#and be likes watching you do the little details and he'll do the yard

[sanguinessunflower]

Jason Todd building a gingerbread house with you, that is all I have to share for this holiday season...

I would write it out but I'm tired

[ohnohargrove]

I just imagine Vincent Sinclair would be an incredibly sweet boyfriend. Imagine that he's been caught up in his work for the majority of the day. You had all shared breakfast together at the table before everyone had to go off to do their respective duties. Lester had dropped by that morning and he had gone off to do some repairs in the movie theater, Bo had gone down to the garage to work on a particularly rusty (and "a stubbon sonafabitch" in his words) truck he got from one of his latest victims, and Vincent had hurried off to the basement workshop to start on a new sculpture for the museum. He had assured you he'd be back sometime late this afternoon.

It was now 9 PM and Lester was watching you and Bo get into a very heated game of War on the living room coffee table. Bo was on the couch, You were cross-legged on the floor with Jonesy's head in your lap, sound asleep even though there was heated cursing going on, and Lester was on the arm chair to the side of both of you. Bo threw the cards down on the table. "Goddammit! Where th' HELL do you keep gettin' those joker cards" he let out, bringing his hands up to his face. Lester and you both knew the game was basically over at that point.

You looked at the old, dusty clock on the wall and Lester noticed the look you gave when you finally saw the time. He reached into the cooler beside his chair, got up, and handed both you and the fuming man a cold bottle of beer. "Hey now," he assured, putting a hand on your shoulder, "sometimes Vince gets caught up in his work, that's all. He's always been like that ever since we were little. It's best to just let him do his thing. He'll come 'round. Promise." Bo flicked the cap off of his bottle and onto the pile of scattered cards. "Yeah, damn perfectionist probably can't get the nose right or somethin'." He took a large swig of his beer. "You gonna shuffle those cards and re-deal 'em so I can kick your ass?" You and Lester both shared a knowing look that another game would just turn him into an even bigger sore loser, but you obliged.

It was a little past 11 at that point. Lester had decided to head home after Bo lost for a second time and started pulling the silent treatment towards you. "Jonesy can have a little sleepover with you tonight" Lester said as he was getting his boots on, "she's had a rough day of running up and down the isles and knocking stuff over while I was fixin' it. I think she's pretty tuckered out." You thanked Lester and told Bo you were heading off to bed, which he ignored ("he'll get over it in the morning" you thought to yourself). You passed the basement door on the way to the stairs and still heard opera music playing from below. Lester was right, it's best not to disturb him if he's really this caught up in sculpting. You called Jonesy up the stairs and promised her that she could sleep under the covers tonight.

Light streamed into the windows and hit your face. You noticed that Vincent hadn't come to bed that night and Jonesy was now gone. You looked over at your nightstand to see what time it was, but sitting in front of the old alarm clock was a small figure obscuring it's view. You rubbed your eyes and noticed that it was a small dog sculpted from wax with a folded note underneath. You smiled as you picked the little dog up and ran your fingers over the detailed fur. You reached over to open the note and see what it said. It was somewhat dingey paper with immaculate handwriting scrawled on it.

"My dearest one, I'm incredibly sorry that I stayed out so late last night. I feel horrible that I promised you I'd be done, but time had slipped away from me and I didn't want to wake you. I'm having a particularly tough time with the face of my newest sculpture (especially the nose) and it will take longer than I had anticipated. If you'd like, you may join me for breakfast in my workshop as I finish up. If not, I should be done by noon and I mean it this time. I think Jonesy might like to play in the yard for a while. Forever yours, Vincent"

You got out of bed and headed down to the kitchen, grabbing a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator along with some butter to make toast. You planned on bringing your boyfriend some sunny side up eggs for breakfast and chatting while he finished his work. Playing frisbee with Jonesy could wait until noon so all three of you could play. At that thought, you felt a cold nose press the back of your leg and you handed the pup a slice of bread.

[agentmarvel]

nsfw alphabet - kyle "gaz" garrick

afab!reader

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

divider credit: @/cafekitsune

♡ a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

- Kyle is phenomenal with his aftercare. He'll take what he needs, but he gives it back in spades. We're talking brushing knots out of your tangled hair, a preemptive back rub, knowing how sore you'll be in the morning from the positions he had you in, peppering your sweat-sheened face with kisses while he thanks you for doing so well for him... And it continues until after you fall asleep on him. He's whispering the sweetest nothings even as your breathing deepens and slows.

♡ b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- Call him a simple if you want, but he absolutely adores your smile. Any chance he can get to see it, he's cashing in. Bad day? Charm is turned up to 11 until you're giggling like a lunatic. Already in a good mood? He's smothering you in kisses and affectionate touches to keep you sunny. Even in bed, during the most intimate moments, he's heaping praise on you, never failing to remind you how bloody beautiful you are or how much he loves you. He never passes up on an opportunity to make you smile. It's the best part of his day.

For himself, he favors his arms. He's more lean muscle than sheer bulk, but don't let that fool you. Kyle is strong. Work aside, those arms have so much purpose, especially for the benefit of your relationship. He'll use those arms to cart groceries in so you don't have to make two trips. He pops the tops off of jars for you when they're stuck and holds up new art for the house while you eyeball how level it is, even when the frame is solid oak and weighing heavily on him after a few minutes. Best yet, those arms of his keep you safe, hold you close at every available opportunity, and support you through your lows.

♡ c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- While he'd hesitate to call it a breeding kink, Ky prefers to cum inside you. Something about the idea of having a baby with you prevents him from pulling out anymore. He likes to imagine a perfect meshing of the two of you, a sweet little boy with wild curls and your eyes running across the yard, screeching peels of laughter as you chase him around. Now isn't the right time, given the frequency and duration of his deployments, but in the meantime, a little extra practice can't hurt.

♡ d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- He won't admit it, but Kyle has been trying extra hard lately to see if he can make you squirt with just his dick. You've done it a handful of times with his fingers, and he is obsessed with the synphonic sounds that come out of you when he makes it happen.

♡ e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

- Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing. He's so attentive to the most minute details, and that makes him so very proficient. Prior, he'd had a few short-lived but meaningful relationships, through which he learned what he likes and how to merge that with someone else's preferences, making him a solid 11/10 in the skill department.

♡ f = favorite position

- He loves missionary. Your legs wrapped around his slim hips, finger entwined by your head while his other hand curls around your waist or your jaw. Being able to watch your face, the way you give him an almost offended look when he slips his cock in, those sweet smiles lingering behind every orgasm he draws from you. It maintains a level of intimacy that sex feels hollow without.

♡ g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

- Gaz has a great sense of humor, and that translates well in these scenarios. He's able to showcase the delicate balance between the two, acknowledging bodily noises that would ordinarily be considered sort of embarrassing with cute quips without making you feel bad. Your comfort is important to him, and those hushed giggles tell him you're at ease with him.

♡ h = hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

- V well groomed. He takes a lot of pride in his appearance (that's what bagged you, right?), and putting in the effort makes him feel good about himself. Being a little high maintenance gives him a wicked confidence boost. Simply put, when he looks his best, he feels his best. He trims the upper and lower beards for himself and crops his curls for work.

♡ i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- Intimacy is something Kyle prioritizes. He shows his love in a very physical nature: little touches whenever he can, holding your hand at any available opportunity, a steady stream of kisses whenever possible. It's compulsive, his need for you to understand just how strongly he feels about you. He fights because it's his job; he survives because of you. You're his reason to come home safely, and he never wants you to forget it.

♡ j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- He's pretty standard on this front. If he's away from home, he's rubbing one out at least twice a week. Can't get himself off unless he's imagining you, though. Fuck, he worships you. You're all-consuming in his mind, and every load belongs to you in some way or another.

♡ k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

- PRAISE. Giving, more so. The way you react to the things he whispers in the dark does something to him, something he can't quite describe. And when he makes you sing your own praises? He's done for. Listening to you pant and whine while you're trying to tell him you're beautiful? Immaculate. Cums immediately.

♡ l = location (favorite places to do the do)

- Surprisingly, he favors the shower. There's something inherently profound about the way you interact beneath the stream of water just this side of scorching. Seeing your phantom curves amid the temperate fog, the feeling of anticipation, unable to just wait a few minutes longer, it all drives him mad with need. It's tantalizing, the way you dance around each other in an effort to fight the instinct. Affectionate how you'll lather up your hands to leave a streak of bubbles across his chest, but the look in your eyes dares him to make a move. It's become his favorite game, and it always feels like it's the first time all over again.

♡ m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

- Kyle particularly enjoys watching you do domestic things. It's a slippery slope. Simple things like cooking, cleaning, laundry, even watching you sit down to sort the bills gets him bricked. Reminds him that you actually chose him. You moved in with him, into a house that you picked out together. He has a ring hidden away in a place you'd never even think to look, and he's waiting for his next annual extended leave to propose. Thinking about making you his wife, knowing he's finally found the one, it never fails to arouse him.

♡ n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- He's not on board with CNC. The real-world horrors he's had the displeasure of seeing set a very strict limit. Even if he knows you're faking the fear, even an extensive discussion beforehand, he would stop everything the second you showed any sign of hesitancy. Wouldn't even wait for a safeword. You say no, immediate halt.

He's also fundamentally opposed to degradation, knife play, and breath play. Again, a very strict limit set by his experiences in the field.

♡ o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- Oh, Gaz eats it for his pleasure, 100%. Eats it like a man starved. He'll wring two or three blinding orgasms out of you before he even puts so much as a finger inside you, and after that, he'll take two more. He does not give a single fuck if the entire bottom half of his face is soaking wet. He'd rather go down on you than vice versa (not that he won't accept the enthusiastic reciprocation), and once he's set on it, there's no talking him out of it.

♡ p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

- Kyle isn't the kind of guy to just fuck. He is, at his core, the love making type. He's all about making it last; a conveyance of emotions rather than the physical gratification. He isn't shy about expressing his feelings verbally, but there's something special to him about being able to show you how he feels.

♡ q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

- Not preferred (see above), but always an option. They don't happen too often. Typically, it's only at the last minute, like sneaking into the bathroom while you're doing your hair or surprising you on your lunch break at work when he gets home earlier than anticipated and just can't wait a second longer. Half the time, quickies consist of him burying his head between your thighs until you're a whimpering, quivering mess, cumming completely untouched just from the sounds you make.

♡ r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

- Within his personal parameters, Kyle's definitely down to experiment. Trying new things is exciting and fun, and he's all for new experiences. He's minimal on risk, though. He believes some things need to stay private.

♡ s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

- His stamina is pretty impressive. While he can typically only manage one round in a night, that round will last close to an hour. Cannot stress enough how much he looooooveeesssss dragging it out. He has the physicality for it, and he's built for pushing his limits.

♡ t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

- He doesn't own any himself, and generally speaking, he's committed to making sure you don't really need them when he's home. He'll pull out the bullet vibe from time to time if you're just not quite getting there, but that's about the extent.

♡ u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

- Kyle Garrick is the biggest fucking tease. He'll send you lewd pictures while you're out with friends, whisper nasty shit to you across the table while you're having date night, squeeze your inner thigh while he's driving, etc. He's relentless, but will act fucking clueless when you call him out on it just to get a rise out of you.

♡ v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

- He's a 6/10 on the volume scale. It's a constant stream of praise and making you verbally negate all of your expressed insecurities, but on his own, it's a lot of heavy breathing and mutterings of curses and pet names. "fuckin' christ, babe/god damn it, you feel too good/shit, pretty girl. taking it so good"

♡ w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

- Kyle is super into you feeling yourself. He'll spare no expense while treating you to a self-care day. Seeing you feeling confident in your own skin is such a massive turn-on for him, and as a bonus, the sex is impossibly hotter. He doesn't care if your spa day puts his account in the negatives; it's worth every single penny.

♡ x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

- Slim and lean, but shredded. Definitely has visible abs. Light dusting of hair across his chest. Biggest dumpy in the 141. He has two tattoos; one on his chest for his mum, one on his ribs for you (something subtle, he's too paranoid about his work to get anything that could lead the enemy to either of you). "Keepin' my best girls close to my heart," he'd said with a wink.

8" (and knows exactly how to use every single one), cut, straight, average thickness

♡ y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

- His drive is fairly standard. Once or twice a week for the full experience, twice or thrice more just to eat you out. But he'll almost never turn you down if you want it.

♡ z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- It takes a while for Gaz to fall asleep after. Despite all the lost sleep to be made up for and the massive energy expenditure of his regular day-to-day, he cherishes those quiet moments. The moments when your head is on his chest, heartbeat lulling you closer to the edge of sleep. The moments when your fingers wrap around his as he strokes your hair. The moments when you're sleepily mumbling those three little words that never fail to make his heart race. Those are the moments that get him through his hardest missions, and he can't bear to let himself fall asleep before experiencing that again.

[ploppythespaceship]

Doctor Who Series 14 / Season 1 Review

Man, it feels good to be enjoying Doctor Who again. I haven't been keeping up with the show in years, but I caught up to see Tennant's return leading into Ncuti's run and I am so glad I did. This season is far from perfect, but it gets a lot of little things right and is consistently fun to watch, even if a lot of the details fall apart.

What I Liked

Ncuti Gatwa is simply phenomenal. He settles into the role so quickly and so easily, bringing such a fresh energy to the character. I love how distinct he feels, too -- when you're playing the fifteenth iteration of a character, it can be hard to find a new spin on things, but he's done it. He's also a fantastic actor, getting to show an incredibly wide range in just a few short episodes. I truly think he'll be remembered as one of the best Doctors.

Millie Gibson is also very good as Ruby, and her dynamic with the Doctor is a lot of fun. I appreciate having another Doctor/companion relationship that isn't romantic. They're just best friends, and it's very cute.

The show looks great. It's very clear that they've had a budget increase -- the costumes, effects, etc. are noticeably improved since RTD's first run.

Murray Gold's return as the composer is extremely welcome. His stuff isn't quite as bombastic as before (or maybe the episodes just have better sound mixing), but keeps a lot of the same leitmotifs. The result is a more subtle score that perfectly suits each scene.

Mel is so cool now. She was one of my least favorite classic companions, so seeing her worked into these storylines and feel more compelling is an unexpected delight.

What I Didn't Like

Ultimately, I think the season is just too short. Council of Geeks has an excellent YouTube video on this -- because there are only eight episodes, and a lot of them are going for bigger ideas and weirder premises, it feels like we don't really settle into a status quo.

The Doctor and Ruby's relationship also isn't as developed as much as I would like. If you pay close attention to the dialogue, there's actually a six month gap between "Space Babies" and "The Devil's Chord" -- we could have used another episode or two in that time period to really flesh out the beginnings of their friendship better. Instead the show jumps straight to them being best friends, without really showing us why that is.

I don't think the mystery box format of this season really worked. The mysteries were built up to such an extent that no answer could really be satisfying, and the finale really almost entirely on the big reveals that ultimately didn't amount to much. Ruby in particular feels like an underbaked companion, and I hope she gets more time to get properly developed.

Individual Episode Thoughts

Space Babies — This is easily the weakest episode of the season. It's not bad by any means, but it does remind me of some of the sillier episodes of RTD's first run. It felt like we were speedrunning the companion introduction, when things could have been slowed down and spread across a few episodes to feel more natural. The baby VFX also do not work and fall very firmly into uncanny valley territory.

The Devil's Chord — This one makes very little sense, but is entirely saved by Jinkx Monsoon being so iconic as Maestro. If you just go along for the ride, it's a ton of fun.

Boom — This episode is proof that Steven Moffat truly is at his best when he's writing self-contained stories under someone else's guidance. I don't think it's as iconic as Moffat's previous stories, and I felt like Ncuti was getting a lot of dialogue that better suited Matt Smith, but the entire concept was interesting and the execution was solid. Also, Ncuti acted his ass off without even being able to move.

73 Yards — Honestly, I'm mixed on this one. The setup is fantastic and eerie, and I enjoy the exploration of Ruby's character, solo from the Doctor. I like her experiencing this inexplicable thing, and deciding to find purpose in it to help others. But the story does fall apart for me at the end when it doesn't explain anything. I don't need every single thing handed to me, I understand the value of leaving things to the imagination, but the fact that the episode's last impression is "wait what?" does leave a bit of a sour taste. That being said, I do respect how weird and different this episode is, and how much discussion it prompted afterward.

Dot and Bubble — The trailers looked like a Black Mirror ripoff, and I was prepared for a shallow "social media bad" episode. Instead, we got something far more nuanced about the dangers of trapping yourself in a bubble of like-minded people and refusing to ever look beyond it. And the ending reveal that it's a society of white supremacists is so, so well-handled, because all the clues were there for you. If you're like me and didn't piece it together until the very end, it really challenges you to ask yourself why you didn't notice sooner. Also, another episode where Ncuti acts his ass off. My personal favorite episode of the season.

Rogue — Another with mixed feelings. Rogue himself is tons of fun, and I enjoy his dynamic with the Doctor, even if parts of it are pretty rushed. I really hope he comes back. The episode plot itself is serviceable but nothing special. My main complaint is the severe lack of Ruby. Her relationship with the Doctor doesn't feel sufficiently established, so the emotional beats don't really land.

The Legend of Ruby Sunday — This was an underwhelming finale, unfortunately. The first part barely even qualifies as an episode. It launches right into starting to answer the season's mysteries, but does so in an uncompelling and heavy-handed way. The Sutekh reveal is pretty epic in isolation, but...

Empire of Death — The Sutekh reveal doesn't really lead to anything satisfying. He doesn't have the presence of Toymaker or Maestro, he's just a CGI dog monster. This second part finally answers some questions, some of which are vaguely interesting, but it's happening in a plot so dull and so dry that I just can't bring myself to care. The episode is also just confusing? The plot points don't seem to flow naturally together, like multiple stories were smashed together with little rhyme or reason. The resolution is some of the most nonsensical nonsense that Doctor Who has ever come up with. Then we get to the reveal of Ruby's mother, which is so forced and it becomes clear in retrospect that things were added to seem more mysterious than they really were. And capping it all off is the Doctor's farewell to Ruby, which falls flat because, as I've said, their relationship is rather undercooked. It really does end the season on a downer, which is a shame because so many of the preceding episodes were pretty good.

[oswaldsleftbicep]

Hello there

Hope you're doing fine? If it's not too much of a bother I would like to ask for some headcanons of married life with the demon Bro's with their mc's (gender neutral)?

married life with lucia, levy, & mefy

i got so excited seeing this ask lemme tell you- also, i wrote this with a more human!au feel as opposed to canon

also, throwback to my proposal hcs, can y'all believe that was two and a half years ago??

genre: fluff

cw: language it's to be expected at this point

Lucia

❧ he's most definitely the breadwinner out of the two of you so he won't mind if you decide to be the trophy spouse; however, if you decide to follow your own career path, he's your number one supporter and most certainly brags about you

❧ omg he's helpless with grocery shopping, please do not send him out on his own. as a matter of fact, don't even take him with you unless you have time to spare cuz mans will get distracted by everything. if for some reason he's the only one able to go run errands, you need to give him the most detailed list ever: brand, exact name of the item, what color container it comes in, etc

❧ can't cook for shit, he just wasn't taught growing up, so most of the food prep comes from you. he'll die before he makes his partner do all the housework, so if you cook then he's washing the dishes

❧ he picks up on other household chores too, most of the time completing them without you having to ask first; he does a great job with it too, but he much prefers to have you help him. he's very much into quality time, so any chance you have to fold laundry or dust the shelves together is taken

❧ just because you're married now doesn't mean dating and celebrating the small stuff comes to an end!! he goes all out for wedding anniversaries, opting to celebrate them biannually at the six months marks. he also remembers when your first date was and when he asked you to be his, and he does a little something special on those days too, like getting you flowers or taking you back to where you had your first date

❧ he likes doing date nights on fridays, usually going to a restaurant or some local attraction like a light show or ice skating. he'll also take you on monthly weekend trips to a different city or to the beach or mountains. as much as he loves going out, he's a big softie for nights in with you doing something like a spa night or game night which can get pretty competitive so watch out lol

❧ he'd definitely want to start a family with you; he grew up with younger siblings so having one or two little ones running around would just be a natural fit for him. because he's so eager for it, the topic is discussed probably before y'all even get married

❧ whether or not you do want kids, he's also keen to getting a pet. he's partial to dogs but will be perfectly fine with any animal you'd like to adopt! be it kids or animals, just having something to raise with you will make him feel fully content in life

❧ when looking for a house, he likes to keep the idea of a growing family in mind and looking for something with enough room and a nice yard to run around in. he's been dreaming of moving into a house with you and combining your belongings and finding the perfect spots for everything. leaves most of the decorating and style choices to you, but best believe he's giving his opinions and being as involved as possible

❧ just imagine painting a room together and getting paint all over each other and play fighting, or spending a late night in a room filled with boxes, eating takeout on the floor, chatting endlessly about the life ahead of you :,)

Levy

❧ in a marriage with him, you'd both have to work to support the finances; he'd probably have some sort of scholarly/academic job or a career in local government, and having one income won't quite be enough to support the two of you comfortably

❧ can't cook very well either, he really did try to learn but he could never get the hang of it and always ends up burning something. much prefers home cooked meals or something on the healthier side, but won't be opposed to some takeout after a hard day at work

❧ he loathes doing housework spoiled brat but he'll be damned if he makes you do everything while he sits back and watches, so he'll take on some of the easier tasks like dusting, folding laundry, or specifically drying the dishes

❧ prefers to only celebrate your annual wedding anniversary, but he makes up for it by going all out and making each one special. he takes his time planning out a trip that would be meaningful for the two of you, or saving up to get a nice gift for you. he also does the same on valentine's day. one thing you'll do on your anniversary tho is pick a book that you've read that the other hasn't, annotate it, and then exchange books to read and add your own annotations to it. there's a bookshelf designated for these books only so they can stay together

❧ he's great with grocery shopping, always remembers what y'all need even without a list. you trust him enough to send him out alone, you know he'll always get the brands you like and what variant you prefer. he's also like incredible at budgeting and finding a bargain which is so necessary in this economy. tries to stick to what's on the list, so if you try to sneak in anything extra he'll give you the mom stare but eventually give in and allow you one (1) treat

❧ prefers nights in over date nights out, so the two of you will often stay on the couch and watch a movie or pick a book and read it together. if these get boring, he also enjoys completing difficult puzzles with you or playing mystery themed games. for out of the house dates, the two of you will often visit historical sites or museums; you frequent these places so often that you probably have memberships to them

❧ y'all likely opt for a modest home that's cozy enough for the two of you until the discussion of starting a family comes about. he'll most likely want kids, but it won't be for a little bit into y'all's marriage. until then, you keep pets to fill the house with a little more life. he's partial to cats or a more independent animal, but won't fight you on getting a dog, although he makes it perfectly clear that you are the one taking care of it

❧ one of the first things he does when you move into your new home is map out where to put your library lmao but other than that, he's actually really helpful in decorating and choosing paint and furniture. his preferred decor style is like a history professor's poorly lit office, so the house can look a bit,, cluttered at times, but the way you set everything up makes it easy for the two of you to navigate

❧ will take any opportunity he gets to call you by his last name or refer to you as his spouse, and he has the most sickeningly sweet expression every time he does

Mefy

❧ the two of you decide to split the finances and each have a career. the funny thing is, though, you have no idea what he does for a living. every time you ask him he's so vague with his answers that you eventually just stop asking. if anyone else asks, you just tell them that he works in an office or does freelancing. sure, it's concerning and quite frankly irritating that he won't tell you,, but you don't think you'd wanna know what he actually does,,

❧ he's not a big fan of running errands- he claims it's because he's too busy but he really just doesn't like the hassle- but if you ask early enough he'll go with you. make him push the cart. he hates it but just manipulate him by saying you're the one who made the list and therefore know what to grab, it's only fair he pushes the cart for you. he is good at finding bargains, tho, as well as hidden gem brands that you've never heard of before but are actually way better than what you've been getting

❧ outright refuses to do the dishes. the most he'll do is load/unload the dishwasher, but that's only if you ask nicely and he's in a good mood. leaves you to do the cooking too, but only early on in your marriage because he just,, doesn't know how to cook. he learns by watching you, but if you don't know how to cook very well either then the two of you will just learn together! it's one of the few sweet domestic moments you have with him regularly. don't worry, he picks up the slack by doing other household chores like dusting, vacuuming, and laundry

❧ he's so weird with anniversaries, even before marriage. he only celebrates the big milestone ones, like wedding anniversary and he'll even continue celebrating your old dating anniversary. he thinks celebrating smaller anniversaries like first kiss or even being married for six months is dumb, but that doesn't mean he forgets about them. instead he'll bring it up casually during dinner and ngl it shocks you that he remembers so much. he opts to plan something small and intimate for anniversaries, thinking that going all out is a waste of energy

❧ the two of you will not call it a day until you've had your nightly debriefing where y'all talk about your day, what went good, what was bad, who said what, etc. this rolls over into your weekly bitch sessions where the two of you stay in, have a self care session, nurse a drink of your choosing, and just straight gossip and speculate

❧ if you want kids, that's gonna have to be a serious discussion with him and there's gonna have to be a lot of planning going into it. he never really saw himself having children, it's very high maintenance, but with time, planning, and a lot of reassurance, he'll grow fonder of the idea. pets are perfectly okay with him, tho he does prefer something on the more cleanly and low maintenance side

❧ when it comes to moving house, he'd prefer something on the smaller side, a great contrast to what he's used to. he'd love an older house too, something with soul and character. he secretly has a blast picking out paint colors and furniture with you, but he's so unbearably picky about everything. he has a very specific set of taste and style, and he's not willing to compromise on much

❧ there's probably gonna be a lot of petty arguing with this one over,, pretty much anything, but it's all in good humor and never with bad intentions. for the most part, being married to him is no different than how it was dating him, only with more responsibility

[midnightstar-90]

Hidden~ Eddie Diaz x Nash! Reader

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A/N: I'm back with another part to my hidden series.

Family Reunion

Y/N's POV

~Dream/Flashback to 2014~

"Around 12 am this morning, a deadly fire broke out. The fire has killed a total of 148 people so far. First responders are still looking for any others, dead or alive. Investigators say that the fire was started by an unsupervised gas fire heater. More details on the fire are to come soon. Back to you, Tracie." The CNN news person spoke through the TV.

I sat curled up on the couch as we watched the morning news. I sat up when I heard the news person talk about the apartment fire. The apartment they showed on the television looked a lot like my dad's apartment building. It could be his, but I haven't spoken to my dad in years. He has a new family, now, and I guess I never really fit into the picture.

Before I graduated, my mom tried to get us to talk, but it just wasn't meant to be. We actually never spoke during my last two years of high school. We barely even spoke before that, anyways.

I didn't really need my dad. Did I sometimes miss hanging out with him? Yes. Did I enjoy 'take your daughter to work' day? Of course, but I did just fine without him. I graduated high school with a 4.0 GPA, I got into the Navy, I got much praise during my Navy years, I met the love of my life, and now I'm waiting to meet my little bundle of joy. I did all that in my 21 years of living, and I did it all without my father.

Even though I didn't need my father, I still cared. So, when I heard about the fire on the news I felt sad. If that was my dad's apartment, I hoped to god (or whoever is out there) that my father was safe, and he nor his family was on the 'dead' list.

I couldn't get the thought of my father injured or dead out of my head. So I did the only thing that would help me get the thought off my mind. Since I was pregnant, I couldn't workout as hard as I normally do. I chose to go on a walk.

I put on my workout clothing. I was only 3 months pregnant, so my bump hasn't started showing yet. I looked at myself in the mirror as I rubbed my exposed stomach. Hopefully, my father is safe. Maybe one day he could meet his grandson.

I left the bathroom to find my headphones and phone. I put on 'Love Runs Out' by One Republic, and head out. The scenery was beautiful. I ran past my neighbors who were either playing with their kids in their yard, walking their dog, or planting in their gardens. They were just normal families, doing normal family things. I want that.

I continued to jog till my playlist ended. I got to a beautiful park, and sat down at the fountain in the middle. I felt a buzz from my phone, so I took it out to check it.

Unknown: Y/N, I'm sorry that I have to tell you like this (or even at all). I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for how I treated you. I will always love you no matter who I'm with or where I'm at. You deserve a lot more than me. Your mother told me about all the great things you've done, and I wish you could have told me yourself. You are a beautiful, smart, and strong woman. I wish I didn't have to say this, but I did something bad. I did something that is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life. I need a fresh start, so I'm going to the LAFD. I guess if you're ever in LA, you know where to find me.

I could only guess that the text was from my father. He's really leaving me now. At least I know where he'll be at, and that he's safe. I hope he finds that fresh start.

I put my phone back in my pocket before starting my jog back home. When I got home, I took a very needed hot and relaxing shower. I then got out, and put on some pajamas. I laid on my bed, and tried to face time Levi. I missed him so much, and I really needed someone to talk to.

When he didn't answer, that's when the hormones kicked in. I laid on my left side while cuddling my pillow, and I let all the tears I had leave my eyes.

~End of Dream/ Flashback~

I started to gain conscious as I felt someone shake my arm. I started to blink my eyes open, but the beaming sun in my face. I grunted, and rolled over in the sand. The hand continued to shake my arm.

My eyes fluttered open, and a figure started to form in my vision. "Y/N... Y/N, wake up," the familiar voice spoke. My vision came back to see Eddie standing over me. His hair was messy with sand all over him. He looked so cute like that.

I smiled at the firefighter, "Hello, my night and shining armor. Are we here to ride off into the sunrise."

"No, I really need to go, but I couldn't leave you here on your own," Eddie sounded rushed and upset. He stood up, and started walking away.

My face scrunched up in confusion. I watched him from my seating position on the sandy floor. He looked nervous. He kept checking his phone. And every time he checked it, his face got a little more nervous.

I slowly stand up, and I follow him. I was interested why he was so quick to leave. "Babe, I love you, and I want to help. The only way I can do that is if you tell me what you need," I say, grabbing my boyfriends arm.

"I just have so much to do today, and waking up on the beach after comforting you wasn't really on my to-do list," Eddie said in an angry tone. I look at Eddie, surprised by his reaction, and I step back in sadness. Eddie instantly regretted the words that came out of his mouth.

"Baby, I'm sor-" he tried to speak.

I looked at him with sadness, shock, and a touch of anger, "I didn't ask you to comfort me! I don't know what you were planning to do today, but I know that I obviously wasn't a part of it. I appreciate last night, but I gotta go get my son."

I tried to storm off, but I realized where my son was. I stomped back over to Eddie, "I don't know where Buck lives. Would you also like me to pick up Chris?"

Eddie looked at me with sadness in his eyes. "Yes, and I'll send you the address. I'm sorry, Y/N. I am just really stressed. I didn't mean to take it out on you," He says, begging me for forgiveness.

I give him a sad smile, and a peck on the lips before walking off. To be honest, it wasn't really anger I was feeling. It was more like a pout. I could never stay mad at Eddie. I walked off looking angry, but I was concerned on the inside.

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

I start driving toward Buck's address. I couldn't help but think about the dream I had. I remember that day, now. That was the day when my dad last contacted me before joining the 118.

Was that dad's apartment that burnt down? Was that his gas fire heater? Is that the bad thing that he did? Is that why he's with Athena, and he doesn't talk about his other family?

My thoughts came to a halt as I pulled up to Buck's apartment complex. I got out the car and started walking to his door. It took a minute to find (as it was my first time visiting). I got to the door, I and I knocked respectfully but hard enough for Buck to hear.

A few seconds and the famous Evan Buckley was leaning against the door. He saw it was me, and a smirk crawled on his face. "Hello, beautiful. How can I help you?" Buck flirted.

In the time that I've been here, Buck and I have created a relationship where we can just be ourselves. Buck likes to innocently flirt with me, and I'm fine with it, as long as that's all that's going on. Eddie trust me enough to not care about Buck and I's relationship. (I love Buck, but I can't have my story breaking up one of the best friendships out there)

"Well, I'm here to pick up my son, and my boyfriend's son," I said, politely rejecting him. I smirk back at the 6' 2" blond man in front of me. Don't get me wrong. Buck is a nice looking man, but he just isn't my type. I like men who are willing to settle down and support that relationship all the way. And I can tell Buck wants that, but he's still trying to figure that out.

Buck moved out of the way, and let me into the apartment with a "Welcome" hand gesture and a smile. I walked in to see a beautiful looking apartment. It was clean and well decorated. His apartment gave of a modern city type vibe.

"Wow! I didn't think your apartment would look this nice!" I say, looking around in shock.

"Yeah, it took a while, but I finally moved out of my ex's house," Buck said following me to the kitchen.

I nod my head, impressed with the interior as I sat down in one of Buck's bar stools. I heard a child yell "MOMMY". When I turn in my seat, I see in energetic Zach running straight for me. I catch Zach as he runs into my lap. I pull him into a tight hug.

"Hi baby! I'm gonna go out on a limb and say Uncle Buck gave you candy," I say, giving Buck a playful side eye. He holds his hands up in defense, and says, "I regretted it the moment I gave it to him. I laugh and roll my eyes before looking back at Zach. "You and Chris go get your stuff, so we can go home. I need to talk to Uncle Buck," I said as we pull out of hug. I look into Zach's eyes. He gave me a big smile before nodding and running off.

"What did you need to talk about?" Buck asked. grabbing a beer from the fridge. He offers me one, but I shake my head.

"Eddie woke up today stressed out. It was to the level where he took it out on me. He won't talk to me about it. I've never seen him act like this," I tell Buck, leaving out the parts about falling asleep on a beach after having a crazy outburst.

He looked as if he was contemplating on whether he should tell me something. I look at Buck suspiciously. He looks at me with his sad puppy dog eyes, and says, "You can't tell Eddie I told you, but Shannon's funeral was right before Bobby called him. Now, his family is coming to town for his 'becoming an official firefighter' ceremony."

"Okay... Now I understand the rushing part, but why didn't he tell me what was going on?" I was conflicted. I understood that Shannon's funeral might have put him in the wrong mood, speaking that she was his wife and the mother of his son. In fact I knew about the funeral. He had told me a week ago, and before my outburst, I was the one holding him on a beach.

What I didn't understand was why he didn't feel comfortable telling me that his family was coming. Was he not ready for me to meet them? I mean, I've met his tía, but not his parents or sisters. I don't know maybe i'm thinking about this too much.

"I can see your brain trying to work out everything, and let me tell you it's not what you think. Eddie is just trying to protect you," Buck took a sip from his beer bottle.

"Yeah? From what?" I asked suspiciously. I know Buck and Eddie are best friends, and they tell each other everything. I also know Buck can sometimes be easy to manipulate. That's why I'm here, and not banging on Eddie's door for answers.

"Eddie's family isn't like Eddie. They are very judgmental, from what Eddie's told me. I don't think Eddie wants you too run away just yet. I mean, every time the man comes to work, all he talks about is you, Chris, and Zach. Eddie needs you, Y/N. He may not always say it, but he needs you. And he's scared that 2 months in a relationship won't be enough for his parents, and they'll run you away from him."

I thought about Buck's words, and lets just say it did help me understand more. I came here for answers, but I think I got more answers then I needed.

"Mommy, were ready!" Zach yelled out. He ran towards me with both his and Chris's backpack. I grabbed them from the boy, and put one on each shoulder. I then turn back to Buck and give him a smile.

"Thank you, Buck. You really helped. Now I see why the 118 keeps you around," we both chuckle at the joke. "I think it's time to get these kids home. But I really do appreciate you helping me clear my mind," I said, guiding the boys to the door. Buck followed us.

"No problem. And if you ever want to come over... you know... without anyone else, I'm down," Buck said in a low voice. I scoff, and say "in your dreams" while leaving the apartment. I hear Buck laugh before closing his door.

We get to my car, and as I'm snapping Zach into his seat belt, he asks, "Mommy? Why don't you want to have a play date with Uncle Buck? He lets us play video games, eat cookies, and go to sleep late."

I look at Zach in shock. I give him a nervous laugh, and I say, "Well, Uncle Buck and I are adults. Our play dates are different. And when you have those play dates, you have to like that person very much, or it won't be as fun."

"So you don't like Buck?" Christopher jumps in. I don't know what to say to them that would be age appropriate for them. Instead, I close Zach's door in a rush, and get into the drivers seat. The rest of the car ride, Christopher and Zach quietly speak in the back. I look through the rear view mirror to see the two laughing at whatever they were talking about. I smile, and look back at the road.

I hope one day we can all laugh together.

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

We pull up to Eddie's house. The only vehicle in the driveway is Eddie's truck. I took it as a sign that only Eddie was here. I got out of the car, and helped Christopher out, before helping Zach get out of his car seat. I grab Chris's bag, and we all walk up to the door. I give a couple knocks to the door, and the next thing I see is Eddie opening the door, only wearing a towel.

"Hey," Eddie said, allowing us to come in. The Zach runs through the door, and Christopher tries his best to keep up on his crutches. I slowly walk in with a smirk. Eddie closes the door, and turns back to me.

"I'm sorry about earlier. You've helped me a lot, and when you need me I blow up. You don't deserve that," Eddie says with a sad smile.

I pull Eddie into a hug and say, "You don't need to apologize. We both have had our ups and downs this past month, and in response, we had our outburst. Now it's time to let it go."

"Yeah, your right."

"I'm always right. Now, where's my reward for dropping off your child?" I ask with a wide smirk. I look him up and down. Just him standing before me in a towel turned me on.

"Well, I can only pay you with a kiss right now," Eddie said, playing along. He pulled me into his arms by my waist. My hands rested on his chest, as one of his hands go up to my cheek. We slowly meet in the middle, and slowly but passionately kiss. It was a blissful moment before we heard 2 voices yell out "Ewww!" We pull away and look at the boys.

"Chris, Tia Pepa will be here soon with grandma and grandpa. Why don't you go get ready?" Eddie told his son. Chris nodded with a smile, and left towards his room.

"Zach, can you go with him?"

Zach skipped all the way to Christopher's room, leaving us alone. I looked up at Eddie, and he looked slightly embarrassed.

"I'm gonna go get dressed. You can make yourself comfortable if you'd like," He said before quickly walking to his room. I decided to take up Eddie's offer, and make myself comfortable. I sat on the couch and patiently waited. After about 5 minutes, a doorbell rang through the house.

"I'll get it," I yelled out.

I open the door to see a brown haired couple standing on the porch. They looked shocked to see me.

"Hi! I think we have the wrong house. We're looking for Eddie Diaz," The woman spoke. I looked them up and down, studying their appearances. I smile before saying, "Nope! you definitely have the right house. Hi, I'm Y/N. I'm Eddie's girlfriend," I reached my hand out for them to shake. They looked at me in awe. Eddie's father was first to shake my hand, then his mother.

I felt the door tug open. I looked to see who it was, and I saw Eddie, now in a light brown flannel shirt and black jeans. "Mom! Dad! You made it!" Eddie said, giving his parents a hug.

"Well, even though you could've did all of this in Texas, I am proud of you. And it's good to see you moving on from Shannon," Eddie's mother said pulling out of the hug. Eddie saw his parents looking past him, so he looked back and saw me. I perked up when I felt his arm go around my shoulders.

"Right... Y/N, these are my parents, Helena and Ramon. Mom, Dad, this is my girlfriend, Y/N," Eddie introduced us.

"Mommy! Mommy!" We all heard a scream from inside the house. We all turned to see the source of the noise to see Zach running towards us. "Mommy, I'm hungry," Zach said in his inside voice.

"And this is Zach. He's Y/N's son."

"Say hi, Zach."

"HI!" Zach yelled, waving his hand through the air. Eddie's parents waved back at the young boy with a long smile on their faces.

After introductions, we all walked into the house. Eddie caught his parents up on who was gonna be here, and when they were coming. I allowed Eddie sometime with his parents, and went to the kitchen to make everyone lunch. The boys ate freshly made chicken tenders and French fries. The adults had cheeseburgers instead of tenders. They all seemed to like it, and that made Y/N ecstatic.

When we all finished eating, the boys went to Christopher's room to play, Eddie and his father sat on the couch watching the game, and after winning an argument against Eddie, me and Eddie's mother cleaned up the kitchen.

"Eddie must really like you. He looks happier here than he ever did in Texas, and that only started when you showed up," Helena told told me, as she wiped off the wet dishes. We turn to each other and both give each other a small smile.

We lean against the counters opposite from each other. "I really hope that this thing we have will last, because I don't know want anyone else in my life to leave. I've been in 2 relationships in my life, and that was Zach's dad and Eddie. My father was barely in my life until I found him here in LA, and Zach's dad died in battle. Those boys running around the house, and Eddie are the only things keeping me sane right now. I don't want to leave, and I don't want Eddie to leave. So if I have to travel all over the world to keep him here, that's what I'll do. I want the four of us to one day be a family. I want the happy family that I never got," I said, ending my rant with a puff of air.

Little did we know, Eddie had heard everything I said. He came into the kitchen with a big smile on his face. He came up to me and grabbed me by my waist, and next thing I know, Eddie had me in a slow but passionate kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer to him. Our chest now pressed together. We were so caught up in the moment we didn't notice Helena walk off with a smile on her face.

We pulled out of the kiss with just enough room for our noses to be the only thing touching. We were still  trying to catch our breath. I looked into the man's eyes and started into them like a kid at a candy store. I was definitely in love with this man.

"What was that for?" I asked with a giggle.

Eddie grabbed a hold of my hand and said, "You make me happy. This thing we have is something that a lot of people don't, and I don't want it to ever end. I want to be a family also. I mean, it's too early for , but we can think of it as practice for the real thing. "

I felt tears slip out of my eyes as I held a wide smile on my face. "Yeah, I would definitely like that. You make so happy, Eddie Diaz," I say, softly kissing Eddie's still swollen lips.

I honestly don't completely know what happened this morning, but I do know that that is long left in the past. I guess that happens when you truly love someone.

[gardenerian]

wonderful mel, if you’re still taking these amazing prompts: 5 times they cry in front of each other 💧

(yeah I know boo booo angst 😮‍💨)

paola, my love ❤️ i will never boo angst. some of these are angstier than others, but fret not! here at Mel's Blog, we believe in ✨ happy endings ✨ cw: #2 mentions terry, but nothing detailed. #3 is about thanksgiving, so there are mentions of monica's attempt. nothing explicit, but ian does think about it. also lots of food. #4 has fainting due to heat exhaustion, but it's very quick.

1.

when liam graduates high school, ian cries all day.

he's misty eyed from the moment they crawl out of bed, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes as they brush their teeth and dress for the day.

mickey doesn't saying anything, just pats ian on the shoulder as he sets a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. "eat up," he orders. "gonna need your strength if you wanna be the loudest motherfucker in the place when liam walks."

ian is, in fact, the loudest motherfucker in the place when liam walks.

as his name is called, liam crosses the stage with a resigned face, as if anticipating the embarrassing, thunderous cheers from his family. when ian's shouts echo across the auditorium, he cracks a little smile.

ian bites down on a grin as liam accepts his diploma, eyes shining with tears. mickey elbows him lightly, letting him know that it's okay to let them fall, but ian just blinks them away.

once the ceremony is over, and all the families reunite with their graduates, the gallaghers battle to get to liam first. lip elbows everybody out of the way, pushing through the hoard of siblings to lift liam into the air.

ian holds liam tight once he's safely on two feet, babbling on about how proud he is, how much he loves him. liam thumps him on the back, grinning and adjusting his cap as he extricates himself from ian's arms.

mickey offers liam a fistbump and head ruffle. "nice work, kid," he tells him. liam returns it, still watching ian. "he gonna do that all day?"

"oh absolutely," mickey answers. "hope you don't mind getting your shirt soggy today."

ian manages to pull it together for most of the party back at the house, his voice cracking just twice as they each toast liam. he's only outdone by fiona, though, who bursts into tears before she can get a single word out.

the party unfolds as most gallagher parties do. booze flows like water, music pulses and echoes through the neighborhood. they're all scattered across the backyard, drinking and smoking and laughing.

eventually, liam ditches them to celebrate with his friends, and mickey realizes that ian is no longer the yard. he'd last seen him sitting with lip on the steps - but now lip sits alone, sipping at a coke and watching his kids play.

mickey nods to carl and tami, then excuses himself to find ian. lip tells him he'd thought ian was just going to the bathroom, but it's been fifteen minutes now and ian still hasn't returned. he shoots mickey a knowing look - they both know where ian is.

and so mickey finds him, standing in front of the mantle and staring at liam's diploma, tears streaming down his face.

"all three of my brothers have diplomas now," ian murmurs when mickey comes to stand next to him. "liam's going to college, and i think he'll be the one to do it, y'know? then all the kids will follow."

"they will," mickey agrees. of course they will, if they want. those kids can do anything.

"fiona always told us to set examples for them," ian tells him, still staring at the diploma. "for debbie and carl and liam. i always wanted to."

his voice breaks again, but he pushes through: "and i really thought i would. but liam - he did it on his own, after everything."

ian reaches up and clutches his chest, right over his heart. "i'm so proud of him i think i might die," he chuckles. "and all i did was show him what not to do."

"hey now," mickey soothes, reaching up to wipe at ian's tears. "you taught him more than that."

"i'm doing okay," ian admits. "we're doing great. but - look what they've all accomplished on their own. without you, all i know how to do is ruin things. the only gallagher brother without a diploma."

and mickey's heard enough. "first of all," he says, "you gallaghers have been helping each other get shit done since the beginning of time. also, i don't have a diploma either, and i think i'm doin' fine without it. you're not less because you don't have one, ian."

ian looks down at him at last, and so he continues. "you showed liam how to get the fuck back up when life knocks him over. you showed him how to make the life he wants, man. you showed me that."

mickey pulls ian to him when his face crumples, hushing and rocking.

"there's just so much i didn't do," ian breathes. "all this shit i couldn't finish."

"you sell yourself so fuckin' short, ian. you've made our lives into something awesome," mickey tells him, rubbing at his back. "and there's so much shit you're gonna do. you and me."

ian pulls back then, peering down at mickey through red, watery eyes. he nods, sniffing and blinking away fresh tears. "you and me," he agrees.

there is a lot that ian never did. there's a lot they never got to do together. time they'll never get back. they made something worth having out of it all, but there will always be some loss. but ian doesn't need to hear that today.

"we have a good life," mickey tells him instead, even through ian already knows this. he'll remind him every day. "and i want you. not the ian you think you should've been."

he has him, too. and when ian tells him that, he smiles. kisses him softly. it's everything worth having, this man, this life.

2.

when mandy facetimes them from the hospital, baby laura in her arms, ian expects himself to cry.

and he does a little. his eyes sting as he gazes at his best friend - flushed and tired and glowing - as she looks down at her little girl.

"i can't wait to meet her," ian coos. "she's just perfect."

mandy hums, not taking her eyes her eyes off her daughter. "she is perfect," she agrees, "and i love her so fuckin' much."

ian had expected himself to cry. everyone knows ian is obsessed with babies. but what he wasn't expecting was for mickey to take a shuddering breath and put his head in his hands.

"is he crying? mickey, are you crying?"

mandy finally looks up when mickey mutters a tearful oh fuck. ian's heart drops into his stomach; mickey's shoulders are shaking as he turns away from the phone.

"mandy," he says distractedly, trying to get a better look at mickey. "we'll call you back later, okay? love you!"

ian hangs up before mandy can say anything back.

"hey, what's goin' on?" he asks softly. when mickey doesn't answer, and his shoulders just shake harder, ian whispers every comfort he can think of.

"everyone's okay, the baby is so healthy and mandy did so well. didn't you think she was beautiful? just like mandy, just like you. and she's gonna love her uncle mickey so much, you know, she's gonna love you - "

mickey sits up at that, whipping around to look at ian. his face is red and splotchy, marked where he pressed his fingertips into his forehead. ian wants to reach out and smooth it all away, but he waits for mickey to let him know he wants to be touched.

"she just said that," mickey croaks. "she just said that like it was nothing."

"what do you mean?"

mickey looks wildly around the room, as if the words he needs are written in the air.

"she just - the kid was born a couple of hours ago, and mandy's sayin' that?"

ian doesn't get it. "saying what, mick?"

"that she, y'know, that she loves her. how does she know? how does she know that she won't like, resent her or anything? how does she know it'll last?"

and ian wants to dig up terry milkovich and kill him all over again. he wants to go back in time and fucking end him on the alibi floor. he wants to find laura, before it all went wrong, and beg her to do better. he wants to beg her to take mickey away.

did anyone tell mickey he was perfect as they held him? did anyone call to tell their family how much they loved him?

"because mandy's not your dad," ian reminds him. "just like you. and she's not your mom, either. you both have so much love in you, mick, and you're both safer than she ever was."

"it's not just them," mickey sighs. "i couldn't do it. when yev - "

"it's not the same," ian insists. "it's not. mandy wanted her baby, she planned for her and loved her before she was even born. there's nothing wrong with whatever you felt about yev."

mickey deflates, and ian tentatively reaches for him. mickey comes easily, tucking himself into ian's side.

"it was fucked up," ian says quietly. "i'm sorry if i didn't support you enough back then." mickey starts to argue but ian barrels on: "yev is good, mickey. you don't have to torture yourself over it."

mickey nods against him. believes him, maybe.

"and when it's our turn," ian promises, "i know you'll be in love. i know you have that in you."

mickey doesn't nod this time. maybe he doesn't believe that yet. ian just holds him tighter. he believes it enough for the two of them.

3.

ian sneaks a bite of stuffing when fiona pulls it from the oven, but it doesn't taste like much. it sits heavy and flavorless on his tongue, and he chokes it down as fiona slaps his hand away.

"hey! we're eatin' in like, five minutes, ian. get outta here and corral the troops, please."

another year, another thanksgiving dinner.

ian hoists himself from his seat and rounds the counter, but stops as his feet hit that spot. that same spot.

they're alone in the kitchen, ian and fiona, and he wonders if she's thinking about it. as if she could possibly stand there in that place by the stove, checking on the turkey, and think about anything else.

as if she could forget clinging to ian in the place he stands now, watching their mother drift away on the floor.

but if they haven't forgotten, they're all trying to. no one has said a word about monica today, just like every year. she doesn't come up on thanksgiving.

she doesn't even come up at christmas, on the anniversary of her actual death.

ian usually sits alone and remembers her, once the turkey's eaten or the christmas presents are unwrapped. he'll probably do it today. he'll sneak up to his old room and stretch out on that little bed, freddie's bed now, and think about his mom.

he blinks and fiona's looking at him with wide eyes. "ian," she says gently, "go get the others please?"

so she hasn't forgotten. but she won't say anything.

they all sit down to eat, and it's like ian's transported back to that day. carl's wearing a ridiculous thanksgiving hat. kev carves the bird and everyone shouts in delight, tossing bread and passing sides. eventually the family starts sharing what they're grateful for.

it's the same. it's always the same. frank's not here, but they carry on without him, like they always have. it's the same, except -

"i'm thankful for my husband," ian says when it's his turn. he puts a shaking hand on mickey's leg.

"and i'm thankful for my husband," mickey returns, laughing off the groans and gags of everyone at the table.

it's the same, with one massive exception. he's not alone today.

they eat and enjoy each other, grateful to have the family all together. ian laughs along with his siblings, listens to their stories, fills up on mac and cheese.

but then mickey gets up for a glass of water.

"i'll be right back," he mutters to ian, and then he's gone.

he's knows mickey's just going for water. but this day, these memories - they're stronger than he is. and ian is scrambling after him before he can stop himself.

"what're you doin'?" mickey asks when ian skids to a stop behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle where he stands at the sink.

ian can't speak. his throat is clogged with fear, with memories of blood and those ragged, gasping breaths.

mickey turns in his arms, looking up at ian in alarm. ian doesn't know how to tell him, how to explain the ice that flooded his veins when mickey stood.

but he doesn't have to. mickey reaches up and touches his hairline, then brings his hand down to his face. he wipes at ian's cheek; ian hadn't realized he'd started crying.

"i'm sorry," he groans. "i just - it's like i'm the only one that remembers what happened to her. or doesn't pretend i don't, anyways."

mickey grabs the cup of water and pulls ian to the back steps. when they're seated, he hands ian the water and gestures for him to drink. after a moment, he speaks.

"i never met her, really," mickey says quietly, looking out over the yard. "and i kinda hated her for a while. hated the shit she told you."

ian wants to defend her, even if mickey's right. he'll always want to defend her. he'll always want to speak up for her, because no one else could ever hear her. but then mickey just sighs and -

"but i know you love her," he says, reaching for ian's hand. "and i know what that means. you can tell me, if you want."

ian could tell him about that thanksgiving. about the year mickey was gone. about how they'd danced together just days before she crashed again. about the hospital and the stitches, about how monica disappeared again just a day later. and ian never got to see her, even though he asked.

but he doesn't really want to. he's tired now, and he sighs as he leans against mickey's shoulder. "she had a beautiful smile," he says instead.

ian sits and remembers her quietly, like he'd always planned to. but he's not alone with his memories. he won't be ever again.

4.

it's too fucking hot for a gallagher blowout, but since nothing on earth could stop them from a good time, it's happening anyways.

mickey lounges in the pool, drifting on the water in a float, while everyone else talks and laughs and dances around him. ian is taking uncle duty to the absolute extreme, throwing franny and fred over his shoulders as they romp about in the lawn by the pool.

mickey could go relieve him, but carl tosses him a beer and the idea is forgotten. uncle ian has it covered. he closes his eyes and leans back, running his other hand through the cool water.

after a few minutes, he hears lip call out.

"shit, ian, you good?"

mickey sits up so quickly that he tumbles out of the float. when he breaks the surface, his eyes scan the lawn for ian.

franny and freddie are running circles around him, oblivious to the rapid shift in their uncle's demeanor. ian's skin is wan and shining with sweat; he's not looking at anything, and he sways a little on his feet.

mickey's about to shout at him to sit the fuck down when ian drops like a stone.

and then: chaos.

the kids are screaming, horrified by ian hitting the ground at their feet, and their parents rush forward to scoop them up and hurry them away.

mickey's at ian's side before he even tells himself to move, hands roaming over his cold, clammy skin.

"shit, shit," he hisses, even as ian opens his eyes to peer up at him.

"the fuck?" he mutters, and mickey shushes him harshly.

"shut the fuck up," he orders, then shouts at carl to help him. together they haul ian under a pool umbrella, while ian snaps weakly for them to leave him alone.

tami tosses mickey a bottle of water, which he guides to ian's lips with shaking hands. "sip this," he instructs, then grabs at ian's hand when he starts chugging. "i said sip it, dumbass."

once ian's steadier, lip helps mickey get him back up to the apartment. after demanding that mickey text them with updates, the entire family clears out.

it's quiet. the adrenaline wears off, and mickey is suddenly exhausted.

ian's resting on the couch, stripped down to his boxers with his feet propped up. mickey wets a washcloth and moves to kneel beside him.

"you heard what the doc said when you started that pill," mickey says lowly as he dabs at ian's skin. "you gotta be careful in the heat."

ian's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at mickey blearily. "i know," he whispers. "was just playin' with them."

"fuck, ian, i mean it," mickey tells him thickly. "you were a fucking EMT, you know this shit. you gotta take care of yourself. take breaks and cool off so you don't - so you don't fucking - "

ian runs a hand through mickey's hair when he presses his face into ian's shoulder. "hey," he soothes, "i'm okay. was just a little thing."

"not a little thing," mickey snaps through his tears. "fuckin' scared me. don't fucking scare me like that."

"okay," ian agrees simply, leaning back against the couch. "you're right." they're quiet for a moment, ian still scratching at mickey's scalp.

mickey scoffs when ian speaks again.

"help me to the tub?"

"you're not getting me into the tub right now, asshole."

"it's for me, dickhead," ian laughs. "i missed the pool party and i gotta cool off somehow."

mickey fills the tub with cool water, then helps ian lowers himself into it. he cups the water in his hands, lets it run down ian's skin. the color returns to his face as he relaxes, splashing about lightly.

"you look better," mickey murmurs softly, running a hand over ian's wet skin. "but if you scare me like that again i will drown you in this tub."

ian laughs and flicks water at him. "that's fair. i'll do my best."

5.

it's been a long day.

ian spent his entire afternoon off helping lip do work on his new house, all the while listening to both carl and lip drone on about their latest relationship dramas.

they're both idiots, and their partners were both right, but ian kept his mouth shut all fucking day and held his focus on the nail gun in his hands.

he picked up a pizza on his way home, absolutely refusing to even entertain the idea of cooking. he knows mickey won't mind; he got his favorite.

the door is unlocked when ian gets back, and his heart warms at the idea of sinking into mickey's arms after a ridiculous day.

"i brought dinner!"

he calls out to mickey a couple of times, setting the pizza down on their dining table. but mickey isn't stretched out on the couch where ian left him this morning. he's not in the yard with a beer, and a quick peek at his phone confirms that he hadn't called to let ian know he was leaving.

there's no sound coming from the bathroom. ian knocks on their bedroom door - "mick? you in there?"

"yeah," comes a muffled reply. "get in here."

ian is suddenly filled with dread as he opens the bedroom door. mickey sounds wrecked. is something wrong? something has to be wrong. ian is mentally preparing to dash off to the hospital or call a lawyer, anything to make this sickening panic settle.

mickey is sitting on the bed, staring at down at his lap when ian steps into the room. his phone rests in his hands, and he fidgets with it as ian looks at him.

he's been crying.

he's still crying.

mickey's face is flushed and shiny with tears, bottom lip chapped where he's bitten it to soothe himself.

"oh god," ian croaks, "what is it? are you alright?"

"i'm good," mickey breathes. "we're good."

he looks up at ian then, fresh tears spilling over. "we're so fuckin' good."

ian can't breathe. what's happening? is it happening?

"would you just tell me what's going on?"

"i got the call a little while ago," he says, a grin now stretching across his quivering lips. "didn't want to tell you over the phone. they picked us. we're, uh, we're getting a kid."

ian's crying before mickey finishes speaking. he drops to his knees in front of him, grabs mickey's hands in his own, kisses them over and over.

"they really picked us?"

it's been years of rejection. years of fixing things up and trying again. years of proving themselves over and over - just for it all to fall apart.

mickey's own tears drop into ian's hair as he leans down to grab his face. he tilts ian's head upward, kisses his tearstained cheeks.

"yeah," he laughs, "they picked you. fuck, they picked me."

and now it's time, finally. the little bedroom next to theirs will spring to life. mickey will read bedtime stories in there; ian will hum lullabies and rock their little one to sleep.

they'll learn to crawl out in the living room. they'll fling puréed pears all over the kitchen. they're going to be so fucking loved here. ian is sure of it. he always was. but there's one thing he needs to be sure mickey knows -

"i'd always pick you, mick."

[s-brant]

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

​​Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

[gemma-collins-ily]

What about harry reacting to an extremely athletic s/o?

Harry Having An Extremely Athletic S/O

a/n - heya, I wasn't really sure what to add to make this longer. By the way, don't be afraid to request something specific you think only a small amount of headcanons will come from, I seriously do not mind, even snippets of previous headcanons I have written that you want me to expand on are welcome ideas! Also, let me know if you want me to release the chapters of my Harry James Potter fanfic on here too!

Warnings: mentions of food/smoothies and diets, let me know anything else!

he wants to support you in literally everything you do and aspire to do

so, he'll be one of those boyfriends who will go the whole nine yards for you

which means, if you're not just someone who exercises often but also eats extremely healthily and does yoga etc. he will do his absolute best to join in

if you only really do the sports you enjoy a lot, instead of tons of sports all at once, Harry will crouch to defend the basket in basketball

or wave his arms wildly to try to catch a throw

you know he can catch small objects accurately because you've seen him on the quidditch field but you let him think he's doing well

he just can't grasp how to fluently save a goal or easily mark you

Harry is fit (PHYSICALLY LIKE YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN NOT IN THAT WAYSJKFG)

that's due to all his quidditch but in that, he doesn't have to sidestep down a pitch or do a chest pass

he will try regardless and cheer, doing a victory lap of the field before plopping on the floor of he succeeds

"I'm quitting while I'm ahead, love."

Despite what he claims, Harry is already pushing himself up from the floor, getting back into his previous position before beckoning for you to carry on.

"Sure 'bout that?"

"Yup. Gimme all you got, c'mon."

even if he's huffing and panting, red in the face, he won't give up until you do

it's kind of a contest, although you will always win unless it's quidditch

speaking of which, Harry will take you to the broom shop, buy you the most up-to-date edition (even if you insist he doesn't need to) and coax you to play with him

of course, it doesn't require much persuasion because you want to try a new thing, support him just as he does you

besides, you're just generally eager anyways

if you aren't the best, he won't let you get frustrated, instead coming up with helpful strategies and little quips of constructive criticism to help you or make things easier

as captain, he has a sort of overview on every player point and has been watching since he started playing too

so, he knows his stuff

it could go the other way

let's say you know your stuff too

because you've been cheering for Harry at matches for years, observing all the stances and critical details down to a tee

he is totally fine with you once again being just a bit better or on par in skill level compared to him

he's not really the jealous type, rather thinking, "How cool can my partner possibly be?"

"I thought I'd finally found something I was better at, hon."

You giggle at the way his pout morphs into a grin, showing his glee that you are even trying his favourite sport with him.

The next round, you pretend you miss saving the quaffle, falsely groaning and putting your head in your hands.

the first time you do this, by the way, he actually believes you missed and rushes over to pry your hands away from your face and say it's fine before seeing you simper bashfully

oops

he doesn't think of it as belittling but lets you know you can beat him and he will not care

after, you still sometimes play a match against him, when the sun is setting or rising, it doesn't matter to you

if you like to get up early to start a jog or warm up routine, Harry will be right there with you, not clingy but just the right amount of supportive

sometimes though, he can barely pull himself from the warm duvet and you will tell him it's perfectly alright and that he can stay in bed

I think if the Great Hall was open to students before breakfast, you might use it for jogging in winter, not wanting to have to bundle up and then sweat in your layers after exercise

people have waltzed into the hall to see you and Harry jogging between tables, weaving around each other and smacking your palms against the other's each time you pass in synchronisation

he will totally buy you one of those water bottles that has markings on when to hydrate

"It's important to stay hydrated, especially with all the exercise you do!"

"I know, thank you Har. I'll use it later, how about that?"

if morning yoga or stretching is a thing for you, Harry could do it with you or simply lay in bed and smile as he hears you murmuring to yourself on how you should follow the instructor

when the common room is finally empty, you may search up a couple's yoga video (maybe Hogwarts has WiFi or you downloaded it, y'know thinking of your love as you saved the video to your files, how sweet)

if you end up falling on top of each other, he'll stare at you, analysing all your features before smiling and giving you a soft kiss

"I'd like to make you aware that I am, in fact, sweaty as you are doing this, darling."

"I know (Y/N/N), but you have hugged me after quidditch before."

"Ooh, think of the torture, Har. Hugging a teenage boy!"

You descended into slight chaos, the Gryffindors later reappearing to see you lying in a heap together on the floor, still cucooned against the other as you slept.

"Disgusting. Never want to see that again."

"Shut up, Ronald!"

if he's sick though, you will cancel everything at a moment's notice and take care of him, even if he insists he needs no such thing

early mornings can be done

although, Harry much prefers to stay with you just a bit longer, cuddled together peacefully

you don't exactly mind either

so on some days, the early mornings don't really happen

again, you can't find it within yourself to care as long as you're with him

if you do meal plans or diets, he'll help and prepare whatever you want

"Want this blended?"

"Please."

his face will screw up in disgust at the kale smoothie and you will chuckle as he pushes it to you, saying he wants something else right then and there

this conveniently always happens right when a glass of the green sludge is placed before him

he will cheer for you in any competitions you have, whether they be true formal ones or casual meetups with other players of your sport

if you don't really want the attention on you though, he will instantly shush himself and only admire how you loop around the defence as you dribble and shoot

will boast subtly about how amazing you are

"Welp, I wonder who that was that just crushed the other team on the field? Seen them around before, sweetheart?"

You decide to play along, letting a bliss filled grin spread over your face, "No, don't think I have. Whoever they are though, I think they're someone to look out for."

"I think so too."

[partywithgyu]

In The Pines.

🌙Members: Kang Taehyun and Huening Kai.

🌙Genre: Horror. More like, spooky.

🌙Tag: One shot.

🌙W/C: 2300+

🌙Summary: Taehyun had a dream. It was a lucid dream or rather a lucid nightmare. Along with him was his friend, Kai. Stuck in a lucid nightmare he can't manipulate, Taehyun has to deal with the horrifyingly weird happenings. He could get stuck in the nightmare only for that night, right?

‹•.•›

Taehyun woke up in a dimly lit room.

He looked down at himself, dressed in the silk sleepwear he wore to bed that night. So soft was the blanket he pushed away and his feet touched the ground. It was red but not a deep shade unlike the roses in the vase, on the white old fashioned dresser. Few steps towards it he took. Stopping at a distance, small, he looked into the mirror. He saw the reflection of the open window behind him, revealing the sky so enigmatic. No, he couldn't see his own self in the mirror for he was in a lucid dream. 

He did what one would if they were left to control a dream. He left to explore. His feet rushed past the tall bedroom door, down the stairs to the lower floor. He looked to the left then to the right. All around him were doors. No furniture, just doors. In the dimly lit room, he could see that the walls were of a pale shade. The doors were dark, with dull gold detailing. Confusion arose as he looked around. "Which door shall I go through?" The one straight ahead he chose. Opening it had consequences. Cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and he was dragged away. The face was familiar, but difficult to identify with the flashing lights. He could've looked over it for more time to try to recall the person's identity. If only there were blinding lights calling out for his gaze. 

Here and there he looked. Around him was chaos. Chaos was created by the people stomping around, screaming on top of their lungs, words he couldn't quite make out. They looked so dead. As if their eyes never once saw life. Holding in their hands, sources of colorful lights they pointed it around. Truly it was headache inducing. This was a lucid dream, he remembered. For it was lucid, he could control it. He believed he could manipulate it. So, he turned to face a wall. 

"Taehyun," called out a familiar voice making him feel relieved. He could recognize the voice to be of his best friend Huening Kai. He would turn to a different scene, he thought. No. He turned to see a familiar face in a scene growing more violent. He looked into his friend's worried eyes. Kai's eyebrows were furrowed, his cheeks stained with tear marks. "We have to get out of here," he said in a tone so pleading that Taehyun immediately held onto his hand. 

"Kai. Where do we go?" he asked, even more terrified as he noticed blood on the faces on the people. Now they held a weapon each in their hands once free. "Door. We have to get out of this mansion," replied Kai in a hushed tone. The last thing they needed was being charged at by the lifeless people. Twisting the knob, Kai opened the door. He dragged Taehyun out of there. 

Once again all around them were doors. They looked at each other. "How do we get out of here?," asked Taehyun. Breathing in and out, Kai looked around before looking at the shorter friend. "It has to be one of these doors right?," he said with a hint of nervousness in his tone. Taehyun nodded before hesitantly reaching for the other door. The door opened to reveal a mirror. Their reflection didn't exist. "Next door," said Kai before reaching out to the other door. He was rushing because the longer they stayed in the creepy mansion, the most afraid he was of whatever could happen next. Rather, whoever could come to them. 

The third door was pushed open by Taehyun. The young men narrowed their eyes, when bright light fell on them. It was a dimly lit room with a table at the centre. On the table was a cage and in the cage a very bright being. It looked like a fairy, that's what Kai thought at least. "Oh no. Has she trapped you two too?," asked the creature in a concerned tone. "Who?," the two of them asked at the same time. "The evil witch. The one who has caged me." They shared a look before shaking their heads, slowly. "We haven't met any evil--" "Oh good. You should escape before she returns." "How?" "I wish I knew. A window? Something. As long as you two escape to the pines, you're good." 

"The pines?," asked Kai. "Yes. Outside this mansion is a long road. At the end of the road are the pines. That's the only place she can't get you two," said the bright little creature. "As you walk down the road, do not talk to anyone else you come across. Do not believe anyone you come across." Taehyun gulped. The warning made him fearsome of what they would have to encounter on the walk. That's when they hear a small sound at the corner of the room. "Go! Go!" On hearing the fairy-like creature scream those words, Kai shut the door. It was for a split second that Taehyun felt guilty for not setting the creature free. However at times like that, one's own survival has to be prioritized. In this case, both their survival. Silently, he promised himself that he wouldn't leave behind Huening Kai no matter what. 

"Not again," they heard a scream from upstairs. Taehyun turned to the staircase. It sounded like a boy just like him. Someone, who seemed rather frustrated. "We should go," said the other boy before opening another door. Oddly to their convenience, the door led to the outside. "Outside?," he asked Kai who nodded at him before stepping out. Taehyun followed. 

The front yard looked ruined by chaos. Taehyun made the observation as the two young men walked to the main gate. The swings were broken. The merry-go-round was once painted with colors he could tell. Aesthetic, it would be to some. To Taehyun, it was chilling. To be present in a scene, under the purple sky, in a place unknown. He wanted to go back to the world he knew. He wanted to wake up. 

"You told me I would be able to control the dream," he said to Kai. 

"I told you it would take practice," reminded the accused man with a hint of nervousness in his tone. 

Kai was right. He was told that. But he didn't expect this to be the outcome. "Why am I lost in a nightmare?" The last thing he wanted to do was walk on the spooky road that they were walking on. At least there were streetlights. "It's alright. It'll get done today. It's only for tonight," muttered the taller guy, walking ahead. "Right. It's just for tonight. I'll wake up soon." He picked up the pace to catch up with the taller boy. He felt better about walking next to him. "How do I wake up?," he questioned. Kai looked at him. "Oh. It's easy. We just have to reach the pines. That'll be the end of the adventure, you see." 

Not knowing much about how lucid dreams work, Taehyun just nodded. That's all he could do anyway. Walking to the pines wouldn't be that difficult, he thought. Then, he saw someone sitting on the bench, at the bus stop. He noticed first the small golden ornaments hanging on the tip of a tall, pointed hat. It was a clown. A creepy smile was painted onto his face. The one that extended upto his cheeks. Taehyun clinged to Huening Kai. "Stop," he whispered. Huening Kai did as told. He turned to Taehyun with worry in his eyes.  "We'll be fine as long as we don't talk to him. He'll disappear if we do that. After all, this is a dream," he reminded softly. "I know." 

"Know what?," asked the clown in a high pitched voice. He was heading to them, on his hands, upside down. It was horrifying, his gaze. "Ignore." reminded Taehyun to Kai. A small nod from Kai, then they started walking ahead. It was going to be a long walk with a clown behind them. 

"Tell me. Tell me. I wanna know." 

"Oh! Let me guess! You know that you're headed the wrong way?" 

"My! My! The pines are the other way! Poor boys!" 

"You're so lost without your mom. Don't worry, children. I'll help you find them!" 

"Wow! Did she tell you to not talk to strangers?" 

"I am not a stranger. Look at me. Don't you know me? Take a look. Take a look." 

"Look! Is that a shark in the sky?." 

"Ah! Fooled you!" 

"Don't act like you didn't fall for it."

"Why did the mushroom go to the party? Because it was a fun guy!" 

The clown wouldn't shut up. More than terrifying it was annoying. So, very annoying. It was shocking when the clown screamed for he had been hit. The two guys turned around to see another boy, about their age, with a baseball bat in his hand. The clown lay on the floor, with 'X' painted over his eyes. To their surprise he was beginning to fade away. Kai looked over at Taehyun who just watched the scene. The unknown guy smiled at them. "You're welcome." Taehyun opened his mouth to talk for it to be covered by Kai. "Don't talk to anyone," he was reminded. 

"Why not? You can talk to me. I am just another wanderer. I wouldn't have hit the clown for you otherwise." 

Taehyun was curious about the use of the term wanderer. What did it mean to be a wanderer?, he wanted to know. So, he stopped to hear what the wanderer had to say next. "What? Aren't you two wanderers too?" He was clueless of what it even meant to be a wanderer. Yet, he couldn't ask him. "This is a trap," whispered Kai into his ears. 

The wanderer's eyes lit up as he drew a conclusion. He looked over at Kai who only seemed to be wanting him to shut up. "I don't know what to do other than tell you to not go to the pines. Don't go. Wake up." 

The warning made Taehyun even more curious. What was the guy talking about? He looked so human. Like a boy killing time. The way he had been waiting for the clown almost. He must've picked the spot to hide because of the streetlight. He could see the clown clearly that way. He was so tempted to ask him. "Taehyun, we have to go to the pines to wake up, remember?" said Kai, gaining his attention. "Right." 

Once again, the two guys found themselves walking on the path. The pines, they could see far away. "What did he mean?" asked Taehyun to his friend. "How am I supposed to know?," replied Kai. He sighed as he looked at his friend. "Dreams don't always make sense, you know?," he said. "I keep forgetting this is a dream." "Right. You aren't even able to control it so that makes sense." Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "Can you?" "Hm?" "Can you control this dream? Are you really here? Are we sharing the same lucid dream?," questioned Taehyun, stopping in his tracks. Kai stopped too. "I can't control--" 

A fish hit Kai's face. It was a goldfish, he could see courtesy of the streetlights. A few more fell on the ground. Surprised, Taehyun looked up at the purple sky. It was raining fishes, just like he had once read about in a novel. "We better run," said Kai putting forth his hand. Taehyun held onto it before the two of them ran to the pines. He giggled, once they were covered by the trees. He turned back to see a lot more fishes fall from the sky. "That was silly," he said to Kai. "Free fishes," commented the other boy. 

"Anyway, let's go now. I want to wake up," said Taehyun. "Sure." 

 "Don't go," they heard a voice say. Another boy sat by a tree, sadness in his eyes. He looked as pale as one could with the darkness under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for months. "It's a trap. Don't go in," he told Taehyun. Particularly, him. "They're just like the clown, Tae." "He's right," defended another guy, from not so far. Few more guys headed closer. "Don't go in. He's trapping you." He sounded very assuring. That wasn't enough for Taehyun to believe them. Why would he believe the people of this nightmare? As they started getting closer, trying to convince him, Kai held onto his hand. "Let's run before they trap us. They don't want us to get in the pines." 

The two friends ran as fast as they could. So fast, that the few of the unknown guys who tried following them, gave up. They ran and ran until they saw a golden bench. In the middle of the pines, a golden bench, had to be there for a reason. "I think this is it. It has daylight around it. So sit," said Kai to Taehyun. Relieved, the guy sat on the bench. It was over. The nightmare was over, at least that's what he thought. "May I never have a nightmare again," he said only to notice the creeper growing up from the land, creeping around his leg. 

Golden was the light surrounding the trees. Familiar was the voice that spoke as though it didn't belong a person. The voice belonged perhaps to the trees or the wind. Maybe, it was the purple sky. "You were successful, wanderer. Just as told, you brought to me a sacrifice so you no longer stay cursed. You're free from the recurring nightmare. You shall now dream freely, no long wake up in the mansion. Be vary of wandering back into my nightmare world again." 

Eyes wide open, Taehyun looked at Kai. He looked so relieved for he had finally gotten rid of the curse. How could he not be? Not even once he would have to visit this nightmare again. He had to work hard for it of course. To even convince Taehyun to try to have a lucid dream was work. Every bait was a work of art. It took efforts but it was done. He was free to finally have a goodnight's sleep. He felt as happy as Taehyun felt betrayed. 

"As for you new boy. Every night you shall visit this nightmare. Every night, you shall suffer. As it gets brighter, you'll wake up to a bright morning but at night you'll wake up to the purple sky. If you wish to not do so, get along a friend in the pines." 

‹•.•›

 To head to my masterlist click here.

[geraskierficrecs]

2/3 Thank you for writing it! If you're still taking prompts, may I suggest something where Jaskier is horribly injured/ill (natch) and Geralt actually is able to bring him to a town- but the people there are *really* all-in on their anti-witcher hatred. It takes some convincing (Geralt, holding Jaskier in his arms, trying to figure out whether threatening or groveling will be more effective, he doesn't *care* which, Jaskier could be dying* and he'll do both and more) the healer to accept him

 as a patient, but the coin finally convinces them and Jaskier is taken inside to a bed. Geralt is not permitted to cross the threshold. He has to wait, in the street (stable?), for hours/days to find out if Jaskier will live or die, enduring taunts and glancing blows from passersby, humbling himself to ask anyone going in the healer's place if they will bring him word of the bard. Meanwhile, Jaskier is semi-delirious inside, doesn't know where Geralt is, begging for him - can Geralt hear him from outside? He can answer him, too, but Jaskier doesn't have witcher ears and he doesn't know he's not abandoned. I assumed it will all end happily, because the healer's skilled even if an asshole, but they're both going to be particularly clingy when reunited, don't you think? Anyway, thanks again and please consider!

This prompt has been a long time coming, but I hope you like the finished result!

_______________________________________________

For Geralt, blood has never been a cause for fear.

If anything, it was occasionally a relief to see the slow pulse that signals his heart is still beating.  It means he’ll survive so long as he applies pressure and waits for his enhancements to do their work.  In a hunt, blood could mean a new clue to follow in a hunt or signal the end of a long battle against a creature.

Not this.  Not creating a spreading stain across Jaskier’s precious blue silk.  Not dripping freely down shaking hands that are clinging to the front of Geralt’s armor like a drowning man to rope.

“S--sorry.  Sorry,” Jaskier babbles and Geralt’s heart breaks a little more.

“Shh, shh.  No, it’s not your fault.”  

Geralt looks desperately around the trampled clearing and the still twitching body of the Arachas.  It takes him two tries to wet his lips enough to whistle for Roach.

Jaskier is still talking, frantic like he knows his time is running out.  “Never...listen,” he swallows, “Couldn’t let it...get you.”

“Damnit Jaskier--I would have been fine!”

“Poison kills Witchers too.”

It’s almost word for word what Geralt had explained that morning before beginning his hunt.  He’d been worried about the number of Golden Oriole potions in his pack and eager to restock at the next town they reached.  Unfortunately, the farm that hired him wasn’t large enough to have more than the most basic ingredients and they’d needed the money too much to pass up the job.

___________________________________________________________

Venomous Arachas were quick and vicious enough to mean more than the few missing cattle that had been reported.  They hunted in packs, clever and vicious.  It was why Geralt had taken the time to tell Jaskier to stay behind.

“They cover themselves in a layer of poison that they can spray at a target even yards away.  Even a knick could kill a human,” he’d told him.  “Only a few live long enough to reach a mage good enough to save them.”

He doesn’t tell him about how long it takes for the poison to kill the victims.  Or about the hallucinations that meant their last hours would be spent in physical and mental agony.  The bard didn’t need to know about how many villagers had been buried already.

He doesn’t tell him that only the lucky ones die within hours--or that the extremely lucky might have someone willing to put them out of their misery before their organs dissolved within them.

Jaskier looked intrigued.  “Are you immune?”

“No, but I can handle more of it than you.  Which is why you’re staying here.”

“Sure--as long as you swear to let me pick your brains for details afterward.”

_____________________________________________________

He should have known then not to trust the bard’s easy promise not to move from their camp.  Jaskier was loyal to a fault and painfully, terrifyingly courageous when someone he cared about was threatened.  He must have followed Geralt through the woods after the sound of the fight began.

But it wasn’t until the Arachas had thrown Geralt across the clearing that the bard had made his move.

It was like Geralt was there just  to watch.

To watch Jaskier rush into the fray like a hero from one of his stories--only instead of a sword all he had was that stupid fucking lute.  A lute and a feral scream that was echoed by the Arachas when it turned to the new threat and, and--

Jaskier’s hands tighten around Geralt before slowly losing their grip, spasming where they fall limp.  “Ger--geralt--”

“Don’t you dare,” he snarls back, “Don’t you dare try to give me your fucking goodbyes.  You are not dying.”

“S--silly man.” Jaskier’s smile is full of painful fondness.  “Would you fight death for me?”

Geralt swings him up into his arms and nearly weeps at the sound of familiar hooves running in his direction.  “Every. Fucking. Time.”

Read more on AO3.

[katedrakeohd]

The Lake (A)

Author's note:

**Dear Reader, if you have come across this post accidentally on your dashboard out of context I apologize. This is one of two possible endings for The Lake, so feel free to start at the beginning or totally skip this conclusion post and read something else.

If you followed the link to get here then 'keep reading' and enjoy**

--

 Kate is startled awake by the sound of her phone buzzing and the chime of a notification. Next to her Bartie is curled up into a ball and whimpering, his face is wet with tears. 

Kate sits up and pulls her drowsy two year old into her lap and kisses her on the head before reaching over to rub Bartie on his back. "What's wrong, Bartie? Why are you crying?"

Bartie wipes his tears and turns his face to peer over his shoulder at his Aunt. "I..I had an accident. And a really bad dream."

"That's ok Honey, accidents happen, and don't worry the dream is all gone now."

Bartie sits up, hugging his knees to his chest, "But the dream was so scary and it felt so real."

Kate's phone buzzes again and she glances at it, "It might help to talk about it? Make it a little less scary."

They climb out of the playcastle and Bartie looks up at Kate with wide eyes as he takes her hand, "There was a monster in my dream! A monster in the lake!"

Kate gives his hand a gentle squeeze,  rubbing the back of it with her thumb. "Oh sweety, monsters aren't real. They only put them in fairytales to make the story more interesting, and to give the hero something to do." 

She leads him to the bathroom nearby to get cleaned up. "But are you sure monsters aren't real? Uncle Max told me.."

Kate chuckles as she stops in the doorway, "Your Uncle Maxwell is a big silly guy, and likes to tell make-believe stories just for fun. Never take them seriously unless he can show you pictures to prove it."

Bartie glances up at Kate with a sheepish expression, trying to sound brave and forget the scary images in his head, "Yeah.. they're just stories. Silly Uncle Max."

Kate waits outside the closed door while Bartie gets out of his wet clothes. She smiles as she watches Brooklyn toddle over to play with her toys. Thankfully the monster talk didn't bother her.

Her phone buzzes again and she picks it up with a sigh. She's surprised to see the text is from Maxwell. 

>> Help! Our boat has sprung a leak and we're sinking! 😱

Kate shakes her head, feeling that Maxwell is being over dramatic. She responds back,

>> Oh Max, what did you do now?

She's just dropping her phone down to watch Brooklyn move onto something new to play with when her phone starts ringing. Frowning with concern, she realizes the call is from Preston, their head of security. She answers,

"Preston, what's going on?"

"There's been an incident out on the lake and we're mobilizing a rescue. Stay with the children and we'll update you when we have more details."

Kate feels her heart sink down into her stomach, realizing that Max's text was serious. "But Preston.."

He doesn't respond because he's already hung up.

"Mommy, why do you look so scared?" Brooklyn picks up her stuffed unicorn and hugs it. "What did Mr. Preston say?"

 

Kate rushes over to the window and pushes open the curtains. Through the trees she can just make out the sight of Preston in the speedboat as he exits the boat house and then disappears from view.

…

Like a few hours earlier, Kate and the children are standing in the courtyard. But this time they're watching the speedboat arrive at the dock with the three men in it. Kate feels a tremendous sense of relief at seeing both of her guys looking mostly dry. But her relief fades when she sees Maxwell and Preston help Drake get out of the boat. 

His denim shirt is in tatters and covered in rusty looking stains, and his right leg is streaked with fresh blood. He leans heavily on Preston as he limps forward, scowling at Maxwell and shoving him away. "I've had enough of your help today. Now go on you silly bastard."

Kate scoops Brooklyn up in her arms as she hears her start to cry.  She hides behind her hands and turns her face into her Mother's shoulder as she whines and sobs, "What happened to Daddy?! Why is his leg all red like that?"

Preston helps Drake over to a wooden deck chair.  He sits back and lets Preston take over first-aid as he tends to his bullet wound. Undoing his ruined shirt, he tosses it aside. The pain etched on his face is all too familiar.

Kate aches to run over to Drake to give him hugs and kisses, seeing the pain he's in, but holds back for Brooklyn's sake. She can't help the tears that burn at her eyes though as she looks between Drake and Maxwell.

"Maxwell what happened? What did you do?"

Bartie runs over to hug his uncle's legs, "I'm so glad you're okay Uncle Max."

Looking down at his feet, Maxwell mumbles, "I..brought a..pistol with me on our fishing trip."

"You did what? But why?!" Kate gasps with horror.

"For protection, right Uncle Max?" 

Bartie looks up at him and smiles as Max lays his hand on his nephew's head and looks down at him sadly, "That's right little Buddy, but I wasn't smart about it. I should have told Uncle Drake before we got into the boat."

"Ya think?" Drake grumbles and hisses as Preston wipes the blood off with an alcohol wipe and then wraps a gauze bandage around his leg.

"Protection from what?" Kate asks, getting more and more impatient at the lack of details.

"This will have to do, Your Grace. Until we can get you to the hospital." Preston insists.

Mara moves from Kate's side to stand next to Maxwell. She looks down at Bartie and then back up to Maxwell, "I'm sorry, Lord Beaumont, but I must ask your nephew to step aside."

"But why?" Bartie cries, as Maxwell kneels down to his level to give him a hug.

Maxwell looks between Drake, Preston, Kate and Mara. "They need to take me into custody, Bartie."

Bartie cries harder as Maxwell stands up again. Mara steps closer and grips him firmly by the arm and leads him away. 

"But he was just protecting Uncle Drake from the monster in the lake!" Bartie cries out indignantly, stomping his foot. "He didn't mean to shoot the wrong one!"

Kate walks over to try to console Bartie, but he backs away. "No! Uncle Max was brave, he was supposed to be the hero."

Drake sighs, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, Bartie. There was no monster, but Max was scared enough to think there was. He dropped the pistol and it went off accidentally. I got hit in the leg and the boat ended up with a hole in it too. He should've been brave enough not to take the pistol with him. Now he has to face the consequences."

Off in the distance, a siren can be heard. Bartie covers his ears, and runs back toward the manor. 

 "Kate," Drake says, waving her over to him.

Kate looks between Drake and the retreating back of her distraught nephew, she rushes over to give her husband a hug and kiss. Brooklyn wraps her little arms around his neck and hugs him too, before Kate has to pull her away. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance wash over everyone as it pulls into the yard. Drake looks between the ambulance and Preston and then nods to him. The security guard turns to Kate,

"Please go back to the manor, Your Grace. I'll go with the Duke to the hospital and report to you on his condition. He's in good hands, he'll be fine." 

Kate gives Drake one last kiss, and then carries a whimpering Brooklyn back inside. She finds Bartie sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase, his little face in his hands, crying. When she sits down next to him he doesn't pull away as she wraps her arm around his slim shoulders. 

Through his sobs, Kate hears him ask, "Is Un..Uncle Drake...go..going to be okay?"

Kate nods, "I think so. He's been shot, stabbed and wounded many times and keeps on going. He's made of tough stuff, your Uncle."

Bartie wipes his eyes on his sleeve, "And Uncle Max?"

"Well, for now, he'll probably be kept in his room under armed guard until Preston gets back with your Uncle Drake. And then we'll contact your Uncle Liam, the King and ask his advice on what happens next."

"Real life is so much scarier than fairytales sometimes," Bartie mumbles.

Kate leans down to give him a kiss on the forehead, "That's very true, sweetheart."

...........

//So what did you think of this ending? If you're curious you can try the other. The Lake (B) Or you can go back to the original post to leave your comments. //

Thanks for reading. 😊

[agentrouka-blog]

What future do you see for Timett One-Eye? Do you think he'll cross paths with Sansa and be a stand-in for Jon, since Jon is probably going to lose an eye?

I definitely agree that Timett is likely one of the many stand-ins for Jon, but I also think he’s not going to be as prominent a figure as the Hound, or even Sansa’s cuddly cousin Sweetrobin or any of the maaaaany others. I don’ t think they would be a specific stand-in for Jon in a romantic context, or even touch on every context of their relationship. IF they meet, the devil will likely be in the details.

That said, Tyrion is given this little speech in ADWD: 

Tyrion cleared his throat. “You can talk of old times later … after I am done explaining why my head would be of more use to you upon my shoulders. You will find, Lord Plumm, that I can be very generous to my friends. If you doubt me, ask Bronn. Ask Shagga, son of Dolf. Ask Timett, son of Timett.” “And who would they be?” asked the man called Inkpots. “Good men who pledged me their swords and prospered greatly by that service.” He shrugged. “Oh, very well, I lied about the ‘good’ part. They’re bloodthirsty bastards, like you lot.” (ADWD, Tyrion XI)

A one-eyed, blood-thirsty bastard, a Burned Man (clan name). That’s pretty blatant. And considering he is specifically named and brought up, that’s another hint that Sansa may, in fact, encounter the mountain clans soon, and possibly make use of her marriage to Tyrion in that context. They have reason to remember him fondly. When Tyrion is informed that his mountain clan men are gone, we are given detail on Timett and another potential, ugly hint for Sansa:

“The Stone Crows are still in the kingswood. Shagga seems to have taken a fancy to the place. Timett led the Burned Men home, with all the plunder they took from Stannis’s camp after the fighting. Chella turned up with a dozen Black Ears at the River Gate one morning, but your father’s red cloaks chased them off while the Kingslanders threw dung and cheered.” Ingrates. The Black Ears died for them. Whilst Tyrion lay drugged and dreaming, his own blood had pulled his claws out, one by one. “I want you to go to my sister. Her precious son made it through the battle unscathed, so Cersei has no more need of a hostage. She swore to free Alayaya once—” “She did. Eight, nine days ago, after the whipping.” Tyrion shoved himself up higher, ignoring the sudden stab of pain through his shoulder. “Whipping?” “They tied her to a post in the yard and scourged her, then shoved her out the gate naked and bloody.” She was learning to read, Tyrion thought, absurdly. Across his face the scar stretched tight, and for a moment it felt as though his head would burst with rage. Alayaya was a whore, true enough, but a sweeter, braver, more innocent girl he had seldom met. Tyrion had never touched her; she had been no more than a veil, to hide Shae. In his carelessness, he had never thought what the role might cost her. (ASOS, Tyrion I)

No more than a veil. Veil, Vale. Bloody, Gate. Playing a role at great cost. Learning. Sweet, brave, innocent, never touched by Tyrion… That’s Sansa.

Something tells me, Sansa’s time as Alayne will come to an uncomfortable end.

I don’t think she will be literally whipped. But her role as a bastard girl might leave her very vulnerable to some kind of retribution if Littlefinger’s power in the Vale is shaken. 

There may even be a dynamic at work that I like the call Small Vale Conspiracy, akin to the Grand Northern Conspiracy. Vale lords loyal to the Arryns may be hoping to oust Littlefinger, while Harry’s faction also has no desire to be controlled by him. We are given to understand Littlefinger has bought most of their support. But maybe not?

Sansa as his bastard way above her station, his co-conspirator, potentially as his rumored incestuous mistress, maybe accused of wearing the clothes or jewels of the late Lady Arryn (Like Grandpa Lannister’s mistress, who was made to do a walk of shame by Tywin), being gifted with things as extravagant as a giant lemon cake that required every last lemon in the Vale (look to Jon’s chapters to understand the importance of citrus fruit to combat scurvy in winter and you may understand how some could consider that baaaaad) and arranging fancy tourneys in a time of war... Plus, she lied about Lysa’s death.

It may come to nothing, but if suddenly a lot of people were to turn on Sansa the moment Littlefinger is considered ousted, GRRM would have given it ample set-up. Sansas is essentially Reek to Baelish’s Ramsey. (While also being young Griff, while also being ASOS-Jon with the wildlings, while also being AGOT-Dany with the Dothraki... Cycles, mirrors everywhere.)

It would fit into the pattern of everyone heading into major catastrophe before emerging momentarily triumphant. 

Sansa being humiliated and scorned might ultimately be her path to freedom, to the North.

Another hint:

His dream of selling Arya to Lady Arryn died there in the hills, though. "There's frost above us and snow in the high passes," the village elder said. "If you don't freeze or starve, the shadowcats will get you, or the cave bears. There's the clans as well. The Burned Men are fearless since Timett One-Eye came back from the war. And half a year ago, Gunthor son of Gurn led the Stone Crows down on a village not eight miles from here. They took every woman and every scrap of grain, and killed half the men. They have steel now, good swords and mail hauberks, and they watch the high road—the Stone Crows, the Milk Snakes, the Sons of the Mist, all of them. Might be you'd take a few with you, but in the end they'd kill you and make off with your daughter."

I'm not his daughter, Arya might have shouted, if she hadn't felt so tired. She was no one's daughter now. She was no one. Not Arya, not Weasel, not Nan nor Arry nor Squab, not even Lumpyhead. She was only some girl who ran with a dog by day, and dreamed of wolves by night. (ASOS, Arya XII)

Someone wants to “sell” a Stark Girl but will fail. Winter imagery. Running with a dog, i.e. some knight-like figure like the Hound, but dreaming of wolves. “I am not his daughter.” Could as well be Sansa.

If I’m wrong about Sansa taking a ship from Gulltown, she may actually make her way west through the mountains with a knight and encounter the mountain clans, and Timett. It would be a sweet parallel to whatever Dany is going to do to the Dothraki she encounters at the end of ADWD after fleeing Meereen (where she “played a role”) on Dragon back, and whatever Jon will be doing in the North that will likely involve the Wildlings, after returning from getting stabbed. 

If somehow Sansa enters recovers some power and dignity or at least gets the opportunity to politic her way North with the help of the Mountain Clans, I would love it. Timett would be a key figure to making it happen, through his Tyrion connection. 

If she eventually, perhaps even after reuniting with Jon, manages to broker some kind of peace between Clans and Vale, much like Jon did with Wildlings and Night’s Watch, I would love it even more. But that may be too much to ask? 

I’m not super-attached to this theory, but I could enjoy it. 

That’s the nice thing about TWOW. We already know Sansa will be big, crucial and heading home. So many different ways it may happen, though! 

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Fifty-Eight

A/N: Just saying the story is picking up pace after this part so get ready.

Words: 3.4K

Warning(s): Explicit language, mentions of drug abuse

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I watch as Tommy and Nikki finish up their MTV interview to promote the new album, Nikki glancing at me every now and then.

"And, before we go, can you repeat those dates again for the release of the video of first single and the debut of the album?"

"Uh, the 'Girls, Girls, Girls' video--we're filming for that around the end of the month, the album's coming out between May fifth and May tenth, probably." Nikki states.

"Alright, you heard it here. May is gonna be the month of Mötley Crüe, obviously when those release details become more specific we will let you all at home know but for now just keep your eyes on May. Nikki, Tommy, it's always a great talk anytime you're in the studio with us, we appreciate you dropping by."

"No problem." Nikki says.

"Anytime, Dude." Tommy adds.

"Good luck with the album, it's gonna be at the top of the charts when it's out, I guarantee."

"Thanks, we really appreciate that." Tommy nods.

"And good luck also with shooting the video, I'm sure plenty of our audience will be looking forward to all the women, and of course we'll be looking forward to all the censoring we're gonna have to edit in." The interviewer's last line is sarcastic as he shakes their hands, and they laugh. "Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee of Mötley Crüe, folks. Don't go anywhere." He finishes as they cut, and Nikki waves me over, sitting his coffee cup down to reach for my water bottle in my hand.

I give it to him and he nearly drinks the entire thing before handing it back to me.

"Thank you, babe." He says to me, letting out a breath as the interviewer bids them one last "goodbye" as they stand up and stretch.

We have to meet Mick, Vince and Doc at their rehearsal space so they can continue their auditions for background singers.

So far, the girls that have tried out are either gorgeous but can't sing, and the ones who can sing like Whitney Houston aren't "hot enough to be on the same stage as Mötley Crüe", even though I've seen them hook up with far worse.

I haven't said a word about 'You're All I Need' because the giant, heavy scratch my key left on the entire passenger side of Nikki's brand new car will say plenty when he finally notices it.

So far he hasn't even driven the thing since he's been back. It's just been in the garage.

"...Okay, thank you for your time." Nikki pipes to the pretty dark-haired girl with almost honey colored eyes.

I think she's on the "hot but talentless" list.

"Dude, we're never gonna find fucking singers." Tommy groans, rubbing his face.

"Viv, can you sing?" Vince whines.

"Like chalk against a chalk board." I reply blankly and he sighs.

"All this has been is just hours and hours of disappointment with a few good blowjobs in between." Vince states.

"Just shut up and be patient." Mick tells them.

Doc sends the next girl in, and I see everyone's faces light up because she's pretty.

Blonde hair, a nice figure, and she dresses the part.

"Hi." She greets us with a smile.

"Hi." Vince grins back.

"I-I'm Donna McDaniel." She says next.

"Okay, here's some lyrics." Nikki hands her a sheet of paper with the main lines of a few of their songs she'd have to sing backup for and she takes it. "Start when you're ready."

The relief on their faces when she starts, makes me want to laugh.

She's attractive and she can sing.

"When you leave, tell Doc that we're interested, and he'll lead you to where you can stay until we finish up." Nikki informs her and she nods, handing the music back to him.

"Thank you." She tells them as she steps out.

"No, thank you." Vince says out of earshot, looking a little more hopeful that they'll find their second singer.

And sure enough, they do.

Within forty more minutes, they're sending everyone else home after another blonde, named "Emi" but she pronounces it "Amy", comes in.

I can see Vince's mind churning up how to get her and Donna to fuck around with him, and Nikki can see it, too.

Once Emi is sent to wait with Donna, Nikki's going into military sergeant mode.

"If we hire them," he starts, pointing at Tommy and Vince, "nobody fucks them. Got it?"

"What? Why?" Vince looks heartbroken.

"You don't shit in your own backyard, man, that's why. They're employees, we're the bosses."

"Yeah, Vinnie, we can't have employees having us wrapped around their finger." Tommy adds with a nod.

"It's the easiest pussy there possibly will ever be, are you serious?" Vince complains.

"If it's so easy, why did they both turn you down already?" I point out and he glares at me.

"Just. Don't. Fuck. Them. Got it?" Nikki sternly asks.

I guess now is a good time to mention that Nikki fucked Donna on the "Girls" tour.

The closer we got to tour, the more adamant Nikki was about cutting his addiction.

But, despite him constantly saying "I'm done with it" and throwing away everything to get high on, I'd always find him crawling around in our yard, naked, with his shot gun...carrying on about midgets and Mexicans.

It wouldn't take the neighbors five minutes to call and let me know he was out there.

Trying to tell them a believable excuse was the hard part.

I let out a soft breath, pulling the covers tighter over me, drifting further and further into sleep as the sound of our ceiling fan and Nikki flickering his lighter from the closed closet every now and again moves through the room, and lulls me to sleep.

I don't know what time it is when I wake up to the sound of Nikki screaming, running out of our room, but I force myself to sit up as quickly as I can and go after him.

I turn on the light in the hallway just in time to see him pressing the "panic" button on our security system contact box, which alerts West Tech, our security company, and they send out one of their people to come check on the situation.

"Nikki, what the hell?!" I ask him and he turns to look at me, pissed off and paranoid.

"I'm tired of these bastards not giving us any peace."

"W-What? Who?"

"You know who!"

"Nikki, what are you talking about?!"

He had smoked his crack and convinced himself our security had bugged the house and were watching him, constantly.

Then, he had decided "no, it's the FBI that's watching me" and gained the courage to set off the alarm to our security that something wasn't right.

And then, by the time West Tech arrived, Nikki was turning on them, again.

"Nikki, let me get to the door." I tell him calmly as the knocking continues.

"Fuck off!" Nikki shouts.

"Mr. Sixx, it's Chris with West Tech--"

"--Get off of my fucking property or I'll fucking shoot you!" He screams as we stand on the other side of the door, his shotgun ready. "You motherfuckers have bugged my house and I'm not fucking taking it anymore!"

"Mr. Sixx--"

They stop trying the second Nikki cracks the door open, and points his gun at all of them.

I hear them scatter to their van, the tires screeching as they quickly make a break for it.

He slams the door shut and locks it, the both of us waiting in silence until we decide they're gone.

"You called our security...then shot at them because they answered the call..." I point out to him, exhausted, and he looks down at me. "I'm sleeping in the guest bedroom." I state.

I lock the door behind me and climb into the bed, hearing Nikki go back to our bedroom, and I envy Karen for staying over at a friend's house because Nikki is starting to really wear me down with his shit.

The next few nights consists of Nikki, Tommy, me and the director working on the music video, Wayne Isham, trying to decide what strip club would be best to film the video for "Girls, Girls, Girls" at.

And me and Nikki arguing over another matter that is too be determined:

"I said I'm not gonna be in the video." I repeat to Nikki, crossing my arms and he raises a brow.

"Babe, it's not that serious." Nikki states.

"I already told you I'm not comfortable with it."

"You wear bikinis all the time, you wear thongs and bras all the time...It's not like I'm gonna have you up there topless or anything." He motions to the stage of the Seventh Veil.

"Nikki, I'm not comfortable with it. Why can't you just let that go?"

"Why can't you be more fun?"

"Nikki, it's fine if she doesn't want to." Tommy lightly tells him with a chuckle.

Nikki doesn't even hear him, too busy focusing on me to see if he cracked me or not.

"Are you fellas good on drinks?" A scantily clad cocktail waitress asks us.

"We're fine, thanks." Wayne tells her with a decent amount of class...but that doesn't sit well with Tommy and Nikki.

"Okay, my name's Tabby if you guys need anything, let me know."

Before she can smile and walk away, Tommy's stopping her.

"Actually, there is something else, Tabby." He states, smiling, and she grins politely.

"What can I get for you?"

He motions for her to come closer and he gets in her ear, with Nikki smirking, knowing exactly what he was proposing to the pretty brunette.

Her face pales, and she glances at me before awkwardly giving Tommy nudge with her elbow as if he were joking.

His face shifts to one of seriousness.

"What, you think I'm joking?" He asks her and she tries to keep from looking too uncomfortable, giving all of us a small smile before saying:

"I've gotta get back to work. Let me know when you guys need a refill, you know it's on the house."

She walks away and Nikki and Tommy chuckle.

That was the first time I had seen a woman get uncomfortable around the guys.

Usually they were all for whatever it is Tommy or Vince suggest doing with them...I later found out Tommy had suggested to Tabby that he and Nikki meet her in the bathroom to tag team her.

That's why she had looked almost sick looking at me, when he was whispering in her ear.

She was probably thinking:

"Bless her naive heart."

Me nor Wayne bother to ask any questions about the incident before we're getting ready to go.

The guys and Wayne talk to the owner about possibly shooting the video and he's all for it, giving them the day after tomorrow to get it done.

I'm too busy thinking about what Nikki said earlier to really listen all that much.

"Why can't you be more fun?" who the hell does he think he is? Oh, right, he's "NiKkI fUcKiNg SiXx."

Once we're stepping outside and telling Wayne "bye", Nikki and Tommy are putting in to going to the Cathouse.

I just want to go home.

"I don't feel like going all the way back home, then coming all the way back." Nikki complains and I furrow my brows a little.

"Nikki, it's..." I grab his wrist to pull his jacket sleeve up and look at his watch. It's nearly 3:00am. "...2:53."

"Then just call a cab." He suggests.

"Are you on smack right now?" I don't sugarcoat the question. "You're being a bigger asshole than you are when you're sober." I add.

"Fuck off!" He snaps at me.

I can tell Tommy wants to say something, but keeps quiet.

"Fine." I say, turning on my heel to the payphone down the way.

I realize I don't have any money to pay for it, but before I can go back and ask Nikki for some change, he and Tommy are off.

So I find my next option.

I walk nearly an hour to the Franklin and get to where Duff's staying, only to find him, and none of the guys are home.

I feel like crying, but decide this isn't the end of the world before I calm down and sit by his door like a lost puppy.

I wake up to the feeling of someone nudging me awake with their shoe, and I'm met with Izzy looking down at me.

"Izzy." I greet him.

"Viv." He replies blankly. "Did you leave or were you thrown out?" He asks me and I roll my eyes before he gives me the slightest hint of a smile before it fades and he's nodding across the hall. "C'mon."

I stand up as he unlocks his apartment and motions me inside.

"You can stay here until Duff gets in." He says.

"Thank you." I reply, sitting on the couch as he hands me a shitty blanket.

"I'm gonna go scrub the lipstick and regret from my balls." He informs me, heading to the bathroom.

"At least you regret it." I say back.

"Nah, I don't regret getting a blowjob from a random girl, I regret not nailing her." He corrects me and I don't even hide my laughter.

Once he's done, he's stepping across the hall to see if Duff's back. Apparently he is because Izzy's coming to get me.

"Fuck off, Sixxette." He takes the blanket from me and I gladly head towards Duff's place.

When I get inside, Duff's passed out on the couch, snoring, and smelling like a bar.

I walk over to him, gently shaking him awake, and he let's out another groan.

"Go away." He waves his hand, his eyes closed, and I raise a brow.

"Duff, it's Viv. C'mon, at least go get in your bed so you won't feel worse tomorrow."

He perks up at the sound of my voice, lifting his head, rubbing his eyes.

"I've...is this a dream? 'Cause usually you're naked and 'Purple Rain' is playing." He slurs and I feel my face heat up in embarrassment.

"No, it isn't a dream...and I didn't need to know that but thank you, I guess." I reply, pulling his boots off.

I help him stand, his tall, lanky figure towering over me.

"You look pretty, were you on a date?" He asks when I get him to sit on his bed, helping him not fall over as he tries to take off his shirt and gets caught in it.

"Er...kinda?" I shrug and he nods. "Were you on a date?" I ask when a condom wrapper falls from his jacket and he scrunches his face up.

"Er...kinda." He replies in the same tone, rubbing his face and I laugh. "Hey, I'm a bachelor now, Viv. I'm gullible. I mean elgib--no, estrang...or amb...what the fuck is that word?"

"Eligible?"

"Yeah, that one." He coughs, taking his belt off as I pick up his scattered dirty clothes and put them against his wall in a pile.

When I turn back around, I get a split-second's worth of an eyeful of him completely naked and snap back around, covering my eyes.

"Ohh...I should've told you I'm freeballing." He says.

"Just..." I turn around, keeping my eyes closed, holding my hand out for his pants so I can put them in the pile with his other clothes.

"Are you reaching for it or something?" He laughs and, again, my face is bright red.

"No, Duff, I'm not reaching for it. I need your pants." I inform him.

He laughs some more, throwing the pants my way and I take them and put them in the pile as he crawls into bed and under the covers.

"By the way, it's bigger than that." He informs me and I furrow my brows and look at him.

"What?"

"It's cold in here so..."

I realize he's referring to his dick and I scream internally.

"...Okay, Duff, too much informa--"

"--I'm packing. That's all I'm saying. I'm like a can of Spam. Lotta meat in--"

"--Shh!" I blush even more, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Oh, oops."

"Jeez. Goodnight, Duff." I'm about to go sleep on the couch.

"Where ya going?" He asks me when I turn the light off.

"Sleeping on the couch."

"You can sleep in here, I can take the couch." He sits up.

"No, no. You're not gonna feel good tomorrow just sleep in here, really, it's fine."

"Well, are you gonna be okay? You don't sleeping by yourself."

I sigh, wishing it were that simple.

"Duff, we can't do that. Nikki wrote an entire song about wanting to kill me, and it was because he thinks something's happening between you and I." I explain.

"Nikki accusing you of cheating?" There's an uncomfortable wait before he says, "that's fucking rich."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't like it so out of respect for him--"

"--I don't fucking respect him." He mumbles.

"Duff, you're drunk. Just sleep it off."

"You're right. I should shut the fuck up let the universe deal him his fucking cards."

I ignore him saying so, turning to leave, but I stop myself.

I'm only here to begin with because Nikki couldn't just take me back home.

I step back to the bed, taking my heels and jacket off.

I take the extra pillow under mine and put it between us as I get into bed.

"Goodnight, Duff." I say quietly, turning my back to him.

"G'night, Viv."

Nikki would have had an absolute fit had he known, then again, I wasn't fucking Duff, I had no intention of doing so, and I told Nikki exactly where I ended up staying the next day.

The sun glitters through the window of Duff's room, hitting my face, and I blink my eyes open, feeling Duff breathing in and out.

Sometime during the night I must've broken past the pillow partition because, although I'm facing away from him, my back is pulled to his side, the side of my face is resting against his bicep, my shoulder tucked under the pit of his arm, and the arm that my face is against, is wrapped around me, his hand resting against my stomach.

I turn to look at him, seeing his peaceful expression as he sleeps contently.

My mind drifts back to that dream I once had about him.

I hate that Nikki thinks anything is going on between Duff and I, but it's my fault.

I lied about seeing him, I lied by omittion at the beginning by not even telling Nikki about him...a part of me wants to think if I were to tell Nikki about me dreaming I had sex with Duff, it'd be a wake up call that our issues are more serious than he believed.

I mean, when you're in a committed relationship and you can picture yourself having sex with someone you're close to, to the point your subconscious creates this entire fantasized scenario, there's something wrong that needs to be talked about.

But another part of me knows he'll flip his shit, call me a "whore" and probably file for divorce.

So, keeping it to myself it is.

My eyes go to my crucifix lying on the bedside table, and I reach out for it.

I taken it off last night when I felt too guilty for sweeping in the same bed as Duff, knowing Nikki wouldn't like it.

I thought if I took it off, I wouldn't feel bad anymore.

And I didn't.

When I was a teenager I would take that necklace off anytime I did something I thought my mother would disapprove of. Whether it was cheating on homework assignments, or, eventually, fucking Nikki Sixx.

I ended up picking that habit back up once Duff and I started getting closer, except instead of avoiding the disapproval of my mother, I was fleeing the disapproval of Nikki.

One thing I didn't take in to consideration, however, taking it off left me at risk for leaving a track.

Just like Mick had put together I had slept with Nikki because my crucifix was on his bedroom floor back in '81, halfway through the "Girls" tour with Guns N' Roses, I accidentally left my track on the bathroom counter in Duff's room, where Nikki went to throw up while he was hanging out with him, Slash, and Steven.

What they should teach in children's church: if you're going to sin, keep any religious jewelry or articles of clothing on.

Whomever the hell you worship already knows you're up to no good.

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

There's Just Something About The Neighbors

Requested AU--if Leonardo's father had been alive during the story.

***

Flora Haywood liked her new neighbors.

The last ones had been a pain, acting as though the fact that they had moved into a middle-class neighborhood gave them special privileges. They stayed up and partied til the dawn, laughing and hollering until she couldn't sleep any longer. When they moved out, it was a enormous relief. They hoped the newer neighbors were quieter.

They were.

It was a married couple and the husband's father. They moved in quietly one day, not a peep. She stopped by to take some cookies to her new neighbors and the wife thanked her wanly but never invited her inside. She was a pale little thing with long, straight brown hair. She kept tugging her sleeves over the bruises on her wrists ("got them while moving boxes"). 

Flora never saw them outside much. Occasionally the father or husband she would see walking to work, or the wife would be doing yardwork, but other than that, they kept themselves away from the other neighbors. The husband was a handsome blond man who always tipped his hat to her when he saw her on the street. Flora wasn't sure what his job was--she thought he was employed by his father in his business, although she never did find out what business it was. The son had mentioned it was something to do with clothing, possible a factory or high-quality tailor store. 

The only time she had seen the husband's father was when he turned up on her doorstep to inform her that her lawn was becoming too overgrown, and told her to mow it. Didn't ask. Told. That one meeting was enough for her, and she would be glad if she never had to see him again. 

She was surprised to see that apparently the couple had children, as she had never seen them outside. At the grocery store she had run into the wife, sporting a fresh bruise on her cheek and a split lip, and more concerningly, a baby bump and a two-year-old. The child had a chubby round face and thick black hair--recessive genes?

When Flora greeted the wife, she looked panicked and refused to answer any questions about her child. She left the store soon after. From then on, whenever the wife saw Flora outside her home, she ducked inside.

Flora's musings about the neighbors were pushed to the back of her mind when her daughter Caroline came back from college, reeking of pot and dressed like a beatnik. She was taking a semester off to work and raise money for a trip to California. She took odd jobs babysitting around the neighborhood, even for the Borgheses, which did not last long.

"That family is fucking creepy," Caroline told her mother. "Mr. Borghese's father is always staring at me. I'm pretty sure he wants to fuck me. And I think someone is beating those kids. They always have bloody noses and the husband won't let me give them baths; I think they're bruised. Someone should call the cops on them."

Flora was tempted. A couple times, when the sounds of an argument or children crying wafted over to her side of the street, she nearly did. But then she thought of the dark cars that occasionally would be parked in their driveway at night. Of the shady men who were always in and out of their house. And their Italian last name. And she thought better of it.

***

One day when Flora went out to get the mail the wife was sitting on the doorstep crying. One of her younger children, a little blonde girl who looked all of three, was trying to comfort her, but kept looking lost and crying as well. Flora went across the street. "Are you all right, Mrs. Borghese? What's the matter?"

Mrs. Borghese looked thinner than she ever had. Her eyes were holes in her face as she looked up at Flora. "My baby's dead."

"What?" Flora was shocked. "What happened?"

"He... I just... I went in and...his body..." she was talking wildly, seeming desperate to tell her but unwilling to admit to something.

The husband came outside and ushered her in, then picked up his daughter. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Haywood," he said coolly. "My wife has been dealing with a lot over the past few days. We've just had a family tragedy."

"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can--"

"No, no. But thank you. We just need to deal with this as it comes." He entered the house again and closed the door after him. Flora craned her neck to try and see through the window in the door, but like most things in the Borghese family's life, it was covered tightly by a curtain.

***

Caroline was due for her trip to California, and was waiting outside for her friends to pick her up. Every time she looked over at the Borghese's house across the street she got a little more agitated. "I never saw no funeral for that kid."

"They probably held one privately. They're a private family."

"Too private. They're hiding something. It's fishy that half of those kids got black hair. Either she's screwing around on him or she's getting some on the side from dad-in-law."

Flora was horrified. "Caroline!"

"I'm not saying it was of her own will. That woman looks like a beaten dog half the time. The way the father in law treated her was weird, too. Always shouting at her and giving her orders. And her husband would just stand by and look on. Something fucked up is going on in that household! PROMISE me you'll call the police after we leave? Those poor kids don't deserve to live like that."

"I will," promised Flora, having no intention of doing so.

As she watched her daughter leave, speeding off in a dented Buick with her hippie friends, she looked across the street at the Borghese's house again. The father-in-law was on the porch, watching her. She wasn't close enough to discern his features, but his posture suggested something ominous, and she went inside quickly. The Borgheses were not neighbors you wanted angry.

***

Pippy, her Staffordshire terrier, had taken off across the street in pursuit of a squirrel. Flora was tromping around in her neighbor's backyards, yelling his name. She heard distant crying and snatches of conversation, and followed it out of curosity. After brushing aside a bush, she came to a tall wooden fence--the Borghese's garden, heavily fortified just like everything else about their house. She peered through a slat.

She had never seen their garden before--it was clean and well-kept, just like every other middle class garden. Neatly trimmed lawn, and a white porch swing hanging between two trees. From her vantage point, she was behind the porch swing, looking at the backs of Mr. and Mrs. Borghese as they say side by side on the swing.

The faint sobs that drifted through the air were punctuated with his gentle, soothing remarks. 

"Calm down, dolcezza. I'll kiss you, there. I'll make it all better..."

"Get off me. It needs to stop. You need to do something. You've done nothing in this marriage! You've been no help! You men, all you want is a warm hole to stick it in."

"That not true. I love you."

"If you really loved me you'd do something about this! He'll want to do it with me when you're in the room! And when the children are in the room! How can you let this happen? You call yourself a husband and a father?"

"Patience, we're talking about my father. My father. You are asking the impossible of me. It would be easier to flee to the moon than to go against my father."

"I'll kill myself! I'll kill myself and take every last one of our children with me! I can't live like this!"

"Patience--"

"I will never forgive you for what you did to my parents," she said, and her voice suddenly became icy. "But if you want the slightest, smallest glimmer of my gratitude--if you want me to give you the smallest modicum of respect as my husband and father of my children--the ones which are yours, anyway--"

Flora could not believe her ears. Her knees were hurting from crouching, and her lungs were screaming for air from holding her breath. The details--the unfurling tapestry of horror in front of her very eyes--were so unbelieveable she wondered if she were dreaming. Her daughter had been right. Caroline had been right all along. There was something very wrong with the Borgheses.

"There is nothing I can do. Patience, there is nothing. You're not the only victim here, Patience. How do you think it feels to me, having to watch this happen to you and the children? Do you know the last time I stood up to him? I was eight. Do you know what he did to me? He stomped my head into the floor until blood squirted from my nose. There is nothing I can do." He paused, and his voice became quieter. "Unless..."

The silence that followed was as tense as a bowstring, and Mrs. Borghese finally said, "No. What you're suggesting--it could go wrong. It WILL. He'll know. He'll know--"

The plank Flora had been leaning on shifted, the fence post moaning. The two whipped around, their conversation ceasing, and the minute before Flora turned away, she saw a huge, purpling bruise on the side of her face. Flora acted quickly, hurrying away into the treeline. When she was out of sight she let out a shaky sigh, leaning against a tree. Her legs were shaking, her heart pumping. She suddenly felt a sickening sense of danger. She was not supposed to hear that. 

***

Pippy came back home the next week, muddy and tail wagging, and resumed chasing Mickey, her gray tabby. Flora breathed a sigh of relief. She had barely ventured out of her house since that day, save for groceries, and refused to even look in the direction of the Borghese house. She agonized over whether to call the police. The only thing that stopped her was the fear that Silvio Borghese would find out--and what he would do to her, and, god forbid, Caroline if he did. The sickening knowledge of what was going on in that house made her want to retch. Every time she caught a glance of the children in the yard she wanted to rush over and rescue them. 

That day, the only member of the Borghese house outside was one of the daughters, a young girl with coke-bottle glasses and her thick black hair in pigtails. She was riding her trike down the sidewalk, glancing back at her house every few pedals. She never went past the perimeter of the house, and when she reached the end, turned and pedaled back to the other end. She was so preoccupied with not going past the invisible line that when she craned her neck back to look at the house she lost control and crashed to the ground.

Maternal instincts activating, Flora rushed out and over to the child, picking her up and cradling her. "Oh, my god! You poor thing, are you hurt? Come on, let me look at you."

***

The girl was nervous at being in Flora's home, she could tell. She sat ramrod-straight, her knees pulled together as Flora rummaged around in her bathroom cabinet looking for cotton and rubbing alcohol. 

As soon as Flora applied it, the girl's face went ashen. Tears streamed down her face and her jaw wobbled, but she didn't utter a peel.

It was very odd to Flora, who knew children cried at the smallest things. And this was a deep wound, too--she had skinned her knee. "You can cry, honey. It's okay."

The girl's words escaped in a shaky whisper. "Nonno hates it when we cry."

She said nothing else, and when Flora sent her home with a bandaged knee, the girl went up to the front door, dawdled a bit, looked back, and then finally, reluctantly, pulled the door open and was immediately yanked inside.

***

It had been a few years since the Borghese family moved in across the street. Their children were mostly old enough to go to school, and every day they slogged their way down the sidewalk to Catholic School in their little uniforms, the older ones holding the hands of the younger ones. She never saw them with friends from school or the neighborhood. The Borghese children kept to themselves. They were polite to Flora when they saw her, and spoke mostly in Italian amongst themselves. The only trouble she'd ever had with them was with the oldest son, a hulking child with blue eyes and two front teeth missing. She had found him torturing Pippy while he was tied up in her front yard. He had been beyond the fence, holding a sharp stick and trying to poke his eyes out. Flora had yelled at him, and he had smiled blankly at her with his gap-toothed grin, then turned and trudged back to his house. 

Mrs. Borghese was pregnant again. She was always pregnant. Flora had no idea what the household must have been like with so many children crammed in a medium-sized home, but she rarely heard any racket from the children. There was always an eerie silence from the other side of the street.

Only the sounds of an occasional argument between adults, which were few--at least until now--would sometimes pierce the silence. And it was becoming more common. She could discern the shrill, high voice of the wife, and then the booming, thunderous voice of the father-in-law. Sometimes she even heard one of the children, either crying or adding their voices to the fray. 

One evening when she was pruning her water lilies the wife came to her yard, wringing her hands and asking if she could borrow some peroxide and bandages. Her whole manner was nervy, and she kept stuttering. She wore a yellow gingham dress, but the apron was smudged with dirty fingerprints and the skirt had been ripped and badly mended.

Flora took her inside immediately. As she bent down to rifle through her products under the sink, Mrs. Borghese closed the curtains over the kitchen. As soon as the door had snapped shut, her manner had become more panicked. Mrs. Borghese turned to Flora. 

"Can you do something for me? Please?"

The woman looked so young. Battered and tired, but young. 

"Of course, honey."

"Can you drive me to a hotel? Just, any hotel. I need to--I just--please?"

"Alone? What about your husband? Will you be taking your children?"

She looked stressed. "No. Not them. None of them. I need to be alone. I need to get out of--"

Her rantings were cut short by a soft knock on the door. "Pazienza? What are you doing here? Please come home."

"No!" She cried. She was shaking. "I will not. Leonardo, go away. Leave me be. I won't go back to that house--and that man. You can't make me!"

"Che ne sarà dai bambini?" his voice had softened into barely legible Italian. "Li lascerete in pace?"

Mrs. Borghese fell silent. Her face held a rapidly crumbling resolve. Flora met her gaze and shook her head firmly. Mrs. Borghese's eyes hardened. "This thing has to end. Leonardo, for the good of our children, too. Call--call the police, call Sawyer, hell, you can call the federal fucking authorities if you want to go that route! But I'm not coming back, Leonardo! Not if you drag me kicking and screaming! None of you care about me, how I feel, if I'm tired, and the children, god, the children..."

"Pazienza," he said quietly. "Allora faremo."

She was quiet again. Her face was turned away from Flora, but her shoulders were stiff. On the nape of her neck, half-covered by her hair, Flora saw a thick white scar indented with looked like teeth prints. "Che succederà se falliamo?" She whispered.

"Non lo faremo. Lo faremo insieme. Lo faremo stasera. Stasera. Vieni fuori, dolcezza."

Whatever he said made her reach her breaking point, and she slowly reached out to unlatch the door. Mr. Borghese was standing outside, hair slicked from rain and his suit damp. His face was gentle, but froze minutely when he saw Flora. He probably had hoped she hadn't been listening in. He offered Flora a vague apology and led his wife back across the street, arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The streetlamp light glinted coldly off his golden curls.

Flora lay awake in bed, waiting for the argument to begin, the shouting between father-in-law and daughter-in-law. But she heard nothing. It was a quiet night in the sleepy suburb of Dearborne Heights. 

***

Flora was awoken by the scream of an ambulance. Fearing the worst, she threw off her covers and ran out onto the doorstep. 

There were police cars and an ambulance outside the Borghese house. Other neighbors were milling around--police cars were a rare sight in Dearborne Heights.

A policeman went over to push back against the nosy neighbors. "What happened?" Said Flora. "Was someone hurt? Did something happen to the children?"

"Reported suicide. Keep back, keep back."

Her worry broke when she saw the Borghese family huddled near the house, talking to another officer. Mr. Borghese looked calm as he gave his statement, but Mrs. Borghese looked shaken, clutching her many children close to her. Most of the children were crying, some of them looked to be in shock. But some of them had a carefully schooled look on their face similiar to their father's.

Eventually the family separated and got into police cars, and the crowd dispersed, as did the police cars themselves. Flora went back inside, her mind whirring. The whole situation seemed like a dream. The death, the couple, the conversation she had overheard--nothing added up.

Actually, she thought, everything DID add up. Just to a different answer.

***

The next morning Flora heard a knock at her door. She debated whether to answer it, hand hovering near the doorknob, until another, more irate knock sounded at the door.

Flora opened it hesitantly, and a man wearing a broad fedora barged in. He was dressed in a black suit; dark-haired, with wire-rimmed glasses that glinted coldly as he eyed her. "Flora Haywood?"

Flora nodded.

"Mind if I sit down?" He punctuated his words by pulling out a chair from her kitchen table and sitting down anyway. "I'm sure you've heard about the... unfortunate incident at 34 Knight Street, just across from you."

"...Yes... it was Mr. Borghese, Senior, am I correct?"

"I'm afraid so. Silvio Borghese. Single gunshot to the temple, self-inflicted. Horrible, horrible. I understand you knew the Borgheses personally."

"They're my neighbors, but I don't know them well."

His voice was as cold as his eyes. "So if, for example, someone from the police stopped by, and asked you some questions, what would you tell them?"

"Wh-what kind of questions?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Whether you heard anything that night. Whether there had been any... discord in the Borghese household as of late. Simple things, routine things the police tend to ask."

She felt a chill come down her back. "Who are you?"

"A friend of Mr. Borghese, junior. Leonardo." He smiled and got up, perusing her keepsakes neatly lined up on the mantlespiece. To her horror, he picked up a photo of Caroline. "Your granddaughter?"

She swallowed a lump. "Daughter."

"Lovely woman. She looks about the age of my wife. Truly in the prime of her life. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her."

Flora would have done anything he had asked of her in that moment. "I don't know anything about the Borghese family. I heard nothing last night. I don't know a thing. The family keeps to themselves."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "And that's what you'll tell the police?"

"Yes, yes, that's what I'll tell the police! I don't know anything! Please, I have laundry to do. I can't sit around and talk all day!"

He smiled as he left, a smug secret smile that told her he had accomplished exactly he had come to accomplish. She locked the door, latched the windows, and immediately called Caroline. She sounded woozy on the other end and the sounds of partying were in the background, but she was safe. Flora cautioned her to be careful, and Caroline agreed in that sure-mom-I-promise tone that teenagers took when they had no intention of listening to their parents. After wrangling more promises out of her to call every day, Flora hung up and spent the rest of the day peering out the window, watching every car parked on the sidewalk and every passerby.

***

The police never came, thank god, and Flora assumed the whole situation was over and done for when the large Borghese family, sans the grandfather, moved back into their tan suburban house across from her.

It was as if a shadow had lifted from Knight Street. Within a week the high fence around their property had been knocked down. Flora saw Mr. Borghese building a treehouse with his sons in the large oak tree in their backyard. The Borghese children were out and about more, and they seemed to be making friends, for the first time, around the neighborhood. Mrs. Borghese saw Flora outside in the garden and smiled and waved, something she had never done before. She looked vibrant, healthy, with no bruises. She gave birth several months later to a baby girl, who she dropped off at Flora's sometimes to be babysat. Leonardo even held a block party, with his smiling, beautiful wife and their newborn the centerpiece.

In the blink of an eye it seemed that years had passed since then and the eldest son was going to high school. But Flora never lost that sense of unease. The neighbors were outwardly affluent, popular people...

But sometimes Mrs. Borghese would get a look on her face, and Flora knew what lurked under the surface was never far from bubbling over, and that the secrets Flora had touched on were too deep and numerous for her to understand.

Not that she had any desire to.

[sushirio-blog]

These fucking assholes think they can pull a fast one on me. So I'm posting here to make sure everyone sees this. And I'm going to debunk this in detail.

1. This email says that it was written from my account, but Google itself says it can't verify the validity of the claim.

2. My old password from hacking day?? And it was 4567890?? Who is stupid enough to put that as their goddamn password, I mean really.

3. This says they know my "intim secret" God dammit, if you're gonna scam me, SPELLCHECK THE EMAIL. IF YOU'RE SOME TECH MONSTER, SHOULDN'T YOU KNOW HOW TO SPELL? This is obviously something being ran through Google translate.

4. I have never- EVER been on adult website. I know well enough to stay off of that. And the fact they didn't specifically mark down the name of the site further makes me question it's validity.

5. "The trojan virus gave them access to my webcam and microphone" That's a load of bullshit. Absolutely bullshit. I don't have a webcam.

6. "Soon after they gained access to my contacts through social media and email." My social media don't fucking exist besides Tumblr. I have Facebook messenger through my phone number, I don't even really have an account, neither do I have it on this device. To top that bullshit with a cherry, they don't even specifically mention which social media sites. More bullshit.

7. "He studied my love life" Woah, absolutely woah. I'm not a porn star, I am not a whore. When I say I don't have a love life, I really mean it. All of my crushes are fictional. And their only CRUSHES. Nothing intimate whatsoever and sure as hell not in front of my fucking webcam on a laptop I might've plugged in once this year.

8. "The first part shows the video that I watched" I'm super confused, like what even is supposed to be in this video. I haven't ever watched that shit. I literally would be more concerned if they broke into my Google Docs and found my bad fan fiction.

8.2 "and the second half shows the bit taken from my webcam" Where the hell is this guy getting this from, his fucking hat? The backed up sewer in the yard? My cousin's mom's ex-boyfriend? Like seriously, I can't explain this complete shit.

9. Then this motherfucking man whore wants me to pay him $700 dollars... In fucking Bitcoin. But wait, there's more to this- I'll get to it later.

10. He proceeds to tell me about how he's gonna send it to my fucking co-workers and friends/family if I don't send him the money. Goddamn dick would know I have no co-workers. If you're gonna do something, DO IT GODDAMN RIGHT.

11. If I do pay him, he'll destroy the video he supposedly created. I'd be much more intimidated if he attached the video detailing exactly what I did. It's complete hearsay to me and as far as I'm fucking concerned, IT'S SHIT.

12. "He doesn't want to steal my savings, he just wants compensation for his investigation into my life." Fucking dick-sucking asswipe. OH this makes me angry. I have about $3.45 in my account right now. I have no job. I have no trust fund. I HAVE NO FUCKING MONEY. THIS ENTITLED SHITBAG THINKS EVERY FUCKING AMERICAN IS SOME MONEY BAGS. OH HO HO. IT TOOK ME A GODDAMN MONTH TO SAVE UP ENOUGH MONEY TO BUY AN XBOX.

13. He thinks of me to be so incompetent that I can't but Bitcoin. Well he's right. That fucking mess is a fucking mess. I'm not getting into that. He's a fucking piece of shit.

The best part about this message is that it says I have 48 hours to pay.

It was sent to me almost a month ago.

This fucking shit scamming degenerate. I'm making this post for those of you who are intimidated by messages like this. Not gonna lie, I was a little scared until I re-read the facts and realized all the impossible factors.

Please share and raise awareness. There's still lots of people being scammed.

I apologize for the language.