Easy Days

Bob Reynolds X Female!reader || WC: 3K

Summary: You reflect on the strange idea of belonging. Quiet Tower moments follow — shared meals, morning training, playful debates. Alexei ropes you into a test of strength, competing with the others. You laugh. Your guard drops.

If you haven’t read the first part of this series Silhouette I highly recommend doing that!

Masterlist

SiB: Part 1 ❀_ ❀ Part 3

●❍°•°•°○°•°•°❍● ❃°•°❀°🤍°❀°•°❃●❍°•°•°○°•°•°❍●

Today is one of the easy days.

A dreamless night. No shadows pressing down on your chest. No voices clawing up from the dark of your skull. Just the quiet hush of morning light bleeding into your room, soft enough not to hurt.

You drink your coffee in silence, staring out the window at the Tower courtyard below. The mug is warm in your hands, chipped along the rim where Yelena dropped it last week. You haven’t fixed it. There’s something… grounding about its imperfection. Tangible. Like it belongs to you now.

You’ve learned to cherish these quiet mornings, even if they still feel foreign.

Afterward, you slip down to the training room — not because you’re cleared for it, but because sitting still makes your skin itch. The bullet wound in your back has nearly sealed, the deep tear in your abdomen still angry and red, but tolerable. Manageable.

Bucky has already warned you. So has Bob. Every time they catch you here, there’s a scolding look or a concerned murmur — something soft that sets your nerves on edge.

You sneak in anyway. Step between the light and disappear into the walls when you hear boots in the hall. It’s easier that way. Easier than explaining why you can’t sit still. Why silence and healing feel like drowning.

You appreciate their worry. Really, you do. It just… unnerves you.

They mean well. But you’re not used to being checked on — not like this. You’re used to being forgotten. Or worse, expected to suffer in silence. You’re not sure what to do with people who try to protect you.

Yelena’s different, though. She gets it. She doesn’t try to wrap you in cotton or guilt you into resting. She just shows up. Sometimes with snacks. Sometimes with knives.

This morning, you find her already in the training room, mid-stretch, hair tied back, boots unlaced.

“Good morning, Котик!” she grins, bright as the sun you usually avoid. That nickname again — little cat. The way it rolls off her tongue makes you feel slightly feral, but… in an affectionate way.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re awfully chipper for someone who got thrown into a wall yesterday.”

Yelena shrugs, bouncing on her toes. “Because today I got good news. Real work. None of that press-tour garbage Val keeps trying to feed us.”

You drop into a stance opposite her, stretching out your sore shoulder. “Oh? Do tell.”

She lunges. You duck, sweeping your leg low to catch her balance, but she twists out of the way with an infuriating laugh.

“Apparently,” she says mid-spin, “we’re going to track down some of Valentina’s old contacts. Ones who worked on the early Sentry Project. Disappeared. Off the grid.”

You freeze. Your foot lands heavy. Too slow.

Yelena’s fist catches you in the gut — just to the right of your healing wound. A hot spike of pain rips through you.

You double over with a groan. Not dramatic, but definitely not ideal.

“Shit! Seven—? I’m sorry!” She’s at your side instantly, one hand hovering, the other on your back. “I didn’t think—”

“No, no, that’s on me,” you wheeze, straightening slowly. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

But your mind is already spinning.

Sentry Project. Human experimentation. Scientists who thought they could play God and walk away untouched. If these people are still alive—if they’re hiding—then this mission is exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

Your voice turns sharp. “These people… they were involved in the experiments?”

Yelena grins, sensing your shift. “Yup. Rumors say they had a hand in some of the first successful augmentations. Before Bob. Before the public knew anything.”

Your jaw tightens. Something deep and dark stirs in your chest — not anger exactly, but hunger. Purpose.

She claps a hand on your shoulder, half-patronizing, half-sincere. “I knew that would get your attention. My fierce little Котик. Always ready to hunt down mad scientists.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to let your blush show. “Shut up. You know why it matters.”

“I do.” Her tone softens. “That’s why I told you first. We’ll go together. We’ll finish what they started.”

You’re silent for a beat. Then a quiet nod.

Together.

You’re still getting used to that word.

—

About an hour later, you trail behind Yelena into the kitchen and immediately walk into what sounds like a full-blown philosophical debate.

“All I’m saying,” Bob insists, waving a grilled cheese like a weapon, “is that if you eat it in the morning, it’s breakfast.”

“No,” John groans, halfway through his protein shake, “that’s lunacy. Breakfast has rules. You can’t just eat leftover lasagna at 9 AM and call it breakfast.”

“Says who?” Bob counters, indignant. “Cows? The Breakfast Police?”

You stop in the doorway, arms folded, hiding a smile. The bickering is so absurdly domestic it feels like a sitcom rerun.

Bob notices you first. His whole face lights up, as it always does when you walk in. Like your presence is something good he forgot he had.

“Morning, seven,” he says.

You snort, gesturing to his grilled cheese. “Sorry, sweets, but I think I have to agree with Walker. That’s not breakfast. That’s a war crime.” The nickname you hold for him flowing out with ease. You aren’t sure when it started but the overly sweet feeling that builds in your chest every time you look at Bob is definitely how the name came to be.

Bob’s mock betrayal is immediate. “Et tu, Seven?”

Yelena slips past you to the coffee pot, muttering something about Americans and their food crimes.

You settle into a stool beside Bob, still smirking as he begins a passionate, half-serious argument about how breakfast is a state of mind.

You let the sound wash over you. The warmth. The safety.

This… this is new.

But maybe not unwelcome.

~

The next day is another easy one. Same routine, morning coffee, training and quiet contemplation. That is until it’s shattered by boisterous yelling.

It starts, of course, with Alexei bursting into the living room like a human avalanche.

“I am clearly the strongest person in this tower,” he declares, chest puffed out, voice booming off the high ceilings. “Red Guardian is superior to Captain America in every way!”

You’re curled into one corner of the couch with your legs tucked under you, nursing a mug of something warm, and you blink slowly over the rim. You have no idea what set him off, but chaos blooms immediately.

“Oh here we go,” John groans, rising from the floor like a man preparing for war. “Man, nobody asked.”

“Jealousy,” Alexei says, pointing a thick finger. “This is the look of jealousy, yes.”

“You couldn’t even beat a Roomba in a hallway,” Yelena pipes up from the kitchen, stuffing chips into her mouth. “Don’t start this again.”

“I was surprised! That robot moved with purpose!”

And just like that, it snowballs.

Ten minutes later, John has ripped a giant sheet of paper from someone’s sketchbook and scribbled a crude bracket system across it in permanent marker. Names are scratched in. Bets are made. Someone—probably Bucky—pours whiskey into coffee.

You’re pulled into the first round before you even get a chance to finish your drink.

Your opponent is Ava, who glances at you with the expression of a bored cat who’s been asked to perform. “This is stupid,” she mutters, sliding into the seat across from you.

“I know,” you reply.

She places her elbow on the table, grabs your hand, and lets you slam her knuckles down to the wood with a theatrical gasp. “Oh no,” she says flatly. “I’m defeated. Whatever shall I do.”

John, acting as a very loud referee, calls it with a dramatic “SEVEN ADVANCES!” like you just won the Super Bowl. Ava walks off without another word, hands already in her hoodie pockets.

Next up: Yelena.

This one is trickier. Not because you can’t win, but because Yelena is Yelena—and if she thinks for even a second that you’re going easy on her, she’ll chase you through the Tower with a flashlight and need to get revenge. She drops into the seat with all the giddy violence of a raccoon in a trash can, eyes shining.

“You better fight me for real,” she warns, narrowing her eyes. “I will know.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

She growls. You win after a long, grueling minute. She grins like a wolf, even in defeat.

“You cheat with your long creepy fingers,” she accuses. “Unfair advantage.”

“I think it’s because I’m stronger,” you say, standing. “But maybe I’ll sprain a finger for next time, to even the playing field.”

Then it’s Bob.

You freeze when John calls out your names. Not because you’re nervous—he’d never hurt you. But something about facing him like this makes your breath catch a little. Or maybe it’s the way he’s already looking at you when you turn, like he’s been waiting. His expression is soft, sheepish. Inviting.

You step toward him like there’s a string tied between your chest and his. When you sit, he does too, sliding his arm onto the table with an easy motion. His hand is warm when yours meets it—calloused fingers, strong wrist, but the hold is gentle. Careful. He is careful, with you. Always.

You expect him to throw the match. Like Ava. Or at least keep it playful.

But when you test his grip with the smallest nudge, you don’t budge him. At all.

It’s like pushing against steel rebar embedded in bedrock.

Your brow rises slowly. “Oh?”

He smiles, and it’s equal parts challenge and affection. “What?”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re actually trying.”

“Am I?”

You smirk.

A flutter starts in your chest—some mix of adrenaline, pride, and that ridiculous warmth you only feel around him. The sound of the room fades to a low blur as you refocus on his hand in yours. You start to push harder. Still nothing. He doesn’t move an inch.

“Oh come on,” you mutter under your breath.

He tilts his head, clearly trying not to laugh.

You’re using real effort now. The table creaks slightly under the strain. Your hair slips loose from behind your ears as your shoulders tense, shadows curling faintly at your feet like they’re eager to join the battle.

Still nothing. His arm is steady. His expression, maddeningly calm.

“Are you kidding me?” you say, eyes narrowing, straining with genuine effort now.

“Guess you’ll have to try harder,” he says, voice low and amused.

Something sparks in your gut—excitement? Attraction? Frustration? You don’t have time to name it, but it scorches through you like a heartbeat.

You dig in, adjusting your grip. You should be able to beat him. Or at least move his hand an inch. But he doesn’t budge. It’s like trying to arm wrestle a statue.

You narrow your eyes. Fine.

The shadows at your feet twitch, subtle as a breath. You pull just a thread of them—barely a flicker—wrapping around your wrist like a brace, letting them coil into the tendons of your fingers for an extra push.

Bob’s brows rise the slightest bit. Not alarm. Not disapproval. Just—recognition.

And still, nothing. His hand doesn’t move. The shadows strain against him, but he’s immovable.

You suck in a breath, half laughing. “Oh, come on—”

He finally lets up a fraction of his grip, just enough to let you slam his hand down with a breathless exhale. The table shudders. The shadows vanish in a ripple of embarrassed static. You’re flushed. He’s grinning.

You don’t say anything right away. Neither does he.

Then, softly, he murmurs, “Well fought.”

You have no idea what to do with how good that makes you feel.

You try to shrug it off as Bucky knocks Alexei and John out of the bracket like bowling pins. John screams, “You can’t use the metal arm, man!” while Alexei rants about sabotage and unfair American tech.

You lean against the table, brushing hair from your face. Bob is still watching you. Still smiling.

You glance at him sideways, not quite ready to meet his eyes. “You definitely let me win.”

“I definitely didn’t,” he says, and it’s almost a whisper.

You roll your eyes and playfully shove his shoulder. “We both know you could probably take us all out without even batting an eye.”

But instead of laughing, his body stills. His smile fades. He glances down, away from you, jaw tightening. Shame flickers behind his eyes like a shadow in retreat.

You blink. Oh. That wasn’t embarrassment.

“Hey…” Your voice drops, quiet, meant for his ears alone. “I’m only joking. I know you’d never.”

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah, well… I did.” The words are muttered, low and brittle. “So.”

And there it is—that jagged guilt, rising like smoke from old ashes. The time he stood against all of you. The time he didn’t know better.

You don’t look away from him. “Listen, we’ve talked about this,” you say gently. “That wasn’t great, yeah. But they never held it against you. I never held it against you.”

He gives a humorless huff. “Doesn’t mean I don’t.”

You hesitate, then reach out, brushing your knuckles lightly against his. “Everyone makes poor decisions when they’ve got a viper in their ear.”

His eyes lift to yours, and there’s something raw in them—open and hurting.

You shift a little closer, lowering your voice. “I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen,” you say carefully. “Yeah, you made the wrong choice. But everyone makes mistakes, Bob. No one here expects you to be perfect.”

He says nothing, but the muscle in his jaw ticks.

“No one was seriously hurt. And they were there for you, not against you. Even if you couldn’t see it at the time.”

His head tilts slightly, like he’s listening despite himself.

“They never blamed you. Not once. We knew what Valentina was doing. She fed you lies when you were at your lowest and made them sound like salvation. Anyone could’ve fallen for it.”

He finally looks at you then, eyes shadowed and searching. “I still did it.”

“And then you stopped,” you say, firm now. “You stopped and you came back. That matters. You chose to come back, even when you thought you might not be forgiven.”

You hold his gaze. “That tells me everything I need to know.”

His breath catches—just slightly. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.

You don’t reach for his hand, but your fingers stay close. Not quite touching. Just there, in case he needs them.

Behind you, someone yells that Bucky just put John through a folding chair, and Alexei is calling for “honorable rematch” with a mouthful of pretzels. The moment could break. Should break.

But it doesn’t.

Not yet.

Until, inevitably, the moment ends.

Alexei barrels in like a human freight train, flinging an arm around your shoulders and hauling you back toward the table. “There she is! Our shadowy champion!” he bellows, practically vibrating with excitement. “Next round—Silhouette versus Winter Soldier! HYDRA on HYDRA!”

You groan. “Can we not phrase it like that?”

“No, no, it’s perfect! You both got spooky government trauma and killer moves. The people demand blood!” He slams his fist on the table. “Or, failing that, a mild wrist sprain!”

You glance at Bob. There’s something still quiet in his eyes, like he hasn’t quite come back from your earlier conversation—but he nods at you, soft encouragement in the line of his jaw. A silent I’m here.

You let yourself smile. Just a flicker. Then you go.

Sliding into your seat, you find yourself across from Bucky Barnes, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

He raises a brow. “We really doing this?”

You crack your knuckles one by one, shadows whispering beneath your skin. “Unless you’re scared.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you catch the slight shift in his posture. “You know I’ve got enhanced strength, right?”

You lean forward, forearms on the table, smile curled like a knife. “So do I.”

Your hands meet with a firm clap of contact—skin to skin, flesh to metal.

He’s solid. Veteran steady. Unflinching.

So are you.

Bob, somewhere behind you, mutters under his breath, “She’s definitely gonna cheat.”

“Shut up, Bob.”

“HY-DRA! HY-DRA!” Alexei’s chanting again.

“I swear to God, I will sedate you,” Yelena deadpans.

But none of it reaches you. The world has narrowed to your locked grip and the flicker of heat building between your shoulder blades.

Bucky gives the first push. Controlled, unbothered. His biceps flex under the pressure. Your arm dips slightly, just slightly.

You push back.

Your fingers tense. Your spine pulls taut like a bowstring. Something shifts under your skin.

He pushes harder. You feel your elbow tremble. He’s stronger—but not smarter.

You lean in and let it change.

A breath escapes you—not a gasp, but something older, deeper. Your skin darkens along your forearm, inky veins like smoke blooming just under the surface. Your shoulder clicks—once, twice, the sound wrong, bones reconfiguring at a subtle angle. You hear a wet pop in your wrist, and your arm lengthens just slightly. Not enough for the others to see clearly, but enough for the sound to fill the room. Enough for Bucky to feel it in his grip.

His eyes snap to yours.

“What the hell—” you hear John off to your side, disgust and awe dripping in his voice.

You smile.

Your hand surges forward.

Bucky grits his teeth and fights it, but you can see the flicker of unease in his face. You are not fully human right now. You are sinew and shadow, wrong angles and quiet monstrosity, strength born of something that doesn’t belong in daylight.

The table groans.

The shadows thicken at your back like wings ready to unfold.

Then—crack. A snap of something not-quite-human in your knuckles.

And you slam his hand down hard enough that the table cracks.

Silence.

Utter silence.

Then Bucky slowly lifts his head, blinking at you.

“I don’t want to arm wrestle you ever again,” he says flatly.

You shake out your fingers, rolling your wrist. “Didn’t cheat.”

“You shifted.”

“Barely.”

“That was a monster noise.”

Alexei is on his feet clapping like you just won gold at the Olympics. “Glorious! A true champion of darkness and weird bone sounds!”

Yelena leans toward Bob. “Is her arm longer now?”

“I… I think so,” he murmurs, eyes wide, somewhere between horror and awe.

You catch his gaze, and for a second, there’s that flicker again—something quiet, something reverent. Something like pride.

You tilt your head, teeth flashing. “What? I won.”

Bob just smiles, crooked and soft. “You did.”

You grin wider, letting your hand settle back into normal. Letting the tension bleed away.

Letting yourself be seen.

“Strongest new Avenger—Silhouette!” Alexei crows, seizing your wrist like he’s announcing a prizefighter and parading you around the room in triumphant circles.

You don’t fight it. Can’t, really. Not when the sound of your laughter spills out before you even think to stop it—bright, breathless, real.

The smile comes easy. The warmth in your chest, even easier.

For once, you let yourself have it.

The joy. The win. The weightless beat of belonging.

●❍°•°•°○°•°•°❍● ❃°•°❀°🤍°❀°•°❃●❍°•°•°○°•°•°❍●

Next Chapter

A/N: more quiet moments and then not so quiet! I’m testing out how Bob interacts with the others in comparison to seven. Let me know if it feels too off and as always thank you so much for reading!

Tag list: @otometo @katiemrty @hyperfixations-go-brrr @gmmsos @blackcats-and-witchcraft @disillusionary @Euphrosyn3 @writeoffside @thatmarvelchick19

[thesecretsofthedivine]

Pick a Pile Reading | Messages From Your Future Spouse 💍🪐

Business Carrd 🍶🧺

Paid Services 🍇⭐

Tip Jar 🍾🎱

*Disclaimer: This is a collective reading - take what resonates and leave the rest. If this resonates with you, please show support by reposting (with credit), tipping, or booking with me! :)

*Exchanges with other intuitives/readers are available via dm's

──────

PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

• I love the sound of your laughter.

• You’ve turned me into a more carefree person.

• Let’s spend the day baking/cooking then heading right back to bed to cuddle!

• I feel like we could never have enough quality time together.

• You’re my favorite person in the world.

• I’m addicted to your scent.

• We should start a family (🐾/👶).

• You’re my lock screen.

• I tell all my friends about you. If you checked my notifications, all you’d see is a group chat roasting me for how obsessed I am with you.

• There is no place I’d rather be than here with you in my arms.

• I like to watch you sleep. You just seem so peaceful and still that it’s intensely captivating. I hope you don’t mind 😵‍💫.

~ miscellaneous: earth sign placements. homebodies. 2 introverts or an introvert & an extrovert. hard-working, masculine qualities in your spouse. wholesome domestic moments.

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

• I want to drown in the sea of your existence.

• Dedicating poetry and art to you — my favorite muse.

• There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

• I’m afraid of loss/dying, but entering old age with you would make my existence complete.

• Please don’t leave me.

• Can I wake you up early if I’m craving your attention? It’s hard for me to contain my excitement when you look this beautiful/attractive.

• Let’s watch the sunset together and stay up late talking for hours.

• Every detail of your existence does not go unnoticed by me.

• We were meant to love each other in this life/I know that we are past life lovers who have found one another again.

• Come on, baby. Don’t be shy with me.

~ miscellaneous: water sign placements (especially scorpio or for their moon sign). 2 night owls or a night owl & a morning person. hozier songs. romantic moments caught on camera/posted online. artist x muse trope.

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

• You light me on fire with desire.

• I love teasing you more than anything else in the world.

• You’re my best friend and lover, all wrapped into one.

• My heart feels warm and glows from the inside whenever you’re around.

• I can’t lose you. If I do, I’ll go crazy.

• Let’s go for a drive, listen to music, eat food, and forget about our worries.

• I want to be the first person you call when you’re in trouble.

• I will never judge you.

• We will travel everywhere and make the world our own.

• I want to surprise you with grand gestures (especially via gifts or shared experiences).

~ miscellaneous: fire sign placements. ready or not — bridgit mendler. sneaky smirks that make you smile uncontrollably. spontaneous memories or communication. fluffy hair & tan skin features for some.

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

• Pulling out all my best jokes just for you.

• Give me a nickname and I’ll give you one back.

• How can I possibly deny your charm?!

• Your style is impeccable. Every time we’re in a shop together, I just want to watch you pose in front of the mirror.

• I’ll make you homemade snacks and share my family’s recipes with you!

• Spoiling you with acts of service.

• We don’t even have to speak to understand one another. Mere eye contact is enough.

• You bring out my (good) crazy side 🤪.

• I love how we can always bounce off each other’s energies so well.

• I wanna give you expensive jewelry or items with my initials on it.

~ miscellaneous: air sign placements. a quirky sense of humor. distinct eyebrows. friends to lovers trope (Monica & Chandler came to mind). latin/hispanic backgrounds for some.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Stitches 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

We've all agreed that The Quiet Ones, Follow You Anywhere, Hidden Treasures and this fic (maybe more) have built the deluluverse.

Summary: You find your work hindered by your client's son.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had to do it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re not late, but you’re too dang close! You pride yourself on being at least fifteen minutes early wherever you go. Being self-employed, you make a point of always being on time. And you are but that long hand is a bit too close to the tick mark. 

It doesn’t help that Mrs. Odinson is one of your best and favourite customers. You hate to let her down. You shake off that rattly feeling as you pull up to the gate and glance at the time again. Still a couple minutes to spare. 

You buzz in with the button and wave at the camera. You’re never quite sure who’s at the other end but they always just let you through. You suspect it’s standard business and all the help know every face that comes and goes. 

You roll through and steer around towards the vehicles along the east side of the curved driveway. You’ve never seen the sleek silver car you pull in next to but you know Mrs. Odinson’s pear-coloured porshe and Mr. Odinson’s slate grey beemer. They must have company. You can’t remember if she said there was a special occasion. 

You slide into the space and grab your bag from in front of the passenger’s seat. You push open the door and gasp as the seat belt keeps you from climbing out. How forgetful! You unbuckle and untangle yourself, stepping out in your heeled oxfords and cigarette pants. 

Your reflection looks back at you from the sleek polish of the unfamiliar silver car. You smile and shut your door, locking it with a chirp from your key fob. You tuck the key ring into your blazer pocket and bounce up towards the front door. You climb the stone stairs, broad and trimmed with curled railings. You stop at the top and clang the large knocker, a raven’s head with a ring in its beak. 

A man in a dark suit answers the door. You’ve seen him before with his steely hair and sleepy eyes. He’s often the one who opens the door but he says nothing and shows you to Mrs. Odinson’s salon, as she calls it. 

As the man leaves you just outside, you peek in through the open doorway. You see your client before the standing mirror in the corner, swirling as she checks her reflection. You cough and give a gentle knock on the door frame. 

“Ah,” she spins to you with her pretty smile, “just in time, darling.” She struts over breezily, “the hem has come undone on this.” She smooths her elegant hands over her bodice, “so much for designer, eh.” 

“Oh, my,” you give her a look up and down, “shouldn’t be any trouble.” 

“Thank you, darling,” she trills and strolls back to the mirror. You follow her and pull up the stool you often use for such a fix. You have a routine between you, you know what she expects and you do it. 

You sit and open your bag. You pull out your needle and stir through your spindles to find a matching thread. As you thread the eye, she continues to preen in the mirror. 

“Something special going on?” You ask in your usual small talk. 

“Didn’t I mention? My son’s come home at last.” 

“Your son?” You look up as her curiously. 

“Oh, not Thor,” she laughs, “no, no, he’s always about, isn’t he?” She tugs on a blonde wave, trying to make is stay in place, “my other son. Loki. Finally decided to move back home. Not here, certainly, but close by. Near to his mother.” 

“Mm, that’s exciting,” you comment as you grab the hem and work around her movement. 

“Isn’t it? We’re having a little luncheon. At the tea room, I feel a public place will deter an outbursts,” she pouts at herself, “you know how family can be.” 

“Erm, sure,” you agree dulcetly as you tie off the thread, “all done.” 

She swirls, her skirt nearly hitting your face. You lean back on the stool and wiggle your nose. She admires herself. She is beautiful. Her age takes nothing away from her natural grace. You could only dream of having a similar bearing; you’re a bit too short, a bit too clumsy. 

“Mother,” a voice drawls from the hallway. You glance over as you wrap up the thread around the spindle, “we’re due to be off.” 

You don’t know that timbre. It isn’t Thor’s rumbling baritone, rather something smoother, something refined. You tuck away the thread as a slender but tall man appears in the doorway. He tugs at the cuff of his jacket as he furrows his nose. 

“Ready, just needed a touch up,” she faces him, “darling, I’ve a rack for you to take. Wouldn’t want you to make the trip just for a loose hem.” 

She points to several garment bags hung from a rack against the wall. You stand as her son’s green eyes find his mother then drift over to you. His sharp features turn imperious. 

“Must you trouble so,” she swats at him as a loose thread dangles from his cuff. 

“Wasn’t me, mother, I only just purchased the piece,” he counters, “quality, these days.” 

“Darling, come, you’ve some scissors,” she beckons you forth with a flutter of fingers. 

You reach into your bag and take the silver scissors from their sheath. You approach them with a smile as the man stares at you, eyes narrowing. He’s much unlike his brother. Much calmer. 

“May I?” You ask and Mrs. Odinson forces his arm towards you. 

He hums but offers no protest. Your fingertips brush his shirt sleeve as you roll back his jacket cuff and snip the offended thread. You feel the seam with your thumb. 

“Should do for the day,” you advise, “but it’ll come loose eventually. I could do a quick sew-off...” 

“We’re already late,” he declares and rescinds his arm. “Mother.” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” she pats his chest gently, “go on then, get yourself off. Your father and I will catch up. Oh, are you taking Thor with you?” 

“I believe he is capable of tending to himself--” 

“Yes, but... he does enjoy indulgence,” Mrs. Odinson girds. 

“He is an adult and it isn’t yet noon,” Loki reprimands, “I shall drive on my own, then.” 

“You always do as you wish, don’t you, Loki?” She rebukes playfully. 

He grumbles again and his eyes flit toward you one last time, “you might have the tailor see my brother. Perhaps she could sew his lips shut so we might have a peaceful lunch.” 

Your cheeks bulb a bit larger at his joke. You can't entirely disagree.

“Eh, don’t begin,” Mrs. Odinson giggles as she snaps shut a compact and shoves it in a clutch, “you’ve only just returned.” 

“Mm, yet it feels I never left at all,” he frowns, still watching you.  

You chalk it up to curiousity, perhaps he feels it improper to ask, you do feel it a bit much to introduce yourself without prompting. The Odinson household always holds an air of formality you can never quite riddle out. You keep a smile on your face as his cheeks dimple and he tilts his head. 

“Right then,” he straightens his posture and tugs his jacket straight, “suppose I should go and hold our reservation before they think to give it away.”   

He inhales and pivots away, striding off with long, stiff steps. You watch after him before you turn back to the room. You go to slip your scissors back into their sheath and drop them into your bag before lifting it. Mrs. Odinson holds a cape and a jacket before her. 

“Which do you think it better?” She asks as you cross to the rack to gather the waiting hangers. 

“I think the cape would be better, it is rather warm. It shouldn’t rain I think,” you proffer, “is this the hounds tooth?” You peek through the opening of one of the garment bags. 

“Yes, dear, it is so lovely and yet that dang clasp is giving me such trouble,” she sounds ready to swoon at the tragedy, “might you replace it? Perhaps a button might do instead?” 

“I’ll have a look,” you fold the bags over your arm and hike up your bag, “I’ll be off then. Hope you have a good lunch.” 

“Thank you. Don’t you work too hard, dearie,” she trills after you, “much too nice a day to be pent up.” 

You sweep off with your armful. The dresses are heavier than one might expect. You find it surprising how fabric can add up. You go downstairs and once more find that stoic man in his dark suit. He opens the door for you and you thank him brightly. 

You amble down the steps, looking around your load to keep from stepping on the treacherously low edges of the bags. You would hate to trod on one of Mrs. Odinson’s dresses. You’re so distracted with your efforts to keep from mussing up the hems that a honk has you jumping in your boots. 

You yipe as you turn to face the silver car, its bumper stopping just short of you as the headlights flash. Your lips make an O and you quickly scurry out of the way.  You dip your head down guiltily. You should’ve been paying attention. 

The car door opens on the other side as you approach your own. You peer over with a sheepish look, “I’m sorry--” 

“You should be careful. I could’ve hit you,” Loki says, more accusatory than concerned. 

You smile, “I know, I’m sorry. I was distracted--” 

“Certainly, you were,” he affirms, as if telling you exactly how the world works, “and what would I do should you be caught under my tires? Can you patch yourself up so easily as a stray cuff?” 

“No, sir, I’m sorry. Again, I wasn’t meaning to get in the way--” 

“You don’t look very sorry. Not so many people smile in the face of mortal injury.” 

Your cheeks wobble but you keep your smile. You can’t help it. When you’re happy or nervous or even confused, you just tend to smile through it. A smile makes everything a little better. 

“I’m not smiling at that--” 

“Then what are you smiling at?” He hisses harshly. 

You bat your lashes and look side to side, “you.” 

“Me?” His forehead wrinkles. “Are you being smart?” 

You shake your head and your lips twitch, “smart? No, sir, I’m only... I suppose I just smile at everyone.” 

“So you would,” he mutters and angles back to his car, “be sure to stand back then. Wouldn’t want to run over your toes.” 

He drops into the car seat and slams the door. You stand back and watch him buckle in. He takes his time, adjusting his mirror, then his long fingers tap his shifter before he cranks it into reverse. He swerves around and hug the pile of clothes.  

You don’t blame him for being agitated, you’ve had a few close calls yourself. Accidents are never fun. His adrenaline was just going and at least he cared enough to be upset. It’s a good reminder to be more aware. 

🪡

The fabric store isn’t very busy. The higher-end boutiques never are. You don’t often come to them yourself but you desperately need a yard to match Mrs. Odinson’s crushed velvet jackets. You need to replace a full panel and you can’t compromise; she’ll notice. She has a good eye. She never seems to miss. 

Time is hardly on your time. You agreed to drop off the lot the next day. She has a gala and needs that one dress in particular. You know she’ll expect the rest.  

You walk around with a swatch in hand, comparing the hue and feel. You don’t want the new material to contrast. You can’t forget the thread; you don’t have quiet that shade of magenta. 

You stand amid the velvets, flipping over the large rolls, tugging the end, rubbing the fabric between your fingers. Your advance is patient even as your inner expediency nips away at you. As you come to the end of an aisle, you stop short as you look up. There’s a shadow there, waiting. 

You stand still, waiting for them to come down that aisle. You’d hate to get in their way. But they don’t and in an instant, the shadow flickers away. You hear them retreat down the next row and you curl around, seeing no more than a leather heel before the figure disappears. 

How odd. 

The mysterious entity doesn’t distract you for long. The pinks are close, each of them seems just a shade off of what you’re looking for. You sigh and breathe out between your lip, rolling your tongue around the tip of a needle that isn’t there. A habit. 

You lug out each roll and carry them down to the front counter. You lift each up as a woman greets you from the other side. You smile and clear your throat. 

“You don’t happen to have any in the back,” you wonder, “I’m looking for something in between.” 

You show her the square of crushed velvet and she sucks her teeth, “not quite, I think. I think we’ve something close in our catalogue but it wouldn’t be at this location. The north end may have it but I can’t confirm. 

You sniff and nod, still smiling. It isn’t her fault she doesn’t have it. You remember the days you worked in a fabric shop, though it wasn’t as nice as this one. You thank her and take the rolls off the counter. 

“I’ll just put these back then. I need thread anyhow,” you announce. 

“Wonderful, you just let me know if you need anything, hon,” she beams at you. 

You nod and turn back. You take the rolls back and set them away how you found them. When you spin, you feel something shift, as if there’s a breeze in this stagnant shop. You peer around. It’s strange, it’s as if you’re being followed but you haven’t seen a single other customer in the shop. 

You tilt your head and cluck your tongue as you carry on to the racks of thread near the counter. You dive into the search for the perfect thickness and colour. It’s a much more fruitful hunt. As you pluck out the very strands you need, you hear the door. Your head pops up and you glance behind you curiously. You don’t see much of the other person as they leave the store, you never even saw them pass. 

You shrug and take the spool to the counter, “thanks again,” you say to the associate, “better get out of here before temptation gets the best of me.”

[alwaysxlarrie]

10 of my fav quotes from fics part 1

OKAY SO, last year i started compiling quotes from fics that i rly liked & my intention was to start doing a weekly '5 fav quotes from fics' series at the beginning of this year. & then school/work started beating my ass, so that didn't happen lol. but i just finished summer school & have a month-ish before fall semester starts & i'm off work for a week, so i'm finally doing it!!! i think i'm gonna do a post every monday and see how that goes ?? anyway, i hope this makes someone laugh or smile !! :)

“You’ve seen my box of vibrators, Louis! They have knots for a reason! I want you to knot me!” He can’t possibly be more clear than this. -- @allwaswell16

2. “Niall,” says Harry. “If you don’t stop bouncing your leg I will dislocate it for you.” -- @londonfoginacup

3. If you have to kiss a pretty boy, you have to, pre-planned game night or not. -- @gaycousinlarry

4. Meanwhile, Harry’s half-hard in his jeans from all the cock talk and whatever the fuck Louis is doing with that cherry. -- @crinkle-eyed-boo

5. “Please,” Louis scoffed, curling up on his side to face Harry. “You said my eyes are cerulean. It’ll happen again.” -- @1diamondinthesun

6. It was winter. Louis hated winter. Winter meant snow and ice and all things cold and wintery. Louis despised all things cold and wintery. -- @2tiedships2

7. Louis’ body was great.  Firm in all the right places yet still soft and inviting.  Harry wanted to bite his stomach. -- @jaerie

8. Instantly he’s on his feet, cleaning things that are already clean, putting on shoes because he doesn’t want Louis to see his bare feet, and taking them off again when he realizes what he’s doing. -- @kingsofeverything

9. But he could be good. Louis wanted him to be. And so he did. He mingled. He chatted. He hoped Louis was watching him be a good boy. -- @twopoppies

10. “Harry you have been working here for three years and you come in ten minutes early every day. I’m not going to fire you for showing up late one time.” -- @ireallysawanangel

[waterfire1848]

could you do a blind azula with sokkla au

Hello, anon!!!

1. Azula is born blind. No one knows why but she is. Ursa tries to argue that Azula will be a strong child and capable of bending to her full capacity but Ozai doesn’t believe her. Azula is still a strong bender but Ozai thinks that her blindness will keep her from being a real firebender. Ursa, desperately trying to keep her baby alive, gives her away in the hopes that someone else can protect her. Azula is bounced around for a while until she ends up in the South Pole and found by Kya and Hakoda, who take the infant in and decide to raise her.

2. Azula never let her blindness stop her from playing, doing chores or fighting with Sokka. She and him would constantly run around the village, chasing each other with snowballs, and try to out do each other in different chores. Hakoda tries to go easy on the girl when it comes to fishing or carving, etc but Azula doesn’t like it and demands to be treated the same as Sokka and Katara. By the time she’s six, Hakoda gave up on trying to go easy on Azula and gives her the same tasks as the other kids. Kya, for her part, never treated the kids differently except to tell Azula that she wasn’t from the Water Tribe. Since she can’t see, Azula would have no way of knowing Kya isn’t her mother but Kya makes it clear to Azula very early on that she isn’t and her real mother is probably in the Earth Kingdom somewhere (this isn’t done in a malicious way more-so in a way so that Azula knows the truth). Azula also learns to see by “seeing” heat. She can basically see heat sources and therefore knows when people are around her.

3. When Kya is killed, Azula swears off firebending. Mother or not, Azula loved Kya and her death really hits her hard. No matter what Hakoda says, Azula refuses to bend. She keeps that promise for years afterwards even when they find Aang, Azula introduces herself as a nonbender. She even refuses to teach Aang any firebending for a while because she’s dedicated herself to not bending (Actually turns out to be a blessing because Ozai doesn’t identify her as Azula until after the North Pole siege). Speaking of, Azula sees Sokka in trouble during the siege and uses her bending to protect him. (Azula: Sokka?! Are you okay?! Sokka: I’m okay. I’m okay. You…you firebent. Azula: I guess I did. Sokka: To help me. Azula: Oh, no. Sokka: You like me! Azula: No! No, I don’t! Sokka: Azula likes me! Azula likes me! Azula: Hey! Is there any other soldier who wants to kill him for me?!!)

4. Ozai changes Zuko’s mission to instead capturing Azula and the Avatar and gives him Mai and Ty Lee as support. Azula is now using her bending so it’s a bit easier to track her (a blind firebender has got to attract some attention) but they can’t capture her. And, since Azula left the palace when she was a baby, she has no idea who Mai and Ty Lee are and she and Zuko don’t know they’re related. (Of course Ozai twists the story when he tells Zuko and says Azula was stolen from them by the Water Tribe which is why he needs to get her back). Throughout this, the Gaang really doesn’t know any of that and instead are focused on finding Aang an earthbending teacher: enter Toph. Toph and Azula would make every blind joke known to man and are constantly helping each other out with little tricks. (Sokka: Spirits, there’s two of them). Just a Toph & Azula friendship. (Toph: So, anything you want to tell me. Azula: About what? Toph: About you and Snoozles? Azula: What-are you-no. No, there’s nothing to say. Toph: Really? Because if I didn’t know any better I’d say you have a massive crush on him. Azula: I do not! Toph: And you’re heartbeat increasing when you hear him voice, constantly going to his side, sitting right next to him at dinner and holding onto him when you can’t see is all…Azula: Shut up)

5. In BSS, Azula joins Zuko’s side (let me explain) and returns to the Fire Nation with him. She never mastered lightning but the Dai Li does being down a cave on Aang and Katara, believing them dead. The siblings, Mai and Ty Lee return to the Fire Nation and declare the Avatar and his friend dead. Unknown to them, but known to Azula, Toph was right behind them and kept them from being crushed. The Gaang now is able to travel with everyone thinking they’re dead and having Azula as a secret double agent (something Sokka isn’t too fond of but it was his and Azula’s idea). They’re reunited during the DOBS, a time when Zuko tries to tell Azula what Ozai told him and Hakoda, who is there, tells Zuko that some fishermen found Azula and dropped her off in the South Pole—they didn’t steal her—and he pokes a few holes in Ozai’s lie, but Zuko doesn’t want to doubt his father (since he spent most of his time under Ozai’s thumb and all). The invasion force is still captured, while the Gaang escape to the Western Air Temple, with Hakoda eventually being sent to the Boiling Rock. However, this time, he comes across a woman with a very familiar face who introduces herself as Ursa.

[michellymy]

Interview - Ethan

Hello, every-nyan! It was a hustle to convince Ethan, but he finally said yes to our interview! Are you excited, Ethie?!

“Hi, guys.” Smiles sheepish and waves. “Not really, but… for some reason, you want to know more about me, is that right? My name is Ethan Yaneh… or Ethan Price, I don’t know. And I’m 18.”

Relax, Ethan! I admit the questions might be personal, but we’re all friends here, no judgment! Let’s start with an easy one.

1. What would be your ideal date? ( @gojicorps )

“Hm… something like cinema, I guess? It’s quiet and you just enjoy their company beside you. Or maybe having a picnic with lots of fruits, pies and cakes.” Shrugs. “I’m not sure. As long it’s with the person I like, it would be my ideal date.”

Ah, the question has a continuation…

2. When will you acknowledge that you like Maya?

“Maya?” Ears warm up. “Uh… it’s kinda too early to tell I like her, no?… I mean, we did kiss, but it was in the rush of the moment, and I don’t even know her for real, and perhaps she was just kidding, she probably was just bored with the party, and she doesn’t take me seriously, and—“ Brushes face with hands. “Okay, okay, I guess you got it. Can we not pry in my shabby romantic life?”

Haha, sorry! We didn’t intend to make you blush! Let’s get a really easy question for you!

3. How’s your daily life with the Prices?

“Pretty normal? Or, actually, no. They’re extravagant, but in a good way. Does that make sense?…” Frowns slightly, leg bouncing. “Gosh, it doesn’t. Right, lemme try again— They’re very nice and come up with lots of funny ideas. Mr. Price isn’t always at home, but he does his best to keep up when he is, so… yeah, it’s great. It’s just a tiny annoying when I don’t want to participate in their stuff, and they tell me to.”

4. It seems you have met Sammy, your brother, before you get adopted; how was it?

“Ah, Sam is my friend since Elementary school!” Smiles. “I was more talkative back then, so we used to spend a lot of time studying, playing RPG and exploring…” pauses and smile freezes, “…my mum’s garden. It was bigger than normal gardens, you know? A kid’s dream. Full of flowers and birds. We liked it.”

5. The incident happened when you were still young; did you have someone to help you in the time?

Looks away. “The neighbors backed me. I stayed in many friends’ houses, but it was hard to stand those looks.” Swallows. “Dottie told me stay in their house, despite my insistence to not be adopted. I didn't want 'cause it felt… wrong. As if I was, like, trying to delete her from my life?… it was hypocrite.”

6. After it, did you notice any radical changes in your style of life or behavior?

“Yeah, obviously, I got quieter. And shy.” Bites the inside of cheek. “Insecure? The doctor said I had depression and problems with socialization, but apparently I improved. Dottie took me to therapy through the year, and I feel okay, so maybe the doctor is right. I hope.”

7. If you could come back in time and redo something, what would you do?

“There are many things… I’d have behaved better, I wouldn’t be so naive, I’d have loved more, I’d have lived at my best… but sometimes I wonder if it really would change anything.” Hugs cushion. “Maybe it was meant. Maybe I’ll be forever this miserable kid. I wanted to grow up, but how in Heaven’s name am I supposed to do that? They didn’t teach me. They just threw it over me and, ‘well, it’s your problem now.’” Smirks tightly.

8. It has been years; how do you expect to get over this after so long?

Silent, looking down.

“…do I need to get over it?” Mumbling. “She is my mum, I don’t want to forget the good things she did for me. If I do, who am I in the world? All I learned, all I am, came from her. I can’t just… brush her off.”

Ethan, you know this isn’t healthy for you. You probably already heard it, but you won’t grow until you move and try to change. If your mother truly loved you, she would want you to live.

“If she truly loved me, she’d be here.” Frowns and holds cushion tighter.

“…I don’t want to answer more…”

[episodicnostalgia]

Star Trek: The Next Generation - Season 1 Overview

Well, there you have it. It took a lot longer than anticipated, but I’ve officially completed season 1.  Huzzah!

I’ve mentioned it a few times before, but I’ve never actually seen this series in its entirety, so it’s been interesting to watch from the beginning, especially since I’m less familiar with the early seasons. So, in the continued interest of nostalgic observation, I thought I’d take a second to rank the season as a whole, and share my overall thoughts on the show thus far.

For anyone who hasn’t been following along on this little journey, my episode ratings are based on a 5 star system, to the nearest .5 of a star.  In the interest of avoiding any additional rounding, I’m ranking the season based on the overall average of each episode, even though the final score won’t look as neat.  

So without any further ado, over the span of 25 episodes, my average rating for season 1 of TNG comes to…

1.96 stars (out of 5)

Admittedly, that’s not a phenomenal score, but I don’t think it’s altogether unfair, nor do I bestow it with any malice. The fact is, most of these episodes were subpar-at-best, and that’s more-or-less consistent what I went in expecting to find. Star Trek shows historically aren’t known for starting on the strongest note, and when you take into account the drama that allegedly took place behind the scenes, it’s not all that surprising to encounter some (at times excruciating) growing pains. Ultimately there’s still enough good here to justify my continued curiosity, and there’s something to be said for giving a show enough time to grow into itself; something that’s been unfortunately absent in the advent of streaming television.

A huge part of what does-and-doesn’t work comes down to the writing and characterizations, with only a handful of the cast getting any kind of meaningful development.  Unfortunately, the women get the short end of the stick (which led to some aforementioned BTS drama), so as I rank each character (using a pass/neutral/fail ranking), please keep in mind that the following criticisms are predominantly directed to the writers, and not the actors (who I genuinely believe were doing the best with what they had).

1. Jean-Luc Picard

It’s widely accepted that Patrick Stewart is a huge reason for the show’s success, but the writers do deserve some credit here. In one of my reviews I mentioned that his character progression feels like it’s largely made up as it goes, and often accidental.  That may be true, but also largely immaterial.  Most ongoing television shows DO make it up as they go, and that’s just a reality of the medium.  Personally, I enjoyed getting a new perspective on Picard, which shows that he was kind of a staunch asshole until this crew warmed his frigid little heart. Whether that’s the intent is immaterial, because it does make him more interesting, and lends itself nicely to some of his established lore, which is undeniably given the most focus across the board.

Grade: PASS

2. William T. Riker

Riker has such acute horny golden retriever energy in this season. He could easily have come off as Picard’s handsome right-hand douche, but he’s given just enough charm (I’m giving a good share of the credit to Jonathan Frakes for that) that I can’t bring myself to dislike him.   Having said that, he’s still fairly two-dimensional at this point in the show, and I can’t say I find him that interesting on his own.  Maybe the beard really does make a difference.

Grade: PASS (but not by a lot)

3. Geordie LaForge

Levar Burton’s talents are almost entirely unused, although I give him full credit for doing everything he can, LaForge amounts to little more than a bouncing board for Data.

Grade: NEUTRAL

4. Tasha Yar

Talk about a missed opportunity. Aside from her death in ‘Skin of evil’ (which barely focussed on her) Tasha was really only featured in one episode, which is widely regarded as one of Star Trek’s all-time-worst. What a waste.

Grade: FAIL

5. Worf

Everyone’s favourite Klingon is pretty underused for a majority of the season, but “heart of Glory” does a good enough job at fleshing out his character, and quite effectively starts his journey towards being one of the all time “trek greats”.

Grade: PASS

6. Dr. Beverley Crusher

Dr. Crusher was never really on my radar, back when I was a kid, and  I always kind of found her boring. Sadly, that mostly holds true here, but knowing what happened with Gates McFadden behind the scenes (she was fired for season 2, because apparently she agreed with my assessment), I do have a much higher appreciation for her performance.  Crusher has some attitude, and I like it.  I only wish the writers had used that to their advantage, instead of trying to reduce her to a romantic interest for Picard.

Grade: NEUTRAL (but would have been a ‘fail’ if not for McFadden)

7. Deanna Troi

Troi is clearly an example of a writing team who put in very little work to develop this character. I get that it was the 80’s and psychiatric/psychological treatments were only just starting to be recognized as a legitimate branch of health care, but the writers weren’t even trying here.  Troi is regularly depicted as emotional, fragile, and often relegated to “traditional gender roles.”  She’s not interesting because the writers don’t seem equally disinterested in exploring her, beyond her value as a pretty woman that Riker can sometimes covet.

Grade: FAIL

8. Data

Barring Picard, Data is the most developed character to come out of season 1, and I would say he’s easily the most interesting.  This is a prime example of how a show should ideally develop it’s cast.  Character-centric episodes are obviously important for establishing major beats, but it’s the small moments of continued growth that bring characters like Data to life.

Grade: PASS

9. Wesley Crusher

Ugh, I just can’t stand this character, and I feel bad because it seems like Wil Wheaton may very well be an alright dude, but holy shit is Wesley annoying. All the same, I feel the need to reiterate that I hold the writers 100% responsible for how his character was managed.

Grade: FAIL

I don’t have a lot else to say that I haven’t already talked about in the individual reviews, but there are two other elements that warrant a quick shout out.

Jerry Goldsmith’s opening theme is a classic. Of course it was originally used in ‘The Motion Picture’ nearly 10 years prior, but the arrangement for TNG is iconic, and I love everything about it.  No matter how bad an episode ends up being, the opening credits never fail to hype me up.

The Model work: This would be the last Star Trek series to use (I think almost exclusively?) models for the Enterprise, and the other various ships, and they look incredible. I’m not throwing shade on the other show’s use of CGI, those artists also did solid work, especially considering how new the technology was, but I’ll always be a slut for practical effects.

And that’s about all I have to say! For the sake of posterity, I’ve listed each episode below, along with my ranking. All the episodes with a blue-coloured rating are ones that I'd already seen at some point beforehand (mostly during my teen years). I’m curious to see how many I'd failed to watch growing up, so I'll continue keep track of that as I move forward.

Encounter at Farpoint - 2 The Naked Now - 2 Code of Honor - 0 The Last Outpost - 1.5 Where No One Has Gone Before - 3 Lonely Among Us - 2 Justice - 1 The Battle - 2.5 Hide and Q - 2 Haven - 1 The Big Goodbye - 3 Datalore - 3.5 Angel One - 1 11001001 - 2.5 Too Short a Season - 3 When the Bough Breaks - 0.5 Home Soil - 2.5 Coming of Age - 2 Heart of Glory - 3 The Arsenal of Freedom - 3 Symbiosis - 1 Skin of Evil - 1.5 We'll Always Have Paris - 1 Conspiracy - 3 The Neutral Zone - 1.5

[nosnet]

Past Lives (2) – New York State of Mind

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period:  Early 2027

Perspective: Vyx and Vince

Rating: R

Content Warnings: Swearing, violence, guns, discussion of abuse, two characters who aren’t good together have it out, transmasc pregnancy talk, we broke everyone and now it’s on full display

Word Count: 18,758

Comments: Stop 1: New York City. In which Donnie confirms nobody’s been joking, Al starts to work through some shit, and Vyx realizes that this road trip isn’t going to be as simple as they thought it would.

“Are you blind?! I’m in a fucking bus, you asshole! Who do you think I fucking am, a Toretto?! You think I can stop a bus on a dime?!”

Donnie took over the driving just before they reached the New York State line, and clearly, there was a good reason why. Will – formerly Billiam, as Vyx had confirmed that Will was in fact his first name and that Damon was just, in fact, weird like that – was not a bad driver, by any means; Damon Wellington was not a man to select people of average skill for his staff, and Will was no exception. The man handled the bus like a champ, getting it safely, but quickly, out onto the highway and northbound, and they’d let him get used to driving the thing for a few hours while they raced towards New England. However, just as they were getting out of Delaware, Donnie had requested the driver seat, and Will had acquiesced without fuss; part of it had been the immediate application of a small box, which Donnie explained was an EZ-Pass, meant to let them bypass tolls without having to stop. The other part had become clear, quickly, as the traffic getting into the Lincoln Tunnel alone was a hot mess – not even speaking on the traffic past it - and it was obviously difficult to drive through normally, let alone in a bus.

“Hey, if you need a break, one of us can swap out. This isn’t my first time driving in New York. Don’t want you to burst a blood vessel or nothin’. I mean, if you can. I don’t know if that’s possible.” Vyx said, standing behind Donnie, one hand on the seat and the other on the partition that separated the doors from the rest of the bus. They rocked with the motion, the constant stopping and starting, the way Donnie ripped the bus from one lane into another with what almost looked like reckless abandon making them sway, but they didn’t fall over. They weren’t entirely sure how Vince had managed to make playing cards possible, but he had, and the game going on behind them didn’t seem deterred, even when the bus bounced over bad concrete.

“What? No, I’m not mad--” Donnie explained, even as he leaned out the bus window to throw a quick bird at a pedestrian who had decided to bolt across the street without waiting for the crosswalk. “Watch where the fuck you’re walking! – This is just how you drive. It’s a… cultural exchange.” He explained, and he definitely didn’t look mad, except when he was actively shouting, and the fact that he could turn it off on a dime said he wasn’t lying. If he’d been mad, they would have noticed – he was a Brujah, after all. “If I didn’t yell at them out the window, they’d think I was a tourist and I wouldn’t get to drive anywhere.”

“You know, maybe if we didn’t shit on tourists constantly, we wouldn’t have this innate need to not be perceived as tourists in our own home cities, but that need automatically shits on tourists, so the cycle continues, unabated.” Vince said, to no one, dealing out three cards to each of the players in the group. Flidais wasn’t playing, happily tucked up against Vince without any kind of smile, just watching, but Al had convinced April and Will to tuck themselves into the booth for a game.

“You know, we met, before all of this, and I still can’t ever remember that you’re a Malkavian.” April said, rapidly sliding the cards in her hand against each other while she thought.

“It’s ‘cause he keeps all of his weird shit to himself most of the time.” Al said, pushing three packs of fruit snacks into the center of the table. They hadn’t exactly brought things to bet with, but they did pack snacks, and they served the purpose well enough. Keeping them in the little bags meant it was easier for them to not be consumed mid game. “Then when he says something fucked up, it’s a surprise ‘cause he hasn’t said anything weird recently.” He shook his head, tapping his knuckles on the table to signal that he was done with his turn. April bit her lip, meeting the first bet tentatively, before raising a second fruit snack.

“It keeps people on their toes. Never know what to expect.” Vince shrugged, watching Will as he thought through the cards, before meeting April’s bet. “If every Malk’s just Marie, the world gets boring.”

“Where are we going? Am I looking for a hotel? What side of town?” Donnie asked, butting back in to the conversation. The traffic hadn’t cleared, but they were in the city proper, and he knew he had to start making choices. He wasn’t going to get many options, and he had to know what was worth the risk of bullying his way into. “If you give me an address, I can find it, as long as we didn’t pass the turn already.”

“Molly’s office. She didn’t give me an address, but I figure you know where that is.” Vyx said, and Donnie nodded, quickly throwing the bus over to the left-most lane before they reached the stoplight he needed to turn at. Several cars honked, and he threw another rude hand gesture out the window in a generalized response. Vyx wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong, but that just seemed to the general method of communication.

“Are we not staying in New York?” Flidais asked, her voice always monotone and soft. Vyx turned around, leaning backwards against the seat and the partition, almost falling briefly as Donnie took the left at speed.

“Nah. Apparently, Claire went and got this box for me – that’s how she found out what was happening. So we’re gonna meet her at Molly’s office and grab that before jetting back out of the city again. Hotels out here are fucking expensive and it’s not like half this group didn’t live up here for a bit. I figured Broadway wasn’t exactly a thrilling reason to stop for the night, and considering we’ve got five other stops, it didn’t seem wise to linger.” They shrugged as they righted themselves, turning to look over their shoulder so they could tell when Donnie was about to turn again. Luckily, he used his signals, but it was hard to tell from inside the bus. “This is just a quick stopover.”

“Who else has lived in New York besides Donnie?” Al asked, watching the betting come back around to him. He had his three cards face down on the table, leaning on it with an elbow, and he matched April’s bet before turning one of his three cards sideways. He knocked on the table again, and he watched April reflexively turn her cards, which she’s set down sideways after upping the bet. Al snickered. “Thought so. I’ve passed turn, Planeswalker.”

“What? Hey.” April grumbled, not entirely sure how to feel about being caught out. It wasn’t like she hid the fact that she’s previously played Magic: the Gathering, but she wasn’t exactly enthused about Al tricking her into revealing that fact. “You’re one to talk, Al – you had to be at the devil’s sacrament, too.” She responded, after a second, pushing four packs of fruit snacks into the center, almost out of a spiteful response. Al tried to keep his face neutral, but she could tell that he’d been caught out, just as much. Only someone who’d been exposed to Magic: the Gathering would know the signs of someone else who played, after all. She was honestly just grateful he didn’t know where the term devil’s sacrament came from. “As for New York, I haven’t ever lived up here. I haven’t really been more north than Richmond.”

“I did.” Vince said, already folding before it was even his turn. His hand wasn’t good enough for the four, and he knew it. First rule of playing cards was not to chase a hand you knew you couldn’t win. “Dad and I lived here for… god, I think maybe three years when I was little? Not that I remember it, much. He moved down to Florida fairly quickly. And that means, technically, Vyx also lived here.”

“Not to mention I’ve spent like, a solid eight months in this city just vibin’, so even if I haven’t had my own place here, I think I’ve lived here on my own.” They shrugged, better braced this time as Donnie took a hard right, before pulling the bus up to the curb.

“First stop, the office complex of Molly de l’Argonne.” Donnie said, putting the bus in park – which made an awful noise, as busses often did – before throwing the lever to open the doors. Al quickly folded – Will had as well, unwilling to face April’s wrath – putting his hands up as they started out of the booth, and April gave him a grin that said she was satisfied with her retribution, taking the pile of snacks into her hands and putting her cards back in the deck without revealing them.

“Hey now, show what you had.” Al said, snaking out of the booth after Flidais. April grinned.

“Don’t have to, everyone folded.” She slipped out of the booth, putting the well won snacks in her bag for later, before slinging the small purse over her shoulder. “Maybe next time you should pay more attention to the game we’re playing and not necessarily the games I used to play.” April’s tone was affectionate and not entirely hostile, but it still pulled a groan out of Al all the same, like he was being punished for things he didn’t do.

It took them a moment to pile out of the bus – Will remained, willing to watch the thing while they were inside – as, while none of the people on the bus expected combat, none of them wanted to go in unarmed. Those that weren’t already quickly grabbed the slew of various instrument cases that held most of their guns – it was the easiest way to not get stopped – piling off the bus without any additional fuss. It was clear Al was gearing up to whine about losing at poker – his Vyx, April is being mean to me primed and waiting – but his voice was stayed quickly as they stepped into the grand building that was Molly’s office. 

Molly was not a woman for being subtle, and the design of her office building exemplified that wholeheartedly. The downstairs lobby was a massive space, with high ceilings and a grand central staircase that swept up to both the left and the right, where elevators to the upper floors sat. There were a few offices on the first and second floors, of course, mostly doors to conference rooms for those that didn’t want to venture further, but most of the space was meant to be large, empty, and grand; everything was gilded, all Art Deco designs and polished floors, and a chandelier full of crystals hung low into the space. Clearly, this was a space meant to host parties of unusual size; this was made even more readily apparent when they entered, as Claire stood in the center of the lobby space with a metal box under her arm, directing various people, all clearly staff due to their business casual attire, to put tables and chairs and other items along the walls. She seemed deep in the moment, but Vyx didn’t hesitate, strolling up to her in the middle of things like they were the most important person Claire would speak to all day, their instrument case slung across their back like they were a band meeting their new manager, ready to play.

“Eyyy, Claire!” Vyx called the woman’s name, and she turned, visibly relaxing at the fact that Vyx was there. Clearly, getting the items to Vyx was a thing that was tying Claire up in a way she didn’t like, as the way she moved to set the metal box down on a table immediately said a lot. “Sorry if we’re late – traffic, you know. We’re in a bus, it’s a mess.”

“A bus?” Claire’s accent was thicker than anyone else’s there, even Donnie’s, the quintessential New Yorker tones far too fitting for the speed at which she spoke. She tucked a strand of hair, straight and dark and smooth, behind an ear, snapping at one of the staffers to snag their attention and quickly relaying a series of instructions in hushed tones before turning back to the party and ushering them over to a table, where she finally set the box down. “Aren’t you supposed t’be in an RV?” She paused, only a moment, realizing the question was dumb and the answer unnecessary. Whatever was supposed to happen, didn’t, and that was all she really needed. Anything more would be relegating her to fixing the problem, and she didn’t have time for that. “Regardless, here’s the box. I can’t open it, ‘cause apparently, you have the key, but once you’re sure it’s all there, you can get going.”

“In a rush to kick us out?” Al asked, a little sarcastically, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t need an instrument case, and his hands were free, minus his vape. Claire shot him a look that would have deflated a lesser man, but Al managed to hold strong all the same, hitting said vape as though in rejection of her look. He’d spent enough time trying to work with people who thought him scum to have developed a backbone, even from before the war.  

“Here’s the thing, Al: we’ve got Mardi Gras coming up, then Easter, which Konrad always hosts something for, plus St. Patrick’s day, in New York – I’m busy.” Claire was a little snippy, but clearly, it was just because she was overloaded. There was a lot going on, after all, and they were really the only Kindred capable of hosting those kinds of events in the city – the expectations were high. “Not counting that Molly’s off in New Orleans meeting with one of her contacts from the forties and hanging out with some of Jess Briata’s people, so setting up for all the events falls on me.” Claire sighed. “Not like it doesn’t always fall on me, but usually Molly’s here to schmooze while I work and that keeps distractions like this to a minimum. So just… can we get this open?”

Vyx was already sorting through keys by the time she asked, and while it took them a moment to locate the specific one, they found it after a second and held it aloft. “Glad I labeled the keys.” They said, showing off the fact that it had NYC written on the butt of the key in sharpie. Was it the best method? No, as the letters were lightly smudged and not entirely legible, but it sort of worked. There was enough variation between the various labels that one could probably tell the difference. They deftly unlocked the box, stuffing their ring of keys back into their pockets before opening the thing and removing contents.

For a moment, everyone gathered around the table, craning their necks to see what could possibly be so important as to save for more than a year. Vyx let them – they liked being at the center of attention, after all.

The first thing they produced was a dagger, though some might have called it a sword – the blade itself was nearly a foot long, after all. The handle was hour-glass shaped, dark in color and made of a wood that looked, and smelled, old; it was, luckily, sheathed, but the sheath also had a sigil stamped into the leather that had Al picking the thing up almost as soon as Vyx had set it on the table. “Where the hell did you get a sword in New York?” He asked, inspecting it closely.

“Oh, no, this isn’t from here; most of this box is from overseas.” Vyx said, pulling out a stack of boxes of what looked like French chocolates, if the writing on the side being in French said anything. They could have been Swiss, but the box looked far too French. They peered into one with a face that was almost worried, but they nodded in acceptance at the fact that none of them were blue with mold. “Like these? These are from Paris. They still look good, so we’re probably fine to eat them.”

“Okay, then: where the hell did you get a sword in Europe?” Al asked, again, taking the correction and applying it to try and get back to the actual question he’d posed. Vyx looked up, hands holding a series of various Doctor Who themed tourist merchandise, including at least one Tardis Keychain that started to vvorp vvorp when they moved it; the batteries, clearly, hadn’t exploded in the time it had been locked away.

“I’m more concerned about the dental practices you encountered in Europe that would let you leave with a tooth.” Vince added, deftly reaching into the box and producing one, single, brown molar, covered in dirt and dust and looking like Vyx had grabbed it straight from a grave. “Especially one that gives off the worst vibes I’ve encountered in a while – which, admittedly, the last bad vibes I got were Eldest, since that’s all still recent, for me. But like… the last time I felt bad vibes like this, we were fucking around in the Paris Catacombs trying to catch your dumb ass, Al.”

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised that you know where that tooth is from.” Vyx said, taking the tooth from his fingers and deftly stuffing it in a pocket. “But you’re right – that’s a catacombs original. No, for the record, I didn’t ask, and I’d appreciate not finding out any of my polycule are narcs.” They paused, giving everyone a look that said tattling would mean bad things. “But yeah, I rolled around in Paris for a bit before I came back stateside; mostly hung out with Martha Thompson? The redhead that went gaga for the French version of Molly since she couldn’t get the original?” They asked, and Vince nodded, clearly understanding who, exactly, they were talking about. Claire made a face that usually showed up on teachers or chaperones after hearing their charges talk about things they shouldn’t; it was a pursing of her lips and a furrowing of her brows that was her trying to decide if she should butt in and correct their language or not.

“Did she tell you that?” Claire asked, trying to suss out whether or not they were sharing business they shouldn’t, and Vyx shrugged, pulling out a giant jar of sauerkraut, which had no label besides a piece of masking tape with 04/08/24 written on it in a handwriting that wasn’t recognizable. The jar, however, was about as big as Vyx’s head, and they set it gently on the table.

“Look, if Martha didn’t want the world to know that she had been pining for Molly for like, ever, maybe she shouldn’t have gone and gotten engaged to the woman’s doppelganger—“

“Aa--!” Claire made a strange noise, almost panicked, cutting Vyx off. “Nobody’s a doppelganger. Don’t use that word. Jess might be a lot like Molly, but she isn’t a fuckin’ doppelganger and if you say that word around Molly she will kill you. Got me?” Claire warned, and Vyx put both hands up in the air, conceding the point. “And don’t be mean. Martha’s had it rough.”

“I wasn’t trying to be mean, it’s just the truth. Like, Claire, look at us. You think we get to talk about falling for the wrong person? That dingdong found every person who was gonna betray us and immediately fell head over heels, and while those aren’t my mistakes, I got to witness that train-wreck firsthand, twice.” Vyx rolled their eyes, pulling the last item from the box; it was a circular patch for a jacket, a skull and a rose in white on a black background, the rose petals a bloody red and the number seven stitched at the bottom. They quickly tucked that into a pocket, too. Some things weren’t for public consumption. “I’m just limited on how I can pick Martha specifically out of a lineup. Redheaded Malkavian is apparently an incredibly broad list, and adding British doesn’t make it smaller.”

“For the record, I didn’t know they were going to betray us. And technically neither of you had a choice.” Vince defended his partners, considering they were standing right there, but it didn’t seem like he needed to. Flidais was unperturbed, as she often was, clearly accepting the concept that she had, in fact, betrayed them; Al was still entirely too focused on the dagger, though his eyebrow raise at the mention of his betrayal said he wasn’t denying that it happened, either.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the defense, wish it had happened like, ten years ago, but regardless,” Al said, holding up the dagger again as he waved off Vince’s defense. The other man’s face fell, just a little, at the dismissal, but Al didn’t notice, as he was full focused on the symbol for the dagger’s sheath. “Really, though: where did you get this? I know this house crest.”

“Oh, that’s from Vlad.” Vyx said, nonchalantly, closing the box up and pulling the key off their key-ring. It wasn’t worth keeping if they didn’t have the box anymore, after all. “I headed his way after I left London. Spent a day in Germany with Reinhardt – man’s a good cook, which is how I still have this massive thing of home-made sauerkraut—“ they tipped the jar around a little on the table, which was overly large and fairly full, “but then I rolled out to Vlad’s for a bit. Man’s lonely.”

“Does he know you have this?” Al asked, with serious concern in his voice. If Vyx was out, stealing from Vlad Dracul himself, they were going to have a problem. Vyx chuckled.

“I mean, it’s been like, what, three years? I’d hope he does.” They shook their head, stacking the chocolates on top of the jar as though to carry them. “Either way, I haven’t gotten any angry German letters, so I bet he’s chill that it’s here.” They shrugged, hefting the jar and chocolates into their arms. It was heavy, so they had to hold it just so. “Can you hold onto that for a second, though? This jar is hefty. Reinhardt thinks I can put food away like he does, even though he’s like twice my height and definitely twice my body mass.”

“Wait.” Donnie’s voice cut through the conversation; he’d been otherwise silent, as there hadn’t been much to say. What Vyx did in Europe was interesting, and while he was aware of who Martha was, he knew they’d regale him with proper stories once they weren’t pulling things out of a box. He was willing to wait – it would be less chaotic, too. But, standing outside the circle of people, away from the conversation, he’d heard something at the doors; it wasn’t people, there were plenty of people moving around, but something else, and his vampiric hackles had gone up at the sound. He stared at the door, the others watching him for a sign that he knew what was up, and then they all heard it.

The click was surprisingly loud against the hum of staffers conversing and moving items.  

“Move!” It was Al’s shout that broke the spell that had fallen over the group at the sound; for a moment, before he’d spoken, every eye had been turned to the front doors, the reality of the sound settling over the group like dust from the ceiling settling on their shoulders, a little at a time. The sound of something hard against the doors, the sound of footsteps, hushed voice behind the wall – it all pointed to the same thing, but it took people a moment to piece it all together. However, Al figured it out first, and his shout had the party turning back to the stairs with dawning horror, ducking away from the doors and running for a back conference room at full speed – which was a good thing, as only a moment later, the glass doors burst out in a fireball of an explosion, which rattled the building and pushed dust and smoke into the lobby, obscuring their view for a moment and filling the space with dust and heat. They were lucky; even with their vampiric constitutions, fire wouldn’t have done them any favors.  

“For fucks sake!” Claire snapped, coughing lightly at the dust in the air. She was still a ghoul, and breathing was still important for her, so the explosion had rocked her pretty hard. Back in the conference room, however, they were shielded from the worst of whatever the hell was happening outside – and from the yelling and the snarling, they could tell it was something. Molly’s office was under attack. “The hell was that?”

“C4, probably.” Al said, already pulling one of the SMGs he kept in a shoulder holster under one arm, checking the magazine and blowing dust from the sites. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t full of dust, but he’d manage. “That click was a blasting cap being primed, if my ears serve.”

“And you’d know a thing or two about C4.” Flidais added, her calm and deadpan delivery making what was probably meant to kind of be a joke almost feel like a barb to the chest, though Al brushed it off; his scowl was just from the fact that they’d been attacked, though it was clear her words weren’t kind. “So? What’s the plan?”

They all looked up as, suddenly, the lights went out with a loud thunk of the generator turning off. A moment passed, and then the room found itself lit in blood red, the emergency lights kicking back on. Claire groaned.

“Well, they’ve cut the power.” Claire groaned as she stated the obvious, gesturing to the ceiling where the lights should have been. “Probably tryin’ t’cut the cell tower more than anything. Can’t get the word out t’anyone if we don’t have data. Fuckers know how I work.” She sighed, pulling up her phone anyway and scowling at the no bars symbol at the top. The cell tower on top of Molly’s office was critical, as the building was otherwise a dead zone for data – they’d beefed with too many technologically savvy Tremere - and Claire had to run a world’s worth of people off of one cellphone. It helped keep costs down and connectivity up – but while the tower itself was hooked into the backup generator, the machines that processed it into useable data weren’t, for security reasons. Better that they could shut things down on a dime, even if it meant things could get shut down on a dime. “So we’ll need t’get that back up, at least. And we’ll want backup, if we can get it. Molly’s down south, and Ray’s with her, but there’s still a squad at the gym who can throw hands. I’m not really a fighter.”

“I can run to Swinging Bimbos.” Donnie quickly took charge of that part of the plan, feeling something in him that said it was go time and letting that boost his confidence. This was his town, and his boss; he wasn’t about to just let them do something like blow up his boss’s office building without some kind of retribution. And while Ray was out of pocket, he knew there would be enough Brujah to clear a building, and they’d hopefully listen to him. He was lucky, as he didn’t really use guns, so he was ready to go at a moment’s notice; the others were busy unzipping cases and pulling out rifles, though they weren’t going slowly.

“Take Flidais with you.” Vyx said, gesturing between the two of them as they stuffed rounds into a magazine for their rifle. They’d had Vince’s in the same case, so they’d loaded neither; it wouldn’t have been wise to keep a loaded rifle next to a loaded rifle with nothing to cushion between them. “She’s probably the fastest in the room, and definitely the most nimble, considering she can turn into blood and everything. Better we all travel in pairs so we don’t get picked off by whomever decided to be brave today. Besides, she’s not having to load rounds right now.” They didn’t have to ask – Flidais was already nodding along, rifle loaded and on her back, clearly understanding her role in the matter. She was easy, as long as she felt productive, and it wasn’t like she was specialized in a way they’d need otherwise. Her expertise were rifles, bombs, and body building, but not the kind that the gym offered. Vyx quickly turned to Al, and to April, who was the least armed, checking her own small pistol deftly, squinting between the two of them in consideration. Al didn’t like the way they smiled at whatever idea they had – it meant bad things, probably. At least for him. He’d been quickly learning their quirks, and a smile like that never worked out well. “Vince, you take Al up to the roof. There’s probably some kind of tower up there, right? Something we can hook a laptop into, bypass the systems with a hotspot?” They asked, and Claire nodded.

“Could work, long as your laptop battery lasts. We have a personal receiver, since we use so much damn data, and it’s powered by the backup generators, at least.” She nodded, but Al’s face was a face of protest, not acceptance, like he’d been asked to babysit someone he hated and he didn’t want to.

“Why not April?” He asked, gesturing to her, and April, for her part, shrugged, clearly unsure herself. Vyx crossed their arms.

“Well, one, you’re better with the technical side of things and this might take a hell of a beating to get it to work, so we need you where you’re best suited. Two, I’m not sending the least armed person in this room to the roof where she’s in danger.” They gestured to April’s weapon, a little three-burst pistol, which was clearly not as good at self-defense as Al’s SMGs. “Three, and most importantly, you and Vince are gonna have to be alone at some point, so we might as well get it the fuck over with.” Vyx waved a dismissive hand, as though to say there wasn’t any arguing, and Al sighed. Ultimately, he couldn’t argue with that – they were right. He’d have to have time with Vince before they were done, no matter what, and it was better to get it over with. It didn’t mean he had to like it. “Besides, April is coming with me; we’re gonna find a place upstairs to make into a command center with Claire. Help relay anything we find out, like who or what or why to the right people, without risking anyone getting shot. If you get data running again, we’ll be able to coordinate the gym bros better and get this sorted. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a terrible plan, but considering we didn’t expect to get attacked today, it’s probably the best we have.” Al shook his head, turning to Vince with a sour expression. He didn’t like getting forced into this, but they didn’t have any choices. Vince was, at least, armed again, holding his rifle in his hands in a way that said he remembered how to use it. “C’mon, Vince. Let’s get this over with.” Al said, heading for the door, and Vince followed, the pair disappearing quickly as they did so. Being able to just vanish was always a good thing, and it meant that they could sneak out without getting seen. Donnie watched the door for a moment, Flidais heading for it as well, ready to follow him to the gym.

“You think they’ll be okay?” He asked, turning to Vyx, who shrugged.

“I mean, if not, they’re gonna be not okay at some point regardless. It’s like throwing up at a party: if you’re gonna do it, might as well not hold off and make yourself miserable while you do. It’s not really any use waiting for it to happen naturally.” They sighed. “I’ll make it up to Al when we’re back on the road. Be safe, both of you. I don’t know what the hell’s out there, but you should be prepared for the worst.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, babe.” Donnie leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Vyx’s forehead, and they smiled happily in response. It was hard to be worried with Donnie’s confident affection, especially considering their other partners hadn’t killed him for it yet. He turned to Flidais, a woman he hadn’t really worked with yet, and she nodded, ready and raring to go. “Now, let’s go get some backup.”

~*~

They’d gotten out without getting seen, though in doing so, they’d seen the things that had attacked them, and Donnie was, honestly, a little worried about that. Flidais wasn’t, or at least, he wasn’t sure she was, as her face never really left stoic for anything less than actual disaster; it could have been that she was, in fact, scared, or it could have been that she didn’t give much of a shit about a pack of Garou attacking the front of Molly’s office; Donnie didn’t see her grip tighten on her rifle, or he would have realized that she was, in fact, a little worried. It helped, at least, that they seemed relatively ineffective – the staff had barricaded the doors with tables almost as soon as the dust had cleared, so the influx of werewolves into the building had been all but stilled immediately, pushed down to one or two instead of the pack that they’d intended. One pressed through as they passed, but only the one, and from the sounds inside, it wasn’t great for the Garou. Of course, it meant trying to exit the building was harder than anticipated, but Flidais was all but silent and Donnie knew how to move in his city without getting caught, so they got out and onto the street without any trouble.

“So, is the apathy just like, how your face works, or are werewolves a common thing for you people?” Donnie asked, once they’d gotten a decent bit away from the building. Swinging Bimbos was a little bit of a walk, and while he knew running would probably get them there faster, he wanted to save his energy. There was a possibility they were going to run, full pelt, back, so he maintained a half-jog instead, just faster than a powerwalk but something easy to maintain without needing to do something like use his stored vitae. Flidais kept pace easily, shifting her rifle to her back.

“Would you be surprised if I said werewolves weren’t uncommon, for us?” Flidais asked, her voice that constant monotone softness that erased any and all trace of emotion she had. It was almost uncanny, really; Donnie knew Tzimisce were cold, he’d spoken to Konrad Varnhagen once or twice, and he’d even spent a little time with Flidais, at the party. He was aware that being distant and cold was sort of their thing, moreso than other clans. But Konrad had made an attempt at a joke at least once; Flidais didn’t seem like the joking type, not really, and that meant her statement chilled Donnie down to the bone.

“I’m not really surprised by much when Vyx is concerned.” Donnie replied, taking a turn down an alley. It wasn’t necessarily a shortcut, but it would get them to a different path where he was less worried about being seen. There were others, he could tell, the smell of werewolf now on the breeze – once they’d stepped outside, he could tell what they were dealing with from the smell alone, as Garou always brought the stink of dog in a way Gangrel somehow avoided – and he was worried about intercepting their backup before they got his. “They haven’t told me, much, though I know a few things, and I think they may have lied about a couple others. So you’re still a mystery. How did you get mixed up in all of this?” He asked. Flidais turned to him, and for a moment, her expression was something sad, a flicker of a frown with real emotion on her face. It almost hurt more to see it.

“I was a Malkavian, once; a ghoul.” She said, and she said it with such a lack of passion that it was almost painful, and Donnie felt himself almost wince. He could tell he was in for a hell of a story. “My domitor killed the local Archon and was executed for it. Vince took me in.” She paused, something reverent about the way she said Vince’s name, like he was truly the one that hung the moon, even if she didn’t particularly care about the moon at large. “Konrad kidnapped me in June of 2016. He had made… edits to me, over the years, some at my request. At the time, I thought he was fixing me.” She paused, this time in her walking, looking down at the form of her body with a furrowed brow and a frown – but she didn’t pause long. “Getting what he’d promised hadn’t made me feel much better, as he sired me with it, and I hardly had time to get used to the body before he did.”

“Oh shit, you’re really Konrad’s childe?” Donnie asked, because that was definitely a surprise. He’d heard a story that had implied such, but he’d hardly believed it, though he knew Konrad had childer, probably, somewhere – vampires simply didn’t get that old without siring someone. There were too many expectations regarding legacy and living past one’s own means that a Kindred without at least one childe was an exception and not necessarily a rule. Often, the only ones without childer were either young, or the lowest level grunts who were more replaceable than desirable as a sire. “I can see the resemblance.” Donnie tried the joke, the fact that both were incredibly cold people, but the look Flidais gave him – a set of raised eyebrows – said that maybe the joke got intercepted by something and didn’t quite land.

“I wouldn’t doubt that.” Flidais replied, pausing at a corner and peering around it to be sure it was safe. “After he sired me, he attempted to kill Vince. It was part of a ritual to try and raise Cain from the dead. Unfortunately for Konrad, not only is Cain not dead, my beast wasn’t entirely happy that he’d tried to kill Vince.” She looked down at Donnie with a face that said her next words were entirely serious even if they didn’t sound believable. “In a frenzy, I ripped his throat out with my teeth and diablrized him.”

“Shit,” was all Donnie could say. He’d been told the story before, once by Vyx and referenced, again, at the party, but it wasn’t the most important thing they’d said in that conversation and it was still startling to hear the same story from Flidais, a third time, because it meant it was absolutely true. The first time, he’d dismissed it; the second, he’d thought it was some kind of private joke they had. Apparently, this was really what happened.

“Lucky for him, he wasn’t easy to keep down. We ended up sharing the body for a few years while Greensboro sorted itself out. After the war, and after Vince died, Molly separated us. I’ve been told I had a decent influence on him, and that he’s had no small influence on me. But that’s what you’d expect from sharing a body for a few years.” She shrugged, starting back off, and Donnie followed her, matching her pace quickly. She’d said quite a lot of things and he was still processing most of them, even if he’d heard some of the story before.

“Vyx mentioned that, once, and I think you did, too, but I just didn’t think Konrad was the kind of guy that would let himself get eaten.” Donnie said, addressing the thing that was in front of his face. There were other things he had to process through, but they could be thought about later – like her implications that Cain wasn’t dead but was up and about somewhere, doing something. He was a little uneasy with how close half of his new friends were to very powerful people. “Even hearing it from them, and then from you, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it outright the first time. It seemed… unreal.”

“That’s how Vince always was.” Flidais said, and something like a smile ghosted her face, for just a moment. There was something deep, buried in her, that loved Vince so fiercely that even the blood couldn’t stop it. “I’d talk to him about his involvement yourself, at some point. If you think Vyx tells wild tales, Vince has a few that put them to shame.” She shook her head, the smile fading rapidly as her thoughts turned from Vince to anything else. “Have they mentioned the name Eldest, yet? Since you’ve heard some stories.”

“Yeah, once.” Donnie furrowed his brow, looking up at Flidais with concern. Whatever it was that she was getting to, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Flidais turned away from him, and he could see the very slight smirk on her face as they ducked around another corner, heading back to the street proper from their back alley shortcut. “Why?”

“Considering you’re asking why, they clearly didn’t tell you who Eldest was.” Flidais rolled her eyes at Vyx’s lack of details, her face back to being as stoic as it usually was. “Vince met her, back when he was Kine. He told me the story, once he’d remembered it. Said he’d met a young, homeless woman outside a bar. He offered her a cigarette, and a drink, though she declined, saying she couldn’t go into the speakeasy he’d found, but she wouldn’t explain why. Next thing he said he knew, he’d woken up in Statesville. Said she’d given him a full transfusion, ‘cause another Kindred had tried to eat him and she’d decided he was worth sparing. She did take his memory of the whole experience, which meant we didn’t learn about his bond until right up at the end, but she never attacked him when he didn’t know.”

“Vyx had said that altruism sort of felt like friendship.” Donnie added, recalling the little they’d said about Eldest. Whomever she was, the woman seemed like a decent enough person to know, and the transfusion filled a bunch of holes in Donnie’s head about how they’d access a discipline they otherwise couldn’t have learned. “I figure Eldest was a really old Tzimisce? Since you all apparently know every powerful Kindred still alive?” Donnie’s tone was almost sarcastic, definitely joking, though he was serious about the guess. It was just getting funny, how many powerful people they’d met. Flidais’s smirk returned, just for a second, and that took the wind out of Donnie’s sails.

“You could say that.” She said, giving Donnie a quick look like she was judging how long to wait before she spoke again, in order to maximize impact. “Eldest was Tzimisce. That’s why she was Eldest – there wasn’t anyone older. She was our antediluvian.” Flidais let the words linger, and Donnie paused in walking, making her pause as well.

“I’m sorry – what?” He asked. It was one thing to think that Vince had met a very old Kindred, as they’d already done that dance before and he knew that was entirely possible; they were casual about Vlad Dracul himself, after all. But an antediluvian was a bigger deal than just any old Kindred, as Donnie was pretty sure most of their clan heads were dead and gone. Flidais turned to watch him, and there, that smile on her face that said she was enjoying dumping the news on him was the first real smile he’d seen, besides when she spoke about Vince, and something in him realized quickly why Vince loved her so much. The smile was her old personality, before the blood, breaking through, and if that was Flidais from before, no wonder Vince adored her. Donnie would have felt more affectionate towards her if she hadn’t been directing her teasing at him.

“Vince gave the Tzimisce antediluvian a cigarette. She saved his life from another Kindred, gave him a blood transfusion – which did count as a blood bond, mind you, so he was bonded to her – and then left him in Statesville. That’s why Vyx and Vince both can bend bone. It’s also why Vince couldn’t join us in the final battle – she could have told him to kill us and he couldn’t have disobeyed.” Flidais shrugged, letting Donnie jog to catch up to her, the look of shock still on his face. “Luckily, dying seemed to erase that, far as Konrad could tell. And she’s dead, anyway.”

“How are you people real?”

This actually got Flidais to laugh, and if Donnie hadn’t been half-panicked from the shock of learning that his partner had, at one point, been part of a man who had been blood bound to one of the most powerful Kindred possible to meet, who was also dead, and likely by their hands, too, he would have enjoyed the sound more. It was a nice laugh, all things considered. “I’ve asked myself that question more than once.” She said, shaking her head. Donnie could tell from the way the smile lingered that she was thinking of Vince. “But it’s what happens when you treat Kindred with kindness. They’re so used t’being against other people that most will crumple if you actually do something nice for them.” She turned to Donnie, giving him a look that said that, too, felt unbelievable, but she’d witnessed it enough times that she couldn’t discount it. “That’s how he managed to convince most people the world was ending – by being kind.” She turned back to where they were walking, and the smile quickly faded from her face. “Speaking of convincing people, I think that’s your gym.”

They’d found themselves in front of the same gym Vyx had crashed in front of, years before, and honestly, nothing had changed in the in-between. That was what they got for having a Kindred as the owner – most Kindred found change, especially change caused by the march of time, an anathema, especially when they themselves didn’t change at all, let alone as rapidly as time did. Donnie quickly moved past the windowless front, heading to the side door and all but kicking the thing open, ready to be well received and bring the party back to Claire, as requested.

He didn’t expect the lack of familiar faces, and he sure as she didn’t expect to be stared at.

“Lively bunch.” Flidais intoned, in a way that said she was also expecting maybe something a bit more joyous and was a bit surprised that his reaction was more confusion instead. Donnie quickly scanned the faces – mostly new, though he spotted one regular, a Brujah named Leo he’d hung out with previously – turning to Leo like he was a lifeline in a sea of weird.

“Leo, get the van started. We gotta run.” He said, his tone commanding, and Leo let the weights he was using down gently, pressing himself up from the bench. Short and squat, Leo didn’t look much like the rest of the Brujah in the room – the others were all highly muscled, though Donnie knew that, if they’d been Kine, they wouldn’t have been able to lift much at all; vanity muscles didn’t actually do work well, and they were all toned, showy muscle and very little else. One of the other Brujah – younger, feistier looking, someone Donnie hadn’t met and who looked like he at least admired the look of the guys off Jersey Shore – threw his weights to the floor, letting the sound echo and stopping Leo in his tracks as he did.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked, cracking his neck like he thought he was hot shit. “Comin’ into the gym like you own the fucking place, givin’ us orders. Bet you’re some uppity neonate, thinks he’s hot shit.” The other Brujah cracked his knuckles, posturing. Donnie groaned – they didn’t have time for this.

“Leo, get the fucking van started.” He said, again, this time more exhausted. He turned to the other Brujah, hardly feeling the need to posture – he knew it wasn’t necessary; those that felt the need to show off never had the capacity to show up, after all – giving the other a steely glare. “And I’m the guy Claire just sent down here, ‘cause there’s werewolves attacking Molly’s office. That’s who. Now, are we doing this the easy way, or the hard way?” Donnie asked, serious. They didn’t have time for this, and they could posture it out in the van on the way. But the other Brujah only laughed, which, admittedly, the line was a bit cheesy, but Donnie was being too serious to care.

“Claire woulda texted me if there was trouble.” They cackled, stepping up closer to Donnie, trying to circle him. Flidais didn’t let him, unmoving, her resting bitch face making the other Brujah pause in his circling to go the other way. “She wouldn’t need t’send some uppity thin blood and his scary bitch,” He looked to Flidais, the insult gendered on purpose, “just to come get us.”

“You know, his arms would be good decorations. Not like they’re doing him much now.” Flidais said, and her deadpan tone at least had some of the other new Brujah considering their options. Leo shook his head, realizing that this was going to be a push-pull regardless, moving to the back to go get the van ready. By the time things got sorted, they’d need to run. Several of the others decided it was better to just follow the older man’s lead, leaving Donnie with the new guy and a few of his more die-hard cronies. Of course he would have cronies – men with little power often surrounded themselves with others so they felt like they had some.

“I got it, Flid.” Donnie held up a hand, her threat unnecessary – though it was funny, at least. The other Brujah scoffed.

“Yeah, call your weird bitch off, pretend like you don’t need her t’save your ass.” They stepped up, again, this time within grabbing distance of Donnie, trying the thing weak men often did where he pressed himself so close that Donnie could smell his rank breathe, almost nose to nose. Like the idea that they might get closer, like they might kiss, should frighten Donnie somehow. It didn’t – though, Donnie wouldn’t have made out with the man anyway, not without a breath mint, as he smelled like protein powder and Axe body spray – and Donnie didn’t even blink at the sudden closeness. “Give me one good reason why I listen to your punk ass and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Donnie didn’t hesitate, giving only a shrug of okay, sure, before slamming his head forward into the other Brujah’s skull. The issue with posturing so close, of course, was that he’d gotten within smashing distance, and clearly, he’d been too up his own ass to realize he’d stepped into the splash zone. Skull met skull, and predictably, the other Brujah reeled, stepping back like he could probably regain balance before finding that fact false and toppling to the floor, splayed out on his back. Donnie put his hands on his hips.

“That good enough, or do you want me to make more of a point?” Donnie asked, looking down at the man, before scanning the other faces. They seemed suitably shocked, and a couple seemed cowed. “Claire didn’t text you ‘cause the cell tower’s gone out, idiot. That’s why she sent me. Just ‘cause I spent the past couple years in a different city doesn’t mean this wasn’t my gym and my crew. So step up or I’ll make sure the Big Guy ships you out to somewhere fucking boring.” Donnie growled the threat out, the idea that this would be boring worse than anything else; a tough situation would only give the man a good reason to fight, and often, which Donnie figured he wanted. Boring meant they’d do nothing for days on end, and clearly, the threat held.

“Alright, Jesus.” The Brujah pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his head with the back of his wrist. The head butt had, unfortunately for him, left a mark. “I’ll listen this time. But if you want control of this gym again, you’ll have t’fight me, one on one, fair like.” He added, trying to save face. Donnie scoffed.

“I’m willing to push your ass into the ground any day of the week, kid.” He snapped, and that threat seemed to wilt the other Brujah instead of embolden him. Sure, he thought he could take Donnie, but the fact that Donnie didn’t seem to give a shit took the wind from his sails.

“Name’s Casey.” The Brujah, Casey, seemed to take the most issue with being called kid, and Donnie chuckled at the mild protest. He’d gone from thinking he was hot shit to thinking less of himself in only moments, and it was almost hilarious if they hadn’t been in a rush.

“Fine, Casey. I’ll fight you. But after we’re done here, and only after you gain a sense of self preservation. Molly would rip me a new one if I kept killing her neonates. Now get in the damn van.” Donnie pointed at the back door, the name drop solidifying his station in a way that couldn’t be doubted, and the others slowly filed towards the back, grumbling all the way about his apparent hostile takeover. He sighed, watching Casey slink back with them, his tail between his legs as he did so, hands in his pockets. “At least they’ll get to blow off that steam on a werewolf.”

“He needed it.” Flidais said, turning to follow Donnie as he, too, headed for the van. It wouldn’t do to make him run the whole way back; he’d thought they might, sure, but since the van worked, he wanted to save his energy for the fight. Plus, he wasn’t about to show up late. “I would have taken his jaw for talking back.” She added. Donnie winced.

“That sounds like a thing Konrad would do.” He said, pushing through the various back doors until he was outside, at the van, where the others were piling into the back. Leo already had it running, the window down and his one arm hanging out of it, a cigarette in his hands.

“It is.” Flidais didn’t elaborate, just confirming that Konrad did, in fact, do exactly that thing once, before hopping up onto the back of the van. “Shall we?” She asked. Donnie nodded, dismissing the thought of Konrad ripping someone’s jaw off for disobedience and hopping onto the back. There were too many Kindred in the van to actually shut the thing, but they’d ridden with the doors open before, and as long as everyone hung on tightly, there wouldn’t be any issues. He held on, smacking the side of the van hard, twice, to let Leo know he was in, and the engine started off without a beat of hesitation.

He just hoped the whole incident didn’t mean they’d all be late.

~*~

The elevators didn’t work, so they’d had to take the stairs, and the walk up the twenty stories was, much to Vince’s distaste, silent.

Al didn’t say a word the entire time, holding his SMG loosely next to him and taking the stairs like he had suddenly realized that no longer breathing meant not needing to breathe hard from all the walking, and Vince followed as best he could. He didn’t press as they passed door after door onto new floors, and he didn’t press as they made it to the roof, nor did he press as Al found the tower – it wasn’t hard, tall and extremely visible, nestled between a bank of HVAC units that weren’t on, considering it was mid-winter – and settled in next to it, plugging his laptop into the side and typing something quickly. Vince didn’t even press as he found himself a place to settle, lowering his rifle over the side and sighting one of the Garou on the ground floor. They were tiny pinpricks at that distance, but he, at least, had a scope – thanks to, of all people, Al.

“We’re going to have to talk about this at some point.” Vince said, finally, once they’d both gotten into a rhythm and had continued in silence through it all. His words were met with only the clack of Al’s keyboard. “Vyx isn’t going to let us back on the bus until we do.”

“I don’t know what they think we have to talk about.” Al said, and his tone was bitter like black coffee, and clearly, just the sound of his own voice was enough of a point to answer his question. He sighed. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Tell them that.” Vince replied, looking over his shoulder for just a moment before resighting a wolf and pulling the trigger. He only just heard the sharp yelp of a dog from below to signal he’d managed a hit. It wasn’t a kill shot, but injuries were injuries, regardless. His skills weren’t great, but he wasn’t that bad of a shot. Even if he’d only learned how to fire a gun in 2016. “Or tell me what’s bothering you. Those are the options. Unless getting left behind in NYC is something you wanna entertain.”

“The list of things that bother me is much longer, Vince.” Al said, barely taking his eyes away from the screen, but he could feel something building in him that just wanted to go. Whether that was over the side of the roof, down the stairs, or off, he couldn’t be sure. “You are at the top, for the record.”

“See, that’s why we gotta talk about this.” Vince said, turning again to Al, and only turning back to the rifle when Al gave him a scathing look. His job was mostly to stop people getting to Al, and they were at the top of a tall building; he didn’t have anything else to do, not unless one of them started climbing the walls. He checked, found he didn’t have a target, and pulled back again. “’Cause as far as I know, I haven’t done anything else wrongand what I have done, I’ve been punished for. And since we’re going to be in close proximity, we can’t just let this sit and fester.” Vince turned back, again, to see Al’s face staring at him like Al had briefly considered throwing him from the top and hadn’t fought back the urge enough yet to take it off the table. Apparently, Vince had decided for him that the direction he was going was off.

“Vince, you realize that the shit you did doesn’t stop being fucking awful just because you think you’ve been punished already.” Al snapped, typing away furiously, but it was clear Vince had managed to loosen the valve on Al’s issues enough to make him snap. Vince didn’t have to say anything else, as like escaping steam, the words just started out of Al at a quick clip. “But, sure, since you want to do this right now, let me list all the ways you’ve ruined my life, just for the record. So we’re all on the same page.” Al resisted the urge to slam his laptop closed – it would have been dramatic, but he needed to keep running the connection program and it didn’t run while the laptop was off – setting it down to let it do its thing instead and turning to Vince with a look of fury. “Honestly, first things first, dating me was sure a fucking choice. I’m god damn lucky Pip saw the value in us staying together and didn’t beat me to a pulp more than once for it.”

“You were the one that kissed me.” Vince returned fire, turning back around to face that look of fury, straight down the barrel. Al didn’t flinch, though the confidence had him a little on edge; Vince, before, would have shrunk, looked guilty, at least, but this Vince didn’t. This Vince had lived through dying, after all – confidence had arrived and he wielded it like it was second nature. “And you never said Pip hurt you. How the hell was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know, Vince, maybe it was the fact that he was trying to raise Lillith to curse her existence and destroy all vampires including himself.” Al’s snarl was pointed, and he expected Vince to shrink, and he didn’t, which only made Al madder. “If you think a guy willing to kill himself to get rid of the shit that wronged him wouldn’t smack his ghouls around, you’re an idiot.” Al shook his head, dismissing the images that surfaced in his brain at the thought; Pip, looming over him, crossbow in one hand and the horrible, plague doctor’s mask staring down at him with unblinking, unfeeling rage behind it. Al shivered. Pip didn’t hurt him that often, and the times he had, Al had rationalized the incidents away as something he’d caused – but that moment, that one moment, he hadn’t blamed himself. He couldn’t – Vince was the one good thing to happen to him, and if he’d blamed himself for that choice, he would have crumbled. He would have doubted every good thing he’d ever done for himself and fallen further into despair than he already had.

“Oh, speaking of being an idiot, then we have the fact that you got me pregnant!” The fury redoubled, Al quickly turning back to his computer to select a few things and keep it running. The pause wasn’t long enough to reply, and Al kept going unabated. “And that’s from someone who didn’t have a uterus. I’d gotten that removed! So not only did I have to deal with being pregnant for a bit, then I had to have a fucking Antribu Toreador drag that out of me a second fucking time – cause apparently, you fucked up the other notable flesh-crafter we know, thanks – and then we had to fucking live with that damn ghoul of yours for the whole nine months! Oh, and of course I wasn’t allowed to just ignore it, no, I had to experience a sympathetic pregnancy with it. I was miserable and it was because you were too stupid to realize that Fae don’t give a shit about what’s possible, they’ll make it possible.” Al crossed his arms, watching Vince line up another shot and pull the trigger. Something howled below. “Oh, and then there was having to watch that ghoul die – it could have been me, mind you – and then dispose of her, after watching the baby, that smug bitch that you made a deal with, and your fucking prize you traded for waltz the fuck back out like no big deal and leave us alone in that house.”

“I’ve said I was sorry, Al. I can’t undo what’s already done.” Vince tried, but Al wasn’t really listening anymore, having started off on a tear and not finding any reason to stop. Vince’s words hardly registered, as he was too consumed in listing off all the bullshit they’d been through.

“Not to mention, you didn’t come get me when I finally decided to leave Pip. No, Dan Motherfucking Nelson, the laziest son of a bitch I have ever met, had to be the one to come fucking get me. Dan! Do you know how fucking bullshit it is that the guy who won’t get out of bed for anything less than a box of truffles had to be the one to come find me and not my husband?” Al threw his hands up, and he didn’t see the look of hurt Vince had on his face at the way he said the word husband, like the moniker was the invitation of a curse and not one of the best things that had happened to them. “Oh! And then you died! You died and you broke my fucking heart and then you didn’t come back for ten god damn years and now you’re sitting there trying to pretend like the world didn’t move on without you while you were wandering the spirit doing Cain knows what!”

“I was talking to my dead dad, I’ll have you know.” The voice that came out of Vince was low, hurt, punished and beaten and standing back up with the power of something like friendship and something like rage, the protagonist in Vince’s veins finally receiving the gift they needed to punch back hard, and Al almost reeled from the tone. He’d expected that he’d list off the atrocities, get an apology, have a quick chat about change, and Vince would move on with things, still angry and still seething but able to be cordial enough for Vyx’s sake – but this was unexpected. “But hey, you’ve been so wrapped up in your perspective of things you clearly didn’t think about other people, which is very you, Al.” Vince set his rifle down, turning around to face Al properly. “So let me elucidate you a bit on my side of this sordid story. Cause I found this guy, right? And boy, was I in a terrible place, considering my girlfriend had been kidnapped, changed against her will, consumed her sire in a rage and then booked it like she had a late train to fucking catch. And then this guy, who I only sort of liked at the time, kissed me and now I’m finding out that apparently, that was my fault. What, am I being punished because you can’t tell the difference between me and Misha?”

“You keep his name out of your fucking mouth—“ Al started, real anger there. Misha, his first husband, from the ‘40s, was not a subject he liked broaching, let alone like this, but Vince laughed, loudly, at the words, cutting Al off.

“Or what, Al?” Vince asked, snappy and bitter. “You gonna kill me? Damn, you just got me back and you’re already threatening me again. I know you won’t though – you like my other half way too much and we both know if you kill me that’s over.” Vince shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his crisscrossed knees. “But I date this guy anyway, right, ‘cause he’s a mess and he needs a guiding hand, and the entire time, I have this sneaking sensation that he’s lying to me constantly. But it’s nothing I have evidence for, right, ‘cause he’s a spy so he’s good at that shit, so I’m trapped between being mistrustful of my own spouse and not being able to prove why. The gymnastics I did to ignore that were intense. Do you know how much that sucks?” Vince put both hands out, a weird bid for connection in their shared anger. “Especially ‘cause I was the only one willing to defend you! No one likes your stupid fucking persona, Al, and I know that’s kind of the point but do you know how fucking hard it is to constantly defend someone who’s so impalpable to be around that the Tremere doesn’t want any of it?”

“I didn’t ask you to defend me.” Al’s tone was bitter, harsh, but almost guilty; he’d never asked for any of the things Vince was blaming him for, after all. Vince laughed, this time less loud and less cackling and more a bitter, sad thing.

“No, you just put me in between you and them and let me take all the bullets meant for you instead, just so you could tell me later that you never asked.” Vince shook his head, waving the digression off. “You knew I wouldn’t fucking stop defending you once I started, and you took advantage of that, which is what characterized our entire relationship. You constantly and consistently manipulated me, from the moment we met, for your gains or Pip’s gains and never with mine in mind. And then! You betrayed us! Not only that, you pointed a gun at the one person who thought you were an irredeemable piece of shit and her loyal-dog of a boyfriend and you’re surprised they still hate you?!” Vince leaned back against the low wall that surrounded the top of the roof, looking at Al with an expression that was almost incredulous. “You know what that put me through, Al? Everyone hated me. Because I had an inkling, a Malkavian driven, facts-light, gut feeling that you weren’t on our side, and because I didn’t tell them immediately and let them kill you, oh, back in May of 2018 when I’d realized it, I spent a half hour having everyone I’d ever been friends with ripping me a new asshole. I didn’t point a finger at you and go I think Al’s going to betray us and didn’t let them put you in the dirt for it and that made me just as bad as you. Because you couldn’t keep your double-crossing bullshit under wraps until the end, I was punished.” Vince paused, his voice shifting to something more somber, more sad. “I almost left them, Al. I almost walked away. I know it’s hard for you to conceptualize, ‘cause you never actually let anyone be your friend, but losing every single person you’ve ever liked in one fell swoop? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“I didn’t know.” Al replied, and there was something soft to his tone, too. Now that the anger had been let out, there wasn’t anything left, just sadness, and softness, and somberness. Both of them fucked up, and it was clear enough now that neither were blameless for their actions. Al had been an asshole and made Vince’s life harder than necessary; Vince had made poor choices that made Al’s life harder than necessary. Vince shook his head.

“You never asked.” He said, turning to Al with anger, still, just softer, quieter. It was a brooding anger, one that had settled into his being over a long time. “And apparently, not knowing or not asking isn’t something that will absolve you of your fucking sins, right? Or do the rules only apply to me?” Vince found himself snapping again, and he exhaled, turning back to his rifle. He had to blow off steam, and putting some rounds into some werewolves was a good way to do it. The rifle crack was quick, and the yelp was quicker.

Silence settled between them, and there was hurt to that quiet, but it wasn’t an active hurt. It was the sore pain felt after one had been hurting for a while, and the real pain had left, but the echoes of that pain remained. The imprint of hurt left in the sand of their lives, even if the pain had walked away. Eventually, Al sighed, something sad and heavy and tired.

“I’m sorry, Vince.” He said, and Vince turned, and there were words on his lips, and Al could feel the phrase and the way he was going to say it, the bitter and hurt sass in his tone, so Al put up a hand to cut him off. “And I know! I know! It doesn’t fix it. I know. But you should hear it anyway.” He said, and Vince pressed his lips together in a thin line, his eyes watching Al closely for a long second, before he nodded in acceptance of that and turned back to fire another shot. He could handle hearing it, as long as Al knew it didn’t undo things. That’s what Al had told him before, after all. He’d never accepted a sorry. Al let the silence linger, again, hesitant to move forward for risk of the pain, as it seemed any movement would. “So, is this it, then? We’re just going to hate each other for the rest of eternity?”

“I don’t hate you, Al.” Vince said, turning back from the rifle with a look on his face that was sadder than it was angry. “I’ve never hated you. But you spent our time together destroying everything you touched. It was like… like Pip’s influence over you was an acid, and everything you had in your hands melted, eventually. And it sucked to be dissolved like that, Al.” Vince paused, turning back to the rifle, following the werewolves with the scope but not firing. “The man who died wasn’t me, anymore. He was a hollow shell and there wasn’t anything left. Just a soul made of swiss cheese and nothing but glimpses of a woman on the stairs and the smell of petrichor on a battlefield. You can’t make a man out of that, not anymore.” Vince didn’t turn, but his back hunched, a question in his shoulders that Al could see. “Did you shoot me, Al?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Vince nodded, breathing in, deeply, once, and then breathing back out. He didn’t need it, but it felt good to do. “I didn’t think you did, but I had to ask.” He paused, again, letting the silence settle, letting it linger. He needed to get comfortable with silence, because part of his brain itched to fill it with something and he couldn’t live that life for eternity. He was a talker, but he had to learn to rest. “I think we’re not good for each other, Al. Not as we are.”

“No shit.” Al turned back to the laptop, starting back on his typing, the program having finished running and needing his further attention. “I’m surprised we both didn’t end up dead, like some fucked up, gay as shit Romeo and Juliet deal.”

“More Twelfth Night now, but that’s neither here nor there.” Vince actually chuckled, and something about the sound of his laugh actually brought a smile to Al’s face for all of a second, which was more than he’d expected. “But I think… I think we bring out the worst in each other.” Vince added, turning back from the rifle and letting it sit on the ledge again. “I think there’s a version of you in there that I still love, but I think you’ve stomped that version of you down into the dust to keep it safe from my bullshit. And I hope there’s a version of me you still love, somewhere in here. I don’t know where it is – dying sort of rearranges you a bit, y’know – but I want to try and find it, if it’s something you want. But those versions of us aren’t here, right now, and the versions of us that are aren’t compatible.”

“So then, we, what? Don’t date?” Al asked, softly. The idea that they might actually move past things was, well, not something Al had ever pictured. He’d expected Vince to hate him, and reject him, and leave him again, like he’d done before. He’d expected they’d get cordial and then they’d drift and he’d end up alone, again, without him, like they had done before. This was different, and new, and strange, and he wasn’t sure how to advance. Vince shrugged.

“Yeah. Just… be friends.” Vince tried, and he didn’t hate the words. He still loved Al, and that was clear, but he loved Al like clownfish loved anemones – carefully and with a lot of protection before they tried again. He had to remain guarded, before they started off on the same bad roads, but there was a way they could try a second time, he knew. Something in him knew, in the same way he’d always known what Al was really thinking. “If being friends does something else, then we’ll sort that as it happens. But just… friends, right now. We have enough partners between us, we don’t have to make out.” Vince chuckled, and that actually got a chuckle out of Al.

“We’ll see how well that goes, but… I’d give it a try.” Al sighed, clicking around a little and finding the thing he needed. He was almost up and ready. “I am sorry, Vince. I’m sorry I put you in positions you didn’t deserve.”

“Hey, I had time to think when I was dead, and I’m pretty sure it’s mostly Pip’s fault. Like yeah, you did some shit and that sucks, but ultimately, Pip’s to blame and you did gift him a rocket to the face, so.” Vince shrugged, leaning back on the wall again, watching Al work like he was debating saying something and wasn’t sure if he should. “Speaking of dead people, when I was dead, I… it was complicated, but I got to talk to Misha.” He paused, letting Al look up from the computer, letting the shock of it roll across Al’s face in a wave. Misha was, as far as either were aware, eighty years dead at least. Al watched Vince for a long, long second, unblinking, before the man continued. “He, uh. Well, I know your dead-name now, if you need proof of that, ‘cause he called you by it, but… he was pretty cool with your updated pronouns, and he wanted me to tell you he still loved you. And that he was proud of you, for everything. I did kinda tell him you saved the world.”

“You lied to my dead husband?” Al asked, and there was something in the tone that was part asshole persona, but there was also kind of a joke in there, too, and shock that Vince would think such a thing, and Vince pushed himself up from the place he’d sat, heading over to sit next to Al on the roof. Al didn’t lean onto him, and he was okay with that. “I can’t believe you told Misha I saved the world.”

“I would never lie to him.” Vince joked back, and that got a real laugh out of Al, something bright and happier. “You were the last piece, Al. If you hadn’t come back, I don’t know if we would have won. We wouldn’t have been prepared. You helped save the world, and I just told him the truth.” Vince paused, curling his knees to his chest and waiting a long second before speaking again. “He wanted you to be happy. He didn’t seem to mind if it was with me, or him, or anyone. I told him I’d do my best to make you happy, and I’m sorry I apparently failed.”

“I was happy, Vince. I was as happy as I was gonna get.” Al said, opening up a messenger program and sending a quick message to Claire through it. As soon as it cleared, he would know the data was good again. “I was in an abusive mentorship with an undead hunter hell bent on killing an entire community ‘cause they were a net bad, having spent the first fucking sixty years of my life working alone as a spy. Having anyone on my side was a delight. I’m sorry I didn’t show my appreciation, much.”

“Hey, you could have shot me and you didn’t. We take that, here.” Vince shook his head, leaning over just slightly to bump Al’s shoulder with his own. “I still love you, even if we’re just friends. I’ll always love you. But I can’t keep loving the part of you that you won’t show anyone else, because it makes us both look like assholes and we can’t have two.”

“I’ll work on it.” Al shook his head – it wasn’t a lie, but he wasn’t about to just shake being an asshole, either; it was too helpful to keep up - watching the message ping through and sighing. “Data’s back up. I have to hang here to monitor it, but Claire can coordinate, now. You should probably get back to shooting. Donnie’s probably almost back.” Al said, but he leaned over, bumping Vince’s shoulder, once, as the man got up. Vince stopped where he stood, looking down at the blond man beneath him. “So… we’re okay?” Al asked, looking up. Vince nodded.

“As okay as we’re gonna get, I think. Which is better than what we were before.” He said, moving back to his rifle and taking up the position. “Luckily, when you’ve hit rock bottom and not okay, the only place to go is back to being okay again, y’know? Nowhere to go but up.” He turned his head, giving Al a cheeky grin, and Al rolled his eyes.

“Oh good, we’re back to the weird shit. Missed that.” He said, but he smiled all the same, seeing Claire’s excited series of thumbs up on the messenger app that told him she had gotten the message. Perfect. Now all he had to do was chill. Chill, and figure his shit out. But the world seemed a little less dark, at least.

It felt good to be okay. He’d take that.

~*~

A werewolf’s head exploded in a shower of viscera and blood. Vyx threw the bolt, roughly, and sited another head.

They’d found a room on the 5th floor that seemed appropriate enough, and Claire had set up what she called her mobile command center from there. It was just her laptop and her phone, of course, but it wasn’t the size of the command center that mattered, anyway – she could do anything she needed from what she had, and that was what really mattered. Once Al finished his job, her phone would act like a mobile hotspot, and then she could run just about anything she needed from her computer; her messages, her calendars, her contacts, all of it was synced, so she could access it from anywhere, and she knew all her people could see it, too. April sat at her computer, running a program she’d installed from a flash drive that was supposed to help; not necessarily against the lack of power, but against the techomancy that had been employed to put them in that position in the first place.

“You alright?” Claire asked of Vyx, watching out of the window as they splattered another wolf’s brains on the sidewalk. Being on the 5th floor, their distance was much less and their accuracy was much greater, though the Garou kept on coming all the same. They were prepared, and their numbers weren’t small – dozens lingered outside the doors, and many had already entered the building, not to mention backup that was very likely incoming. Donnie needed to hurry. “You’re throwin’ that bolt kinda hard.”

“This just isn’t exactly how I expected the first stop on our road-trip vacation to go.” Vyx grumbled, lining up another shot. They could see another group of Garou heading in from around the corner, and they quickly switched focus, taking out the lead before they could regroup. They weren’t really doing much to thin numbers, but they were sure as shit keeping the others occupied. “Yeah, let’s go have a relaxing, bonding roadtrip. Whoops, nope, never mind! Here’s fuckin’ werewolves!” They groaned, taking out another wolf’s knees and watching them collapse.

“Vyx, you know what Vince went through, right?” April asked, from the computer, typing away. Vyx had no idea what she was doing – the computer screen looked like that hacker-typer website Vince had visited once or twice in his youth, which was to say it looked like bullshit, but they weren’t sure if that was the blood or just reality – but they also didn’t really care. Hacking was her thing, and Al’s thing, though probably not their collective thing together. April didn’t seem like she was much into anyone else in the polycule, probably for the best. Closing off a group like that into a complete circle was a bad idea – something about echo chambers and making an inner and an outer group that Vyx wasn’t really into.

“I was there for every millisecond, questioning every decision he made. Well, kinda. I was also barely cognizant.” Vyx shrugged, pulling back from the window to pull the magazine from the rifle, pulling a bunch of loose bullets from a pile on the table and filling it again. They only had the one magazine, so they had to manually load it every ten shots. It was annoying, but they hadn’t exactly packed for combat.

“Then you know this is fairly standard when he’s involved.” April replied, hardly looking up. “I had a friend, once, online, who said some people were just always in the eye of the storm, as it were. Bad stuff follows people like Vince. It just sort of happens.” She shrugged.

“I’m still pissed it happened on my fun polycule vacation. Like… I know Vince and Al gotta talk and that’s all well and good but I was hoping they’d get to talk where I was kinda in eyeshot just so I could get between them if it went bad? Like I’m not worried about Donnie, Flid’s probably just scaring the piss out of him at most, but Vince and Al might really kill each other if it escalates too quickly. Not to mention, if something happens to anyone.” Vyx grumbled, making a noise of frustration as the bullet refused to load into the magazine. They considered throwing it, but stayed their hand, setting it aside and grabbing another.

“How do you even manage that many partners?” Claire asked, picking up the bullet and examining it. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, Vyx’s hands were just shaking, their frustration and their nerves clear. They really were worried about Al and Vince. “I mean, not technically, I got how you manage a calendar with six people, I manage like four calendars with several hundred people, each. But emotionally. How the fuck do you manage that many partners?” She looked down, and Vyx didn’t look up at her, slamming the magazine back into the rifle with maybe more force than necessary.

“Very carefully.” They said, leaning back out of the window again and firing another quick shot off. They followed their target – he hadn’t died, just been winged, the bastard – pulling the trigger again, but nothing happened when they did, just the hammer falling and then nothing. They groaned, pulling back through the window and yanking the magazine from the rifle, hard, looking into the body like they could just pluck the offending round from the breech and call it a day. After a moment, however, they let out a breathe, realizing their frenzy wasn’t exactly helping things. “Sorry, I just… It’s hard, y’know? Trying to keep six people from killing each other. Especially when a good number of them have good reasons to do so.”

“Then why have that many partners? Clearly, this is more of a hassle than it’s worth, right?” Claire asked, sitting down on the table Vyx was sitting at. Vyx started to pull rounds from the magazine and examine them, unsure why the rifle misfired, and Claire absently stacked the cleared bullets on their end so they didn’t roll off the table as they were placed there. “Like, four calendars is hard shit, but I don’t hate doin’ it.”

“I… Honestly, it’s probably good for you to know this, too, April, even if we’re not like… a thing.” Vyx gestured between the two of them, indicating that they weren’t really dating but her proximity was enough. “But ultimately, long and short, this? This is much better than me not having enough partners.” They said, leaning back against the wall with a soft sigh, closing their eyes. The conversation never got easier, even if they’d had it six times. “I think my brain isn’t right. Like, I’m a Malk and I know that means a level of weird is normal, but I think there’s more to it than that. Like, for instance, the Madness Network? That thing Malks send messages into sometimes? I’m always connected to it.”

“Really?” Claire asked, her tone less pressing and more interested. Vyx was an odd duck among a flock of odd ducks, after all. “Like, right now?”

“Yeah. There’s… three different people singing three different musicals, people keep trying to sample their mix tapes through the network which sucks because they’re always bad, and I can hear the conversation about the werewolves spreading.” They said, tuning in briefly and regretting it, keeping their eyes closed the entire time. The mix tapes were the worst, because apparently, it was not limited to one or two towns, nor was it anyone who was actually good at making music. A captive audience was a captive audience, after all. “But it’s not just hearing it, y’know. Like… if it were just background chatter, I wouldn’t care. But like… have either of you ever been alone with your own thoughts for a long time?”

“Fairly often, yeah.” April shrugged, and Claire shrugged as well, less sure about her own experience with her own thoughts but knowing the question had been answered well enough to not need her response. “There’s a lot of them – ADHD, right? - but I manage.”

“What does your voice sound like? To your head?” Vyx asked, opening one eye to look at April sidelong. April watched them, and her face twisted in a way that said she didn’t understand the question. “So like, think a thought to yourself. Whatever the hell you want. Tell yourself your favorite food or something. Then tell me – what does that voice sound like?” They paused, letting April think on it for a second, and Claire watched them like she wasn’t sure exactly where they were going with it, but she was intrigued.

“I mean, it sounds like me?” April phrased it like a question, because while her answer was true, she wasn’t sure that’s what Vyx wanted from the conversation. They nodded, going back to unjamming their rifle in a way that was much calmer. Having taken a second, they were much less stressed and the process was easier. “Isn’t that what it’s supposed to sound like?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” Vyx shrugged, reaching into the body of their rifle and not watching as their fingers rooted around in it, trying to see what was wrong by feel alone. All of the bullets in the magazine were fine, so it meant the dud was stuck in the body somewhere, fucker. “Doesn’t really matter. Point is, you were in your, what, twenties when you were ghouled? So you had at least twenty years with your own thoughts and your own head-voice in there, so you know that girl.” They paused, finally fishing the round from the body of the rifle, and a quick inspection showed that the back of the cap had been indented somehow, so the striker simply hadn’t hit it. They threw that bullet across the room in retribution – it deserved it. “Meanwhile, I was sprung, fully forth from Vince’s head like Athena made flesh. I have had a brain with a voice in it for… just less than a decade. And that entire decade, that voice had been crowded out by a bunch of other voices.”

“Imagine,” they added, setting the rifle down now that the offending bullet was dislodged, heading for the magazine and beginning to reload it, “You hear a voice in your head and that voice says something like, damn, Al’s a fucking bastard. Al has to die. I hate Al. I hate everything about him. I hate his mullet and his persona and his stupid fucking voice. You, knowing your brain-voice, could easily go, hey, I didn’t think that, and dismiss whomever was in your head as an idiot. But I can’t tell the difference as easily.” They paused, picking up the rifle, something in their hackles rising like they didn’t like what came next, slamming the magazine into it. “If that showed up in my head, and it was strong enough, and mad enough, and I didn’t have anyone there around me, there’s a decent chance I’d think it was my thoughts and act on them.”

“Have you acted on them before?” Claire asked, seriously, like she needed to know how many crimes Vyx was hiding from her, and the way Vyx looked up said the answer was a number larger than what Claire would be okay with.

“You think this paranoia about it came from nowhere?” They asked, an answer in return without admitting they’d done anything at all. It was better if Claire didn’t know. “Being around people that know me helps. Talking helps. Anything that keeps my inner head-voice making noise so I keep an idea of what it sounds like active. ‘Cause being alone, I lose that. I can’t tell you what my own head sounds like when I haven’t said words in a week, y’know? And when I lose that, I risk anyone’s voice becoming my voice, and when that happens, well… I’ve seen how everyone treats Al, and he had the excuse of being abused.” They leaned out of the window, sighting another wolf and pulling the trigger, finding the satisfying bang to their liking. “Not to mention Glamis. Like, I know how most Kindred see me. I’m a liability, I’m insane, and probably better off dead. I don’t need to give them a reason, especially one I can’t control well.”

“People don’t think you’re like that, Vyx.” Claire tried, but she was interrupted by a fairly hefty bang, like Vyx had planned the shot to cut her off.

“Then why did they execute my grandsire without a trial?” They asked, almost rounding a little on Claire. “Why was it that Vince had to beg and grovel just to be believed? Why did he have to all but throw himself at the feet of his friends for them to realize he was telling the truth? If people really don’t think I’m just an out-of-my-mind walking series of problems, why do they treat us like it?”

“Because Malkavians have a bad rap, Vyx.” April was the one to answer the question, and she did it in a way that said that she hated it, too, but she knew the answers they wanted. She sighed, pushing her laptop back from her, as all it needed to do was run until they received word from Al. “I’ve been around for a while, maybe less than some, but I’ve spent time online on Kindred social media, and it’s… I don’t think I’ve met anyone who’s excited to meet another Malkavian. At best, it’s oh, good, got another one.”

“Yeah, but why?” Vyx asked, turning back to the window. They could, at least, help with fire support while they listened. April paused a moment, considering her words before she spoke.

“Well, I’ve worked a little with Damon, and I know his issue is that you make him feel stupid.” She said, and that had Vyx’s head turning, like they didn’t understand how they’d make a man like Damon Wellington feel stupid. Damon was both highly intelligent and so far up his own ass that he couldn’t have contained his ego if he tried. April almost chuckled at the expression. “This is mostly from Vince, since I haven’t seen you interact with Damon, but Vince would just… say things. Wild things, no context. And he’d have so much certainty to his voice and it wouldn’t make any sense, but then we’d ask, and he couldn’t explain anymore. What he’d said was the simplest he could make it, y’know? That man’s a lure, or you need better roots, and he’d stare like he couldn’t understand why we didn’t get the answer. And when you don’t get the simplest version of something, well… it’s like if I told you two plus two equals four and you didn’t get it – you’d feel dumb, right?”

“Not to mention, even if they do get it, lots of older Kindred don’t like being told they don’t know what’s goin’ on around them.” Claire added. It was easier to respond now that she wasn’t alone – she hadn’t wanted all of Vyx’s ire on her, and spreading it between the two of them seemed to be keeping them more level. “Molly, for instance. Loves a Malkavian, really. Some more than others. But if Marie rolled in to her hotel room right now and told her somethin’ fucking weird like, uh, I dunno, the dogs, ze bite at your heels and destroy your curtains,” Claire tried to do a French accent, and while her impression was okay, her normal accent meant it sounded odd, “She’d struggle to believe it ‘cause she’s supposed to know everything going on in her domain. And here’s Marie, rolling in to tell her that’s wrong, she’s blind, there’s shit happening and she doesn’t know about it. You think that goes over well for a lotta Kindred, or you think maybe being challenged about their rule gets their hackles up?”

“I’d hope that if a Malk rolled in to say hey, there’s this guy and he’s trying to end the world, they’d at least believe that, but y’all still struggled.” Vyx shrugged, but they at least were starting to get it, even if they didn’t like it.

“But that’s also the problem.” Claire got up from her seat on the table, pacing a little as she continued. “Let’s say you did exactly that, right? Wandered into Molly’s office on a cheery Monday morning, said hey, by the way, there’s this guy and he’s trying to end the world and kill all Kindred. But of course you’re not gonna be that direct, right, ‘cause it’s Malk shit and that’s hardly ever direct. You in the general sense, I mean - you’re honestly probably the most to the point Malks we’ve ever met; you’re just the exception to prove the rule, y’know?” Claire lifted her hands as though to concede a point no one made, before continuing. “But in that event, Molly’s got two choices, far as I can see them: either react to what you said, or hold off. And I know you’re like, well, she should act, right? But if you’re wrong, or she’s wrong in interpreting your bullshit, or she doesn’t quite get it and acts anyway, she’ll cause panic in the city.”

“You have to understand before you can act, Vyx, and the thing is, you come at this with an innate understanding. You know what you mean. But we don’t.” April added, tapping away at a few things as the program wrapped up. “And sometimes, I gotta say it, Vince didn’t even know what he meant, which never helped any. And sometimes you’re gonna think something’s a big deal when it’s not, so it’s like crying wolf, right? You say hey, the, uh… dogs are destroying the curtains, I guess, and then Molly comes home to find a rat named Dog or something chewing a drape and thinks you’re overreacting. Unfortunately, the threshold for how many times a Malkavian can be wrong about something going on in the city before they’re no longer trusted is like… one or less.” She paused, smiling. “Also, looks like Al’s got things up and running, Claire, if you wanna come give it a look.”

Claire all but bee-lined to her computer, and Vyx could tell that all conversation with her would be over, for just the moment. It was time for her to do her job. April stood up, heading over to stand next to Vyx, watching the wolves out of the window as Vince helped take care of a few of them from above. “I get that it sucks, not being treated right. Being a ghoul around you all wasn’t a peach, either. The amount of times I think you all forgot I could die from a gunshot was enough to be kind of scary.”

“Sorry.” Vyx said, softly, but Claire put a hand on their shoulder and shook her head, as though to say they didn’t need to say anything.

“The big thing is, Vince proved Kindred could change. That being a net bad wasn’t a thing everyone did. And that’s great, ‘cause before Vince, I think a lot of people could have been convinced that was true and now it’s clear it’s not.” She smiled down at Vyx, trying to be reassuring. “You just came in at the hard part, where we have to keep making people change. They will. They have before. Just… be patient, y’know?” She chuckled. “Keep surrounding yourself with partners, if that helps, I’m not knocking it. Which… is there like, an upper limit I should be aware of? Are we gonna keep adding floors to Geometry?”

“There’s probably an upper limit.” Vyx shrugged, chuckling. It felt good, bonding a little with April, especially over their treatment by others. “I don’t know if I’ll find it. I think it depends on the type. Like, there’s definitely an upper limit on Kindred I’m gonna live with. We have only so much viable space and so many hours in an evening. But spare paramours on the other side of the globe? Where I can visit and then fuck off again without causing harm? Unlimited space, I think. Or at least, just a really high upper limit. Being immortal really throws any ability to estimate for a loop.” They scanned the street, a smile coming to their face. “Speaking of paramours, I think I have eyes on our collective favorite Brujah. Or at least, the van I know he drives.” Vyx gestured, and on cue, a white van ripped down the street, skidding to a stop in front of the building. Brujah piled out of the back, the doors swinging wildly as they did, the crowd including both onlooker’s favorite – Donnie. Vyx watched him launch off of the back of the van, landing, fist first, on a werewolf. A second tried to grab him, but they quickly sited the thing’s head, and they watched Donnie jump as he turned to see it splatter across his face when they took the shot. “Oops. Sorry!”

“Molly’s been notified; she’s not coming back up, but she can if we think it needs it. I don’t think it will, but it’s good to know she knows. Leo’s in the van with the gym squad and in contact with us both. I’ve got more help coming from outside of the city, but it’ll be another hour before they get here.” Claire announced, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. They were on the come down, as it were, and she could relax. “Connection’s good and the staff will get the power back on shortly. Now to just clean up the mess and make everything pretty again.”

“Brilliant.” Vyx pushed away from the window, gathering their things. “Tell Al and Vince to come downstairs. I think it’s time we finally got our hands dirty.” They turned to April with a grin. “Wanna go meet our shared boyfriend and punch a werewolf in the face?”

“Sure, but I think I’m going to use my gun.” April chuckled, giving Claire a quick nod – she’d be back for her things before they left, but she wasn’t about to drag her computer into a combat zone – before following Vyx for the door.

~*~

“Ugh, you stink.”

“Well, maybe if someone hadn’t splattered a werewolf’s head on me, I’d smell better.”

“Look, Al was the one who packed the rounds, okay? I didn’t realize they were that punchy; I just load and shoot.”

“An exploded werewolf is better than a live one.”

“And we all appreciate dead werewolves, Al, so thank you.”

Once the Brujah had arrived, the wolves had been cleared out in short order. Unfortunately, the Garou had banked on keeping the office pinned down, out of contact, and without backup, so when things went to hell for them, they didn’t have a Plan B. The only thing they had were claws, and that meant that not everyone made it out unscathed, but besides a handful of new scratches on Donnie’s arms or a bite on Al’s ankle, nothing was particularly nasty.

Kindred couldn’t turn, anyway, so there weren’t really any worries.

“Thanks for the assistance.” Claire said, waiting at the curb with them while Will re-parked the bus. As a practical man, he’d moved the bus the moment the attack had started, just so he didn’t have to worry about the diesel engine being involved in a gunfight. There was no result where that ended well. Getting it back into the parking spot wasn’t the easiest, but they were patient, at least, even as he maneuvered through endless three-point-turns to try and park it. “I don’t wanna say we couldn’t have done it without you, but it was sure as shit some good help.” She chuckled. “You Malks are good at being right where you need to, huh?”

“Or getting ourselves into shit, which is kind of the same coin but with a different face. Like one that’s got two heads.” Vince added, and there was a moment of silence after, like they had to acknowledge that he was doing the weird shit again. “What? No matter how you flip it, the results are the same, but some people will tell you they guessed it right anyway and want to take your wallet for the trouble.” He tried to explain.

“Vince, when you get weird, you get weird.” Al simply replied, giving the other a clap on the arm, which was more than anyone had seen them touch since they’d arrived. Vince beamed, anyway – Al’s hands were warm, and that had to be on purpose. “Alright, party people, back in the Vengabus!” He said, as the bus put itself into park.

“That’s Vengaboys, Al.” Vyx tried to correct him, waiting for the doors to swing open and distinctly feeling like they were heading home from school after a long day, bass on their shoulders like a half-carried backpack. They shook off the half-memory, half-feeling as Al pushed past them onto the bus.

“Vengaboys is the band. Vengabus is the song name.” He corrected them, pausing at the top of the stairs to give them a grin that said he wasn’t being seriously pedantic, just jokingly so. “Did you really expect someone like me to not be an expert on turn of the century Eurodance? C’mon, Vyx, you know me better than that.” He chuckled, and Vyx shook their head, the line of people following behind Al keeping them from getting on the bus themselves.

“Hey, Will, does this bus have an aux chord, and can you not give it to Al?” Vince asked, the last past Vyx, pausing at the top of the stairs. They heard the laughter, but not the conversation, as Claire put a hand on their shoulder, stopping them from heading up and into the bus.

“I’ll make sure Molly knows your little coterie came out to help.” Claire said, and her tone said this was a gift, a good word to the right people, as thanks for the help, and Vyx nodded, understanding. A good word with Molly had a lot of weight to it, after all. “Where’s the road taking you next?”

“Maine.” They responded, passing Vince their bag as he approached the door – he could tell they were in conversation, so he didn’t do more than stick his hand out, but they needed to store the weapons before things got moving and it was a fiddly job. “I’ve got a box up north I have to get to.” They shrugged, but their face shifted with concern as Claire’s did. “What, Maine an issue?”

“You can say that.” Claire pursed her lips, like she was trying to figure out how to say something delicately that she didn’t want to mess up. “Molly’s been tryin’ to carve out a slice of Maine for a couple years, now. She wants to try and cut off port access to our north, so anyone in Europe that wants to try something funny has to land down south or risk the wrath of the Sabbat in Toronto.” She explained, her eyes cutting up to the bus, where Donnie was visible, actively storing an instrument case above the main seating in a cubby. “Her intent is t’give Donnie control of Maine for all that help you gave us, but… it’s taking longer than she likes. She’ll figure something out, soon, so don’t worry, your boy will get paid out, but if she is struggling t’maintain a hold up there, I’d just be careful.”

“What’s out there, fae?” Vyx chuckled. They’d already had a run in with the fae – or, well, Vince had. It was a whole thing. Claire’s frown, though, said she didn’t appreciate the joke.

“Maine’s mostly woods, Vyx. It’s wild out there. Garou, fae, things beyond the fae. There’s a reason that, every time we get something concrete, we lose it within a week. Something doesn’t want us fuckin’ around up there, so just keep your head on a swivel, alright?” Claire gave Vyx a wary smile, like that promise would be enough, and Vyx nodded. They were pushy, and chaotic, and optimistic, but they also weren’t stupid. They knew better than to actually play with fire.

“Yeah, we’ll do our best. Last time I was there, I didn’t have any problems, but I also didn’t have a bus full of Kindred, so. We’ll see.” The shrugged, but they gave Claire enough of a grin to let her know they weren’t going to press. “Thanks, Claire. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

Vyx didn’t hesitate any longer, swinging themselves onto the bus, and the doors closed just as they reached the top of the stairs, the bus starting back off into traffic. Now that they were heading for out of the city, Donnie was willing to let Will drive – especially as he was a bit busy giving his arm a bit of medical attention. He’d be fine, in the end, but wounds from a Garou took a bit to heal and he didn’t want to bleed on the seats. “Stop one, done! Werewolves, punched. Everyone feelin’ alright?” Vyx asked, leaning against the partition while Will took them north.

“Could be better.” Al said, examining the bite on his ankle. “He bit through my boot.”

“Could be worse.” Donnie replied, tearing off the bandages for his arm before tossing them to Al, who caught them with a raised eyebrow and a wary frown. Not much could have been worse, to be fair – he’d been bitten and it sucked. “You could have been Kine.”

“Let’s just make sure any Garou we find keep their teeth to themselves next time.” Vince got in between them, a bit, trying to keep anything from brewing that didn’t need to. Al shrugged – Donnie wasn’t wrong – wrapping his ankle with the bandages. “Which, hopefully? We’re going somewhere without any?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Vyx sighed, shaking their head. “Next stop is Maine, which I’ve already gotten one warning for. Apparently the wolves were up from there, and that’s not everything – there’s fae, too, and things beyond the fae, as Claire said.” They exaggerated the tone, as though things beyond the fae were funny things to joke about instead of real threats, “We’re just gonna need to keep eyes open and guns on us while we’re up there. I didn’t encounter anything weird, but a bus is not a bike, so let’s just make sure we leave Maine with all our limbs.” They turned to the group, who seemed to be in agreement. “Alright! Next stop, Maine! Land of lobsters, snow, and apparently weird shit in the woods.”

Will passed beyond a building, and the city fell away from them, leaving only short buildings, suburbs, and a fading skyline. Vyx just hoped they wouldn’t regret this.  

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 16

Mariana usually never gets off earlier than closing time. Today was one of those rare days that she got to leave around midnight instead of the early hours of three in the morning, or worse four.

She waves goodbye to Andy and the new girl who’s taking over her last few hours. Andy’s training her so they aren’t under staffed.

She leaves out the back and is ready to head home, maybe have a few hours of peaceful time to read or even catch up on a show or two.

She walks off down the street alone, it’s one of those nights that Hobie’s out patrolling and he can’t walk her home. Which wouldn’t bother her normally. Except about two blocks into her walk she feels like she’s being watched.

She stops and looks around, and the streets not dead, but the people walking are all tipsy walking to their next destination. No ones prying eyes are on her. She looks up, but still nothing. No one’s creeping on her looking out their flats windows, or at least that she can see.

She bites her lip and tries to push the sinking feeling away. She starts to walk once more. She makes it another block before the dreadful feeling consumes her. She doesn’t stop to look this time. She deviates her route. She isn’t walking home, not like this.

Not when she’s being followed. Part of her wonders if it’s that one patron from the bar, but he was arrested.

She shudders at the memory. She tries to not run, or quicken her pace. She knows one of the clubs down this road so she’ll just go there at least until they close. She sees the line to get in and she goes and waits. Her friend Sam works as the bouncer here and she greats her happily.

Sam’s like most bouncers, broad as a barrel and built to handle unruly crowds. She’s standing her post, arms crossed, looking intimidating without even trying. She’s more than glad Sam’s working tonight.

“I didn’t know you were swingin’ by tonight!” she says with a wide smile.

She returns it, but talks to Sam through her teeth, “I think someone’s following me...” She says in a tight voice.

Sam nods and rubs MJ’s back reassuringly. “Got it, go in and find Karla, she’ll get you situated.” She tells her.

She nods her head and dips inside, quickly walking over to the bar that Karla’s at. She’s shaking a bit and she’s never been happier that she’s close to the other bar workers in the area.

“Hey Karla,” she says leaning onto the bar.

Karla whips her head around and the smaller women looks more than happy. She smiles bouncing over to the end that MJ is standing at. She greets her happily.

“What are you doing here? Thought you were working tonight.” She asks her with a curious look.

MJ sighs and gives her the same story she told Sam at the front. She’s wringing her hands together nervously because the last thing she wants is to have another stalker.

Karla nods and tells her other bartender that she’s going on her fifteen. She pulls MJ to the back, which is much quitter from the booming music of the dance club.

“Do you have anyone you can call?” She asks MJ with concern.

She nods, she knows she’s calling Hobie. There’s no question there.

“Yeah, I got someone. I’m gonna call him and hopefully he picks up.” She tells her.

Karla nods and crosses her arms, “If he doesn’t me and Sam can take you home, or you can crash at our place. I don’t want you alone…not if you think you’re being followed.” Karla says nervously.

“I mean, especially after that other stalker almost attacked you… I don’t want another situation like that.” She tells her friend looking at her with worry.

MJ feels fear grip her heart at the memory, but she shakes it off. “Promise I’ll let you know. I’ll be fine though Hobie always answers when I call.” She reassures her friend.

Karla raises a brow, “Hobie? Is he the one you’ve been mucking about with all the time these past few months?” she says a little accusing, but MJ knows she’s being curious not mean.

She feels her own face burn a little and she nods. “Yea, we just, we get each other.” She shrugs trying to be indifferent.

Karla doesn’t buy it, rolling her eyes, “So he’s your boyfriend yea?”

“No, we’re…” MJ starts but stops…she feels her shoulders deflate. “I don’t know what we are…I just don’t want to lose him…he’s special.” She murmurs looking up at Karla.

She nods in understanding. “That’s how I felt about Sam, and now we’re married.” She says knowingly.

“Just don’t wait around too long, yea? I don’t want you to push someone away who could be good for you.” She tells MJ softly.

MJ nods solemnly, she doesn’t want to think about it. She’s scared, mostly. She doesn’t want to ask to define their relationship, because after everything with her mother… she loves him. She knows she does.

But she doesn’t know if he loves her. That is what scares her.

Karla’s break ends and she leaves, giving MJ a firm hug.

MJ doesn’t hesitate to call Hobie, still feeling the pit in her stomach from being followed. One problem at a time.

“Hey, you okay? You never call this early.” His voice slides through her speakers, easy and calm. It relaxes her. She can hear the cars in the distance, he’s probably on a building.

“Um… no?” She hesitates but sighs. “I’m at Spring Awakening, you know the dance club a few blocks down from the pub?” She tells him.

He hums in acknowledgement. “What’s wrong?” He asks her, voice calm, but she hears the wind. He’s already moving.

“Nothing technically, but, I don’t know, I felt someone watching me? Does that make sense? Someone was following me.” She tells him.

“If you think you’re being watched, odds are you are. I’m comin’.” He tells her in a firm voice.

“Can you stay on the phone with me?” She asks hesitantly.

He gives a soft chuckle, “Was plannin’ on it luv.”

It doesn’t take him more than ten or so minutes to get there. He knocks on the back door and she lets him in.

“You doin’ alright?” he asks her softly, holding onto her arms gently.

She nods, “Better now.” She tells him. “Let me go tell Karla I’m leaving, so she doesn’t worry.”

He nods and let’s her go back. She returns within ten minutes and he walks out the back with her. He’s still in his spider suit. Hoping it’ll keep anyone away.

“Do you want to walk home or swing? I could lose anyone if we swing.” He says with a smug tone.

She rolls her eyes, but the idea of being followed is enough to make her want to swing over walking. Even though she hates being up in the air. She doesn’t know how Hobie doesn’t get sick from it, but he’s built different. Literally.

He easily wraps his arms around her firmly and shoots a web. She’s flying off the ground and she squeezes her eyes shut.

He goes the long way, taking a couple of wrong turns just in case. She knows he has that… spider sense? She thinks that’s what he calls it. She really isn’t sure. She just knows that he senses danger much quicker than she can. So, she’s hoping that if that was going off he’d tell her.

He finally makes it to her complex and they both enter through the back. Hobie stays downstairs to wait it out. Just in case they were followed. She makes it to her flat and quickly goes in. She doesn’t bother turning on the lights and just drags herself to the bathroom.

She gave Hobie a key and he’s let himself in a million times. She’s ready to shower off the pub and the anxiety that’s still rattling around in her gut.

She takes a long shower, burning her skin with the hot water, her maroon hair falling down her back as she rakes her hands through it with shampoo. She tries to not think about the fear that gnaws at the back of her head. She’s okay, nothing happened. Hobie’s here and she’s safe.

She’s helped Hobie take down the Vulture, a Lizard, and the Green Goblin. She can handle some weirdo trying to stalk her. She’s dealt with worse.

She takes a shaky breath and finishes her shower.

When she exits the bathroom to the living room, Hobie’s sitting on her couch in his casual clothes just waiting for her. His head looks up as he hears her footsteps.

“Good?” He asks softly pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

She nods, “Just exhausted now.” She tells him truthfully.

“No one followed, promise.” He says as he stands up and stretches, “Go to bed, I’ll be in there soon. I need to shower.”

She gets up to grab him an extra towel and tosses it to him. “Your extra clothes are in the top drawer.” She tells him.

“I know!” he smiles brightly and pops into her room shuffling for some spare clothes before he closes the door to her bathroom.

She double checks to make sure her doors are locked, front and patio. When she’s satisfied she finally crawls into her bed. She tries to wait for Hobie but it’s a losing fight against the heaviness of her lids. She feels the weight shift as he gets under the covers and she rolls to find his body heat, but she’s already blissfully asleep. The last coherent thing she can remember is his arms slotting around her waist.

The next shift she has isn’t until that following Tuesday. It’s one of their slowest nights and honestly, they tend to only keep one bartender on.

She’s alone behind the bar, with one waiter and maybe about twenty patrons. It’s been a very slow night.

It’s around one in the morning and she needs to take out the trash behind the bar. She ties it all up, tells Mark, the waiter on shift, she’ll be right back.

Once she’s out back by the dumpster, she has that sinking feeling again. Like she’s being watched…or hunted.

She tosses the trash into the dumpster and before she can even turn around to look at her surroundings, she hears screaming and sees people running out of the pub. She doesn’t get a chance to see what’s happening before the pub explodes.

The explosion sends her across the pavement, rolling and debris falling on her. Everything hurts, searing pain goes down her body and she feels like she’s spinning. She can’t hear anything besides the ringing in her ears. She tries to open her eyes, but all she sees is smoke and fire.

She doesn’t even know where she is in comparison. The pub seems so far away, but too close at the same time.

She needs to push herself up, she has to get out, she’ll suffocate from the smoke if she doesn’t.

Her body barely moves and the burning pain that shoots up her right leg tells her it’s broken. She looks down and sees a large chunk of the brick wall is on her right leg. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to think, but everything is spinning behind her eyes and she thinks she’s going to vomit from it all.

First things first, she has to at least pry herself out from under the wall debris.

She manages to sit herself upright and starts lifting what she can. It’s not as if the whole wall fell on her, but it’s big enough that her arms are shaking. She’s able to lift enough to shimmy herself out, but it hurts so much she’s sobbing. Once her broken leg is far enough away she drops the wall back down roughly and she falls flat on her back. Taking in deep breathes.

There’s still smoke everywhere and she needs to try to crawl away.

She sees yellow and green lights fly above her, quick and speedy and not normal street lights. She would know those lights anywhere. It was the bottom of the Goblin’s glider.

Suddenly she’s being swooped up off the ground and is flung in the air. She thinks it’s Hobie for a moment, but when she can finally open her eyes she’s staring at the mask of the Goblin.

“What-” she tries to talk but the smoke filled in her lungs makes her hack like crazy.

The Goblin jostles her and she shrieks, they cackle in response.

She struggles against them, shoving herself and trying to kick with her one good leg. “Let me go!” She spits out trying to shimmy herself away.

The Goblin’s flying on their glider faster than Hobie swings her above the city. Maybe this wasn’t her best idea, but it had to be better than being kidnapped.

“You’ll get put down, eventually.” They say in a clipped tone that makes her feel like they are talking about putting down an animal instead. It sends a shudder down her back.

She’s starting to panic and she has no idea where she even is. Suddenly the glider has a force pulling on it, and it almost sends her flying towards the ground. The Goblin’s grip on her is tight, almost bruising.

She tries to look for the source but she hears it before she sees it.

“Kidnapping now? That’s how low you’ve stooped?” It’s Hobie. His words might be the usual light joking tease he pulls when he fights, but the way he says it isn’t. His voice is hard and short.

He’s angry, in fact, she doesn’t know if she’s ever heard this tone in his voice.

“Looks like the Spider found it’s bait!” The Goblin cackles out, easily cutting away the webs to fly above.

“If you want her you better cast your web Spider-Man! The clocks ticking.” The Goblin goads him. He flies off and in the distance, MJ can see it.

It’s the Old York clock tower. It’s the highest structure in the city. Suddenly she feels her stomach drops. She shivers and the adrenaline shoots through her. Out of all the things she thought would happen today, being tossed off a clock tower like a rag doll wasn’t on it.

She starts to thrash against the Goblin but they just tighten their grip, and MJ feels the pain shoot through her broken leg. She cries out in pain.

“Mariana!” She hears Hobie shout for her, voice loud.

The Goblin flies to the top of the clock tower and hovers, waiting. Hobie lands on the tower, sticking to the side and glares up.

She feels the Goblin move her and dangle her above the city. “I’m tired of these games we play Spider-Man, and I’m getting tired of your little friend either interfering with my other chess pieces or almost killing me.” They hiss out.

MJ is clawing onto the arms of the Goblin tightly, she’s never been more afraid than in this moment. She bites back a sob.

“Not so brave now are you? You little brat!” the Goblin yells pulling her up to their face.

“Leave her alone, she has nothin’ to do with me! She’s just a random woman.” Hobie growls out, trying to dissuade the Goblin from doing anything drastic.

“Oh please, she’s important to you. You think you’re so smart, the both of you.” They say glaring down at MJ.

“You sent me to the hospital… I almost died because of that little flare gun stunt you pulled. You didn’t think I could see you, in the smoke, right? I made the tech on this suit, of course it can see through smog and smoke! I saw every little detail on your face little girl…and I’ll see your fear when I end your life.” They snarl to her.

Hobie tries to move to grab her, but the Goblin whips their head to look at him, releasing one hand from her to hover over the bombs on their belt.

MJ looks at the Goblin, and her own stubbornness might be the death of her but she doesn’t care, she’s more angry than scared right now. A fierce glare covers her face, replacing any other emotion. She sees the bombs that the Goblin’s hand hovers over on the utility belt and she gets an idea, it’s stupid, but it’s better than nothing. She erratically flings herself, to grab for one of the bombs on the Goblin’s belt and because their only gripping onto her with one hand, she succeeds surprisingly.

“I’m not afraid of a monster who hides behind a stupid goblin mask and bombs… and for the record, maybe don’t carry all your bombs underneath your glider where it’s an easy target.” She bites out. She hits the button to activate the bomb.

The Goblin, either in fear or shock, loosens their grip and drops her. It’s what she wants. She throws the bomb up, and it contacts the bottom of the glider. This time, a much bigger explosion than what her flare gun had set off.

She feels herself falling, she can’t see much beyond the smoke. She feels a little dumb in maybe her last moments, she thinks maybe her life should be flashing before her eyes but it’s not.

All she can really think about… is Hobie.

Beyond the smoke, she sees something falling towards her. She can’t make it out but it’s coming towards her quickly. She hopes its not the glider, she can’t dodge that in the air and she’d rather gravity be her demise than anything from the Goblin.

It’s not though, it’s Hobie. She sees his Spider-Man mask first as he falls towards her. Arms stretched out to grab her.

She laughs, it’s not funny, she’s just hysterical right now. She reaches toward him. Her barrels into her, wrapping his body around her tightly. She clings her arms to him, and feels the momentum of them falling together.

He keeps a good grip on her and shoots out a web, hurling them somewhere else.

She really might puke, she probably will once this is all over.

Hobie takes his time, swinging them and shooting different webs to slow down their momentum until their both safe on the ground. He lays her down, holding her head.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” He says in a clipped tone, but she can hear the fear behind his voice.

She’s breathing heavily, trying to calm down her own heart rate. “I… I need a hospital.” She says before turning away from him and vomiting on the street.

He picks her up gently when she’s done and goes in the direction of the nearest hospital, which thankfully isn’t far.

“What were you thinking? You could have died Mariana…” He hisses out to her, voice shaking.

She shakes her head, “They blew up the pub Hobie…they were trying to kill me…I was just taking them out with me.” She replies, voice raw and quiet.

“Fuck, Mariana…” He whispers to her. He’s looking ahead, he can’t look at her right now or he’ll crack. She can feel him shaking.

“It’s okay, I’m okay…we’re okay.” She tells him.

He’s shaking his head aggressively. “It’s not okay, none of this is okay. You almost died because of me.” He says in a tight voice.

He makes it to the hospital and rushes in, immediately the A&E staff are up and rushing over to them. He hands Mariana over to them. She starts to shove the workers away from her, this conversation isn’t over.

“Don’t you dare push me away because of this! Do you hear me?!” she shouts after him, as she is being dragged away to a room to be looked at.

“I’m serious! You promised!” She disappears behind the doors and the last thing she sees is Hobie flinch at her words.

The nurses that surround her are actively looking and prodding her, she cries as they touch her broken leg, and in the midst of everything the adrenaline stops and the exhaustion takes over.

Suddenly the world goes black.

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[icemavs]

Springsteen (pt. 1)

Link to previous chapter: 1 Chapter 2 (5.5k, T, ao3)

Bradley had been officially dating Jake for almost a whole month, and he made sure everyone knew it. He held Jake’s hand in the hallways at school, Jake was always over at Bradley’s house, Bradley attending every single one of Jake’s wrestling matches. They were happy. 

Bradley was getting a little anxious with the upcoming Christmas season. Mav had said he was going to San Diego and he needed Bradley to decide as soon as possible what his plans were. Bradley didn’t want to invite himself over to Jake’s parent’s house for the holiday, seeing as he’d never met them and Jake still didn’t really talk about them much outside of complaining about his father. But he also didn’t want to leave Jake for the holidays.

They had been sitting in Bradley’s room, working on Jake’s latest physics assignment when Bradley brought it up. 

“Jake, what are your plans for the holidays?” he asked, not looking up from the textbook. 

“I guess I don’t really know,” Jake replied. “Why? What are yours?”

Bradley shook his head and still didn’t look up. “I’m not really sure. Mav said he’s going to San Diego to see Ice, but I don’t really like flying around the holidays.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “And I don’t want to leave you,” he finished softly. 

“B, are you saying you want to meet my parents and stay with us for Christmas?” Jake asked, putting a hand on the side of Bradley’s face to finally tilt it up. 

“Kind of?” Bradley said, pitching his voice up as if he was asking a question. “I don’t want to stay home alone, but you never really talk about your family or anything so I don’t want to intrude and I can just go with Mav it will be fi-” Jake cut Bradley off with a kiss. 

“You’re doing it again,” he said, pulling back and smiling. “You’re rambling when you’re anxious.”

Bradley felt a flush creep up his cheeks and let a small smile grace his lips. God, he really liked Jake, and how he made him feel. He couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him, if only for a few days. 

Jake must have noticed his lingering hesitance. “You can come and stay with me over Christmas,” he continued. “As long as you need.”

“Thank you, Jake,” Bradley said, his smile growing to crinkle his eyes. 

They went back to studying for a few more hours, Jake leaving to head home, blaming early practice the next morning for his departure. Once he was gone, Bradley burst into the kitchen where Mav was sitting with an aircraft manual open on the counter, no doubt prepping for his next class after his short break. 

“Mav, I’m not going to San Diego,” he declared. 

Mav looked up, startled. “Okay?” he questioned. “Any particular reason?”

“I’m going to meet Jake’s parents,” he said with an air of finality, but he could hear the wavering anxiety in his voice. 

“That’s great, Bradley,” Mav replied, a huge smile on his face. “I’ll only be gone for three days, so you know, if anything happens, you just come straight home, okay?”

Bradley looked at him, confused by his response, but he chose to ignore it. It was probably just Mav being overprotective, nothing for Bradley to worry about. 

A week later, Bradley jumped in the car with Jake after packing a few sets of clothes to spend the next few days over at Jake’s house. He bounced his leg nervously in the passenger seat until Jake reached a hand over to rest it on his thigh. Bradley looked over and smiled at Jake, resting his own hand on top of Jake’s where it remained for the rest of the short drive. 

Once they pulled into the driveway, Jake put the car in park and immediately turned to Bradley. 

“Listen, B,” he started. “My parents don’t know we’re a couple.”

Bradley balked at him. “They what?”

“I know I should have told you this sooner, but I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he said. “They won’t care if we sleep in the same room or the same bed, but we just can’t be super handsy around them.”

Bradley nodded slowly. “So I’m just a friend who’s not-dad was leaving for the holiday, and you invited me over?” he asked. 

“Yes exactly,” Jake confirmed. “My dad can be a little homophobic. That’s why I’m not out to them. I don’t really know what they would say.”

“Got it. I will be on my best behavior,” Bradley said and gave Jake a mocking salute. 

Jake leaned in for one last kiss before they walked inside the house together. When they got in, Bradley was immediately ambushed by a large Golden Retriever. 

“That’s Goose,” Jake said, laughing as he pulled the dog from Bradley.

When he heard the name, Bradley froze. “Goose?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Jake said, slowly setting his backpack on the floor and leaning down to untie his shoes. “Why?”

“Um, nothing,” Bradley started. He was about to speak again when a woman, he assumed it was Jake’s mother, walked into the entryway. “I’ll tell you later,” he finished under his breath. 

“Hi, you must be Bradley,” Jake’s mother said. “I’m June, I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so glad you’re here with us.” She walked over to give Bradley a big hug and ruffle Jake’s hair. Jake groaned in protest and tried his best to smooth his hair back down. Bradley wished he wouldn’t, he looked hot with his hair all messed up, but he kept his words to himself, since he was supposed to be acting straight. 

“Hi, Mrs. Seresin,” Bradley said as he returned the hug.

Once greetings with Jake’s present siblings were exchanged, Jake and Bradley made their way to the basement to drop off Bradley’s bags in Jake’s bedroom. 

“So,” Bradley started. “This is where the famous Jake Seresin spends his time when he’s not at my house.” He was looking around the room to take it all in. It was a modest size, as was the rest of the house. The walls were plastered with posters of athletes, the ones that Bradley knew were Jake’s favorites. There was a closet that was filled to the brim with clothes and football gear, stored away for the rest of the year. 

Jake was standing near the doorway, hands in his pockets and looking slightly uncomfortable. 

Bradley frowned at him and took the few steps it was to stand in front of Jake. “What’s the matter?” he asked, starting to reach his hands out to put them on Jake’s face before thinking better of it. Instead he tapped Jake on the chest, letting the last of the taps linger a second. 

Jake shook his head slightly. “Nothing, it’s just…” he trailed off, looking down at the floor. After a beat and a big sigh, he lifted his head to look Bradley in the eyes. “I wish I could hold your hand in front of my parents without being scared that they’re going to disown me or something stupid.” Bradley could see tears dancing on the edges of Jake’s eyes.

“Oh, Jake,” Bradley sighed. He pulled him into a big hug while reaching behind Jake to shut the door slightly. “I will never understand what that feels like, but just know that if anything ever does happen, you always have a place with us. Always.” Bradley paused to think if he should say what he was thinking out loud. Fuck it. “I love you, okay?”

Jake pulled back from the hug but stayed in Bradley’s arms. His eyes were lit up, wet from the tears that never fell, but crinkled at the corners from the smile that was growing on his face. “You love me?” he asked.

“Yeah, Jake,” Bradley said. “No one has ever made me feel as good as you do, and I guess, maybe, I don’t know, it’s a little early to say anything, and we’re still in high sch–.” Jake leaned in to press a soft kiss to Bradley’s lips. 

“B, you’re doing it again.” He kissed Bradley’s cheek. “I love you, too.”

Bradley cracked a smile and closed his arms even tighter around Jake’s middle, Bradley’s heart thrumming with joy. “This is the best Christmas ever,” he said into Jake’s hair. Bradley couldn’t believe he was falling this hard, this fast, for this boy. There was no one that would be able to replace him. 

Later that night, Bradley was the happiest he had ever felt holding Jake close while music played quietly from Jake’s stereo. He traced a hand up the side of Jake’s arm and listened to the soft hums coming from Jake in time with the music. 

“B?” Jake asked. “What was it you were gonna tell me earlier? When you met Goose?”

If he was being honest, Bradley had almost forgotten about that. “You know how I call Mav and Ice, well, Mav and Ice?” he started. “It’s their callsign that they earned during their first assignment as pilots.”

“Yes, Bradley, I know what callsigns are,” Jake said, tilting his head up to press a small kiss on the underside of Bradley’s jaw. “What does that have to do with this?” “Well, Goose was my dad’s,” Bradley said simply. Jake shifted so he was resting on his elbows, now facing Bradley. “It was his dad’s nickname for him when he was little, and the older pilots got a hold of that information when he got to the squadron and it was voted as his callsign with overwhelming majority.” He paused to think of Mav telling him the story. “At least that’s what Mav tells me.”

Jake smiled at him and leaned down to kiss Bradley. “I couldn’t be more proud to have a dog named after such an amazing man.”

As if on cue, Goose nudged the door open and jumped up on the bed and onto Bradley making him lose his breath and Jake let out a loud laugh. 

***

2016

The rest of the year passed Bradley by in a blur, more time spent with Jake, Mav, or Ice, when he came to visit. By the time school started back up after the break, Bradley was beginning to get stressed out with his application for the United States Naval Academy. It was the only thing he had ever wanted to do his whole life. His father had gone. Ice had gone. Maverick didn’t but that was a special circumstance. All his heroes were amazing naval aviators, and Bradley knew that his path to fly fighter jets was through the Academy. 

Bradley was often zoned out during classes, thinking about writing his personal essay that would determine if he got in or not. He knew he had the grades, he had the athleticism, he had the desire. The only thing holding him back at this point was himself and his damned writing skills. He would ask Jake for help, seeing as Jake was much more eloquent than Bradley, but they hadn’t once mentioned the future to each other, so Bradley didn’t know what the reaction was going to be when he told Jake he was going to the Academy. 

So, he would suffer through. Or ask Ice for help. Either way, it was going to get done. 

He stressed about it so much that Mav had started to worry about him. Mav would take an extra day off during the week, usually Friday, so he and Bradley could go to dinner or a movie that evening when Bradley got home from school. Bradley noticed that Mav was on the phone in his home office more frequently and for longer periods of time. He assumed it was talking to Ice, but every once in a while he would raise his voice, and in all the years Bradley had known Ice and Mav – his whole damn 18 years of life – they had never raised their voices at each other. The dinners and phone calls went on for a few more weeks. 

Then, on the first day of spring break, Bradley got the letter in the mail that he had been denied admission to the Naval Academy due to “potential personal conflict that could arise due to his attendance.” He tore the envelope open the second he saw it was in the mail, leaving a trail of paper on his way from the front door to the kitchen counter. Mav was leaning up against the counter eating some yogurt. 

“Whatcha got there, Bradley?” Mav asked him around a spoonful of yogurt. 

Bradley ignored his question, too engrossed in the contents of the letter. “What?” he shouted once he had read it. And read it again. And a third time. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. Without looking up, Bradley could sense Mav tensing up where he was standing. Slowly, Bradley raised his head. 

“I didn’t get in,” he said quietly. He could feel a lump forming in his throat but there was no fucking way he would let himself cry. “I didn’t fucking get in. I did everything perfectly for four goddamn years of my life. I never made any other plans because I was so sure I would get in.” He paused to steady his breathing. He read over that line one more time, “personal conflicts that could arise due to his attendance.” He could feel the gears turning as the tension in the room became thicker, Mav turning around to set his spoon in the sink, and more importantly turn his back to Bradley. 

“Mav,” Bradley said slowly. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, but he was ignoring it for now. “They said I didn’t get in due to personal conflicts with my attendance. What does that mean?” Bradley didn’t want to assume anything, there was no reason he had cause to assume anything, but he also knew how much pull both Ice and Mav had in the Navy.

Mav’s shoulders shifted as he sighed and turned back around to face Bradley. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Before he could, Bradley spoke, finally having had enough and needing to ask for himself. 

“Did you have something to do with this?” he asked. Mav had been so worried about him these last few weeks. And Bradley’s whole life. Mav always wanted Bradley to stay out of the military, opting to take him to science or art museums rather than the airplane and army equipment museums Bradley would have much rather gone to. Mav would often get quiet when Bradley talked about how great of a pilot he was and how lucky his dad was to have been Mav’s RIO. It was often only Ice that indulged Bradley’s navy and aviation questions.

Mav sighed again. Bradley jumped in once again before Mav could open his mouth. “Did you have something to do with this?” he asked again, though this time it sounded more like an accusation than a real question. “Are you the personal conflict?”

This time Mav finally spoke. “I might have been,” was all he said. 

“You might have been?” Bradley shouted again. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You know better than anyone that all I’ve wanted my entire life is to be a navy pilot. And you know that the first step to being the best I can be starts at the Academy. I had a better chance than almost anyone in the entire fucking country at getting in.” Bradley was furious. Why would Mav interfere?

“Because it wouldn’t be good for you, Bradley,” Mav said, starting to raise his voice, too. “I know what happens to guys who go through the Academy and become aviators. I don’t want it to happen to you, too.” Mav tried to leave but Bradley wasn’t letting him without a better explanation. 

Bradley put up a hand to poke Mav in the chest. “How can you even say that? Ice went to the Academy, he turned out great and you love him.” He paused to level himself. “My fucking father went to the Academy,” he said in a low voice, hands now at his sides, curling into fists. 

“That’s my point exactly, Bradley,” Mav said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I can’t let what happened to your dad happen to you, too.”

“Mav, that was a freak accident, you of all fucking people should know that!” Bradley was hardly able to look Mav in the face. He couldn’t stay in the house. “I can’t be here right now, I can’t be in the same room as you.” Bradley threw the mail down onto the counter. “Did Ice have anything to do with this?” he asked quietly. 

Mav shook his head and closed his eyes. “He had no idea.”

That was enough for Bradley. He turned on his heel and went up to his room to start packing a bag. There was no way he would spend the next week in that house with Mav and not have school to distract him. On his way up the stairs, he pulled out his phone and called Jake. 

On the second ring, Jake answered. “B? What’s up?” he asked. 

“I need to come over,” Bradley said flatly. “I can’t be here right now, is it okay if I come? I’ll explain when I get there I just need to get out.” He was haphazardly throwing random clothes into his duffel. 

“Bradley, are you safe?” Jake asked, worry present in his voice.

Bradley breathed a sigh and let a small smile, Jake would always make him feel better. “Yes, Jake, I am. I’ll explain when I get there, I promise.”

Once he was finished packing, Bradley raced down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab the letter off the counter before he left.

“Bradley?” Mav called out from the living room. Bradley saw him round the corner and into the kitchen. “Where are you going? Can’t we talk?”

Bradley didn’t respond and just kept walking toward the door. He heard Mav come up behind him and felt a hand around his wrist.

“Bradley, please,” Mav begged. 

“Consider yourself lucky if I ever speak to you again,” Bradley spat before jerking his arm away and hurrying out the door. He would have to walk to Jake’s house since he didn’t want to wait around for a ride, but it wasn’t far and the weather was nice enough.

Once Bradley got there, he noticed that there weren’t any cars in the driveway, but he saw Jake’s parked on the street and headed to the front door. He walked right in and Jake was waiting there with arms open wide and a sad smile on his face. When he saw Jake he felt tears start to form in his eyes and the lump in his throat was back. He practically fell into Jake’s arms. Jake tilted Bradley’s chin up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Bradley made a small sound in the back of his throat and let Jake kiss him until he started to forget about why he was so upset. 

“It’s okay, B, I’ve got you,” Jake whispered into Bradley’s shoulder when they pulled apart, a hand smoothing down the back of Bradley’s head. “Let’s go down to my room, yeah?”

Bradley took a deep breath and nodded his head from its spot lodged in the space between Jake’s neck and shoulder. He unstuck himself from Jake and grabbed his hand before following him down the stairs. 

“What’s going on, B?” Jake asked once they had sat down on the bed. He was still holding onto Bradley’s hand, and the only thing on Bradley’s mind was the warmth emanating from his boyfriend. He knew Jake would be able to make him feel better even when Bradley felt like his whole world was falling apart around him. 

“You know how we’ve never really talked about what we’re doing after we graduate?” Bradley began. Jake nodded his head slowly, confusion clear on his face. “Well, I never really wanted to talk about it because I was applying to the U.S. Naval Academy, and the chances of seeing each other would be so low if I got in. And I’ve been one of the best candidates to get in.” He paused. “Well, according to Ice, and I’m inclined to believe him.” Bradley huffed a small laugh. 

Before he could start again, Jake cut in, talking excitedly. “You got your letter today then, too?” he asked. 

“Wait, what? Too?” Bradley was caught off guard.

“Well, like you said, we never talked about after graduation, and because you never brought it up, I never did either, but I applied to the Academy, too! I got my acceptance letter today!” The look on Jake’s face was one of pure happiness. “You must have gotten your acceptance letter today, too!”

Bradley was too stunned to speak. He wanted more than anything to be happy for Jake, to congratulate him and hug him and kiss him and tell him that he’s proud. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was trying so hard to muster up a smile, anything that would let Jake know he loved him. Jake’s smile started to fade and was replaced by a look of confusion. 

“Jake, I didn’t get in,” Bradley said quietly. “Mav pulled some bullshit and I didn’t fucking get in.” He threw his letter onto the bed in front of Jake. 

“He what?” Jake asked incredulously, his voice starting to rise. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what happened but he used his stupid influence to pull my papers so they denied me.” Bradley was fighting tears. First his dad in everything but blood absolutely fucked up his entire life, and now his boyfriend was taking his place. He couldn’t believe his luck. 

“There has to be someone you can talk to, right? Like Ice, can’t he do anything?” Jake asked frantically, reaching for Bradley but Bradley pulled away and stood up from the bed. “Isn’t he higher ranking than Mav?”

Bradley started to pace around the room, running his hands through his hair and causing it to stick straight up. “It doesn’t fucking matter at this point. There wouldn’t be anything anyone can do. The rest of the letters are already sent, all the spaces are full.” Bradley didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t be inside anymore, he needed fresh air, he needed to get out of the house and away from Jake. He loved him, loved him more than anything, but he didn’t want his frustrations to bring down Jake’s happiness. He leaned down to pick up his bag. 

“Bradley, where are you going?” Jake asked suddenly standing from the bed. 

“I need to go outside, I can’t be in here right now.” He was breathing heavily, his heart was hammering in his chest, and his head felt like it was going to explode. It was like the oxygen had suddenly disappeared from the room and he was the only one feeling the effects. His bag was forgotten on the floor as he went up the stairs and out the front door. 

It was still light outside and the air was thick but being able to see the sun setting was steadying his breathing. He sat on the warm concrete of the driveway, letting the small rocks digging into his palms bring him back to earth. He heard the door open and close behind him, followed by timid footsteps. Bradley didn’t turn his head to look, but in his peripheral vision he saw Jake sit down next to him. Not too close, but close enough.

“Bradley,” Jake said softly. “What’s wrong?” 

When Bradley didn’t respond, Jake scooted closer and set his hand on top of Bradley’s. Bradley still didn’t move his head, but he turned his hand over to grip onto Jake’s. They sat like that for a while until the sun was almost fully set behind the horizon. Silently, Bradley stood, still holding Jake’s hand, and led him back into the house. 

He didn’t say much the rest of the night, as much as Jake tried to get him to talk. Eventually, Jake seemed to understand that he wouldn’t get anything out of Bradley that night. They got ready for bed silently but when they laid down Bradley finally spoke. 

“All I’ve wanted my whole life was to be in a Navy fighter jet like my dad, like Mav, and like Ice. I’ve wanted to be in the air and above the clouds,” Bradley said quietly. Jake shifted to rest his head on Bradley’s chest. “Now that I don’t have the opportunity, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He sighed deeply. 

Jake rested his hand on Bradley’s chest and drew circles with his finger. “B, there are other ways,” he started. “You can do NROTC in college and commission. Enlist and get your degree while you’re in and then commission. There are so many options.” He continued with his circles and Bradley tried his hardest to focus on them instead of the thoughts circling his head. 

“It’s going to set me back, and I feel like I’ll never catch up.” Bradley brought his hand up and intertwined his fingers with Jake’s. “I love you, you know that right? I always will, and I’ll never forget you even if we’re apart.”

Through the darkness, Bradley could sense the confusion on Jake’s face, but he made no move to try and look at Bradley. 

“I love you, too, B,” Jake replied in a soft voice. 

They laid together there in the darkness until Bradley heard Jake’s breathing slow and knew he was asleep. He stayed in bed a few more minutes, already having made up his mind but still feeling like a weight on his chest was weighing him down. After laying still a while longer but before changing his mind, Bradley slid himself out from underneath Jake, careful not to wake him. He picked his bag up off the floor and threw his few clothes that had been strewn about the floor inside before zipping it up as quietly as he could. 

Bradley leaned over the bed to press a kiss to Jake’s forehead before making his way out the door and out to the driveway. He sat down on the now cooled concrete and pulled out his phone to find an Uber. It wasn’t too late, he should be able to get one. 

Once he had secured a ride to the airport, he stared at Ice’s name in his contacts before pressing the button to call him. It was the first time he had turned on his phone since leaving Mav’s house, so he was using every bit of will inside him to keep from opening all the texts from both Ice and Mav. 

“Bradley?” Ice answered the phone with a frantic voice after the first ring. “Mav and I have been trying to call you for hours, where are you?”

“I’m at Jake’s, I’m fine.” Bradley took a deep breath. “But I’m coming to San Diego. Now. I’m waiting for my ride to the airport.”

“What?” Ice shouted through the phone. “Bradley, why?”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it, right?” Bradley asked instead of answering Ice’s question. “Mav pulling my papers?”

“I tried to stop him, but there was nothing I could do,” Ice sighed. “It was too late by the time he told me about it.”

“Then I’m coming back to San Diego and finishing the school year there. I can’t be here anymore,” Bradley said. 

When Ice tried to bring up Jake, Bradley cut him off. “I’ll talk when I get home, my ride is here.” He hung up the phone and stared out into the darkness, waiting for the headlights to show up. 

The only thing Bradley remembers from the blur of the airport was his phone ringing while he was waiting in Dallas for his next flight. He saw the screen light up, first with Mav’s name then Jake’s after he let Mav’s call go to voicemail. He didn’t answer Jake’s either.

After a minute, the voicemail notification popped up. Against his better judgment, Bradley lifted his phone to his ear. 

“B, please,” Jake said breathlessly through the phone. “Come back. Don’t go.” There was a silence that followed before, “I love you,” preceded the click of the call ending. 

Thirteen hours later, Bradley was sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, and Ice sitting across from him. They hadn’t spoken on the car ride from the airport or since they had been home. Bradley was unable to form his thoughts into words, his mind was still reeling from the decision he made. He didn’t know if it was the right one but he knew he wasn’t going back. 

“I’ll work on getting you enrolled in school later today,” Ice said, standing up to pour himself more coffee. “We’ll have to talk about what happened at some point, you know.”

Bradley nodded, but kept his mouth shut. He had never felt so drained and wired at the same time. His adrenaline was still pumping hot through his veins but he was starting to come down and his body was feeling it. He wrapped his hands tighter around his mug, letting the warmth seep into his hands and willing it to travel to the rest of his body. 

He knew that he would have to start applying to colleges as soon as possible, it was late in the year and he needed to get in. He thought about applying to San Diego State University so he could stay living with Ice, but there was too high of a chance that Mav would come back and find him. He decided on University of Virginia instead. Well, he would have to apply and actually get accepted, but with his grades and extracurriculars – prior to moving to Corpus Christi – he shouldn’t have a problem. 

***

The rest of Bradley’s school year passed quickly. He kept his head down and got back in with his old friends, and managed to keep their questions about why he was back away through cracking jokes or just leaving the conversation. Eventually, around graduation, everyone just kind of left him alone.  

Ice had gone to his graduation, against everything Bradley wanted. He didn’t even want to walk across the stage, but Ice made him, saying that he wanted the pictures to hang in the house. While Bradley walked, he thought he saw a shock of dark hair and a familiar looking face standing in the back, but it could have been anyone. 

The summer passed quickly and Bradley moved out to Virginia in the fall, Ice helping to move him into his dorm. He had gotten accepted into the school fairly quickly, and was even considering trying out for the baseball team. He wasn’t sure if he would have time for both the team and NROTC, but he would make it work. He had to. He always did. 

As the summer and then fall wore on, the thought of Jake wasn’t leaving his mind, as much as he tried. He had a few flings throughout the summer, and even managed to stay with a boy for over a month once he was in Virginia. He couldn’t make it work though, every time Bradley felt like he was getting close to getting over Jake, something would happen that would remind Bradley of him. The other boy broke it off right before the end of the fall semester. 

***

2017

2018

2019

2020 

In the spring of 2020, Bradley graduated college summa cum laude and with a commission in the United States Navy. Ice was in attendance at the ceremony, dressed to the nines in his whites and forcing Bradley to take all sorts of pictures. He knew those pictures would get sent to Mav, but he was trying to keep the thought out of his mind. 

Bradley would have to go to field training in the summer, but he was on the track to get a fighter pilot slot once he was done. He had gotten his degree in Aerospace Engineering with his minor in Spanish, and he was able to get his private pilot’s license while he was in school. He told Ice to stay away from pulling strings to get him a pilot slot, but Bradley didn’t fully believe him when Ice told him he didn’t. 

Bradley had finally made it to where he wanted to be, hardly set back any time at all, and he would be in the cockpit of an F/A-18 before he knew it. There was nothing holding him back, no Mav, no relationships, nothing. He was content, even though there was a lingering feeling that a part of him was missing.