#they tried to run a paternity test for her but the only match in their system was a man named nohara isobu. who's been mia for like 30 year

[evilkitten3]

team minato modern middle school au where kakashi is the annoying genius who skipped like two grades, rin somehow lives in a hospital (no one's sure which nurse/doctor is her parent but. it's one of them. right? it's gotta be. no way did a bunch of worked-half-to-death medical staff accidentally adopt a baby someone forgot about. definitely one of them is her parent. her birth certificate is around here somewhere i'm sure look i'll get back to you once my shift ends in six hours), and obito is the class clown who lives with his awful anarchist stoner grandpa and calls his house "the cave"

minato is a former student of kakashi's dad's friend and he's their carpool driver bc no way in hell would that man be allowed to teach in real life

[quietwingsinthesky]

Very interested to see what you do with this w the Amy/Rory/Doctor/River polycule

see this has so much potential now right? the angst alone.

because imagine you fall in love with this woman, this incredible woman who drops in at her own whim to cause chaos and save your life and flirt with your doctor. who has all of his future tucked away in a little blue book, and — you hope — all of yours, too. imagine you fall in love with her when she knows everything about you and you can’t know anything about her — spoilers, after all.

imagine you kiss her for the first time (seems only fair, if the doctor gets to, if you get to kiss the doctor, if the doctor gets to kiss your wife) and she lets you. just lets you. which isn’t like river song at all, to just let anything happen to her. but when you stop, she’s looking at you as sad as you’ve ever seen her. you don’t know what that means, but you do remember one of the few things she’s told you, that all the doctor’s firsts, and it must stand to reason, your firsts, are her lasts. you tell yourself you will kiss her again and kiss her often, as if that can make up for the fact that to her, she’ll never have it again. (and, obviously, your wife agrees, because what she wants, she’ll have, her boys and her river song.)

there was never any way not to fall in love with her, really. that’s simply what you do when someone falls out of the sky, or, better put, out of one spaceship and into the one you call home. how do you nearly die together, save the universe, bond over the doctor’s terrible fashion choices, without loving her? the doctor falls slowest, falls hardest, with a crash that rings through the whole universe, and the next time he sees her, he’s got his own book to match hers. and when the four of you are together, there’s nothing that can hurt you.

except that the doctor dies. and then there’s three months running from monsters you can’t remember. and there’s a body that isn’t yours that melts away (you feel that. don’t tell the doctor, but you feel it, every last second, until there’s nothing left of you and all you can ask is ‘why?’) and then there’s a daughter you get to hold for two minutes. tell her fairy tales come true, about the Last Centurion and the Doctor and your River Song, because they’re going to come for you.

well. two of them do. and river song arrives too late and right on time.

and you fell in love with her. you all fell in love with her. what else could you do?

there’s melted flesh on your dress. will she remember any of that? will your daughter remember that you tried to hold onto her, you fought so hard, you held on so tight, and it doesn’t matter unless she remembers. but if she remembers that, she’ll remember being taken from you as well, and that’s almost too much to bear, the thought of her falling from your arms into nothing and asking you ‘why? why couldn’t you have saved me?’

river song takes your hand, and you kiss her, and she still lets it happen. or lets it happen for the first time.

and then she tells you that she’s your daughter.

hell of a spoiler, right?

So, you know, something like that, I imagine. Plus, if we wanted to get real funky-fucky with it, we’d have an excuse to toss out the stupid ‘get pregnant on a tardis and have a time lord baby’ thing and just make the doctor the one who knocked amy up. (or who knocked her up with rory with weird time lord sex that allows there to be multiple fathers, who knows.) not that he would know until the bombs all drop, because he’d insist it was only rory’s and rory would agree. and then, seeing river’s dna would be the world’s worst paternity test, you know?

[darsynia]

📓

Send me a book emoji in my ask box and I'll describe a story I've never written but dreamed about!

A Tony Stark/OC kidfic where Tony has a special agreement with the government after HYDRA's infiltration is discovered, where everything is run through a program that cross-references the HYDRA files just in case there's a connection.

In 2016 he gets a hit: a DNA match after a paternity test that shows the child is HIS. But why is HYDRA involved? And... he has a kid??

When he shows up at the house, so does a HYDRA goon who tries to kidnap the 8 year old girl--except she massively outsmarts the guy with booby traps and robots in her room. Which is adorned with Captain America stuff. Also, he's never met her mother before...

Over the course of trying to protect the kid and her mother, it's discovered that Tony and she had attended the same MIT conference and stayed at the same hotel. HYDRA agents drugged both of them and impregnated her after obtaining sperm from him. Their goal had been to exploit Tony's death in Afghanistan according to Stane's contract, but to flip the script on Stane by showing that they had an heir, meaning that Stane was at their mercy unless he played ball with all their schemes.

When Tony survived, they laid low and let the woman assume her pregnancy was just a mixup with her current partner. Then SHIELDRA went down and the project went under deep cover, until now.

The story would eventually result in Tony bonding with his kid and falling for her mother (who I was writing to be half South Asian, with help from a few friends of that ancestry). If you think about it, ALL of Civil War is about family, found and otherwise, and the theme of Tony being an actual dad would have changed things for him. The final scene would have been the kid using the miniature Iron Man suit he'd built for her to follow Steve and Bucky because she'd studied their historical counterparts and is certain she can smoothe things over with her dad and her favorite superhero.

I chickened out because of the weight of writing a POC OC, if I'm honest! I just don't think I can do it right enough. I'm also pretty anti-kidfic lately after parenting struggles, so this one may remain in the memory banks.

It's called Because Love Battles, after a Pablo Neruda poem:

And because love battles not only in its burning agriculture,  but also in the mouth of men and women,  I'll end challenging the path  of those who between my chest and your fragrance  want to interpose their obscure figure.

About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you. What more can they tell you? I am neither good nor bad, but a man. ~Love Battles, by Pablo Neruda

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

[creativeashproductions]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

Part Two

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[lyss-writes]

The Gregnancy

1/?

(this text post from @mare-bare has stuck with me for months and, uh. hope this does the concept justice) 

i. 

Tom Wambsgans showed up at his apartment one Saturday morning, completely out of the blue. No courtesy phone call to let him know he’d be dropping in, no text. Not that Greg was surprised. There had always been a certain level of entitlement with Tom when it came to Greg’s time and space, hadn’t there—I’m your boss, I’m your cousin-in-law, I’m your goddamn family, buddy. We’re friends, aren’t we, Greg? I’m taking your bed, and you can sleep on the floor. I saved your ass, it’s the least you can do for me. 

That wasn’t the surprising part. 

One year after Kendall’s press conference, almost to the day, Tom Wambsgans showed up unannounced at Greg’s apartment on a Saturday morning with a suitcase, his dog and—

A baby.

“Hi,” Tom said sourly, when Greg opened the door and stared, blank and frozen and confused, at the bundle in his arms. “Gonna let us in, or what?” 

ii. 

“Um,” Greg said. “Is it. Like, you know.” 

They sat at the little dinette in the kitchen, coffee growing cold in the forgotten carafe on the countertop. He couldn’t stop staring at the sleeping baby—like, there was a literal newborn baby sleeping in his kitchen, passed out cold in its car seat that Tom had set down on top of the kitchen table so he could keep a close eye on it. It hadn’t cried once all morning. 

“Yours?” Tom deadpanned. His eyes were tired but they lit up with the flicker of a smile. “You know, funnily enough, Gregory, I didn’t think to get a paternity test.” 

“That’s not… like, that’s not even possible, for starters,” Greg said, running an anxious hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “From a, like, from a purely biological standpoint.” 

“Relax, I’m not here to shake you down for child support.” 

Greg just looked at him. 

Tom audibly swallowed. “She’s mine. And, ah.” His mouth tightened into a grimace. “Shiv’s.”

iii. 

It happened like this: 

Tom Wambsgans was pushing thirty. He had a job he liked in the city—finance, six-figure salary, a 401(k) match—but there was something missing in his life, and he knew in his heart of hearts that it was out of reach. He had worked too hard, grinded and groveled and scrabbled his way up the corporate ladder and sheathed himself in the uniform of the upwardly mobile social climber, to just give up now, and if he tried to settle down while he was still building up momentum, try the whole Mister Mom thing on for size, well. He might as well move back home to Saint Paul, ask his mother for a job at her firm, scrimp and save and clip fucking coupons for formula and Pampers and start looking at daycares. 

He wasn’t ready for that kind of sacrifice, so he got a dog instead.

And for a while, that was enough.

Tom Wambsgans was pushing forty, and he was dating the most incredible woman—smart and sharp-tongued and gorgeous and in possession of possibly the finest ass on the face of the earth, literally the eighth wonder of the world—but she had this one teeny, tiny thing (minuscule, really; a bit of a nitpick, but it kept him up at night all the same) where she used these little white pills as a crutch to deal with the pressure of being Logan Roy’s only daughter, and he got that; he saw it firsthand, lived it, for Christ’s sake. He wanted to make an honest woman of her, and he wanted her to be the mother of his children, and he wanted a cute little house in Montauk with a white picket fence, but he had to get her sober first, and then he had to make her father fall in love with him, too. 

No problem. 

He wasn’t sure he’d really won Logan Roy over in the end, but that was all right. He was engaged to the most beautiful woman in the world, and he was going to spend every minute of the rest of his life making her happy. 

Tom Wambsgans was forty-two, and he wanted kids, but Shiv Roy had a career to worry about, as if he didn’t have career aspirations of his own. Head of ATN, a real seat at the table with the adults instead of a booster seat over in Parks and Cruises. He wanted kids, but Shiv wanted an open relationship, and all the freedom that afforded her to go off and gobble the odd side dick, while he sat at home and brooded and watched HGTV home improvement shows on the couch with his dog, pointedly not looking at his phone, pointedly not wondering where she was or what she was doing or who she was doing, and why she was so proprietary over her head and her heart and her womb, like, Jesus Christ, were they husband and wife, or were they roommates? He wanted kids, but Shiv didn’t, and he wished that he’d known that before they got married, just like he wished he’d known a lot of things before they got married, but at least he’d had the foresight to send their prenuptial agreement to his mom for a little look-see before he signed his John Hancock on the dotted line, and she’d managed to negotiate a little something for him that Shiv’s lawyers begrudgingly agreed to, after mild haranguing on a conference call. I’d like Shiv to freeze. Embryos, not eggs. A little of me in the bank. 

Tom Wambsgans was forty-three, and freshly divorced from an extraordinary woman, and he was about to make a life-changing withdrawal from a cryobank. 

iv. 

“It—” Greg opened his mouth, then shook his head. He was trying to do the math in his head, but something just wasn’t adding up. “Huh. That’s—uh, okay.”

“Spare me the sanctimonious judgment,” Tom said.

“No, I just,” Greg said. “Uh, you said she’s Shiv’s?”

“Yep.”

“Like, a surrogate, or—?”

“No, the stork came and dropped her off on my doorstep,” Tom said, rolling his eyes. “Yes, a surrogate, Greg.”

“Oh.”

A silence fell. Greg didn’t know what to say. What did you say, when your cousin’s ex-husband came knocking at your door at 8 a.m. on a Saturday with a baby and an armful of luggage and a dog? Congratulations?

He cleared his throat. “So…”

“We’re still divorced,” Tom said, reading his mind. “In case you were wondering.”

“Oh, uh, okay. I didn’t, uh, I didn’t know. If you were.”

Another silence.

“I just needed a place to crash for a bit,” Tom said, biting his lip. “It’s… not been easy.”

“Oh,” Greg said. That was surprising for a number of reasons. “You wanna—stay with me?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “We’re not imposing, are we?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Just a parade of girls traipsing through Cousin Greg’s bachelor pad, I bet. I’m not cramping your style, am I?”

Greg flushed. “That’s not, uh. No, I’m actually—moving?”

“What? I thought this was Kendall’s favor to you. A little cousinly love.”

“It was, but I don’t have a formal lease agreement, per se, and uh, the real estate market’s moving again, so unless I can cough up a spare seven mil, I’m kind of, like. Effectively homeless, as of the end of the month.”

“Well, so much for loyalty, huh,” Tom said, and it felt pointed. Greg grimaced.

“Ha, yeah.”

“Well, listen, ah, I’m looking for a place in Jersey. Hoboken? A little quieter, you know, good for kids, and I’ve got a couple appointments lined up with my realtor this week,” Tom said. “Come along, if you’d like.”

Greg blinked. “Oh, uh. Sure, that sounds—yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“You can crash with me,” Greg said. He felt a surge of goodwill towards Tom, a guy he hadn’t seen in close to a year but had a lot of trouble forgetting despite his best efforts, and a weird sense that they were slipping right back into their old patterns. “You and, and Mondale, and—um.”

“Lucy,” Tom supplied, and Greg smiled.

“Lucy.”

[flowerflamestars]

⭐ do you have any crumbs about tidal? ⭐

TIDAL MY MONSTER CHILD MASTERPIECE

Endless crumbs, but I'm going to try to remain circumspect. Three fun scenes. Bold for commentary from here on out!

Cassian knew all the rumors.

Cassian has been ACTIVELY SEEKING OUT THE RUMORS. Their careers circle each other- their stats make them nearly level on a playing field that barely even exists. Cassian thinks Nesta in combat is like...the platonic ideal of a drift pilot.

All the stories- Serene Majesty’s design included armor made from Kaiju bone (TRUE, THANKS PROFESSOR VANSERRA), Serene was painted to match the exact blue shade of her older pilot’s eyes (False, but a very sexy coincidence that absolutely made it into war propaganda), Serene’s nuclear core was the oldest still running, and they were lucky she hadn’t melted the ocean floor of the Bering Strait right down to the mantle.

Fact: Nesta Archeron had solo piloted forty-one minutes longer than the nearest record holder, who’d died in minute sixteen.

Can you hear Cassian's admiration? That LONGING for partnership. The raw appreciation of skill. MHM BABE YOU ARE NOT LOOKING RESPECTFULLY AND YOU KNOW IT Story: Nesta Archeron called him a patchwork dickbag within moments of meeting him, and proceeded to kick his ass, before they even let them drop test.

Picture, if you will, the very Fun Mako/Raleigh fight with the poles? the compatibility test? Right. That. Tank tops. Barren light and sweaty skin. REALLY GOOD HAIR. But a hand-to-hand fight.

Cassian: oh fun yes fuck let's do this lets see how we move together, come play Archeron

Nesta: walks right up to him and clocks him

The first thing Elain said when she saw Asani was, “Oh, Nesta.”

And despite the fact that Nesta felt more like climbing bare through the Breach than getting in a jaeger with the man, she knew what her sister was seeing. The smile- two dimples on the right but one of the left. Close-cropped dark curls getting just long enough to assert themselves.

Shoulder and arms and everything that matched the face saying- you’re looking at a sculpture. You’re looking at a person whose whole being might as well have been idealized from an artists eyes.

14 drops, 12 kills. Only two back to back drops in the same jaeger.

Hand to hand combat elite. Muay Thai. Second generation marine.

Charm that had cracked Amren.

Elain: Nesta that man is more your type than Your Type. HE CAN KEEP UP WITH YOU. He's not afraid of you. “I know,” Nesta said. Nesta: YES I WANT TO CLIMB THAT MOUNTAIN

Elain arched a pale brow- different color, same shape- and hummed. “And he’s?” Elain: a perfect lock, a fucking doom, a sync so deep and long lasting you probably can't drift with ANYONE ELSE? “Yep.” Nesta: Yes. Nesta to Nesta: SO I'M PROBABLY GOING TO END UP ACCIDENTALLY KILLING HIM IN FUCKING DRIFT LIKE I DID YOU- THAT PERFECT STUPID ASSHOLE- Quietly, Elain swore.

She stole the binder out of his hand- they both pretended he hadn’t already been holding it out, that their reaches hadn’t perfectly, on time, overlapped. STILL GHOSTING BESTIES

She opened it. “Mhmm. Where are we from? Easy, we’re both American. Do we have siblings?” She snickered. “Yes. Where did we go to school? Places that are under the ocean now.”

GUYS guys guys they are both from places that no longer EXIST. They both came of age in war! they both, in a fucked way, thrive in the war. It's what they have- the infinite drift, purpose, and their siblings who are a direct part of that. Cassian tried to take the binder back. She shut it on his hand. “That gave us the childhood trauma book?” AMREN IS GOOD AT HER JOB (AND FUCKING WITH NESTA) She flicked the hand he hadn’t moved, lodged between the pages. “Origin stories, Asani.” Nesta is a fucking NERD and she likes the shape of Cassian's name in her mouth. “We already know all of this, Archeron,” He sighed, and she finally let him pull back. “Wanna flip?” It seemed like a trap- it felt like…fun. Cassian had the distinctly wild thought that Nesta must have been a nightmare in first level training, and half wished he’d seen it. Had her voice already contained that murder drawl at sixteen?

The only thing messier than baby! Feysand would have been Baby Nessian. It would have been on sight. It would have been a CATASTROPHE. they would have fucked it up so hard and then longed for each other for years until like...out of the blue eloping the very next time they crossed paths. No hesitation.

Cassian leaned forward, propped elbows on knees. “Go ahead.” He might have said it like a challenge- Nesta’s face might have brightened in catlike pleasure.

“Cassian Karam Asani. Twenty-seven years old, in service since your eighteenth birthday.” She was watching his face, and Cassian could do little but stare back. “You grew up on the East coast. Have an older brother. You’re a caffeine addict who likes to box. Dad died when you were ten.You have your mother’s green eyes and your paternal grandfathers face.” Her gaze flickered up, caught him.

Cassian could hear his heart hammering in his chest, pull from the rise and fall of his ribs too fast. “That’s not in my file.”

Cassian to the world: calm, cheerful, good at his job. Cassian to himself: Sure I'm Good at this Sure I Can Feel Her in my BONES- sure i definitely fucked this up- there's no way nESTA WANTS TO KNOW ME- SHE CAN'T POSSIBLY-

Nesta: it's real bitch “We dropped, Asani.” More than a drop, a successful drift. He didn’t need to say it, Nesta was already sniping in victory. “You love strawberry matcha cake.” “I can make it, too,” Cassian shot, with forced lightness.

Cassian: I COULD MAKE IT FOR YOU? what else did you see? if I'm yours...you're mine? please.

“Nesta Iseult Archeron. West Coast. Your mom taught literature, which is how you got that name. She died when you were twelve. You’re the older sister. You’re also a caffeine addict. Three tattoos. You miss sparring with your sister, and it makes you feel like shit. You horde Korean moisturizer.” “Eight tattoos.” She didn’t mean herself. SHE'S GOING TO LEARN THEM WITH HER TEETH YALL

“You hate the color blue.” hELLO, Trauma She laughed, and it wasn’t particularly joyful. “Your brother’s downstairs in the labs.” “Wrong.” Realer smile, he wanted to keep talking, “I have two.”

Nesta recrossed her legs, the entire table monopolized. “Middle child?’

An outstretched brown hand, tilted back and forth, “Azriel is only a year older than me. My other brother is…more complicated. Much younger. Az and I half raised him, but we don’t really talk.” And Nesta, mystifyingly said, “Me too. Two sisters, I mean.” She rolled her shoulders, made a face that said fuck, as her mouth continued with, “I’ve been trying to keep her out of a jaeger since she was fourteen.”

Nesta casts them IN THE SAME ROLE in her head. The middle child thing trips her for precisely two seconds and then. of course. Yeah, of course. “Three Archerons in the corps? Thats”- “The Admiralties wet dream, I know. She’s good- she’s so, so good, but I’m trying to make sure she grows up first.”

Nesta: OVER MY DEAD FUCKNG BODY WILL MY BABY SISTER GO FIGHT THIS WAR

“Rhys can’t drift. He’s Airforce now, incredible- twenty years ago, he’d be on tract to be an astronaut, but now-“ I loved making Rhys finally bad at something? He's a smart, angry kid thrashing around in a difficult world. He's SO CLASSICALLY YOUNG AND STUPID ABOUT EVERYTHING “Now the world is gone to shit?” “Tried to, at least.” Her laugh was nearly silent, small. Real.

Cassian looked at Nesta, and Nesta looked at Cassian.

The Look. The i SEE YOU AND YOU SEE ME, no this changes nothing, no this changes everything Look-

Amren is very, very, VERY good at her job, have I mentioned that?

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 11: Strong

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

A/N: Oh no my hand slipped and I posted early again

This chapter was hard to write, and it might be hard to read. Some heavy stuff happens so please take care of yourself and read the warnings! As always, if you need more information, please please message me. 

***This chapter includes a scene containing descriptions of domestic violence. Please message me for more details if you need to***

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

If there’s one thing Killian was not expecting when he woke up this morning, it was this. In fact, this has been the furthest thought from his mind for months. When Emma assured him that Henry is not his son, he believed her and forced himself to drop it. 

 He would gladly raise her child as his own, if she would allow him to do so. He would help them to escape her abusive husband, getting them out of the state entirely if he could, and he would act as a father figure to her boy. 

 But when she walks towards him in the hospital that afternoon, her eyes bloodshot and her face red and swollen as she cries some more, he hears the last thing he’d ever expected to hear. 

 “They want to do DNA testing,” she tells him softly, her voice croaking and rough in the aftermath of her violent sobs. “A… a paternity test.” 

 “Emma…” he tries, but nothing else will come out. 

 “I’m sorry. The pulmonologist says there's no way this is from him being premature. It’s really bad, and he says it’s got to be genetic.”

“I know, love, but… I just thought…” 

 She's silent for a moment, and it’s as if she doesn’t even want to try and speak. Finally, she inhales deeply and forces out her explanation. 

“The weeks before you left, we were fighting all the time. And then we would have sex to numb how much it hurt, and the whole time, I mean… I was bad about taking my pill. And once you left I was still bad about it, but… if I got the date of conception wrong…” 

 He nods, though he’s having trouble understanding her as the world feels blurry still. Despite his confusion, though, he runs his hands up and down along the length of her arms. “He’s still so small, though.” 

 “He was five pounds, eight ounces when he was born. Which is tiny, but Dr. Whale said that a stressful pregnancy can impact birthweight. And… I mean, I spent my pregnancy with Walsh. I lost you.”

 Taking her hands in his, he squeezes and begs her to look into his eyes before he pulls her bottom lip from between her teeth and wipes away the tiny trace of blood left behind. “Love, are you sure about this?” 

 He watches as she begins to break again, the tears immediate and her breathing quickening until he pulls her in for a tight hug. “If this is true-- if you’re his dad-- that means I put him through this for no reason. What kind of a mother does that make me?”  

 Although he’s overcome with confusion and a difficulty accepting what seems more and more likely to be the truth, he’s also overcome with the need to comfort her. So he shushes her gently, kissing her head, and whispers, “you're the best mother in the world to him, my love. You did everything you could to protect him. If this is true, we can leave, and I'll be the best father I can to him. Together, we’ll make up for what he’s been through, I promise.” 

 “I don't want to do this to you,” she cries, and although she grips him tightly, he can feel her pulling away. “I don’t want to put you through this.” 

 “There’s nothing I want more than to be a family with you and Henry. Even if he isn’t my son, I'm going to get you out of Storybrooke and I'm going to treat him like he is.”

 She holds onto him for a while, letting her breathing even out and probably deciding whether he’s telling the truth, and he considers the weight of their situation. He never thought he would be a father. Once things ended with Emma, he thought it was over for him and that he would never move on and be happy enough to start a family with anyone else. Then, when he found her again and with a child of her own, he thought he would at least be happy enough raising someone else’s son if it meant being with her. When she so firmly and believably insisted that he did not father her son, he believed her and tried his best to move on. 

 Now that the possibility is dangled in front of him once more, he isn't sure he can survive the heartbreak of being proven wrong once again. 

 But when he thinks about the lad who has Killian’s mother’s eyes and Emma’s round cheeks and an attitude that couldn’t possibly be inherited from such a horrible man, his heart clenches in his chest and he can’t bear to not know. He can’t go through life without knowing whether this child is his. He wants him to be his so very badly. And even if he isn’t… he may as well be.

 “What do we need to do, love?” he finally asks, giving her assurance that he’s in this with her no matter what they find out. 

 She sniffles, looking up at him with glassy red eyes and asks, “are you sure?” and he nods with firm resolve and a soft smile. She returns it and explains, “they can do a paternity test right now. I can pay for rapid results and find out in a few hours.” 

 Brushing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear, he nods again and leans down to kiss her despite the fact that they're in public. They're hidden in a quiet hallway, but the possibility that anyone can walk in on them in each other’s arms is real. “I’ll pay.” 

 “Killian, no--”

 He cuts her off with another kiss, this one more heated, and then says, “I’ll pay. However the results come back, I want to be here for the lad. I’ve missed five years already, let me start making that up now.” 

 She sighs and kisses him now, holding him as close to her as she can as she cradles the back of his head in her hands. “Should we talk about what this means?” she asks softly, voice barely above a whisper in the quiet hall. 

 “All it means is that a part of me may have been with you all along. I can take comfort in that. It means I have a reason for being so fond of your son, other than him being your son. It means there’s hardly any reason for us to be apart ever again.” 

 “Aside from my potential murder,” she jests, although it feels heavier than any joke should. 

 “Hush,” he quiets. “I told you I'm not letting anything happen to you and I meant it. We’re going to get this sorted out now, alright?” She nods, her nose running along his cheek. “Now, are they going to stab me with a needle, or can they simply swab my cheek?” 

 With a snort, she asks, “what, you can handle a bunch of tattoos, but a bit of blood work is too much for you?”

 “Oy,” he argues, tickling her playfully until she giggles and buries her face in his neck. “I’ll do anything for that lad, I swear. Just… a cheek swab is a bit less uncomfortable.” 

 “I’m sure a cheek swab would’ve been less uncomfortable than 39 hours of labor, too.” 

 “Alright,” he concedes. “Come, now. Let’s find out the level of torture I’m about to endure.” 

 ~~~~

 It’s hours of sitting behind the desk, torturously staring at the clock and willing it to turn to 8 pm so she can leave. Tink doesn’t deserve this shift; it’s a complete waste of a day, and hardly anything exciting has happened. One would think that the emergency department at a hospital would be more busy, but Storybrooke is a small and sleepy town. The only thing that’s happened today is a little boy getting checked in for his asthma, and if nothing transpires with what was discovered after he was admitted, it’ll feel like a wasted shift. 

 As if his ears were burning, the elevator opens to reveal something very exciting indeed: the mayor. He hurries towards her, leaning over the desk with a sense of urgency that Tink suspects is purely for attention and votes. “I’m looking for Henry Oswald,” he insists. 

 She blinks at him and cocks her head, turning to her computer for show, although she already knows what’s about to happen. “Do you have ID?” she asks when she sees the kid’s chart, concealing her smirk. 

 The mayor grumbles something about her not knowing who he is and the slightly sadistic side of her cackles. The cackling gets louder when she takes his ID and shakes her head, giving him a falsely apologetic look. “I’m sorry, sir, I can only allow family into his room.” 

 His face is nearly unreadable, but she sees the way his eyes widen threateningly when he asks, “excuse me?” in a deceptively calm tone. 

 Not falling for his playacting, she repeats, “only family is allowed in the room at this time.” 

 “I’m his father,” he insists. 

 Tink shakes her head. “Not according to his chart, sir. The name on your ID does not match the name listed here.” 

 “Let me see that.” 

 “I can’t, sir, it’s a confidential medical record. Only his parents are allowed to see his information.” 

 He slams his hands against the desk and shouts, “I’m his father! What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

 Honestly, Tink should work on her tendencies to rile people up. But when she heard about the drama with the mayor’s son not actually being the mayor’s son, she was sort of hoping this would happen. She didn’t vote for him, anyway. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice and take a step back.” 

 “I’m not lowering anything until you let me see the kid!” 

 “Sir, I’ll have to have you escorted out by security,” she insists, pressing the button under her desk discretely and watching the security guards rush into the waiting area. 

 The mayor shouts in anger as he’s hauled away, threatening to sue the hospital and insisting that Tink is infringing on his rights as a father. She smiles softly at the image she saw earlier, of a small boy sleeping away in his big bed and his father diligently guarding him from his firm, uncomfortable chair. 

 ~~~~

 Killian wanted to go for her after finding out the truth about Henry-- the fact that Walsh isn’t his father and Killian is-- but she was terrified of leaving him alone for even a second without the protection of the sheriff, so she insisted on going. He didn’t take that lying down and made her promise to stay in the hospital where it’s safe, so when he fell asleep in the hard folding chair, she kissed his forehead and snuck out of the room and down to his car. 

 It’s strange how easily she’s been able to accept the events of the day. It started with her having a mental breakdown over her husband’s maltreatment of both herself and her son, and has evolved into her feeling a sense of completion. Things are starting to feel right. Her life is falling into place. 

 Killian is Henry’s father. 

 She can continue to stress over the fact that she was too consumed by the pain of losing him to even consider the possibility later, but for now, she focuses on getting as many of Henry’s things as she can and stashing them in Killian’s squad car before she goes back to the hospital to be with her son. Killian can bring all of his stuff to his apartment later, so that she doesn’t waste any more time being away from him or being in this damn house. 

 She smiles as she grabs his favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Quackie, and pushes it into his small backpack before reaching for his nebulizer and placing that inside as well. She grabs Goodnight Moon and his favorite copy of Henry and Mudge, and just as she’s reaching for the rest of his clothes that she has laid out on his bed, she hears the front door slam. 

 In a panic, she shoves his clothes into the duffle bag as quickly as she can and zips it up, but she isn’t sure how she’ll be able to leave the house without him knowing. The squad car is parked outside, and while she was initially worried about taking it for fear of Killian getting into trouble, she’s glad she has it now. Maybe if he thinks the Sheriff is here, he won’t do anything. Maybe she can climb out the window without being seen, sneaking back in the front to grab the keys from the kitchen and making a break for it. She doesn’t need any of her own things, just the contents of the small backpack slung over her shoulder. 

 Just as she makes the rash decision to head out the window, hoping that the roof below the second story will be enough to ease her to the ground, she feels a hand on her shoulder yanking her back inside until she’s on her back and looking up. She’s never seen him look so angry-- she’s never seen anyone look so angry. He glares down at her through fury and rage and she fears what’s to come. 

 “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks simply, seething through his teeth as she gulps and attempts to stand. He stops her by pressing the toe of his boot, still wet from the snow outside, to her forehead. “I said what the fuck is wrong with you?”

 “Um--” 

 “I just left the hospital. The school called, and when I got there, they said only Henry’s family can go into his room.” 

 She tries not to dwell on the fact that the school called him because she knows that they were required to do so. She also tries to ignore the fact that he waited almost eight hours before going to the hospital to look for Henry, able to put the thoughts of anger out of her mind and replace them with relief at him not being the father of her child. All she can do now is gulp and stare up at him in anticipation for what he might do to her. 

 He removes his boot and lets her stand, and just when he steps to the side and she’s tricked into thinking that he may let her leave, he throws her onto the small bed and screams, “his family?! How convenient is it that the hospital thinks someone else is Henry’s father?”

 “Walsh,” she tries, but he’s on her before she can go on, pressing his forearm to her throat to silence her with just enough force for it to hurt. 

 “And now you're here, in the sheriff’s car,” he hisses, spit spewing across her face as he berates her. “If you tell me he isn’t mine-- if you stuck me with this life for six miserable years for absolutely no reason-- I will fucking kill you right here.” 

 She lets out a sound that should indicate the damage he’s doing as he increases the pressure of his hold, and he lets go only long enough to replace his arm with two hands. He squeezes hard until she starts to see stars, clinging her hands to his wrists in an attempt to claw him away from her and open up her airways again. Instead of letting go, he lifts her by the neck and throws her back down against the bed with more force than she knew was possible. He screams some more, but her world is going dark and she can’t make out a word he says to her. 

 Her lips start to feel numb at the pressure he applies. Her eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of her skull. Her desperate movements at his hands weaken, and she truly believes that he means to kill her. He means to end her life as punishment for falsely saddling him with fatherhood. She has the realization that she’s about to pass out and probably die, and then sees her son’s face flashing before her eyes and is reminded of why she’s here. Not just why she’s in his room gathering his things, but why she’s here on this earth. What purpose she serves as a person. 

 She’s a mother. 

 No one can take that from her. 

 No one. 

 She lifts her hands from his, finding one last grain of strength, just enough to plunge her pointer fingers into his eyes and make him scream in painful anguish as he finally releases his hold on her. She takes the deepest breath she ever has and ever will again, and feels more sympathy for Henry than she ever has before because nothing has ever been scarier than wanting to inhale and being incapable of doing so. 

 Walsh cries out, swearing at her and calling her names before he throws her onto the floor, causing her to lose the wind in her lungs once more. But she’s committed to fighting back now, and she won’t let him win, so she kicks him hard between his legs so that he falls beside her and then moves to stand herself. 

 Grabbing the small backpack, the one that at least has his nebulizer in it, she feels Walsh's hands grabbing for her ankles as she starts to run. She makes it down the stairs and grabs the keys off of the counter, wishing she had just kept them with her, when he cuts her off. He raises the stakes, too, because he’s standing three feet from her with a gun she had no idea he owned and a wild, murderous glint in his eyes. 

 “Are you gonna shoot me?” she asks, her throat and neck burning as she speaks. 

 “I really, really want to.” 

 “What about your reelection?” she taunts.

 “Fuck you.” 

 She glances around the room as she stares down the barrel of his gun, and realizes she isn’t scared. It’s the icing on the cake, the fact that he’s had a gun in the house that her five-year-old lives in the entire time and never bothered to tell her. She’s furious. 

 So she picks up the crystal vase on the counter and he laughs, asking what she’s going to do with it when he’s standing there with a gun to her head, and she tosses it at him. It’s his grandmother’s, and he wouldn’t dare let a family heirloom shatter, so he drops the gun and catches the vase. She grabs his golf club as she runs by the bag he’d left by the entrance of the kitchen, holding it like a bat as he turns to face her again. 

 “You’re not his dad,” she confirms finally, her strength giving way to the cocky attitude that she’s been wanting to give him for months. Years. “The sheriff is. And I’ve been fucking him for months.”

 He growls in the back of his throat, grumbling something about her being a bitch, and rushes her foolishly. She swings the golf club with all of the force that she possesses and knocks him and the crystal vase to the ground, taking a deep grounding breath when he remains still, and then hurrying towards the door. 

 ~~~~

 She parks outside of the sheriff’s station, unsure of what to do next. She knows he can’t do anything to her here, and she doesn’t want to go to the hospital where Henry could see her. She also doesn’t want to let Killian see her like this, because he was right all along. 

 She always thought that a part of Walsh must've loved her, just a bit. She thought that he would never hurt her, because she’s his wife, and that’s just not how things are done. Killian was right, and she should have known better. 

 She remembers hearing a statistic in college, back when she wanted to be a social worker, about how battered women are in the most danger when they try to leave their abuser. She never for a second saw herself becoming a statistic. 

 ~~~~

 The sheriff’s car had been parked outside for twenty minutes before Deputy Ruby Lucas decided to take a peek and investigate why he wasn’t coming inside. When she finally does look, she sees something she would never have expected. 

 Of course, she figured out they were having an affair pretty easily. It’s not like they were being discreet about it, after all. But Ruby never suspected that the sheriff would lend his town-appointed vehicle to his mistress. 

 She likes the mayor’s wife well enough, even more so upon finding out how little she regards her husband. The man’s an absolute terror and she’s never liked him, and always struggled with how someone could possibly have found enough good in that man to marry him. Of course, finding out that Emma doesn’t actually like her husband very much was a bit of a pleasant surprise.

 She taps on the window on the drivers side and the woman inside jumps, staring up at Ruby with wide eyes filled with terror. “Are you alright?” Ruby asks her through the glass, and she watches as Emma grimaces as she turns her head to face forward again. Suddenly and with great clarity, Ruby’s astute deputy skills kick into gear as she notices a deeper-than-normal shadow on the woman’s neck and realizes what’s happening. “Where’s the sheriff?” she asks. 

 Emma says, “the hospital,” although her voice is rough and sounds strained. 

 Ruby wants to turn on her flashlight and take a better look at the woman before her, but thinks better of it so as to not spook her. She leans down so that she’s more on her level and says, “can you come inside with me? We can call him.” 

 She watches as the frightened woman reaches her hand up to her neck and cringes away from her own touch before undoing her seatbelt and exiting the car, her eyes wide and fearful as she looks around the empty parking lot. 

 Ruby has never seen someone look so terrified in all her years as deputy. 

~~~~

~~~~

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[agentsofsupernaturalmarvel]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

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[mythgirlimagines]

It’s time for a brand new talentswapped Myth for this Tuesday! Brimming with passion,  good sportspersonship, and boundless optimism, is Myth Anon, the Former Ultimate Team Manager!

———————————————–

BACKSTORY AND TALENT

In her elementary and middle school years, Myth had an unbridled passion for sports and athletics, despite her scoliosis making heavy movement difficult for her, and in her middle school years, she even managed to secure spots in prestigious sports teams. Unfortunately though, all those dreams were crushed once she reached her high school years, when a freak accident costed Myth her legs and thus, her ability to walk and run. But the optimistic Myth wouldn’t let this sudden accident qstop her, for she decided to switch her career plans from improving herself to improving others, and that was how Myth became a team manager. Renowned amongst her students for her optimism and motivational spirit, she’s able to turn a ragtag bunch of amateurs into experts within a single season. In fact, Myth even managed to create Lil’ Ultimates and Jr. Ultimates within her career. Now that she is in her adults years, she is currently working with high school athletes and even created actual Ultimate athletes thanks to her stellar coaching.

———————————————–

RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Lucky Student

As the reckless childhood friend of Myth, Wyre is always getting into all sorts of trouble and is lucky enough to get out of trouble, with the help of Myth. Unfortunately, when one of Wyre’s little shenanigans cost Myth her ability to walk, Wyre still feels guilty about it, even to this day, despite Myth’s constant reassurance. Wyre acts like a bodyguard of sorts to Myth, scaring off anyone who dares to pick on Myth’s handicap. Imagine Myth and Wyre’s mutual joy when Wyre was chosen via the Hope’s Peak lottery to attend Hope’s Peak alongside Myth. They both act like cheerleaders for each other.

Outfit: Bandages wrapped around her forehead, arms and hands, a green tank top with a darker green clover design, tan cargo pants, white socks and scuffed-up green high tops.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Traditional Dancer

Famous in certain circles for her dramatic stage presence and her beautiful dance moves, it was no wonder that Anon Scar joined the Hope’s Peak roster as the Ultimate Traditional Dancer. Myth may not be an expert in choreography, but even she can tell just how amazing Scar is at dancing. Myth quickly realized just how how seriously Scar takes her craft, underneath the whole “Queen of Yokai” schtick she developed for stage performances. The two girls quickly bonded over their motherly natures and overwhelming concern for others. Myth is currently planning on arranging an oendan group to cheer on Scar.

Outfit: A dark purple kimono with a red flower petal design on the bottom and a matching obi, flower decorating her side bun, white socks and brown geta, always carries a fan, has an oni mask on the side of her head. 

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Gamer

While Myth normally views video games as health-sapping distractions for lazy layabouts, she can’t fault Fusion for his hobby. Myth noticed that in MMOPRGs, Fusion usually acts a lot like Myth in the game world, healing his teammates and sending encouraging words via the game’s group chat, and he acts equally paternal in real life. Myth also notices that Fusion gets very hyperactive and passionate when talking about video game lore. Myth thinks that if Fusion applied that energy and paternal nature to sports and had a proper sleeping and eating schedule, he could potentially be an awesome team player and a star athlete. 

Outfit: Black and red headphones on his ears, a hoodie colored like a Nintendo Switch over a black shirt with the GameCube logo on the front, black pajama pants with a white stripe on each side, white socks and red slippers with Pokeballs on the front, glasses from original design. 

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Animal Breeder

As much as Fusion II tries to act like an apathetic and snarky delinquent and claim the scratches she gets are from gang scuffles, she is actually a regular volunteer at animal shelters and has a particular soft spot for cats, to the point of keeping a chubby black one named Cheezburger. As Myth eventually figured out, all of Fusion II’s snark and apathy are just a cover-up for her less-than-stellar social skills and desire to be seen as cool by her peers. Myth realized eventually that both of them have slightly-similar talents, with both of their talents involving caring for others: athletes for Myth and animals for Fusion II.

Outfit: A red shirt with a pawprint design on the front under a black sleeveless leather jacket, black fingerless gloves, brown cargo pants that hold pet care supplies, red shoes with a paw print design on the soles, scratched up arms and one scratch on her face hidden by a bandaid, sunglasses from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Animator

Despite Janon’s chronic procrastination, Janon’s fans claim that his animated works are worth the very long wait. Now this is one Anon that the normally kind and optimistic Myth has a serious grudge against. The lazy and cynical animator, who wants nothing more than to sleep all day long, would of course clash with the energetic and optimistic team manager who wants people to improve. Unlike the other Anons, Janon isn’t even trying to improve himself, and that just drives Myth up the wall. But Myth heard rumors that Janon has a particular soft spot for children, which would make sense, given Janon’s talent.

Outfit: A pink ski cap with cat ears and an adorable cartoon face, a white face mask with a cat’s mouth and whiskers, a blue denim jacket with several patches and pins over a white shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front, colorful pajama pants, pink bunny slippers. 

Sparkle Anon, Graduated Reserve Course Student

Despite being passionate about both acting and puzzle-sloving, neither of those skills were enough for Sparkle to garner Ultimate status. Her rich parents managed to scrape enough money for her to take the test and get accepting into the Hope’s Peak Reserve Course though, and now that Sparkle graduated, she is currently chasing her dreams of becoming a top performer, despite her non-Ultimate status. Never before has Myth ever found someone with an even louder voice than her, but Sparkle‘s loud and dramatic voice made Myth consider starting an oendan group with her, and Sparkle was happy to oblige. Outfit: A white dress shirt and a sparkly pink tie, a skirt that matches her tie, knee-high socks, brown slip-on shoes, glasses from original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Princex and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Nurse

Egg is the current crowned princex of Desruc, a cursed locale in the middle of nowhere, and Wet Sock is the skilled field medic and excommunicated/exiled-royal-twin. But it seems their inventive customs don’t cross cultural boundaries, for their odd idioms and sayings just wind up grossing anyone willing to strike conversation with the foreign and cursed twins. Interacting with the Freak Twins may be internally painful for Myth, but she managed to power through and found out that the two are surprisingly caring, despite what their cursed dialogue would suggest, with Wet Sock being especially maternal in particular.

Egg’s Outfit: A green gakuran with golden details and shoulder pads, a red feather cape and matching earrings. 

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A ragged black gakuran with blue details and shoulder pads marked with a Red Cross design, a black cape and hood.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Swordfighter

As the adopted child of a yakuza family and the loyal bodyguard of a yakuza heiress, Curious has been raised with one and only goal and purpose in mind: prevent Young Mistress Iris from ever getting harmed by foes. Just like with the other athletes on the Kibo-Con roster, Myth feels her maternal instincts kick into overdrive when she’s training them, probably helped by Curious being the youngest of the athlete roster. Despite being famed by Iris’s rivals as an emotionless brick wall, Curious is surprisingly impressionable and gullible, probably due to his less-than-stellar upbringing as a servant.

Outfit: Hair in a small ponytail, a black t-shirt and a red tie with Iris’s family logo on the front, black pants, always carries their sword in a black and red scabbard, shoes from original design.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Musician

Famous for his loud vocals, his vulgar lyrics, and the pessimistic worldview of his lyrics, Nerd is the head of the infamous metal band, “DEBATE”, a band intent on showing people just what’s wrong with the world we live in, using nothing but the bare-bone facts. Just like with Janon, Myth has some serious beef with Nerd, thanks to their conflicting worldviews. Myth can’t stand Nerd’s constant and vehement negativity, and Myth’s stubborn optimism just nauseates Nerd. They get into regular shouting matches, that always have to be mitigated by the Brain Cells, much to the irritation of said Brain Cells.

Outfit: Wilder hair that covers his left eye and hides his scouter, a spiky black leather jacket over a white turtleneck, a red and black guitar slung over his back, black polished nails, torn black pants, spiky black boots.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Gymnast

Originally from the wrong side of the tracks, Eldritch taught himself parkour and gymnastics to avoid both muggers and bullies. Eldritch’s small and light form makes executing high-flying flips and rolls a cinch for him. Despite having never entered a single competition, talent scouts have noticed Eldritch’s mad parkour skills. Myth really wants to train this young athlete to his full potential, but for some reason, Eldritch shows a vehement distrust for just about everybody, and given his backstory, who can blame him? But Myth is determined, and she will show the tiny gymnast that people can change and are worth trusting. 

Outfit: A black tanktop, a camo jacket tied around his waist, blue jeans, black ankle socks, white and blue sneakers.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Mechanic

Despite motorcycles being her main speciality, Dream can fix just about any mechanical device you throw at her, with her signature sunny smile. Despite not being an athlete, Myth quickly established Dream as one of her all-time favorites of the Kibo-Con roster. Dream and Myth quickly bonded over their overly optimistic and energetic personalities, and the two girls act like each other’s cheerleaders. Dream seems to show fascination with the mechanics of Myth’s wheelchair, and yearns to tune it up and soup it up with some rocket boosters or something, and Myth surprisingly doesn’t mind.

Outfit: A blue bandana wrapped around her head, a black tank top, orange and oil-stained gloves, a pink jumpsuit tied around her waist, an orange tool belt, tall black boots.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Yakuza

When Myth first found out that she was going to be chaperoning the heiress of one of the most dangerous yakuza families in all of history, she was prepared to be on her beat behavior, lest the heiress calls her folks to feed Myth to the fishies. But as it turns out, Iris is really friendly and superbly optimistic, despite what her upbringing would suggest. Iris is up there with Dream in Myth’s favorites list, and for the exact same reasons. But as it turns out, for all of her optimism, Iris is also really clumsy and falls, trips and bumps her head all the time. Myth is currently working on improving Iris’s balance and coordination.

Outfit: An entirely black gakuran with a red ribbon and her family logo in the form of a badge, black stockings and red shoes, glasses from original design.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Chef

Purple commonly cooks and caters for fancy high-class banquets, and her food is beloved by every upper-crust family that she serves. Purple’s work is commonly behind-the-scenes, and for good reason, because Purple is supremely timid, and often hides behind bigger Anons, when not in the kitchen. Purple is Myth’s go-to-Anon when it comes to nutritional advice, even if Myth needs help translating Purple’s overly-formal dialogue. Sometimes, when Myth is off to train her students, Purple stocks Myth up with crudités or finger sandwiches to give to the young athletes, in between or after practice.

Outfit: A white chef’s top with a purple cravat, black pants, shoes and beret from original design.

This series centers around an optimistic and hot-blooded team manager, trying to train her con-mates into only the best versions of themselves, and battling a couple of Negative Nancies (read: Nerd, Janon and Eldritch) in the process.

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APPEARANCE

Myth has shoulder-length brown hair with an ahoge on top and black sports glasses. For her clothes, Myth wears a red and cream colored tracksuit over a white tanktop, and matching high tops. Around her neck is a red megaphone, a golden whistle, and a golden necklace with resin in the middle that is colored like the bisexual flag. 

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PERSONALITY

Myth carries herself with a loud voice and motivational words. Myth might just be one of the most optimistic people in the entirety of the Kibo-Con, for she can find the good points in just about anybody, and knows exactly how to weed the good points out of them. Despite being confined to a wheelchair, she has energy that is very contagious, which assists her in pumping up her students. But for all of her optimism towards other people, she doesn’t quite feel the same way about herself, feeling like the accident squandered her own potential and she advances other people’s development at the cost of her own. But Myth refuses to be seen as weak, so she never opens up about her actual feelings.

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I hope you like this talentswap, and please let me know what of this Myth! Don’t forget to watch out for brand-new content from yours truly!

[featherymalignancy]

This is totally up to you if you want to answer this ask: What were Nesta's parents like? Their names, personalities, jobs, where they came from etc. Also curious about Nesta's aunt and uncle too :)

Okay, I SWEAR, I was gonna try and keep this brief. I literally whisper-screamed said to myself, “Keep it brief, Cara.”

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre’s Parents: Tim and Ines (neé Afonso) Archeron. Tim was a third-generation native Californian, Ines was, as we know, from Portugal 🇵🇹

Archeron Grandparents:

Tim’s dad Rick was an attorney (and an antisemtic prick, see Nesta’s mention of him in Fucking Lawyers for an example).

His mom Marie was a housewife.

Rick was a functional alcoholic “big drinker” and died when Nesta was 14, Marie died while she was in college.

Afonso Grandparents:

Ines’s father Sebastião was a professor of Antiquities at The Univeristy of Coimbra

Her mother Heloísa worked in her father’s butcher shop until she had Ines (she a dope cook, y’all).

Sebastião died two years before In Vino Veritas starts. Heloísa is the only of the four grandparents still alive.

(SIDENOTE: can we fucking TALK about what she’s gonna say when she meets tall dark and gorgeous Portuguese-speaking wine expert Cassian??)

Heloísa: *in Portuguese* Amorzinho, why have you not married this man yet?

Nesta: Avó, stop!

Heloísa: *still in Portuguese and well within earshot of Cash* If I was forty years younger I would marry him myself!

Tim & Ines (background):

They were both lawyers, they met in law school at Stanford (high achieving runs in the family).

Tim was worked as an M&A (mergers and acquisitions) attorney (can be boring shit but a lotta moneyyy). Ines was a special prosecutor trying drug companies for malpractice and fraud (social justice warrior FTW)

They both worked a LOT, especially when the girls were really little, so the girls were raised by a nanny named Benigna (Beni). Ines had insisted on a nanny who spoke Portuguese, and Beni was from Brazil.

Beni got unexpectedly sick when Nesta was 10, and she died after a too-brief battle with breast cancer.

It was Nesta’s first real experience with loss and she was inconsolably heartbroken, making Tim and Ines realize that they’d allowed their children to be almost completely raised by someone else, and that the girls had basically just suffered the loss of a parent.

At that point Ines decided to cut back to working half time to spend time with the girls, who were 10, 6, and 4.

Between losing Beni and her parents having been gone so much when she was little, Nesta was incredibly anxious to please her parents and make them proud. She was involved in a lot of activities and was very hard on herself, especially for a child. She was serious and dedicated, and though Ines tried to calm the best of Nesta’s outward fretting, she didn’t know how to cope with the more deeply-routed issues of Nesta’s compulsion to be the best. Instead she wrote it off as Nesta being incredibly bright and kept signing Nesta up for activities and paying for any private lessons, competitions, workshops etc. that Nesta expressed interest in. (Look, Nesta had to have something to tell her therapist about)

Starting the year Beni died, they began to take trips to Portugal every summer to see Nesta’s avô and avozinha.

before that, they’d only gone a handful of times, and Sebastiâo and Heloísa were thrilled.

Tim wasn’t close to his parents because of his dad was verbally abusive and his mother was permissive and enabling, so Nesta and the girls were much closer to her avô and avozinha.

Her grandfather spoke English but her grandmother didn’t really, so they spoke almost exclusively Portuguese when they were there (Tim was just sorta...j chilling with his incredibly mediocre Portuguese—he only usually stayed a week anyways, and he worked the whole time).

At home they spoke a mixture, Ines often spoke to the girls in Portuguese and they replied in English unless she insisted otherwise.

Family Ties...

Tim’s closest friend from law school (and the best man at his f*cking wedding) was Beron Vanserra.

Ines was not really a fan but she just sort of tolerated Beron for Tim’s sake, and Beron was clever enough to mostly behave when she was around, though he was definitely the friend who was always trying to coax Tim on a coke-filled bender to Vegas every time her back was turned

Whereas Tim and Ines had children later in life (Ines had Nesta at 35, Elain at 39, and Feyre at 41), Beron married his college sweetheart right out of law school, popped out two boys—August and Adrian—and fucked off for a younger wife. They got divorced without kids after like...a year

His third wife, Flavia, became good friends with Ines. She had her first boy, Eris, three years before Ines had Nesta. They were both pregnant around the same time with their seconds, Lucien and Elain.

The two couples were close and they took vacations together etc. AKA...the kids played together a lot as kids.

Tween/teen Nesta had an ENORMOUS crush on Eris. A senior in HS when she was a freshman, he...did not give a shit. When they ran into each other three years later (Nesta: 18 and two years into raising her two tween sisters and Eris: 21 and a swaggering senior prick at USC) and he hit on her that she was decided she hated him, lol

When Nesta was 14 (Eris: 17, Elain/Lucien: 10, Feyre: 8), it came out that Flavia had been having a longgggg term on-again, off-again affair with her college sweetheart. Screaming matches and paternity tests ensued...and it came out that Lucien was not Beron’s

Ines supported Flavia when Beron filed for divorce and came after Flavia with a VENGEANCE. Ines got Flavia a sick-ass divorce attorney, and sis cleaned up in the divorce 🧹 🧼 🧽 💵 . She and Beron had a very strained custody agreement, where Lucien mostly lived with his mom and saw his “dad” (Beron) only occasionally. Eris, who was about to go to college and was mad at his mom for this embarrassing secret, lived with Beron.

Tim, put off by how Beron handled Lucien’s paternity, distanced himself from Beron, and they were never close after that.

When Tim and Ines died, Flavia was one of the people who stepped up the most to help. Nesta was fiercely independent about the whole thing, but Flavia did babysit for Nesta when she had her own activities, and sometimes she would fill the Archeron fridge with groceries or do the mountain of laundry or take the younger girls back-to-school clothes shopping. Still, she was quiet about it knowing that Nesta considered herself a failure for any little thing she couldn’t do for her sisters.

Tim and Ines (personalities):

Tim

Tim was easy-going and fairly mild.

Of the three girls, Elain is most like him in temperament.

Like his dad, Tim was a total workaholic. He loved his daughters a lot, always bragging about them to colleagues and friends, but he wasn’t really around enough to really show them.

As a result, his main role as a parent was spoiling them with things.

Tim’s dad had been the diciplinarian, so Tim hated “being the bad guy” and was thus incredibly permissive. On the rare occasions that he was in charge of the girls alone for a weekend, there were...literally no rules.

Had he been alive, Tim would have strongly encouraged Nesta’s decision to pursue law school. He likely would have been more skeptical of Feyre’s choice to pursue fine art.

Ines

Ines was more type-A in her personality

Of the three, Nesta is most like her

As the daughter of a classics professor, she had a great love of classical art and music. She would have been pleased that Elain planned to be an academic like her Avô. She also highly encouraged Nesta’s pursuit of opera even though HS Nesta secretly would have rather done musical theatr (like literally any other teenager?)

Ines had been very close to her parents growing up and had planned to return to Portugal when she graduated law school; even though she loved Tim, she was sad when that didn’t happen

She was very nurturing with her girls, but less tolerant of them acting out. Appearances were important to her, and she expected her girls to be well-behaved.

Nesta, always desperate to please, was praised by every adult who ever met her for being perfectly well-behaved

Elain, easy-going and somewhat shy, was quiet and complaint by nature. She never caused problems and rarely even cried

Feyre, a fiercely independent spirit from day one, did not give a FUCK about making a scene if the need arose. Oh, it’s Christmas and Mamã bought Feyre a pretty dress to wear in the Christmas photos? Who cares; not Feyre! She wants to wear her Jasmine costume from Halloween, and if Mamã says she can’t, Feyre is PERFECTLY happy to make a good huge scene in the middle of the bougee photography studio...

OKAY FUCK THIS IS WAY TOO LONG BUT REAL QUICK THE AUNT AND UNCLE

Ines was an only child, Tim just had the one younger brother named Mike. Mike was the “disappointment” according to Rick, because he chose to major in communications and had no interest in law school.

Mike is incredibly unassuming and lived in Tim’s popular, affable shadow. Not lame but definitely unremarkable

The Archerons grew up in the affluent Beach town of Santa Barbara, but Mike was so vexed by his parents he move 385 miles away to Sacramento (if you know California, WEIRD flex on Sacramento of all places, but you do you Mikey)

He married a very sweet middle class girl named Linda and got a job in Insurance

They never had kids of their own, and though he and Tim were friendly, they didn’t really get together much because they just had vastly different lives/lifestyles

Mike and Linda were shocked and sort of bewildered when Tim and Ines died and they were awarded custody of the girls (literally do you not really know what it is to agree to be someone’s legal guardian, Michael ???) and they sort of started haphazardly making plans to move the girls up to Sacramento, even though every time Nesta called they weren’t much farther on arrangements.

Elain and Feyre FREAKED out when they were told they’d be leaving home and their friends and moving to Sacramento with Uncle Mike and Aunt Linda (10 yo Feyre: I HATE Sacramento, it’s a shithole!) and when Mike and Linda still didn’t really have any helpful insights on schools, etc (the Archeron girls all attended private school) Nesta decided the move made no sense.

She basically announced that they weren’t gonna move and that she was just going to handle the girls. Mike and LInda sort of (vaguely) protested before being like “yeah you right, we suck at this”. They still controlled Tim and Ines’s estate and helped Nesta deal with all that, but she took it over the MINUTE she turned 18 and they didn’t really have any part after that besides sheepishly calling like “so...hows everything going? Are you liking school okay?” 🤦‍♀️

Nesta tried to make an effort to be closer with them when they were all younger but like...as adults the Archeron girls have sort of tacitly agreed that Mike and Linda are sweet and they’re family but like...they aren’t that much fun to be around. They’d much rather go to sushi and get drunk on Christmas Eve rather than go to Sacramento and force polite conversation with their aunt and uncle

Okay so yeah! There is a far too detailed thing about her parents, hope you enjoy!

[thezodiaczone]

Capricorn Compatibility

CAPRICORN + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) Aries is the Alpha in most relationships, but here the Ram meets his match. In the Goat, Aries finds a more seasoned pack leader, and backs into a rare state of obedience. This weighty respect comes from Capricorn's ruler, wise old Saturn, the planet of maturity, authority and command. Capricorn is the zodiac's father sign; Aries is its firstborn child. It's the difference between a king and a knight, a queen and a duchess. Both are noble, but one is clearly the elder. This can be a dealbreaker for Aries in some cases, as too much paternalism makes this independent sign run for freedom. However, it usually works. Although Aries can be a hellish brat, Capricorn is unruffled and even amused by the tantrums, giving Aries space to act out. If you accept your cosmic roles, you can make excellent partners in both love and business. Aries is ruled by warrior Mars, and Capricorn is a four-star general by nature. You both see life as a battlefield to conquer, and with Aries' grit and Cap's determination, there's no goal you can't achieve. Earthy Capricorn excels at structure and planning, and is the terra firm beneath the Ram's restless hooves. Fiery Aries is a daring playmate who amuses, excites and entertains the sober Goat, especially in the bedroom (where Capricorn has a lesser-known lusty side). Aries is a flirt, and this can spark jealousy in traditional Capricorn. Over time, trust and mutual respect abolish the Goat's fears, and you make supportive lifelong partners.

CAPRICORN + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) ♥♥♥♥ You're fellow Earth signs who really vibe well together. By day, you're both hard-driving workaholics. Taurus is the plodding Bull, Capricorn the sure-footed Mountain Goat. Any business venture you launch together will thrive, and you share a deep respect for tradition, family and long-term security. You're both shrewd financial planners, though your love of earthly pleasures can break the bank, too. Once you punch out and uncork the Sancerre, you morph into a pair of hedonists. Sleeping and lounging are favorite pastimes, and on weekends, a forklift couldn't pry you off the sofa. However, Capricorn is far more self-disciplined than the indulgent Bull. Taurus is ruled by Venus, the goddess of beauty and pleasure; Capricorn by strict Saturn, the cosmic taskmaster. Where Taurus is a megalomaniac forever humming his own praise song, poor Cappy flogs himself for even the slightest misstep. Saturn's repression also gives Cap an eccentric side; he can fall into melancholy or fatalistic spells that confound Taurus. The Goat is always planning for rainy days—and as karma goes, plan for a downpour, and you'll surely get one. Taurus refuses to pack an umbrella, for he can't fathom worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet, nor shown up on the radar. You both have something to teach each other. The Bull is gifted at savoring the present, while nostalgic Capricorn obsesses over the past and the future. Strive to get your timing right.

CAPRICORN + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) A metaphor for this match: a music producer combines a soulful 1970s classic (Capricorn) with funky electronic hooks (Gemini) and delivers a mashup that's either a mess or a chart-topping hit. You couldn't be any more different if you tried, yet you can really benefit from each other's natural resources. Gemini is ruled by speedy Mercury, the lightning-fast trickster who speaks in silver-tongued half truths. Capricorn's overlord is Saturn, the cautious, conservative planetary patriarch, who only trusts that which stands the test of time. Gemini is versatile and restless, like a fusebox with a million criss-crossed wires. Capricorn is the dutiful ox who carries the yoke and plows the field, rarely diverging from routine. While Capricorn's dogged consistency and family loyalty can frustrate Gemini ("How can you let these people walk all over you?" Gemini asks, referring to Cap's elderly parents), it also grounds the scattered Twins.Gemini is Capricorn's one-man circus, keeping the Goat amused and entertained, adding color to his monochromatic world. You both have a lusty, experimental side, too. The magic really appears when you get physical, which happens fast, since your sexual attraction is intense. In fact, Capricorn is one of the few signs that can spike Gemini's jealousy. There are so many people who rely on sturdy, supportive Cap, and Gemini doesn't like to compete for the spotlight. To make this work, Gemini will have to accept that Capricorn's loyalty extends to family and lifelong friends. Stoic Cap will need to show a little more emotion, since impish Gemini needs to know he can get under Capricorn's skin. It will take time to work out the kinks, but the erotic tet-a-tets will be worth the trouble.

CAPRICORN + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) ♥♥♥♥ Paging June and Ward Cleaver! Cancer is astrology's mother and Capricorn is its patriarch. You're opposite signs that might very well polarize into these retro roles. On the zodiac wheel, Cancer rules the fourth house of home, family and femininity. Capricorn governs its tenth house of fatherhood, authority, masculinity and ambition. In many ways, it's nice to have a mate who happily redresses your shortcomings. Yet, it can also be off-putting. Cancer longs for touch and affection, misty-eyed Hallmark moments and emotionally naked conversations. Stoic Capricorn can be stiff and formal, a closet neurotic who pooh-poohs Cancer's feelings as overblown melodramas. In truth, Capricorn just internalizes his feelings, then falls into depressions or flogs himself mercilessly. You must learn the other's "love language" to succeed as a couple.Cancer shows caring through sentimental gestures, food, togetherness and well-intended nagging. Capricorn's expression is through duty—bringing home a steady paycheck, showing up on time, holding it together when everyone else falls apart. Capricorn must learn to honor Cancer's feelings and intuition; the Crab must develop gratitude for Capricorn's loyalty and quiet wisdom. Parenting is where you really shine as a team. Raising children is the ultimate honor for your signs, as well as a creative challenge. You're both loyal to your families, no matter how much they drive you crazy. This is a quality you respect in each other. At the end of the day, you share enough common values to make a solid, lifelong match.

CAPRICORN + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) You're insatiably attracted, but you often end up hurting each other through a series of misunderstandings and ego battles. Leo is ruled by the confident Sun, Capricorn by self-doubting Saturn. That's just the start of your differences. Leo is a starry-eyed Fire sign who believes that anything can be achieved by sheer willpower and the refusal to take "no" for an answer. Capricorn is a traditional Earth sign, equally ambitious, but rarely willing to color outside the lines. He approaches life like a steady Mountain Goat, taking tentative steps toward his ten-year goals. Your different pacing could drive you both mad. Although loyal Capricorn is usually the stalwart partner in relationships, Leo is far more devoted in this match. Lusty Capricorn is mostly interested in sex. While you'll have plenty of hot romps, Leo can mistake Capricorn's physical attraction for love. Oops! The Lion must perform due diligence, and assume nothing. Unlike Leo, Capricorn's love is hard-won, not something he hands out like candy to Trick-or-Treaters. Then, there's the cheerleading that grates on the Goat. Leo urges Cap to believe in himself, which the Goat laughs off as fluff ripped straight from a cheesy self-help tome. Yet, lo!—Leo follows Covey's seven steps and becomes a highly successful person. Instead of congratulating Leo, war is declared: Capricorn scoffs at Leo's dreams, and Leo sets out to prove Capricorn wrong ("I'll show you!"). Before long, you stay together just to spite each other. What's the point?

CAPRICORN + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) ♥♥♥♥ You're pragmatic Earth signs who strike a perfect balance between sensible and sensual. You bring out the best in one another. Virgo is ruled by Mercury, the communication planet. A natural psychologist and articulate speaker, this sign likes to talk everything out. Stoic Capricorn is ruled by stern, repressed Saturn, and struggles to voice his feelings. Capricorn benefits from Virgo's ability to draw him out of dark thoughts. When Virgo's anxieties take hold, practical Capricorn brings a helpful dose of perspective. Dutiful souls, you take care of parents, friends and family members, and your cozy home is everyone's favorite crash pad. Holidays and parties are warm, congenial affairs, and nobody wants to leave. Marriage is a sure success, and you laugh often, excellent medicine for your serious signs. The lovely thing about this combination is how natural you can be—a refreshing break from your formal public demeanors. A favorite example: One Virgo friend, a singer-songwriter, was stricken with a creative block. Her Capricorn husband poked his head into her studio, and found her obsessing. She launched into complaining, and he deftly interrupted: "Wanna f---?" A satisfied hour later, she finished the song. Offensive to prim Virgo from any other sign, but Capricorn can go there. You relax into your carnal natures around each other, loosening up in ways that few other signs can elicit.

CAPRICORN + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) Capricorn is the provider sign, forever seeking a mate in need of financial backing. Libra is a vain dilettante who's happy to play muse to an Earthy benefactor. You have your oft-irreconcilable differences, yet you stay together all the same. In many ways, you have what the other needs. Libra is a master of social graces with a billion air-kissed "friends." Capricorn can be an antisocial grumble-puss who cleaves to childhood cronies and family. Libra spends on impulsive pleasures; Capricorn plans for tomorrow. Battles can be brutal. You're both convinced of your natural superiority; your haughty contretemps and ego showdowns merit a Bravo series. Of course, antisocial Capricorn would never allow cameras into the estate, while Libra would whip together a stylist, understudy and five-star craft services. Therein lies the difference: your values. Not an easy hurdle to scale, even for a determined Goat or a patient Judge. A successful relationship will require much compromise. The fawning affection romantic Libra craves will be in short order. Capricorn shows love through acts of service and loyalty, not pandering. Libra must learn to accept love in a less-adorned package, and trade a few parties for cozy nights in. Capricorn must exit the cave to meet new people, play host and smile once a season. You can do it—but will you be happy? That's the question.

CAPRICORN + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) ♥♥♥♥ If you were to sign a pre-nup, Schedule A must clearly designate who will play the "Top" and who will be the "Bottom." After your attorneys haggle over the prone position, you may just call off the engagement. An inability to reach settlement is likely for two uncompromising Alphas such as yourselves. Although your business-savvy signs can make quite the contemporary Napoleon and Josephine, LLC, there are terms that must be negotiated in advance. For one, you'll need to swear off secrecy—and that will be the true test of your relationship. Scorpio and Capricorn are masters of underhanded power plays that could topple this merger fast. Your first job: learn and practice direct communication ("whip me like THIS" or "no, darling, the leather corset, not the PVC"). Master it, and the rest is a cakewalk. You can lash each other to bedposts, tryst on the conference table in your glass-paned office tower, or earn your mile-high wings with nary a flight attendant knowing. The 2.5 kids you produce will have some interesting conception stories, that's for sure. Not that you'll ever tell. A little secrecy with the rest of the world is fine. Just make sure to erase those sex tapes before the housekeeper finds them.

CAPRICORN + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) The fate of this match rests in your ability to merge your strengths. Sagittarius is the visionary and the starry-eyed optimist; Capricorn is the master architect and builder, the ultimate realist. You each excel where the other is weak, and you make excellent business partners. However, your values and lifestyles can be vastly different, complicating romance. It's like the class clown dating the class president—an odd couple indeed. To Sagittarius, it's fascinating that anyone could possess such restraint. Stoic Capricorn cracks hard-won smiles at Sagittarius' antics and amusing insights. Yet, Sag optimism soon clashes with Cap pessimism, and here's where you reach your impasse. Restless Sagittarius needs a playmate to dream and scheme, but cautious Cappy shoots holes in the Archer's impetuous ideas, pointing out the foundational flaws. Yet, it's that grim, unvarnished realism that saves the day in a crisis. While Sagittarius freaks out and lapses into denial, Earthy Capricorn holds a powerful, Zenlike acceptance of "what is." Love truly blooms when you make it through a dire breakdown and realize your incredible teamwork turned the ship around. For the long haul, independent Sag must allow Capricorn to be the rock, and the Goat must learn to take a few more bold personal risks.

CAPRICORN + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) Two ambitious Capricorns are on a lifelong mission to get ahead. If you can reach the brass ring faster by teaming up, then why not? You certainly admire each other's unflagging determination and crafty tactics—and you apply your business savvy to courtship, much like a game of chess. Name-dropping is akin to sexual banter for your sign, and "getting into the VIP section" sounds like a kinky metaphor. In a way, it is. You're titillated by power and yearn to be part of the elite. Sure, it may sound cold and calculating, but by nature you're a goal-oriented sign who lives by a long-term plan. Thus, your mate must fit neatly into the picture. You're a pair of workaholics with a closet kinky streak, and if you can leave the office before midnight, you'll enjoy a lusty connection behind closed doors. At the same time, you cleave strongly to time-honored tradition and remain loyal to your childhood friends for life. Parental approval and proper stock is a must. No matter how much you love someone, if he/she doesn't fit into the family dynasty, it's a deal breaker.

CAPRICORN + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) This is the match of the traditionalist and the rebel, the rule-maker and the rule-breaker. Capricorn is the guardian of history, and Aquarius is an innovator who has little regard for the past. If you can meet somewhere in the present, it's sure to be interesting. Disciplined Capricorn can teach Aquarius the value of structure, and Aquarius can help Cap think outside the box. You're both competitive and controlling in your own ways, and few signs can rival your work shared work ethic. The wheeler-dealer light never switches off in either of you—you'll hand out business cards at a funeral. Still, you might be better off as professional partners, since your bedside manner is so different. Lusty Capricorn may be aloof in public, but this sensual Earth sign is a bona fide freak in the sheets. Although Aquarius may love to shock people in public, behind closed doors your interest in sex can be tepid at best. (As the ruler of electricity, gadgets may be preferable.) Socially, Capricorn can be cold or snobbish, choosing friends based on status. Popular Aquarius befriends everyone—don't be surprised if the Chinese food delivery guy ends up at the dinner table sharing your Hunan chicken. Still, Capricorn can be an important grounding force for Air-sign Aquarius, preventing you from floating off into the ether. Life is never dull with an unpredictable Aquarian.

CAPRICORN + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) On the surface, you might seem like an odd match—imagine a Harvard MBA in Armani dating a paint-splattered artist in Oshkosh. Yet, your signs pair well, even if you don't want to admit it. With classic good looks and a dutiful nature, Capricorn fits neatly into the system. Pisces is a flowy Fish who excels at playing the the artsy rebel, the indie darling, the adorable mess. By comparison, Capricorn seems structured and regimented—but appearances deceive. While Pisces may delight in coloring outside the neat lines Capricorn draws, the real surprise is that Capricorn is the bigger freak behind closed doors. Capricorn has a dominant, even cruel streak that can play out in the bedroom (not that submissive Pisces doth protest). Leather, whips and kinky fun—it's all fair game. You both love to find lesser-known wine, music, and art, a pride yourself on having cultivated tastes. Together, you can traverse the tony uptown spaces to the lowbrow dives, discovering cultural jewels wherever you go. Your diverse strengths could make you great business partners, too. Open a gallery, with Pisces as curator and Capricorn as financial backer.

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 7

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (unprotected sex, don’t do that), fireworks of one kind or another

WC: 9.2k (..... what)

----------

Penny barely noticed the June gloom this year. Her first few weeks of summer were so full of Shawn she never had the opportunity or need to pout about the hazy, cool gray of Los Angeles. She even found herself appreciating it on the morning she woke up tangled with him in Malibu, the screened window of their room open to let in the misty ocean air. The morning had blanketed them in fog. It felt like there was nothing left but them. 

Penny couldn’t scurry away from him fast enough.

But now, just like clockwork, the gloom is gone. It’s high summer in Southern California. The sun browns the palm fronds that have fallen on her patio. The hardwood is too hot to walk on in her sitting room if she accidentally leaves the curtains open in the afternoon. Penny loves it. The sun is her friend. She spends all her free time hiking Pamela around the canyons and taking her to the dog friendly beaches in Malibu, all the time she doesn’t spend with Shawn.

He asks for a day date on the morning of July 1st. Silver arranges an early check in time at a bungalow at the Fairmont Miramar in Santa Monica. They order breakfast, eat a few bites of their fruit plates, then end up fucking against the wall. After spending an hour talking and eating their now cold but still delicious omelettes, they fuck in the bed, hot and lazy with Penny stretched out flat, stomach down on the crisp white sheets, letting Shawn bite at her shoulder blades once she allows him to come.

He follows his nips and nibbles with kisses, wet and plush. He eases out of her carefully, tossing the condom in the bin by the bed. He rolls onto his back with a contented sigh, feeling like slippery jello all over. He reaches out a hand to find her hair with his eyes shut.

“You sick of me yet?” he grunts.

Penny, flushed and wet, fully sated after a four orgasm morning with him, cracks a smile and drapes an arm over his stomach.

“How could I be sick of this?” she teases, sweeping her fingers down to brush his tired cock. His abdomen visibly clenches. He grins and shakes his head.

“I just don’t want to take up all your time. I know… I mean, I’m not your only client. I don’t want to hog you.”

Except that I do.

He ignores the throbbing thought in his head, one of the only ones he doesn’t feel he can share with her. He lowers his gaze to her soft fingers.

“I don’t have that many clients,” she admits with a soft shrug. She wets her lips and decides to continue into territory that a few weeks ago would’ve been verboten, “Once you become a courtesan, the fewer clients you have, the more appealing you are. Exclusivity is sexy. So is being available at the drop of a hat.”

Shawn bobs his head. That makes sense. But he can’t help but wonder if there have been instances lately where her other clients have tried to book her but he’s already snatched her up. Not that he regrets it.

“Speaking of… being available,” he murmurs, clearing his throat, raspy from his heavy moans, “Do you have 4th of July plans?”

She shakes her head. “No. Pamela hates fireworks. I usually lock us in my bedroom where it’s dark and quiet.”

She blinks and looks away, startled at how easily she feels like she can talk to him about her normal life. Or parts of it.

Shawn nods. “Oh yeah, no, that makes sense.”

Penny turns onto her side, propping up on her elbow. “But Gus is an excellent dogsitter.”

Shawn’s nose twitches as he tries to control a goofy smile. “There’s this party in Malibu. It’s not… I mean, it wouldn’t really be a hotel room thing, y’know, like usual. It’s-- I guess it’s just something I’d like you there for. Like, as a friend. But I’d pay you, obviously.”

As he starts to stumble through his words, he feels the dominoes start to crash until he silences himself. He chuckles, squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back. He doesn’t right himself until he feels her little fingers circling his adam’s apple.

“Will there be hot dogs?”

She’s smirking at him, letting her fingers trail down a little further.

“I… don’t know. Probably?”

He knows she’s just joking but he does feel nervous all of a sudden. He’s bringing her to a party with his friends and some of his team. It’s a risk. But it’s the kind of event that there’s no point in bringing Bex to, because there are absolutely no phones or paparazzi allowed. So he wants to capitalize and enjoy himself as much as possible, which means he wants Penny there.

“Good. 4th of July parties should always have hot dogs.”

Shawn lays his hand against his chest, spreading his fingers so the tips brush her arm that’s splayed over his stomach. 

“It’s a white party. It’s at my friend’s friend’s house in Malibu, right by Nobu. It should be cool. Really chill, no photos or anything. And my friends will be there so you don’t have to worry about me, like, dragging you off to a bedroom or something.”

She lifts her eyebrows. He flushes, wondering how it is he lets his mouth just… go off without him like that.

“I wouldn’t say that’s something I ‘worry’ about,” she muses, “But are you sure you can keep those big beautiful hands to yourself that long?”

Shawn gapes playfully. “I have plenty of self control.”

The arm over his torso drifts so Penny’s hand can skim up and down the outside of his thigh. His adams apple bobs.

“Right. Your performance at the Vertigo Magazine party proved that.”

Shawn’s pink cheeks persist. He nudges her legs with his knee. “We were in that together.”

Penny’s lips purse. Her chin lifts, indignant but unwilling to pursue the point further. “Fine. If you’d like to prove you have self control, why don’t I put you to the test?”

Shawn’s cock stirs automatically at the idea of another challenge from her. He gropes desperately at any opportunity to impress her.

“Go one week without masturbating or having sex.”

Shawn blinks. “-- what?”

Penny’s placid smile grows a little evil. “Just a week. No hands, no toys, no girls until July 8th.”

He maps out the next week in his head. The party is in three days, then after that he’s doing a radio appearance in New York. He’ll be back in LA on the 8th.

“Ok,” he replies, “Fine. I can totally do that.”

Her lips curl. “I love the confidence. But… have you ever tried?”

Shawn frowns. “I mean, no. But I’m sure it’s happened.”

Of course it has. He’s busy. He travels all the time. He’s constantly exhausted and surrounded by people. Of course he’s gone a week without getting off.

…. Hasn’t he?

The hesitation must show up on his face. Penny’s haughty smile grows.

“Not since you were 11, I bet.”

Shawn huffs. “I can totally do this. This will be fine.”

Penny is quiet. He looks over at her, waiting impatiently for her next comment. She looks up from the firm muscles of his chest and raises a single perfect brow.

“You’re forgetting one thing.”

“What?” he sighs.

She relishes the hot, pulsing silence.

“You’ll see me in three days. And I’m not going to make it easy.”

+

The problem is, of course, that he’s thinking about it.

He probably could do it if he just did it accidentally, if he was so busy, flying four times in seven days like he sometimes is, his body lost between time zones with an orgasm the last thing on his mind.

But Penny did this to him on purpose. She planted the seed. Now, because he knows he can’t touch himself, it’s all he can do to stop.

He relishes every busy moment in the three days leading up to the party. He’s at a festival in Prague, of all places, so the jet lag helps keep him hazy enough that it’s not all consuming. He figures it’ll take a few days to cool down, that he’ll eventually forget he even needs to jerk off. He just has to get to the party on Friday.

But god, he knows her. He knows she’s not bluffing. She’s going to hang his blue balls like fuzzy dice from the rearview mirror of her Aston Martin by the end of this party. And he’ll be crawling after her for more.

He just… he loves the way she tastes. Her lips always feel so good anywhere they touch. Her skin is warm, but not in a way he’s used to. It’s not surface level, it’s like it bleeds out of her from somewhere deep. And she always smells nice. And he loves the noises she makes when she--

Shawn lets his head fall back against the American Airlines lounge wall with a clunk. He’s started to lose track of the number of times this train of thought has run him down in the last few days. But it’s Friday, July 4th. In a few hours, he’ll be stepping off the plane in LA and into a car to take him straight to Malibu, where the only thing that can save him from thinking about fucking Penny is booze. And maybe fireworks. Shawn loves fireworks.

Almost as much as he loves the way she whines when he gets his cock in her.

FUCK!

+

Penny plants a hand against the top of her head as she steps out of Gus’s Tesla. Her wide-brimmed snow white sun hat flutters in the coastal breeze. She pauses a moment, her back to the beach house, staring across the street at the line of valeted luxury cars as her hair flaps against her bare shoulders and back.

With a little wink and wave, and Gus’s paternal promise to be at a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf 15 minutes away when she’s ready to leave, Penny shuts the door and turns to the house.

It’s very Malibu. It’s as sun-bleached white as she is, and matching every occupant she can see going in or out, and there are many. It’s gated and set back a ways from the main road, but she can make out throngs of rich, hot guests through the floor-to-ceiling windows and can hear the simmering house music from here.

In wide-legged trousers and a low cut halter, Penny looks more like a Studio 54 devotee than an LA-based escort at a 4th of July party. Her hips swing as she climbs the stairs, tilting her hat brim as she passes a group of curious twenty-something women in white bikinis.

She’s about to go wandering down one side of the crowded wraparound porch area when she hears him.

“Pen!”

Her head whips around. She grins, ignoring the sets of eyes on them from either side.

He’s barefoot in white jeans and a gauzy, partially see through white collared shirt unbuttoned down to there. His cheeks are bright pink, his curls are tamed with paste and his lips are wet from the beer in his hand.

He pads up to her with a big smile, hugging her around the shoulders lightly like she’s a casual friend who doesn’t know the kind of noises he makes when she strokes that one favorite spot of his with her lubed fingers.

He leads her inside where it’s less populated, weaving toward a quiet corner where she can put her bag. In a quiet bedroom, Penny has her back to him, dropping the almost comically large hat onto the bed and wiggling her fingers into her hair, fluffing her blown out curls, sweeping them off her back. Shawn watches them go and then fixes his eyes to what’s beneath. There’s a fading bruise on the top of her left shoulder blade from where he bit her as he came the last time they saw each other.

He has to remind himself with a rough swallow of beer that it’s not going to happen this time. It’s a little jarring, even though it’s not news.

“So,” Penny chirps, turning on the heel of her flat sandal, “Do I get a kiss?”

Shawn instinctively looks over his shoulder even though he knows very well the food was just served and the DJ’s second set just started so almost everyone is outside. He cracks a nervous smile.

“Ah, yeah, sure.”

Penny laughs. She doesn’t take his lack of enthusiasm personally. Especially because she knows exactly what happens to him when she gets her lips on his.

She crooks her finger at him, swiping the tip of her tongue along her lower lip as he approaches, slow and careful like she might bite him. Maybe if he’s lucky.

Penny drops a hand against his shoulder and tilts her chin up, waiting for him. He daintily places a hand on her waist and just brushes his lips against hers before slipping away.

Penny looks even more amused, digging her teeth into her lip. “That’s all I get, huh?”

Shawn shrugs, aims his gaze at the wall. “Well, you were the one that wanted to see my self control.”

Penny hums, nodding. “Very impressive. Let’s go find me a drink, hm?”

She slips past him, keeping her hair over her shoulder so her bare back is all he can focus on as he follows her.

+

Penny is the perfect courtesan, Shawn is absolutely convinced.

He knows he doesn’t have hard data on this, or even experience with more than one courtesan, but Jesus. She does her job so fucking well.

Up til now, he had only seen the closed doors part of her persona, the part that’s private, only for him (or for her other clients). Since they were avoiding each other at the Vertigo Magazine party, he hasn’t seen this side of her, the Professional Social Butterfly.

Penny is chatty without being obnoxious. She’s intelligent and well-spoken, a good listener and a great conversationalist. She’s witty and dry and earnest and sarcastic and sweet and the belle of the damn ball.

Shawn sighs as if in defeat, glancing at her over the rim of his vodka rocks. She’s been flitting around the party, focusing on his group of friends and teammates, charming each and every one. When they ask how she and Shawn met, she answers them without missing a beat.

“We met at the Vertigo Magazine Blue Hawaii party! He told me he liked my coconuts.”

Andrew barks a laugh at that. Shawn chuckles and goes crimson. Penny enjoys herself too much and tells the same punny joke half a dozen different ways depending on who asks.

He watches her turn from what looked to be a riveting conversation with Connor when a woman puts her hand on Penny’s shoulder. Penny turns and grins. She doesn’t look surprised at the greeting.

The woman, stately and palpably powerful in a blindingly white pantsuit with no shirt beneath the tailored, buttoned blazer, leans in to kiss Penny’s cheek. Her sheath of unbelievably straight black hair falls in front of them, obscuring his curious gaze. The woman murmurs something in Penny’s ear and then looks up at Shawn like she already knew he was there. Penny’s eyes follow. She smiles, and it’s quiet, reserved -- the same way she smiles at him when they’re alone talking in bed between orgasms.

It’s another half hour before she makes her way back to him, squeezing his bare arm. It’s somehow so casual that he doesn’t even think to look around for prying eyes when she does it, but so personal that his heart thrums faster in his chest.

“Hi.”

A single word and he’s practically panting for her. He doesn’t know if it’s from watching her blend so well into his real life or from the challenge she set him. Either way, he looks at her accusingly.

“You’re so good at this.”

His voice is hushed enough that she doesn’t have to shush him. She blinks.

“Good at what?”

“Everything,” Shawn groans.

Penny smiles and it makes Shawn wish she would pin him against a wall already and go to fucking town.

“Could you do me a favor?” she asks earnestly, cocking her head at him, looking apologetic. He nods.

“Could you grab the little blue case from my bag? I brought a couple joints from that place you like.”

Shawn smiles at her thoughtfulness and wanders off, pleased for something to do. He’s knuckle deep in her purse when he hears the door shut behind him in the spare, empty bedroom.

He looks over his shoulder. She’s there, holding her sweating glass of gin, looking hungry.

“Pen…” he warns weakly, shaking his head, knowing he won’t stop her doing whatever she wants. He knows he doesn’t want to.

She puts the glass of gin down on the glossy white dresser. Every piece of furniture in this house is white. Penny finds it cold and ridiculous. She rubs her fingers on the surface as she passes it with a sigh.

In an effort to distract her, Shawn pipes up.

“Who was the woman you saw before? It seemed like you knew her.”

Penny stops toe to toe with him, sliding a hand up his arm. She missed the firmness of it, the warmth, even if it’s only been a couple days. Even if he’s not really hers to miss.

“That… was Silver,” Penny answers carefully, glancing up to his eyes to catch the flash of recognition she knows she’ll see there.

“Oh!” Shawn crows, “Silver, Silver? La Splendeur Silver?”

Penny bobs her head and rests her cheek on his shoulder, letting her breath fan out over his bare chest, watching him quake. “The very one.”

Shawn stands awkwardly, every nerve ending in his body begging him to hold her as she rests herself against him, but he’s not so easily swayed, not even by Penny.

Right? Right.

“Wow. Did you know she’d be here?”

Penny nods, fingers tripping up over buttons to toy with his chest hair. Did her fingers get softer somehow?

Jesus, he’s losing it.

“This is her old house. She sold it to Natasha, who sold it to your friend Patrick. She gets invited every year.”

Shawn feels himself bobbing his head dumbly, trying to focus on the power of speech rather than the way Penny’s lips press lighter and lighter against every inch of his exposed chest. He can’t help it. He cups her hip, works at the fabric of her halter with his thumb until he reaches some bare skin.

“I should say hi later,” he whispers, tilting his head as her kisses reach a little higher to his collarbone and throat.

Penny grins, bare teeth against his neck, “Yes. Thank her for her service to the community. The woman that launched a thousand orgasms.”

Shawn’s eyes drift blissfully shut, unable to fight it a second longer when she gets her tongue on the set of freckles on his neck that everyone on social media says looks like a vampire bite.

“More than that,” Shawn sighs, “You’ve given me at least a couple thousand alone.”

Penny coos, leaves him a biting kiss for his sweetness. His breathing quickens pace.

“Just… don’t leave a mark, ok?”

Penny’s heavy lidded eyes blink slowly. Her long lashes skim his skin, leaving it erupting in a forest fire of goosebumps. She bites her pillowy lower lip and tilts her head.

“God, you really shouldn’t have said that.”

With a final nudge of her nose, Penny comes up higher on her toes and bites hard into those little freckles, feeling him tighten in her arms like the prey to her predator.

“Shit,” Shawn mutters, squeezing his eyes shut, his head falling back in surrender. 

She’s going in on his neck. He never had a chance, not as soon as she got her mouth on him. He huffs a breath, thinks about telling her to slow down, but then she’s pushing him into the wall and making this happy little suckling noise against his skin and he just… can’t.

Shawn’s hands fly up, cupping the back of her head, letting her have him. What else can he do? He sighs, brows furrowing with each shock of a nip she leaves along his throat and it starts to occur to him, slowly, foggily, that she’s not leaving one mark. She’s leaving a whole fucking trail of them.

“Penny,” he whines, weakly wriggling away from her constant, attentive sucking. Somewhere below his jaw, she squeaks, thrilled with her own mischief, and pulls away to assess.

Her slender fingers run against the trail that winds from his clavicle up to just under his ear. They’re an alarming, pulsing red, purpling by the second, the perfect claim.

Penny reaches for the tube of NARS lipstick and her compact while Shawn kneads his fingers against his skin. He watches her reapply, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” he groans, wincing when he pokes a particular tender spot and in the same moment, imagines Andrew’s face when he walks out with these red welts all over his neck.

Penny smacks her painted lips and reaches for the little blue case full of weed in her purse. She shakes it with an innocent grin.

“These should soften the blow.”

+

They didn’t. Andrew’s expression is flabbergasted, dumbstruck, annoyed, irate. He looks at Shawn, then back at Penny, then back at Shawn again. Penny doesn’t look fazed. She flicks at her lighter and passes the joint to Andrew.

“Here you go, man. That one’s all for you.”

With a tug on Shawn’s arm, she drags him away from his friends to wander the party.

“I can’t believe I let you maul me in the guest bedroom,” Shawn marvels, rubbing at his neck again. 

“You just taste so good, baby,” she sighs, like it was completely beyond her control. 

“So do you,” Shawn mutters a little bitterly.

Penny turns, wearing an amused smirk. “Have you been thinking about me this week?”

Shawn hesitates, then nods. He wets his lips, “But…” He lowers his voice, “I’ve been good.”

Penny already knows. She can tell. He’s not a mess or anything, just a little keyed up. She guesses he’d be even a little more relaxed without her here. But she told him she wasn’t going to make it easy. He had fair warning.

Penny perches on the edge of a chaise, gazing out at the water. She stretches one arm out beside her, rolling her melting ice cubes in her glass. 

Shawn watches her, knowing she can feel his attentive gaze. He studies the elegant shape of her nose and cheekbones, the wide set of her big brown eyes, the angle of her jaw. She’s beautiful in a perfectly touchable, comfortable way. He wants to touch her. He curses himself for not requesting the agency book them a room for after the party.

He’d even skip fireworks if it meant making some of their own.

Silver approaches from behind Shawn. Shawn doesn’t notice at first, not until Penny is smiling over his shoulder. He likes that smile. It doesn’t have the same mask to it that she wore at the Vertigo Magazine bash, or earlier with his team. It feels like a secret. 

Silver sweeps some of her angled bob out of her face in the ocean breeze and sits beside Shawn, her legs crossed at the ankles. Shawn blinks, finding himself wondering if Silver is the one who taught that to Penny. He straightens up, suddenly feeling tense, like the principal just walked into the classroom and he doesn’t want to be caught goofing off.

“Where’s your My Fair Lady hat?” Silver asks with a dry smile, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Shawn that settles him a little. His shoulders soften.

Penny’s little nose lifts defiantly. “Inside. It became… hazardous. It’s too big to be wearing at a party this crowded.”

Silver nods like she already knew what Penny was going to say. Penny huffs.

“I love that hat, I never get to wear it!” Penny crows.

Silver chuckles, then finally reaches out a hand to Shawn, deciding a formal introduction is in order.

“Silver Akiyama. Lovely to meet you.”

Shawn shakes her hand. It’s cold and bony but her grip is as firm as he expected from looking at her.

“I’m Shawn,” he replies, his voice a little blunted. Penny tries not to smile at his nervousness. She loves watching Silver make people squirm.

“I know,” Silver answers easily, taking her hand back. Shawn laughs awkwardly.

“It’s nice to meet one of Penny’s best friends,” Shawn blurts, looking between the women and down at his glass.

Silver’s crisp dark eyes lift curiously to Penny’s. Penny buttons her lips and looks back out at the water.

“Oh? Been a topic of conversation, have I?”

Shawn starts to blanch. “N-no, I just mean… I mean, she’s mentioned you, that’s all. Like, in passing. We don’t, like, talk about you. She’s just, y’know, she said…”

Penny sighs, flattening her smile. “She’s messing with you, Shawn.”

Shawn blinks. Silver’s smile is a flash of perfect teeth that reminds him of a shark. He again hisses an uncomfortable laugh.

“Oh.”

Penny snorts, shakes her head. “Cruel, cruel woman.”

“The young, sweet ones are so fun to torture,” Silver replies, like it’s obvious. Shawn quietly begs for a reprieve from the universe.

“He’s my toy to play with, Silver,” Penny hums, letting her eyes linger over the still angry marks on Shawn’s neck. Silver follows her gaze. Shawn’s face grows hot. Her territorial comment gets his blood moving south.

“Well I’m glad you two seem to enjoy each other’s company so much,” Silver murmurs, glancing between them. Shawn wonders what it is Silver sees.

He sits back a little and thumbs at the rim of his glass. “We do. A lot. Like making you come six times in a row a lot, right Pen?”

A bit surprised at his own quick serve back over the net, Shawn looks up at Penny from under his dark lashes. She looks surprised and a little impressed. Shawn slugs back what’s in his glass and reaches for the empty one in Silver’s hand.

“Can I get you a refill?”

Silver chirps a delighted laugh and hands him her glass. He strides off toward the bar, wondering if Penny is watching him walk away.

The party ended in the kind of fireworks Shawn used to love, but not the kind he’s craving with the woman standing in front of him. He craves being able to plant his hands on her waist and rock his hips against her while she kisses him hard and fast over her shoulder. He thinks about dropping to his knees and tugging at the zipper of her trousers. He thinks about scooping her up and taking her against the wall like she let him do in Vegas.

Instead, with a sparkle in her pretty brown eyes, she kisses him, slipping her tongue against his for the briefest moment before she’s settling into the backseat of the Tesla, grinning at Gus.

She promises to see him on July 8th and asks him if he’d like to pick the spot. Flustered, he mutters something about being willing to meet her behind a dumpster if it’s all he can get. She laughs, the real laugh, the one that pops and sizzles when she releases it, glowing and real, without a mask. He goes to bed smiling that night even without an orgasm.

+

If Penny had to guess, Silver’s least favorite thing about her is her inability to shut up while they’re working out.

It’s not even that Penny is a very chatty person. She’s more of a listener than a talker, which means her outings with Silver are pretty quiet, but comfortable. 

Not their fitness dates, though.

There’s something about the adrenaline of a workout that gets Penny’s mouth moving. She even got asked to leave a hot yoga class once because she couldn’t shut up about Peter’s summer exchange trip to Zimbabwe. Silver should’ve learned then. She should’ve stopped inviting her to workout classes. She always forgets what this is like.

In a naturally lit warehouse space in Los Feliz, Penny and Silver are positioned on side-by-side pilates reformers. Silver tilts her head to watch her chattering best friend and huffs.

Even though she can’t keep her mouth shut, Penny’s form is perfect. Her arms press the strength cables down to the bench while her outrageous legs stretch high in the air, toes pointed like a dancer as she scissors them slowly to the exact beat that their instructor counts out.

Silver groans, her arms shimmering with sweat as they bend a little at the elbow, slackening the cables. Penny doesn’t notice, talking over the instructor as she scissors faster like it’s no trouble at all.

“-- and I think it’s good, you know, that he’s trying something new. He’s never been on a date with a nice boy before. Peter loves a scoundrel. I guess we’ve always had that in common. But I mean--”

Silver’s quivering eyelids snap open. She has to find a way to shut her up. She turns her head and takes a shaky breath, interrupting.

“How is Shawn?”

Penny stops abruptly, looking over at Silver. Her scissoring loses rhythm. Silver feels only a little bad, and a lot competitive. 

“He’s… fine, I think. He’s not in LA right now.”

Silver nods. “When’s he coming back?”

Penny frowns and turns her face back up toward the ceiling. Silver watches her arms shake.

“Tomorrow, I think.”

I think. I think.

Penny pretends she doesn’t know. Silver knows. Silver knows that Penny knows. In fact, Silver is pretty sure Penny is counting the hours.

“What’s it been, over a month with him already, yeah?” Silver pants.

Penny huffs. “Yeah, I guess. Five weeks.”

“Hasn’t slowed down at all, like you thought it might.”

Penny shakes her head, closing her eyes as she fights to focus on her impressive core muscles.

“I wonder,” Silver begins, lifting her arms when the instructor directs them, “If maybe… there’s something to be careful of here. An attachment.”

Penny hasn’t heard this warning from Silver in a long time. Years. Since before they began La Splendeur. Not since she was a new escort getting used to the dynamic of offering so much emotional and physical comfort to a stranger and feeling that swell of affection and gratitude in return -- all on a strictly professional level.

“I’m not concerned about it.”

Penny’s voice is a little gruff as she shifts positions. On her knees, with her right foot hooked into the cable, she presses back slowly and easily against the resistance. Silver mirrors it, struggling a little more.

“No? Well, I suppose you would know,” Silver allows, holding something guarded in her voice, “I just wanted you to be aware of it.”

Penny’s eyes glaze as she stares down at the padded mat below her.

“Is… this about the necklace?” Penny pants as the exercise becomes a strain.

Silver shakes her head. “This is about the way I saw you looking at each other at that party. But you are very fixated on that necklace.”

Penny’s eyes squeeze shut. She hates it when she feels like she walks into Silver’s traps. They remind her too much of her actual mother, rather than the surrogate she has found in her older, wiser best friend.

“It confused me at first,” Penny argues, “But… it’s fine. It was just a nice, very generous gesture. He doesn’t… I mean, it doesn’t mean to him what it means to me.”

Silver opens her mouth, raises her eyebrows, about to respond when Penny speaks again.

“And if it doesn’t mean anything to him, then it doesn’t to me either. That’s the whole point. I got worked up over what I thought was a symbol that he doesn’t even understand. It’s fine. It’s just jewelry.”

Silver’s eyes slide shut as her limbs relax. The class is ending. They lie back to stretch.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Silver breathes, “I just want you to be careful. I see something between you. I don’t know what it is. But you need to know it’s there. And you need to watch it.”

Penny sniffs a little defiantly, then nods. “I know.”

Her voice is heavy. Silver reaches out, lays her hand on the edge of Penny’s machine. Penny looks down at it, somber.

“I know you do, love.”

+

It’s mid-afternoon on July 8th when Penny gets a call on her work cell. The gold-cased phone rattles against the marble countertop as Penny steps out of the shower smelling like citrus and gardenia. Dripping onto the floor mat, she reaches for the phone to see his initials flash on the screen.

S.M.

“Couldn’t wait four more hours to hear my voice?” she teases after answering.

“Hey,” Shawn murmurs, at once more agitated and somehow soothed by her voice, “I have to cancel tonight.”

Penny blinks at her reflection. She purses her lips. “Oh. Ok.”

“My… fucking flight got cancelled. There’s a storm in the midwest. No one can get anywhere west of Chicago.”

His voice is strained and quiet. He sounds like he’s at the airport. Penny sweeps her wet hair over her shoulder.

“That’s a shame,” she sighs.

Shawn’s head falls back. “Yeah.”

Penny, annoyed enough at the universe to want to twist the knife in him, says, “It’s really too bad. I’m all wet and everything.”

Shawn is quiet for a few beats too long. “... you…”

She chuckles. “I just got out of the shower.”

Shawn’s teeth scrape along his lower lip. He wants to taste her skin just out of the shower. He wants to know what she uses that makes her so soft.

“All cleaned up and nowhere to go.” He tries to laugh.

“Can you handle being my good boy a little while longer?” she asks, voice so warm and heavy he feels like she’s behind him, whispering in his ear.

Shawn scrubs a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the back to ground himself. “Yes.”

“Good. Call me when you’re back in LA. I’ll make it worth your while.”

She hangs up. He slumps against the hotel room wall.

+

Shawn hates the weather. He hates planes. He hates the midwest. He hates everything keeping him from her.

And he hates her, just a little. Because knowing he’s trapped in a hotel room in Manhattan, knowing he hasn’t gotten his rocks off in a week just because she asked him not to, knowing he’s alone and thinking about her, she decides it’s not enough.

At 10:24pm, he’s lying on top of the sheets in a t-shirt and boxers, staring at the Food Network, trying not to imagine what he’d be doing with her in their hotel room at the Hotel Bel Air. His phone buzzes. He swipes at the notification without even really looking first, desperate for stimulation.

But not this kind.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Penny,” he spits, his voice unrecognizably high and stretched. He drops the phone and springs off the bed, pacing.

It’s without a doubt the dirtiest, filthiest, sexiest sext he’s ever received. Out of nowhere, unprovoked, unwarranted. He groans, yanking at the hem of his shirt, tilting his forehead against the cool window that looks out into the humid New York night.

Her eyes are wisely left out of frame. He can see a hint of hard nipple at the bottom. Her fingers are wrapped around the handle of a slender purple vibrator that seems to be coated in, well, her. The curved tip is in her mouth, her tongue mid-swipe along the side, catching what she’s dripping. There’s no caption.

Shawn can’t fucking breathe. And there’s no escape. His cock twitches hard in his boxers and before he can get a handle on himself to stop, he shoves his hand below the waistband and wraps his fingers around his pulsing length.

“Baby,” he grunts, his eyes sliding shut, his head falling back. Even the gentle pressure has his head spinning.

He shakes his head. He can’t fucking wait anymore. He just can’t, it’s too much. He was only supposed to wait until today anyway. And she wasn’t supposed to send him… that.

Maybe this is her permission, he thinks desperately, thumbing at the waistband of his boxers and wriggling until they drop to his feet. He kicks out of them, reaching for the neck of his t-shirt, ripping it away from his overheating body.

Maybe this is Penny telling him to go ahead and get off, to start without her. He’s been good the whole week, did exactly what she asked. He even dealt with the consequences of her stunt with the hickeys on his neck at the party, telling a very stern Andrew that they’re just friends, really, and they were drunk and fucking around. It won’t happen again.

So he’s been her good boy. And she wouldn’t have sent him something so, so painfully hot if not to help him fuck his fist while imagining it’s her.

The logic is frayed and hazy but he’s too far gone to care. Once naked, he scrambles for his phone, staring at the picture, at the way her tongue curls around the tip of the toy, at how soaking wet it is right down to the handle. She took it so nice and deep just like she likes.

Shawn’s on his stomach with the phone on the pillow below him, rutting against the mattress. He releases a grunt with each thrust, raspy and a little manic. He’s let go of any of the self-awareness that would have him cringing at his own desperation, at his willingness to fuck a pillow just to satisfy himself on this basic level.

Shawn’s head lowers. He spreads his knees and rolls his hips harder, muttering her name under his breath. He closes his eyes. He feels her warm limbs wrapped around him, her plush lips on his ear while she whispers filthy things to drive him insane, her fingers tugging at his hair to make his hips snap a little faster.

But she’s not there. She’s not here.

Shawn’s hips slow. His shoulders start to soften. He sags toward the bed with a whimper.

She’s not here.

It’s not worth it. He knows it’s not what she wants. She wants him keyed up and ready to explode when he has the pleasure of being physically with her. He was kidding himself, making excuses to let himself give in.

His knees slide until he’s flat on the mattress with his aching cock trapped against the duvet. He closes his eyes and groans.

After a minute or two, he rolls over, tucks himself under the covers and forces himself into a fitful sleep with Ree Drummond on low volume teaching him how to make a chicken enchilada casserole.

+

Penny’s in the tub, luxuriating in her Laura Mercier Crème Brûlée Honey Bath after a good long run through the canyons with Pamela, who naps dutifully on the shaggy bath mat beside her. They both deserve a rest. It’s been hot as hades in Los Angeles the last few days, nearly unbearable. Penny wouldn’t have put Pammy through it, but the poor thing was desperate for the exercise. Penny ran them both ragged in the hopes that it would satisfy her pooch enough to keep them out of the sun for a while.

Penny eyes her snoring three-year-old German shepherd with a smug grin. She thinks it worked.

She eases back against the towel she rolled up as a neck pillow and closes her eyes, lifting her toes to peek out from between the bubbles. Her work phone buzzes persistently on the tile behind her.

S.M.

Her nose twitches over a little smile.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi,” he sighs, “I’m getting on a plane. If they want to cancel or delay this flight, they’re going to have to deal with me tying myself to the wing. I’m coming home. I want to see you. Please.”

He sounds like he’d start crying if she said no. She snuggles down further in her bubbles and narrows her eyes at her painted toes.

The truth is, she can’t tonight. She was vainly hoping whatever storm is clogging up flight patterns over the midwest would last a little longer. She has a date with Julia, who has been in Bahrain. Her suitcase is already packed with all Julia’s favorite things.

She bites her lip and lets her head fall back.

“Ok. Yeah. I-- I can make that work. I’ll call the agency and get us a room. I’ll text you the place.”

Shawn’s sigh of relief is enough to convince Penny she made the right move. She twists her fingers into her clipped up hair.

“Thank you. Ok. Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

+

Julia was gracious about it, of course. Penny has only cancelled on her once before and it was because she was so sick she couldn’t get out of bed. Penny made it up to her by sitting on her face for almost an hour the next week.

She’s power walking down the hall, cast in an orange glow, trying not to think about how eager her sore and exhausted body seems to be to see him. She manages to slow herself down, shaking her head a little, feeling her flossy curls bounce around her breasts. Her fingers flex and wiggle by her sides. She turns a corner and sees Gus standing sentry by the door, just as expected.

His eyebrows lift at her expression. She ignores it and pats his arm as a silent thank you. He opens the door.

Shawn’s standing just inside. He must have heard the snapping of her stilettos against the tile. His hands are clasped in front of him and his entire body is tight and tense. His eyes flash as he smiles at her.

“There’s my good boy,” she sighs, feeling her own body loosen in relief as she walks up to him, cupping his flushed face in her hands.

His eyes slide shut. He preens, basking in her attention.

“Oh god, I missed you,” he admits on a choked exhale. He shakes his head a little, laughing at himself.

Penny slips her hungry hands down to his shoulders, squeezing in admiration, stepping closer so he can cup her hips.

“I can feel it, baby. You’ve been so fucking good for me. Even after the trick I pulled on you yesterday.”

She bites her lip, a semi-apologetic gesture. He can see the flash of mischief in her eyes that tells him she's not really sorry. He wouldn’t expect her to be.

He ducks his head and laughs. “I almost…” He trails off and shrugs, “I knew I wanted to wait for you. It’s not the same without you.”

Penny runs her tongue along her top row of teeth. Her glossy lips glisten in the low light of the room. Shawn hums, staring at them.

“Damn fucking right it’s not.”

Her voice is as sharp as her slimly tailored black suit. She steps back and flicks her fingers at the button of her blazer, flinging it off into the corner. She’s bare beneath it, bronzed skin simmering warm, her light brown nipples hard at attention. Shawn swallows, watching her reach for the hook and zipper at her waist, shimmying out of her painted on ankle-length trousers, kicking at her patent leather heels.

She’s in quite a hurry to get naked for him. Maybe she’s needed this as badly as he has. Maybe the romp with the purple bunny toy wasn’t enough for her. Maybe she needs him, too.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the distracting idea once she’s down to a simple black satin g-string that’s getting kicked into a corner. Shawn drops to his knees automatically, a reflex he’s gained over the last month as he’s learned her and what she likes, what she expects from him.

“I bet you wanted it so bad last night. I bet seeing me get that toy so wet made you crazy,” she growls, her toes curling against the floor. He watches them in amazement until her fingers under his chin lift his gaze back back to hers.

“I bet you couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking wet I get on your cock, how tight and perfect I feel. How no one has ever made you feel like I do, how it gets better every fucking time.”

He’s blinking at her in amazement, his cock straining against his jeans, his hands planted firmly on his quads. He nods eagerly like she’s reading out the thoughts in his head word perfect.

“Yes,” he hisses, “Fuck, Penny, you know… god, you know how good you are. You know I’ve never come for anyone like I come for you. You know-- I’m--” He whimpers, lets his head tip back like he’s giving into it, “I’m yours.”

That sets something off in her like a bottle rocket. With a little fist clenched around the dark green collar of his shirt, she drags him to his feet and starts stripping him, not at all gently. He starts to try to help but his fumbling fingers just get in her way. She knocks them aside with a dangerous little giggle, getting his shirt unbuttoned in record time. He kicks off his boots, keeping his hands on her while she still lets him, skimming along her back and ass and upper thighs like he doesn’t know what he wants most. Finally, she gets him naked with her, his bare body pressed so insistently against hers there isn’t a breath of air between them.

With her hands on his ass, the one she had purpling for her this time last week, she maneuvers him to the couch and pushes him to sit, dropping into his lap to straddle him before he can even settle in.

“Shit, Jesus,” Shawn croaks as her wetness presses right up against his twitching cock. She shows him no mercy. He doesn’t want any, not if it means space from her, from this.

He looks straight at her. Their hungry eyes are level as she grinds into his hips. He scoops his hands up her lower back and under her hair to cup her shoulder blades. He grips her harder, gathers her closer. Her eyes go molten under heavy lids.

“Bet… you wanna kiss me,” she breathes. Shawn’s brow wrinkles as he moans. In their heated rush he realizes he hasn’t even tasted her mouth yet. His eyes lock with hers. He nods, tiny short little spasms of his head, insistent.

“Please.”

Penny smiles, lifts her fingers to his cheeks and closes her eyes, leaning in to him. Just before their lips touch, she pulls away. She watches his eyelids flutter open. She grins and leans back in, only to pull back again. He wets his lips and huffs impatiently. She knows he knows better than to take without her giving, even if he could do it easily.

“Say it again,” she breathes, her warmth and closeness dunking him into a fog. The crease between his brows softens.

“Please, Penny.”

She melts into his kiss -- it’s warm and soft, eager without being grabby. His fingers massage her shoulders as she tilts her head, exploring further, pushing him into the back of the couch.

Kissing him is unlike anything else she gets to do with Shawn. Nothing else gets him quite so soft and gentle and malleable in her talented hands. There’s something about her lips that quiets him so completely, silences what even she hears as the buzzing in his mind.

When she pulls back from him, their wet lips separating audibly, her fingers pinched against his cheeks, she licks her lips.

“My good, sweet boy,” she muses, running her lips that taste of him against the cut of his cheekbones, the edge of his nose, his forehead and eyebrows. He waits, breathing heavily, ever patient.

“I want to give you something special,” she continues, easing back a little to look at his face when she tells him.

His flooded eyes are wide and waiting. His lips twitch. She leans back in, tilting his head back, closing her eyes as she speaks into his mouth.

“Want you to come inside me.”

Shawn’s eyes snap open. His whimper is loud and forces all his muscles tight and coiled in shock. She licks inside his mouth, scraping against the ridge of his front teeth as she pulls back to look at him. She��s satisfied by the awestruck look on his pretty face.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

She nods. “Wanna feel you come so hot and hard in my pussy, Shawn. Can you do that for me?”

His arms tighten around her like he’s worried she’ll climb off him. He nods, big, heavy bobs of his head that leave no room for misinterpretation.

Penny hums and starts rocking her hips, watching his eyes glaze. His hands remain where they are, plastered to her back, slipping a bit as she beads sweat from the testosterone-fueled heat he’s bleeding all over her.

“Gonna hold on long enough to feel me come on your bare cock?”

He sounds like a leaky balloon and is sure the sound doesn’t inspire confidence, but he’s nodding again. He knows she knows he’ll last as long as he possibly can for her.

She seems satisfied enough by his answer to push up on her knees and secure a hand around him, guiding his leaking tip to her entrance. Her other hand plants on his chest. She lowers herself slowly, sinking until she’s full of him.

Shawn’s forehead falls to her shoulder. The sensation is… intense. With a condom, the barrier is palpable. She’s warm and wet, but in a veiled, untouchable way. With no physical protection, he can feel her in a way he hasn’t yet. He sobs an inhale, his nose rubbing her collarbone as her fingers smooth the curls on the back of his neck to soothe him.

“Just breathe,” she advises, her own voice sounding a little cracked and fucked out, because he feels different to her, too.

Penny sighs and swivels her hips in neat, circular strokes, easing into the way he stretches her from the inside out. She’s taken him in to the hilt, nice and deep, grinding even deeper on her downstroke in a way that has her head tipping back.

“Yes,” she whispers. 

This is what she was chasing with the purple bunny. Even as her body squelched around the vibrating toy, even as she came with a wet gasp, it didn’t feel like this. Nothing feels like this, having a partner who needs her so badly his hips rock up to meet hers when hers tip away, so badly he loses awareness of the sweet noises he makes against her skin, so badly he’s gone, lost inside of her.

Penny strokes harder, working a wider rhythm that has her sliding up and down, bouncing on his cock. Her wet skin slaps against his thighs. She can feel the warmth in her belly spreading, as well as the ache in her sore muscles. Her muscular thighs tremble already as she lifts and lowers. He lifts his head, noticing the way her breath struggles in her chest that he’s all pressed up against.

He cups her close, ducking his head to suck on her nipples while he looks up at her. “You ok?” he pants.

Her eyes slip shut. She nods. “‘M fine. My… legs are sore.”

Shawn’s swollen lips release her pebbled bud. He knocks the tip of his nose against it, ass clenching when her throat rumbles out a beautiful, grumbling moan. 

“From what?”

His eyes are big and curious, fluttering with each stroke. She laughs at the casual nature of his question and laces her fingers into his dewy hair.

“Hiking with Pammy earlier. Overdid it-- unf, just a little,” she pants.

Shawn turns his cheek to bury his face in her breasts for a moment, hissing at the increasingly easy slip of her tightening wet walls. He peers back up at her.

“Let me do the work then. I can do it, Pen. Let me make you come.”

Penny’s thrusts slow. Shawn swallows, waiting until she nods her assent. He bites into his lip and looks around him for a moment before scooping under her thighs to lock her legs around his waist. He stands, still inside her.

Penny squeaks in surprise and just as soon as they’re up, they’re down again with Shawn laying her onto her back on the cozy black carpet.

Shawn positions her carefully, spreading her legs enough for him to settle between. He plants his hands up beside her head, momentarily fascinated by the way her dark chocolate curls seem to blend into the rug. His fingers flex. His hips roll of their own volition. Penny’s body takes the easy swing and gives it back, just as lazy.

“Hold on to me,” Shawn hums, leaning in again, letting his hips dictate the rhythm. Penny smiles at his giving her a command for once and sinks her hands into the skin of his lower back, giving her enough leverage to guide him in and out at whatever pace pleases her.

She settles and lifts an eyebrow, waiting impatiently. Shawn wheezes a laugh and restarts their quick, shallow rhythm, his laugh slipping into a rough moan.

“I thought I was the desperate one?” he croaks, hoping to joke with her to distract himself long enough to hang on until she gets to where he is.

Penny’s lips curl. “I went a week without you just like you went a week without me.”

The hair stands straight on Shawn’s neck like he’s been electrocuted. “But-- you could touch your pussy… when you needed.”

Shawn shifts his hips until the head of his cock knocks straight into her g-spot with every thrust. Penny’s cry of pleasure has him bubbling so close to orgasm he has to close his eyes to keep from looking at her.

“Not the same,” Penny gasps.

Shawn’s eyes fly open. His hips stagger through one, two, three more strokes before he’s spurting hard into her welcoming cunt. The rough swings have her bursting beneath him, knees squeezing against his hips as he rides them through their peaks. Her nails dig into his back put stay put, just punctuating the sensation.

Penny thanks her lucky stars when Shawn’s head drops into her neck as his hips slow. She hasn’t let anyone come inside her in so long she forgot what it feels like, how… close it is. How intimate. She squeezes her eyes shut and breathes, trying to rid herself of the stunned look on her face.

By the time he lifts his head to look at her, her mask is intact. She smirks at him, gives him an extra squeeze around the hips with her knees.

“Worth the wait?”

Shawn groans, chuckling, “Every fucking second.”

-----------

Special thanks to @sippingchai for the extra dose of inspo this week 💜😈

Link to buy me a Ko-fi is in my bio if you feel so inclined!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi

[whatarubberchicken]

Lukadrinette - Part 10

Because I lost all of my bookmarks when I moved to a new computer, and because Tumblr is such a pure, good, well-functioning website, I cannot find most of my posts for this story, so I have finally decided to post it to Ao3. I will leave the original posts as they are here on Tumblr, and if you can find them, great. If not, it’s now listed under:

My Sweet Blueberry Sandwich

(ff.net link to come)

(If anyone has any suggestions for tags, I am more than willing to hear them! I still suck at tagging.)

I will post a chapter a day until we catch back up, but no promises for after that. Hopefully, NoNaWriMo will be good to me this year.

That being said, enjoy! (Nothing too explicit this time but I’m still gonna put it under the cut, and yes, I did write this chapter before “Desperada” came out, so I was laughing REALLY hard during that episode.)

........

Adrien was not pouting, thank you very much.

After all, how could he be? Here he was, with the girl of his dreams and the boy who’d made him question his sexuality, eating thick, hot soup after a day filled with fantastic sex. He was certainly not panicking internally on all the many ways he could’ve screwed this up already, or mentally listing all the things he could buy them to make them let him stay for just one more day, or—

“How long are we gonna play the silent game?” Marinette asked. Adrien’s eyes flew to her face to see her smirking at him as she tore her bread in two.

“I—uh… was too busy eating!” he said quickly, digging into his soup for another bite. “It’s really good!”

The look she and Luka gave him told him he still wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I… um… what do you wanna talk about?” he asked timidly.

“Hmm….” Marinette tapped her lips with her spoon as she pondered. Her eyes lit up. “Celebrity fantasy hook-ups! Who would you want if you could have anyone?”

Are you kidding? I’m kinda living it right now, Adrien thought silently. Out loud he answered, “You guys know I’m a celebrity, right? And that I’ve actually had celebrity hook-ups?”

“Yeah, but not fantasy celebrity hook-ups,” Marinette teased.

“This isn’t fair,” Luka complained. “You already know mine!”

“Huh?” Adrien raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. Luka grinned and pointed at him, then Marinette, and then raised his fingers to his eyes in a blatant imitation of a mask.

“Oh,” Adrien said, ducking his head so they couldn’t see him blush. He had a feeling he’d be donning some sort of Chat Noir costume in the very near future, and honestly, he wasn’t against it. It would certainly be nice to Mari in her spots again….

“Oh, come on,” Marinette pouted. “You’re telling me neither of you have even entertained thoughts of a Jagged Stone/Clara Nightingale threesome?!”

Both boys thought about it and shook their heads.

“Clara’s too perky,” Adrien said, “don’t get me wrong, her flexibility is… amazing. But no, she’d probably try to sing to me while—yeah.” He shook his head again.

Luka snickered. “Note to self, don’t try to sing to Adrien while fucking him,” he said, pretending to write on his hand. Adrien made a face and chucked a piece of bread at him, pleased when his lover caught it in his mouth.

“As for me,” Luka said, swallowing, “Jagged Stone is no-go territory, babe.”

“You were happy enough to meet him,” Marinette said, scowling.

“True. True,” Luka nodded. “He’s been my idol for as long as I can remember. But…,” he winced a bit. “When I was little, my mom… hinted heavily that he was my dad.”

“WHAT?!” Marinette and Adrien both stood up, shocked. Luka held up his hands.

“She wouldn’t confirm anything. And she left that part of my damn birth certificate blank, so there’s no way to know unless I ask him for a paternity test—which I am NOT gonna do,” he added quickly, shaking a finger in Marinette’s direction. She puffed her cheeks at him angrily.

“But—”

“Babe, I am all grown up,” he said, grabbing her hand and rubbing it soothingly. “If I ask him now, the press will catch it, and they’ll make it look like the band is trying to land some sort of favoritism angle. I’m not doing that to them. Especially not now.”

“But, Luka—” Marinette tried again.

“Besides, the test could always come up negative,” he pointed out. “Just let me dream.”

She still looked upset.

“Ugh, now I’m not gonna be able to fantasize about him either,” she pouted, sinking back into her chair.

“Are we doing something wrong, to make you want to fantasize about other guys?!” Adrien exclaimed, also sitting.

“He’s too old for you anyway,” Luka added, winking. “Unless you’ve got a daddy kink you haven’t told me about.”

“Ewww, gross!”

“NOPE!” Adrien said, loudly enough to make them both pause. He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, guys, but that’s a hard no from me. If you guys are gonna be doing any ‘daddy’ roleplays, I can’t be a part of it. Just—no.” He shuddered.

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, I can see why,” she said. Adrien’s hopes rose a little. If anyone could understand just how deep this ‘squick’ went, it would be her.

“Don’t worry, Adrien,” Luka said, nodding at him. “It’s a hard no from me too.”

“No daddy kinks all around,” Marinette agreed, raising her glass high. They sealed the agreement with a toast, clinking their glasses together.

“So, Adrien,” Luka said, looking thoughtful. Adrien’s pulse spiked. “If you wanna—”

“What’s that sound?” Marinette interrupted, looking around.

Adrien and Luka also fell silent, listening. Adrien felt himself flush when he realized his phone was buzzing. He dug it out of the pants Marinette had forced him and Luka to put on after they’d tried to jump her while she was cutting vegetables. (He was personally glad Ladybug’s Lucky Charms had all been innocuous objects. Mari with a weapon was scary!)

The caller ID had him groaning, though.

Erica.

How dare she call him after ghosting him last night and leaving with another man?

“Your girlfriend?” Luka guessed.

“Ex,” Adrien corrected, growling. “I don’t deal with cheaters and she knew it. We were over the moment she left the club without me.” He moved to put the phone back in his pocket.

“Answer it,” Marinette said, exchanging a wicked smirk with Luka. “Put it on speaker.” Adrien blinked at her, then obeyed, feeling a little thrill go through him when they both abandoned their seats to come stand behind him.

“Adrien?!” Erica’s shrill voice filled the air. “Oh my God, why haven’t you been answering your phone?!”

“Because I didn’t notice you called,” he said. It was a lie, he’d seen it when he’d checked his messages earlier, he just hadn’t cared enough to call her back. He gasped. Marinette had just run her fingers through his hair, with extra emphasis on the nails against his scalp.

Oh sweet Jesu! If it had been a hard no from him with those other kinks, THIS was an exultant YES!

“Sorry, sweetie!” Marinette called, to his delight. “We’ve kinda been keeping him busy!” She scratched him again, and Adrien couldn’t hold back his moan.

“Who the hell—”

“Very busy,” Luka added on his other side, deepening his voice a bit and giving Adrien’s earlobe a quick nip. Both those actions sent a jolt right down the pit of his stomach. “We’d like to thank you for letting go of someone with such stamina! We’ve had quite the day!”

On the other end, Erica had gone conspicuously silent. Adrien pulled the phone closer to himself.

“So, uh, yeah,” he said softly, “as I’m sure you already know, we’re through.”

“How dare you!” she shrieked. “After everything I’ve done for you!” Marinette snorted in derision and started massaging his shoulders.

“What?” Adrien laughed, leaning back in his chair to relax against her minstrations. Oh, this was priceless. “What exactly have you ‘done for me?’”

“I—I—”

“Besides leaving me on my own so you can fuck another dude?”

“That’s—We’re just cousins!”

“Oh, kissing cousins?” Adrien laughed again. It would’ve actually been funny if he hadn’t heard that same excuse a thousand times over from his other casual encounters. “You had your tongue pretty far down his throat before you left, babe. Try another one.” Luka chuckled in approval and swirled his tongue around Adrien’s ear.

“Like this?” He whispered. Adrien wanted to whimper.

“Fine,” Erica seethed on the other end. “Fine! Be that way! Do your new partners realize how codependent you are?! How much you cling to whoever you’re fucking?!”

Luka and Marinette’s attentions stopped and Adrien felt his breath leave him. Oh God. Oh no. Please don’t let them…. He looked up at Marinette and Luka. They both still looked amused.

“That’s okay,” Marinette called towards the phone. “I like to cuddle!” To emphasize this, she wrapped her arms around Adrien’s shoulders. Relief and warmth flooded him. If he hadn’t already been sitting, he would’ve fallen over.

“And there’s two of us, so we should be able to handle it,” Luka added, kissing the top of Adrien’s head. He wanted to cry. It felt so good. He was safe, and happy, and loved—

“Oh, you are just sick!” his ex spat. “Boys and girls? It’s—it’s unnatural!”

Adrien stared at his phone in disbelief. She’d known he was bisexual from the start! She’d never seemed to have a problem with it before!!

“Somebody sounds jealous,” Marinette drawled.

“You’re a freak!”

“And you’re,” Luka leaned over to tap on Adrien’s phone, “cancelled.” He hung up on her and grinned at Adrien. “And that, my friend, is how you take out the trash.”

“Thanks, you guys,” Adrien said, letting out a shaky breath. “Usually my break-ups require a few more shouting matches and bottles of wine.”

And more of me sobbing into my pillow, he added silently.

“Aww,” Marinette cooed, holding him tighter, “poor Adrikins.”

Adrien gave a weak laugh. “Please don’t ever call me that again.”

“Only for Chloé, huh?” she pouted, pulling away.

He shot her a wry grin. “It just sounds weird when you say it.” To his surprise, her face softened.

“All right then, kitty,” she said softly. Adrien felt his heart leap, especially when she let him go and stroked his hair again. Yes! Yes, that one will do quite nicely, thank you! “Let’s get supper cleaned up and then we can go cuddle, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered, leaning into her touch desperately.

“Why don’t you two go ahead,” Luka suggested. “I’ll clean up.” He started clearing the table.

“You sure?” Marinette asked, giving him a quick peck as he passed by.

“Yeah. You can,” he gave Adrien a suggestive smirk, “get him ready.” Adrien gulped, wondering just what they might have planned for him—

“No sex tonight,” Marinette suddenly declared.

“What?! Aww…” He and Luka made disappointed sounds.

“Nope,” she said firmly. “If we’re going to try for a real relationship here, we have to have more than just the physical. And since you two have already jumped the gun today—”

“I already apologized for that!” Luka protested.

“—then we need to have a session where everyone feels loved and accepted,” she finished, glaring at her blue-haired boyfriend. “So,” she turned on Adrien, “tonight we are going to cuddle your ‘codependent’ ass until you get some much-needed sleep.”

Adrien opened his mouth to retort, but then he closed it again. Who could argue with something like that?

[violetwolfraven]

Legacy Heroes

After Nora and Joe showing up, Barry hadn’t really thought anything stranger could happen.

Long story short... he was wrong.

“Let me out,” the girl said sweetly, not seeming at all bothered by the fact that she was behind the glass of a meta containment cell.

The girl in question had been dubbed ‘Treble,’ despite her insistence that she already had a codename, but couldn’t tell it because she was from the future and it could jeopardize her past.

Treble had brown hair, dyed with streaks of purple, tan skin, and green eyes. She was maybe Nora and Joe’s age, and her nonchalance reminded Barry of someone. He just couldn’t remember who.

“She’s radiating tachyons,” Cisco mumbled to him, “Definitely a time traveler; must have followed your kids here.”

“Duh,” Treble said with a roll of her eyes, “Of course I did.”

Barry and Cisco both tried to hide their shock at the fact that she had even heard them. Then she pointed to her ears.

“Sensitive to sounds? That’s literally my whole thing.”

Cisco snorted, “Yeah, and leveling buildings with those sound frequencies.”

That was an exaggeration. The girl had whistled at a hotdog cart and sent it flying against a building, but she hadn’t caused lasting damage to anything except the hotdog cart.

She rolled her eyes, “That was just to get your attention. Truthfully, I was hoping for the Twin Tornado Terrors, but—“

“You mean the Tornado Twins,” Barry clarified, “My kids, who you conveniently borrowed the time sphere to follow here, but definitely aren’t an enemy to?”

Treble huffed in frustration, “You think I’m an enemy? You’re the one who sent me here! Well, technically it was your wife, but she sent me to bring those two home so they don’t mess up the past anymore than they already have!”

“You keep talking about the twins,” Cisco noted, “But you don’t actually say their names.”

“Fine,” Treble said, “Joe and Nora West-Allen. You’re Cisco Ramon and the Flash is Barry Allen, married to Iris West-Allen. Are you going to let me out, now?”

“You could have gotten that information as an enemy,” Barry said untrustingly, “I’m going to need more information than that. How’d you meet them?”

She sighed, “Fine, if it’s so important to you. Not too long from now, Team Flash and Team Arrow kind of merge into one with a bunch of other heroes to form the... the Super Friends. Fast forward a few decades, everybody’s got kids and all those kids grew up together. We’re basically cousins. Of course, some heroes never joined up or split over time, so some dating between the younger generation does happen, but...” Treble’s face reddened, “I’m getting off topic here. The point is, we call ourselves Legacies. Ask Joe or Nora and they’ll confirm it.”

Now that Barry was paying attention, the story made sense. Treble had a nervous tick belonging to Ray and a faraway look in her eye that reminded Barry of Caitlyn when she was concentrating. Her mostly calm mask was Sara’s and her relaxed-but-powerful stance was a mix of Rene’s and Kara’s. The more he looked, the more he saw his friends’ body language. Now that he thought about it, it was a thing Nora and Joe shared with her; as if they’d been raised together by a large group of heroes who’d have to pass the young kids off frequently leaving one person babysitting so the others could go on missions...

Joe and Nora were on a trip with Iris to meet Wally. Barry was hearing a vague hunch, and that wasn’t enough reason to call them back.

He shrugged, “Look, just tell us who your parents are and maybe we’ll believe your story.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my parents aren’t together yet at this point in the timeline, and I kind of like existing.”

Cisco held up a glass from when they’d given her water earlier, “Well, we’ll know who you are soon enough.”

Treble’s face darkened, “You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my parents have a very specific arc of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers and they’re only in the friends stage right now!”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Cisco said, “Finding out about you will probably just bring them closer together.”

Barry and Cisco were about to walk away when the brunette responded.

“Well, let me narrow down the search a little.”

The containment cell was set up to combat the frequencies they’d heard from Treble before.

It was not set up to contain a full sonic scream.

That definitely narrowed the search on Treble’s parents. It narrowed it to two known metas.

“I warned you,” Treble said simply as she took the glass from Cisco, “I’ll just go find those two speedy idiots now if you don’t mind.”

With one sharp note, she shattered the glass and ground the pieces into the floor with her shoe.

...

“So, Siren or Canary?” Cisco asked as they ran the DNA test, “My bet is on Laurel with that attitude, but she does kind of have Dinah’s coloring.”

Caitlyn shrugged, “Well, could be either depending on who they end up with. It’s a toss of the dice; this girl looks neutral enough that she could be either of theirs, or neither.”

Treble had cut herself when she broke the glass. She’d probably thought the blood sample was too small and too ground into the floor, but Barry had scraped some off for Caitlyn to run a paternity test on.

The test beeped and Caitlyn looked confused at the results.

“Wait, no. That can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?” Barry asked.

“The test didn’t just come back with a match from the database of known metas and heroes,” Caitlyn said, strangely serious, “It came back with two.”

“Well, which was it, and who do they end up with?” Cisco asked impatiently.

Caitlyn shook her head, “No. You don’t understand. This girl isn’t just a match for Laurel Lance or Dinah Drake. Genetically... she’s a match for both of them.”

...

Dinah didn’t believe it, and she was staring at a computer screen that clearly linked her DNA and Laurel’s to the meta from the future Barry had captured.

Barry had gone to get a Laurel from Earth 2. Dinah wasn’t sure she wanted to face her.

“How is this possible?” She asked finally, “Two women can’t have a child.”

“Barry called Kara,” Caitlyn said, “It’s not possible for humans yet. But her people have a kind of tech that can create a baby from a sample of DNA as small as a strand of hair. It doesn’t matter what the parents’ genders are.”

“And this girl definitely acted like Laurel,” Cisco pointed out, “But her cry sounded like yours.”

Dinah stared at the security image of the kid. She had Dinah’s hair and Laurel’s facial structure. Dinah had to admit... she did look like the perfect combination of Siren and Canary.

“How sure are you?”

“Very sure,” Caitlyn said, “The match for both of you was 99.98%. If she somehow faked her DNA, she did a very good job.”

“What’s her name?”

Cisco shrugged, “We have no idea. She wouldn’t tell us anything. We called her Treble before, but... now I’m thinking we need to come up with something more avian for her.”

“What’s this I hear about a kid from the future who claims to be my—“ Laurel stopped as she rounded the corner, “Dinah.”

“I was going to wait to tell her,” Barry said, somewhat defensively as he came around the corner, “But she was very persuasive.”

“So apparently we have a kid,” Dinah said simply.”

“Naturally,” Laurel responded, “Barry said it was alien tech.”

“Yup.”

“You both are being surprisingly cool about this,” Cisco said.

“I come from a parallel universe where you were one of the most feared men on the planet,” Laurel pointed out, “Babies made with by two women via alien technology is not that far fetched.”

“First of all, ouch,” Cisco said, “Second, we wanted to wait until we had both of you here to try to find her, so any ideas how to do that?”

Laurel shrugged, “If she’s my daughter, you might be able to track her cry. Felicity did that once.”

“But then we won’t be able to find her until she uses it,” Caitlyn objected.

Dinah shrugged, “Well, I kind of doubt she’s going to hurt anyone, being our kid.”

“You never know,” Laurel muttered, “I wasn’t exactly an angel child when I was young.”

...

The brown-haired girl guessed she wasn’t that surprised when two birds landed behind her.

What would become the Justice League was too good not to.

“Hey, little girl,” the Siren said, “We heard you’ve been causing a lot of trouble.”

The girl didn’t respond.

“You got a name?” the Canary asked.

“Violet Canary.”

“How about your real name?” the Siren pressed.

Violet Canary finally turned around to face her mothers, “Quinn Olivia Drake.”

“You’re here to get Nora and Joe,” Dinah said.

“That’s right.”

“So,” Laurel said after a few seconds of awkward silence, “Which of us is ‘Mom’ and which is ‘Mama?’”

Quinn shrugged, “I don’t know. You both died before I was born.”

“What?” Dinah asked.

“What happened to not being able to tell anything about the future?” Laurel added.

“It’s different,” Quinn muttered, “I never knew you, but I spent my whole life missing you. I understand why Nora and Joe did what they did. I wish I could do it, too. But I know that I can’t make you survive the Crisis without possibly making something worse happen in response.”

“What could be the harm in spending a few days here?” Laurel asked, surprising both Quinn and Dinah, “If you never got to know us in your time?”

Quinn smiled sadly, “More than you think.”

“Whether you knew us or not, you’re our daughter,” Dinah said, “We want to know you.”

“I can teach you some tricks with your cry,” Laurel volunteered.

Quinn knew it would lead to more harm than good. She knew she could disrupt the very timeline she had come here to preserve.

But the chance to spend time with the mothers she never knew? To possibly prevent them from ever dying in the first place?

“Just for a couple days.”

[hunterclaringtonjoy]

Title: If the apple falls from the tree does it make a sound?

Who: Hunter Clarington & @franniexfabs (with guest appearance by Oliver Fabray)

Where: Frannie’s apartment. 

When: Thursday, July 23rd

What: Hunter and Frannie receive the results of the paternity test and find out if Hunter is Ollie’s Father. Neither of them know which answer they want or how to react...

Hunter: Hunter was feeling antsy and frustrated all day, he knew the results were meant to come back by the end of the day and it was all he could think about. Honestly it was the only thing he'd thought about since Frannie had told him. He'd gone back and forth wondering if she's done it on purpose- had she hidden the possibility from him because she's wanted the other guy to be the father? Or had she been sure Ollie was the other guys and it was a genuine mistake? Frannie had called him, letting him know the results had come in and Hunter ran across campus from his last class where he'd almost punched the guy beside him for giving dumb answers when the professor had asked for ideas. Arriving at Frannie's apartment he knocked, trying to smooth out his shirt and hair to not look as terrified as he was.

Frannie: Frannie had been trying to put the results coming in from the test today to the back of her mind since she was trying to focus on her paper that was due on Sunday night. But that all fell away when her phone's notification showed that she had a new email from the clinic. Part of her had wanted to open it and read what it said, but she couldn't do that to Hunter. She called him and waited, shaking her leg on the couch as Ollie played and babbled on the carpet while an episode of The Octonauts played on the television. Hearing the knock, she went to the door and opened it. "Hey... thanks for coming over."

Hunter: Hunter tapped his fingers against his cell phone in his front pocket in a nervous tic, he tried to give Frannie his usual charming smile but honestly he just felt sick. "Yeah, hi." He nodded, looking over to where Ollie was on the carpet, keeping himself occupied and completely unaware of the tension. "So how was your day?" He asked awkwardly.

Frannie: Frannie shut the door as he came into the apartment and let out a breath, watching him glance over at Ollie. "Uh... good. Nothing really exciting..." She replied just as awkwardly. "Do you want anything to drink?" She offered, internally cursing herself for making things so weird. Of course this situation was all she had been thinking about since Hunter even crossed her mind as an option and now it was all coming down to her uncomfortably offering him something to drink and them opening a stupid email together? She hated this.

Hunter: The two of them had never been awkward, they'd never had any weird phase like that. They'd had emotional turmoil when Frannie had started dating Nate but other than that their encounters were mainly fun and this week was throwing Hunter off completely. "No no, let's just-" He ran a hand through his already messed up hair... "Did you open the email already?" he asked tentatively, his voice sounding smaller than it ever had.

Frannie: Frannie nodded, moving from her uncomfortable hovering stance to the couch as she took her phone out of her back pocket. She started tapping the screen to pull up the email before she stopped and glanced at Hunter. “Wh- Uh, no. No, I didn’t. As soon as I saw the notification, I called you.” She said, hitting the link in the email to sign into her account. Her hands were shaking slightly as she tried to type everything in.

Hunter: Hunter looked awkwardly between Frannie now on the couch and Ollie still sitting playing. "I- okay- yeah- good." He mumbled, not meeting Frannie's eyes but following her over to sit down beside her. "You got this?" He asked gently, reaching out to take one of her hands before pulling back at the last second, feeling too worked up and uncomfortable to slide into his flirty nature. Usually touching Frannie felt naturally playful but right now it was too overwhelming.

Frannie: Frannie’s eyes stayed on her phone screen, watching the page load after she signed in. She wasn’t certain, but it felt like her heart was pounding so hard that everyone in the apartment building would be able to hear it. She nodded again, still staring at her phone. A button that said See Results came up and her thumb hovered over it, still shaking. She glanced over at Ollie, who was stacking some blocks together and babbling, before swallowing hard and drawing a breath in as she hit the button. The page loading seemed like it was taking forever as she tried to move her phone to hold it between herself and Hunter so he could see whatever words pop up on the screen, but her hand still shook. “Sorry...” she mumbled.

Hunter: "Fuck sake!" Hunter groaned quietly as the page seemed to take forever to load once Frannie had entered her information. He couldn't take the suspense, he felt like he was going to be sick. He ran his hand through his hair again, making it look like he hadn't washed it in a month and tugged at the collar of his shirt, feeling like his throat was tightening with every breath he took. Finally, the page came into focus while Frannie's hand shook and there it was in clear sans script font the word Match between the names Oliver Fabray and Hunter Clarington. Hunter's jaw dropped. He was completely speechless as he stared at the words as if they might get up and rearrange themselves...

Frannie: A lump formed in her throat as the page finally loaded and she read the words. There was a slight wave of relief that washed over her as she let out a breath slowly. At least she didn’t have to go through this process again with someone else, right? She glanced over at Hunter, still looking at the screen. Frannie chewed on the inside of her cheek, not really knowing what to say or do now.

Hunter: Part of Hunter wanted to get up and run, run and run and never come back, but another part of him was screaming to reach out for Ollie, to pick him up and hold him tight. He'd never been the best at expressing his emotions or controlling them, especially after his mother died and he was left to be raised by a man who didn't care. Who sent him off to military school where the cadets were taught to have hearts of stone and that feuds were solved with armies. But 6 months of therapy and anger management had taught him enough that he managed not to have an outburst. Hunter breathed heavily, trying to keep calm. "He's my- he's my son." He muttered, hands shaking, really trying to get up and get outside for air but he felt glued to the couch.

Frannie: Frannie finally put her phone down on the coffee table and stood up suddenly. Then she sat down again, furrowed her brow, and stood up once more as she shook her head. She went over to the windows and opened them, standing there and looking out the window. Her moment of relief was over and now her mind was reeling with all that needed to be done and all the conversations that had to be had and how terrible she was at trying to convey how she felt. She nodded, glancing back at Hunter and then at Ollie. “Y-Yep, yeah, He’s- That’s what match meant. Mhmmm.” She looked back out the window until she heard “Mama!” and glanced down to see Ollie standing next to her, reaching out for her to pick him up. She bent down and placed him on her hip. “Hey Ollie...” She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. Ollie pointed at Hunter, frowning a little. Frannie moved back to the couch with Ollie and sat him between them. Ollie poked Hunter gently, looking at him.

Hunter: Hunter felt like he could breathe a little easier when Frannie finally moved over to the window, her up and down movement was making him feel claustrophobic. He tried to rub his eyes discreetly as tears tried to force their way out but he swallowed hard a few times to push them back. He'd never been one to cry but right now his feelings were overwhelming as he tried to reconcile the path he'd accepted for his future and how all that was crumbling down around him. He'd gone from only having to worry about himself, to worrying about himself and Benji, to now having a whole new human to worry about. A human that was part of him and would rely on him for the rest of his life. Hunter had been so lost in his own mind he didn't notice Frannie had returned to the couch with Ollie until the boy was prodding him and staring. "Hey kiddo." Hunt tried to smile. "What's up with you?"

Frannie: Ollie looked up at Hunter, still frowning a little but began to smile when Hunter smiled a little. He wiggled on the couch, shifting until he was standing up next to Hunter and wrapped his little arms around him like he had before. "...It's uh... It's good if he sees you crying. I mean, not good... but you know... it shows him that having emotions are okay... everyone has them and they shouldn't... like... be suppressed or whatever." Frannie rambled a little, almost regurgitating word for word what Sam had told her before.

Hunter: "I'm not- I'm not-" Hunter responded, shaking his head, still denying his feelings, still trying to harden his expression. Clarington's didn't cry. Clarington's didn't show any emotion. However, he did allow himself to wrap his arms around the small body of his son and hold him close, closing his eyes and letting the rest of his senses take in the little boy in his arms. The softness of his hair, the scent of baby detergent, the slight stickiness that always seemed to be present on little fingers no matter how often you washed them. But now their was a small Clarington who should be taught better than he was, a small boy who should be taught that love and pain, happiness and sadness were all good things, things that needed to be felt and expressed, and maybe Hunter and Ollie could learn that together.