#and being outside in this heat/humidity just reminded me how fucking bad and hard it was w a binder

[menlove]

man as much as I understand why we bind/tuck and that it's not a bad thing if I could wish one thing upon the world it would be for everyone to get so much more normal about men with boobs and women with bulges (and everyone in between w whatever secondary sex characteristics). bc it sucks. it's uncomfortable and can be super super damaging even if you're using the best methods in the world.

and ofc it sucks from cis society but I think I have even more beef w people in the trans community that push this idea that if you're not binding/tucking you're not Serious about being trans.

[brattyfics]

— until we meet again, preciosa

PAIRING || bishop losa x black!ofc, miguel galindo x black!ofc (mentioned)

SUMMARY || She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

TAGS || angst, unresolved feelings, not a hea, mentions of toxic relationships, sex (referenced).

WORD COUNT || 1.6k

Shadowy clouds hang overhead, blocking out the warming glow of the Sun. Raindrops pelt the roof above, drumming a beat of their own before pooling down to the concrete paved streets below. Isis watches stray droplets gather on the tall windows for several moments before stepping out onto the covered balcony. It felt colder than usual inside the three-story, Spanish-style shophouse, but outside it’s the opposite-- balmy, earthy. The air is heavy with humidity, so she has to take deep breaths, but she doesn’t enjoy it any less. Invigoration comes with the rain, brings hope for new beginnings, renews faith for the hopeless.

Down below, people dart between vendors to continue their shopping as the rain lightens. Colorful rays spring from puddles up towards the sky. A pair of young siblings splash each other while their mother sells delicious smelling tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Another young woman peddles gold necklaces, praying candles, and other little knick-knacks to the tourists of Sonora. Everybody has to make a living, including Isis.

She spends her days stroking the strings of a guitar or the keys of her piano, helping patrons of the music shop in between. The ground floor of the shophouse boasts string instruments and an extensive collection of vinyl records. After hours, she makes money hosting private piano lessons. She performs at the Discoteca down the street on weekends, fueling her passion for music almost 24/7 except when Preciosa is closed for ‘maintenance’.

Overstock merchandise and whatever else the Mayans’ Motorcycle Clubs needs to store clutters the second floor. Don’t ask, don’t tell is her motto, so whenever they come to the shop, she simply flips the sign to closed. There’s no point in fighting it. Besides, El Presidente always makes it a bearable, if not pleasant, experience. Bishop had called ahead to warn her that he was bringing Hank, Angel, and the new prospect, Angel’s baby brother, along. She could hear them bumping around, a noisy reminder that her shop only thrived because of the illegal deals happening in the back.

“Why don’t you put all that time and energy into something that’ll get you somewhere?” Being a musician wasn’t an acceptable career in her mother’s eyes, so the woman took every chance she could to crush her daughter’s dreams. “Nobody wants to hear all that noise!” Staring out into the street, she can’t help but wonder where she would’ve ended up if her mother had been supportive. Maybe she could have been a star rising to the top of Billboard charts or someone who worked behind the scenes, writing songs, singing demos. She had the skill set. Yes, her path would have been much different.

Isis had stood front and center, crooning out an old school blues song at a hole-in-the-wall spot when Miguel Galindo first laid eyes on her. It was a chance meeting, one that felt like fate at the time because dive bars weren’t his scene. The owner was a business associate who decided to try his hand at being a restaurateur; Miguel had been kind enough to come out and support. When he caught sight of her shapely frame in a slinky, satin number, he insisted on being introduced.

Miguel stood out in a crowd, wearing a tailored button-down, dark dress pants, and an expensive pair of Italian leather shoes. His salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection, hair gelled so that no strand was out of place. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, she was caught in his web. His masculine scent drew her in like honey to a bee. His charisma held her attention. Miguel sweet-talked her all night, insisting Isis sit next to him, eat h’orderves, and drink overpriced champagne. She obliged. Who could say no to that face? He used their close proximity to reel her in like a fish on a hook, leaning down to whisper in her ear. You’re beautiful. He told her. You have such a smooth, seductive tone. You should be performing for bigger crowds. Have you ever thought about branching out? He told her everything her mother never had, so she was a lamb to the slaughter.

For months, Miguel had treated her like his very own LifeSize doll to play with. He took her on shopping sprees, kept her draped in silk and lace. Isis didn’t think of herself as materialistic, but she couldn’t deny being showered in gifts felt splendid. He was always so tender, handling her delicately as his newest prized possession. As time went on, she became more like an ornament. Something for him to marvel at when he felt like it and then hide away the rest of the time. But nothing was worse than him leaving her to harden after he was finished molding her like clay. She asked for more—time, commitment, only for him to do the opposite.

Thus, Preciosa was born. A way for him to placate her and later make it easier for the M.C. to make him money.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out your way.” Isis jumped at the sound, turning away from the street to see Bishop. She hadn’t heard him come outside; didn’t expect him to venture up into her personal space.

Isis’ smile rarely reached her eyes, Bishop noticed. He stepped forward, holding a velvet box that felt heavier than it was. Her fingertips tickled him as he passed it over. Diamonds surrounded in white gold gleamed as the clouds cleared away for the Sun. Even Bishop could admit the set was gorgeous, but she didn’t look impressed. He hated being Galindo’s delivery boy, watching the way her face fell when the gifts she received became increasingly impersonal with each week. Not long ago, he’d also been tasked with passing along handwritten love notes or antique music sheets that she caressed like she would a lover’s skin.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment from him. Not for lack of trying-- Miguel always reminded her, appearances were everything. Smile. Don’t make me look bad. But Bishop watched her closely, knew her tells. Despite every nerve in his brain urging him to walk away, he steps forward to stand next to her. His calloused hands rest on the balcony’s edge next to her delicate pair, brown in varying tones of sepia and mahogany contrasting against the white paint.

Bishop feels the heat of her eyes on his frame, but he doesn’t let himself respond. Sharing this moment, a quick breath of fresh air will have to be enough. But she’s all around him, smelling of florals and sweet spices. He can’t think. He fumbles with his pockets in search of a cigarette. “You mind?” She shakes her head but is otherwise silent. Still watching him as he smokes; the way he takes long, steady pulls, cradling the stick between his full lips and then between his strong, veined fingers. She would bet her last dollar that he was an expert at other things involving his fingers and mouth.

When his hand drops again, she links her pinky with his, hesitant but exploratory.

Bishop looks at her, really looks at her like he sees her. It’s nice to be seen, especially when you’re the princess locked up far, far away from everyone you’ve ever known. She’s a black girl from Texas living in Sonora for goodness’ sake. This is no life, and she knows it. Several moments pass where neither can look away, both weighing their desires with the potential consequences.

With a deep breath in, she musters up the courage to ask Bishop what she’s been wanting to for months.

“Stay?”

Her heart feels like it might just explode while she waits for a response.

Bishop drops his head to his chest, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.” If Miguel ever found out… But he already knew what his answer would be. He’d been waiting for the invitation. The heated looks they exchanged, the way her fingers lingered on his when he passed her something. That damned pout she wore when Miguel forgot to send a flower arrangement-- she had no idea Bishop had been the one buying the flowers for some time now. No matter what mood she was in, fresh flowers always brightened her day. He loved watching that lonely look transform into something more lively, curious as she marveled over his choice for the week. He went for variety, slowly learning what she loved and what she just liked; her favorite color, favorite scent.

The subtle tension between them, he wasn’t even certain she noticed. The cash and the bling could’ve blinded her to all other men. But it didn’t.

When the Sun had gone down several hours later, and the guys were gone, Bishop redressed. Belt buckling with a clink, leather sliding over his shoulders easily. He let himself take one last look at her wrapped up in a poofy comforter set. The mustard-yellow velvet complimented her skin in the best way, bringing out a gold undertone. Her eyes seem to have brightened as well. He couldn’t resist leaning over to stroke her sweaty skin. Dark coils stuck to her beautiful face, frizzy in some parts from when she rode him, sweat escaping from her pores, flat in the others from when he laid her on her back and hooked her legs over her shoulders.

He wants to stay, to prop himself up against the intricately carved wood headboard and hold her in his lap while they whisper sweet nothing to each other, but he can’t.

She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

NOTES || This fic and the collage above was inspired by @isisafrofairy’s gorgeous moodboard! Also, the wonderful “Until we meet again, preciosa” line is hers as well. This is my thank you for the moodboard you made for me. I really leaned on the pictures you used for inspiration and I think I managed to capture/include each element. It was so hard not to ruin the surprise, but I was able to shut tf up for once 😂 I’m really proud of how this turned out, and hopefully you enjoy it just as much! Also, I realize the moodboard had nothing to do with Miguel but he lives in my head rent-free apparently 🥴

GENERAL TAGLIST || @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @amorestevens​

MAYANS M.C. TAGLIST || @cant-decide-at-this-moment

[mariahthelioness29]

Differences

pairing: Sam x Bucky 

words: 3.5k (how did I write this ?, I don’t know) 

Warning; pinning, fluff, a smidge of smut, cursing (a little), alcohol consumption and 2 idiots in love, slow burn

A look of Sam and Bucky in New Orleans, A party, and maybe feelings being resolved. A conclusion (I guess) of No Plan and Going Back. 

I was listening to Differences by Ginuwine and the tracks that follow on Youtube and I got inspired. 

A special THANK YOU to @avintagekiss24​ and @siancore​. Your comments, suggestions are gold to me. I am so grateful.

@siancore​ @xbuchananbarnes​ @avintagekiss24​ @helahades​  @euh-say-what-now​ @here-for-your-bullshit​ @rasberrylemon​ @blackmissfrizzle​ @sapphirescrolls​ @babiiface95​ @27dis​ @captainsamwlsn​

Face claim for new characters:

Nelsan Ellis- Lafayette

Rutina Wesley-Leyla 

Miroslava Morales-Miriam

Mood board for the party:

The humidity and the temperature were unbearable. Today is his no-shirt- shorts on-day. It is so hot, that his insecurities about his scars are taking a day off.

It is so peaceful, he does not want to think about the mission they just had. Missions are always blocked from his mind. They are a heat in the moment thing. He thanks his mind for blocking them, otherwise he will be a nervous wreck.

This heat reminds him of Wakanda. That paradise on earth. He goes through his bag and takes a colorful notebook with patterns. His photo album.

Looking at the polaroid pictures of him in Wakanda. Shuri had some vintage items. She loves polaroid’s pictures so she gifted him a Polaroid camera.

One of him and Shuri in the lab.

One of him with the village kids and the goats.

G’cobisa, Tabo, Tinashe, Buhle, Khanyiswa, Kholiwe, M’tobheli, Anathi, Bonghani, Fikile Gugulethu. Those children are angels on Earth. Bucky ‘s not religious but whoever is up there, be it Bast or Jesus, he will ask them this:

“Please take care of those children, the people of Wakanda, allow them to be happy and let nothing bad happen to them”

Sam, I wish I had the courage to tell you how I feel, I really love you and I want you so bad, he thought while remembering last night's dream. He bites his lip and sighs.

Last night dream and his early-morning wood were: Sam giving him a show, having the best sex ever all while he takes pictures of him with the polaroid. Him going down on Sam, while Sam records him.

“FUUUUCK !!” Sam groaned.

“Keep goin’ like that, you’re so good at that, look at me baby boy”, he said out of breath in between moans, grabbing his hair with one hand. He looks up to him, teary eyed. Sam was recording him.

He shakes those thoughts away with a chill on his spine. He does not want to go to eat with a tent on his pants so he focuses on the other pictures.

One of the rivers and one of Birnin Zana. The Royal Palace. The market. Him eating at the market. Him drinking a gallon of milk cause his mouth was on fire due to the hot sauce on his food. That hot sauce is a torture device.

One of him in all white fur, when he was in Jabari Tribe land as Shuri and T’challa’s bodyguard.

When the days were like this pure sun and barely wind, he just bathed in the river for hours. He stayed under the trees and the kids playing with his hair. He was the children's favorite pastime. Asked him all types of questions. Used him as a biology example, for the older children, when they needed to take their biology exams about genetics. As a doll, the village children and teenagers were always experimenting on his hair. They quickly realized that his hair could not withstand some of their hair-dos.  He looks at the picture of him with Bantu knots and the other with braids in rows. He guffawed with tears in his eyes.  

He remembers the Bantu knots fiasco. How hard the kid’s moms needed to detangle his hair with all types of combs and products, because the children literally caked his hair so that the knots stayed intact. He stayed with the knots because it was refreshing not having his hair loose during that heat wave until wash time arrived. It became a nightmare. Their moms taught them that Bucky’s hair is not apt for African hairstyles. The kids learned their lesson and did hairstyles that were suitable for his hair.

He was looking through the pictures until he saw his old pictures of him in the 40s. Those pictures were always weird to see . He fixated on those pictures till they became a little blurry. He closes the album

He wanted the confidence of James Buchanan Barnes. The Barnes that would steal girl’s and guy’s breath away. The same Barnes that rocked Steve’s world after they left that bar but he knew he and Steve  could never be. He chose Peggy. He does not blame him in the slightest. It was the best way. What they were was a crime back then. He and Steve could’ve end up in a psych ward or with sodomy and indecency charges and dishonorably discharged from the military. He probably would’ve settled with a woman he loved too. Living satisfied but within a lie. Hiding half of himself. Would that have been a better life than the Hydra ordeal he went through? Who knows?

One thing he is sure of is that he will be proud and loud to be Sam’s man. He will live his truth. He got a second chance so he will not waste it. Anyone who does not like it, can get fucked.

He went out of his room and went to the dining room.

“Morning”, he said.

“Morning”, Sam and Sarah answered in unison.

Sam and Sarah were busy in the kitchen.

Bucky inhales the various smells coming from the kitchen, his mouth waters.

“How did you sleep?”, Sam asked

“Like a baby”, Bucky answered him with a smile.

Sam looked at him impressed and responded: “that’s wonderful, nightmares are appearing less”.

“Yeah, they are appearing less'',Bucky answered trying not to wander to last night’s dream.“Hey guys, can I help with preparing the food?”, Bucky asked. He always wants to be of service.

“Buck, no offence, but you are a white man raised in the Depression era, I don’t trust you with the kitchen but you can set the table though”, Sam answered.  Bucky rolled his eyes at that.

Sarah was pressing her lips together to stifle a laugh.

He lifted his hands in surrender and answered: “Alright, I set the table”.

Sam pointed where the kitchenware and plates were. Bucky began to set the table.

Sarah looked at Sam with wide eyes and they both looked at Bucky up and down discreetly.  Bucky was shirtless and with shorts. His shorts hang low. His v-line was showing. His abs all out and that vibranium arm shining a little.

Breakfast was a quiet thing, with Bucky’s story here and there about Depression era food and how they used to boil everything. Sam & Sarah gagged at the thought of boiling everything. Bucky laughed at them.

Bucky offered to wash the dishes. After washing the dishes, Bucky said he was going to meditate and do breathing exercises outside.

After they checked that Bucky was far enough that he could not hear their conversation.

Sarah exclaimed: “WHEW, CHILE!!”

“pipe the fuck down”, Sam whisper yelled. “He is a super soldier, he has enhanced hearing!”, Sam whispered with worry

“No wonder why you got the hots for him, shiiiiiiit if you don’t tap that ass, I will ‘cause HOT Damn,” Sarah answered in a lower voice. “He might be the first white man to get this work”.

Sam glared at her and frowned at her with a faux offence.

“Were you not with Ricardo, Ricardo was white?” Sam inquires

Sarah scoffs. “Boy Ricardo was Latino. I mean he white. But not WHITE, you know what I mean”.

Sam shoved her gently and said, “Not you, wanting my future man. Get your own shit why you riding mine”. They both snickered and had Cheshire cat grins.

“Hey, but seriously, when are you going to tell him how you feel?” Sarah asked softly, putting her hand on top of Sam’s.

Sam sucked in a breath and exhaled, dropping his head down. Sarah’s heart softens, looking at her brother.

“It is hard Sarah; I want to but what if he is repulsed by that. I know Steve and him used to be something. But there is the chance, he does not like Black guys for that. He is still a 40s guy, so I am weary.”, Sam answered. Sarah cocked her head and nodded in understanding.

“The guy was literally tortured and brainwashed for decades. He is now getting to live his second chance at a normal life. I don’t want to put more weight on him because I really, really like him a whole fucking lot.” Sam continued with a defeated tone.

“Sammy, wake your ass up, that man looks at your ugly ass mug like you hung the moon”, Sarah said with confidence. “He likes you too and a lot, just explore that feeling and let it be one step at the time”. Sarah offered. “You don’t have to marry his ass. Just give him support, like you are doing but extend that support more on the physical side of it. God knows when was the last time, you and that man were laid”. Sarah laughed and ran away from the kitchen before Sam pushed her.

Sam chuckled in disbelief at what Sarah said.

It could all be so simple, then why is it so difficult.

He has always had this predicament when it came to liking men. He is who he is.  After years of hiding his sexuality in the military, it cost him to shake that state of being. He sighs and thinks of what getting with Bucky can mean to him as a man but also as Captain America.

Since the Accords fiasco, the Captain America mantle depends a whole lot about public perception.

He can hear Fox News, already. #handtheshieldback. That was a real hashtag and it could be revived this time by him being more openly Bi. Second, not only just being with a man, but THEE world’s deadliest ex-assassin and longest POW in US history. Bucky will get outed. Then Bucky will get dragged. Though Bucky has always said he doesn’t care about the views of the people, they can all get fucked (Bucky’s words). He saves lives and calls it a day.

As a man, he would be over the moon to have Bucky as his man, however he is still weary. Interracial relationships are hard. Imagine it now with a person from the Silent Generation, whew.

“Chile, I can hear the gears grinding from across the room”, Gideon disrupts his thoughts as he sits next to him on the couch.  

“You thinking about the white boy, aren’t you?”, Gideon asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“UGHHH STOP IT”, Sam exclaimed, putting his hand on his face. “Where he at?”, Sam asked, scared that Bucky might hear.

“Chill, he outside with Sarah, Miriam and the kids”, Gideon responded. “You know what you need? A nice party with the fam and friends, some BBQ, some booze and music”.

“Hell no, I am in no party mood”, Sam responded exasperated  while laying on the couch.  

“Well too late, Sarah, Miriam and I have already made the list and we are going to go shopping, food, snacks and booze for normal folks”, Gideon responded with a Cheshire grin. “Don’t worry, I got our homeboy covered, aged Absinthe, special brewed Moonshine, Asgardian mead, y’ know, some liquid courage so that he can finally tell you how he feels and put you out of your misery”, Gideon said while rubbing his hands together.

Sam rolled his eyes and kicked Gideon. Gideon laughed at that.

Gideon stood up from the couch and went to the table, where there was a box on top. “I’m serious, I already went to the Asgardian shop for some Asgardian unleaded and some booze”. Gideon shows him the box with fancy bottles filled with an Amber liquid, fluorescent green liquid, and the other with a clear liquid.  

“Asgardian shop? Asgardians in Nola?”, Sam questioned.

“Yeah, he met Aaliyah, married her, came to live here, and put an Asgardian liquor store, ain’t that some shit”, Gideon responded.  Sam's eyes blinked in surprise at knowing Aaliyah is married, not only that but with an Asgardian. Aaliyah was Gideon’s high school sweetheart and Gideon’s heaviest heartbreak when they split because they went to different colleges. 

“See? You are thinking too hard. If ol’ girl is married with literally an alien and they fine what about you with the metal armed white boy, ya’ll gonna be okay, ai’ght”, Gideon pats Sam’s shoulder with force.

Sam smiles at his brother, “you’re right, if he will not tell me how he feels, I will.”

“That’s what the fuck I’m talkin ’bout, my brother ain’t no punk”.

It turns out that Gideon was right. What he needed was a party.

He was greeting everyone; he was the life of the party. He was dapping everyone, hugging everyone.

Sam was feeling himself with his white tank top and yellow open up shirt with white shorts. Cuban cigar on his lips and Hennessey on his hand. He took the cigar off his lips and began to sing out loud;” It’s getting’ hot in here (So hot) so take off all your clothes, I am getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off”. He was dancing with a woman in a suggestive manner. The woman was grinding her ass against his crotch to the rhythm of the music. They were gyrating their hips in sync with each other and the music. Sam turned the woman around and talked to her ear. He was smiling. They look at each other briefly. Bucky lifts his drink up at him with a forced smile. Sam and Leyla decided to dance like this, since he saw Bucky getting cozy with Lafayette after playing domino, when Bucky won a couple of times. Needless to say, Sam’s mood sours after seeing that so he asks Leyla to dance with him to make Bucky jealous, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Bucky was wearing tight black jeans and a blue Henley, hair in a half up and half down hair do, feeling uneasy to say the least, nursing a shot of aged absinthe.

He was feeling a myriad of emotions. He did not know if he wanted to be the girl so he can cop a feel of Sam or be Sam so that he can cop a feel of a woman. Either way it has been so long since he felt someone’s skin against his.  He thinks about having Sam that close in the privacy of his room. Moving into him like he is moving with that woman. There was a feeling eating him piece by piece. If it was a man, he'd definitely use his Winter Soldier face to scare him off. He realizes it is jealousy, he is jealous. He just stares at the tree next to them till it blurs along with the image of Sam and the woman he is dancing with. He feels his heart tight against his chest.

“You think is working?”, Sam whispered to Leyla, his high school friend

“Oh, yes, it is, the man a wreck, he was boring holes into us”, Leyla laughed and put her arms around his neck. “Believe me, you will have him in your hand, he needs to get a preview of what he is missing, otherwise he will never tell you how he feels.’ Leyla turned around and put her hands on his knees. They were about to give Bucky a heart attack with the next song.

Bucky got up and went to the table with all the liquor, wanting more absinthe.

He saw everybody rushed to the center of the makeshift dance space, as violins began to play. Bucky was confused and he concluded that the song must be quite popular.

Gideon was the DJ, he screamed: “Cash Money Records, taking over for the 99 and the 2000!!!”

Everyone either cheered or repeated that sentence in response, Bucky turned to see Sam and his eyes could not believe what he was seeing.

The woman was bent over wiggling her ass rapidly against Sam to the beat of the music. Sarah was doing the same to a guy.

He did not understand the dance or the music. He asks the Kimoyo beads to tell him what this music and this dancing are about.  The beads started explaining  what twerking was: “ twerking is a type of dance that came out of the bounce music scene of New Orleans. It originated in the 1980s. Individually-performed, chiefly but not exclusively by women, dancers move by throwing or thrusting their hips back or shaking their buttocks, often in a low squatting stance. Twerking is part of a larger set of characteristic moves that were unique to the New Orleans style of hip-hop known as "bounce". This dance move has roots in African culture and has spread to all scenes of hip-hop, current popular music and in Latin American music such as reggaetón. This is what you are seeing and hearing, Bucky”.

“God, I am such an old man”, he contemplated in defeat.

He could never be this jovial, he feels like he would hold Sam down.  In order to drown his jealousy, he began to drink that Asgardian mead, mixed with the absinthe like it was water.

He was feeling a little better with the alcohol in his system. It is refreshing to have the buzz of alcohol in him for the first time in 70 years.

He started to sway to the rhythm of the music too not knowing how to dance but he likes the music. The violins and piano remind him a little of the music back then.  

“I like this song”, “What is the name of the song and the genre?” he said to the beads.

“You don’t need to ask the beads”, he hears Sam’s voice.

Bucky stopped the bead’s explanation. Bucky chuckled at the sound of Sam’s voice and turned around.

“Who was I supposed to ask? You practically ditched me after dominos and spades” Bucky responded.

“Well, you could’ve asked your lil’ new friend Lafayette”. Where he at by the way?” Sam asked with a taunting tone looking around.

“You were pretty boo’d up with him”, Sam responded with a mean glint in his eyes.

Bucky smirked at him and said; “Ditch me too after I told him, I was interested in someone else”, looking at him while drinking the special brewed Moonshine.

“But turns out the person I like has someone to be “cozy “with, I guess.” Bucky said, while getting into Sam’s space and tracing his finger on Sam's shirt. “He even got a dance on him called ``twerk'', by the way I had to ask the beads what that was.”, Bucky responded a little hurt.

Sam’s breath hitched, feeling Bucky that close.

“So, I think, I need to mingle more, see you around Sam”, Bucky said while stepping out of Sam's space.  

He needs to act, and fast. 

Before Bucky could go, Sam grabbed Bucky’s forearm harshly and brought Bucky up to him. They look at each other with defiance for what seem ages. He then tilted his head and his lips were ghosting over Bucky.

You make the first move, I won’t, Bucky thought with Sam’s lips ghosting over his.

Sam gives him a bruising kiss.

Bucky was not prepared for that; he found support by putting his hands on his forearms. He matched Sam’s pace and brought Sam closer.

He feels so good, his lips feel so nice, Bucky thought while kissing Sam with force, all tongue.

After that kiss, they both needed to take a breath. He can see Sam not looking at him.

“Hey, let’s not”, Bucky said sternly while tilting Sam’s face up with delicacy. “If you want to regret something do it in the morning, not tonight, please”. Bucky whispered.

“I regret nothing”, Sam stated.

“That’s the spirit”, Bucky said, caressing Sam’s face, smiling and blushing.

“Ayee, this is one of my favorites, dance with me”, Sam said, taking Bucky’s hand in his and began walking with him to the dance space.

They saw Gideon and his wife, Miriam kissing and dancing to the song. Sarah and the guy she was twerking on earlier, also swayed with the song.

The song was pretty, light. They did not need to talk cause the song was doing all the talking.

“My whole life has changed

Since you came in, I knew back then

You were that special one

I'm so in love, so deep in love

You made my life complete

You are so sweet, no one competes

Glad you came into my life

You blind me with your love

With you I have no sight”, boomed through to speakers.

Sam and Bucky swayed to the rhythm, pressed against each other, Sam’s head resting against Bucky’s shoulder, both of their eyes closed savoring the moment.

They were surrounded by other couples dancing.

But no one else matters, only them exist.

Bucky’s eyes open for a moment. He saw Leyla and Lafayette lifting their glasses at him and smiling, nodding in support, then clicking their glasses together. He smiles at them back and closes his eyes continuing to savor the moment.

“They have a lot to go through if they want a relationship, but he will learn and go through it cause it is not only about him, it is about Sam and him.” Bucky contemplated. That does not matter right now, he feels fulfilled, at peace hugging Sam like this. 

Sam is still weary about how they can bond. They are such different people with different experiences, but that does not matter right now. He feels loved and protected with the way Bucky’s warmth is enveloping him.

[missblissy]

Rebirth (Chapter Ten)

Alastor x Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU))

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten 

This isn’t crazy, is it? Robbing a house with a demon wasn’t crazy, right? You really hoped so. So much was happening, so many things were going on and you found it hard to focus on following this spider... person... Angel walked around this house like he knew it like the back of his hand. He did say he lived here, you remembered, how long ago did he die? You followed him through one living room then into a hall then into another even bigger living room, this one had a large flatscreen TV hanging from a wall and enough couch space to fit a dozen people.

There was brilliant and exotic art hanging from the walls. Long and vibrant house plants scattered the windows or any place they could be squeezed into an area slightly too small for them. You felt oddly out of place in this house, it was far too expensive and you felt incredibly nervous. You really didn’t want to get caught robbing this place. Your parents would fall in their graves if you went to prison. 

Angel was grumbling to himself as he rounded a corner and walked down a hallway. He turned and suddenly bumped into the wall like he didn’t even see it was there, “What!?” He rubbed his head with one hand while two pressed onto a wall. You watched his eyes frazzle in size as he realized there was a wall in front of him, “There’s suppose to be a stairwell up here!” But it was only a narrow dead-end hallway, a few doors littered here and there, but there were no stairs, “Fuck!” He stomped a foot on the ground and you saw him get ready to punch the wall.

“Don’t!” You quickly reached out and grabbed his arm, “We can find another way upstairs, chill out, Angel-”

However, his glare at you never softened, “You even sound exactly like her,” Then he brushed you off and started tracing back down the hall, “And now you look like her. There’s no way you’re actually Crybaby, are you?” He didn’t look at you once while he went back to wandering down the halls quickly. That’s when you remembered that Angel knew you in your bast life

He was very hard to keep up with but you trotted after him, “No,” You told him with a grave tone, “Just the same soul. Did you know her?” 

You watched him shrug his shoulder as he found a spiral staircase in the back of this massive house, “Knew her? Hm, I think I knew her better than anyone else, even Smiles,” It took you a second to realize he was talking about Alastor, “We were best friends,” Angel went on, his voice wavering some as he quickly climbed the stairs. You watched him use all four of his arms in a sense of awe. This was a real demon. You caught a glimpse of your own reflection in a mirror that was in perfect eyesight of your wandering gaze. You were so different now, your hair, your skin, your eyes... They were just black. No color, no pupil, just large empty black eyes. At least you stopped crying, but you looked like you were on the verge of tears. 

As you followed him to the second floor, you dared to ask, “What was she like?” It wouldn’t surprise you if he said anything along the lines of perfect. 

But Angel laughed and you noticed a devilish little smirk grown on his face as he bee-lined for a door, “A fucking trainwreck, but somehow classy. She was one of the top overlords of hell and she didn’t get there being nice,” He threw open the door and dove into a large bedroom, a guest room if you had to guess. It was void of any reminders that someone may have lived here. No photos, no keepsakes. Just a bedroom in the shade of blue. Yet Angel seemed like he knew exactly where to go.

He went to the closet and twisted the knob open. He was quick to throw himself in there, falling on his knees and using all of his four arms to move all the junk out of his way, “What are you looking for?” You asked while making your way to the window. You peered outside and saw Alastor looking directly at you, a smile on his face and blood pooling at his feet. He was beaten up pretty bad, wasn’t he?

“This!” Angel yelled from within the closet. You hurried over and knelt down behind him as you watch him tear the wallpaper off the wall in the back of the closet. You’re heart jumped and you were about to tell Angel to cut it out when he grumbled, “Stop it- Stop making me feel your feelings! I need this! I need to do this! You wouldn’t understand,” You felt the bitterness and resentment in Angel’s words.

“I- I don’t know how to stop-” 

“Just smoke a joint or something- Take a Xanax!” He reached a hand into one of his pockets then tossed a little dime bag with a couple colorful pills in it, “That’s what you did before- numb the pain sweetheart it’s more fun than ya think,” 

You quickly tossed the baggie of drugs to the floor, “No thanks-” And as you did that, Angel managed to yank some kind of plywood out of the wall.

“Ha! It’s still here- I knew I could count on you, Mol-” Angel was shoulder deep in the hole he tore in the wall, his hand searching around in the dark until it found a heavy tin box. He pulled out the box and quickly flipped the latches open.

Dust and rust and all kinds of dirt puffed into the air as Angel dug around in the box. You watched over his shoulder and peered inside. You found a tin box full of keepsakes. There was a couple of toy dolls tattered and torn, a pocket knife that was beginning to rust, some money from an era before your life, dozens of letters and notes and then lastly, a locket. You could feel the sadness in the air and you could feel it waft off Angel.

There was no way you could understand and you weren't sure you could ask, yet at the same time you wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible, “Are these yours?” You asked him.

“Hm?” You noticed Angel sniffle slightly and rub one of his hands under his eyes, “Oh, yeah. It’s mine and my sister’s,” Oh yes, that’s right, he lived in this house at one point. He dove a hand inside the tin box and quickly scooped up the locket. He popped it open and you could see the small picture of a family. A father, a mother, two sons and a daughter. You squinted hard and saw noticeable features, the freckles, the grin, the way his hair was cut and shaped. It was Angel- and this was his family. 

You felt a strong wave of sympathy was over you. The second you felt that Angel snapped the locket closed and gave you a look, “Did you take that Xan? Girl, control yourself. I don’t want your pitty-” A loud crash cut Angel off as the entire house shifted, followed by two more heavy bangs from above. The demon hunters. You shared a look with Angel and your fear leaked into him. He used a free hand and picked up the baggie of pills, shoving it back towards you, “No one is going to be able to fight off those hunters if you’re making everyone scared. And they have magic to protect them for your emotions. Normally I don’t force people to do things unless they pay me, so fucking take the Xans, babe!”   

He had a point, and you didn’t know how to control your new powers yet. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. You couldn’t stop the guilt from waving off you as you swallowed down the pill dry. You managed to make your way over to the window and you peered outside. Alastor was gone and you felt fear cling to your skin. You had to hold back a yelp when you heard gunshots from above.

“Ah- Fuck!” You looked at Angel and he had a gun of his own, where did he even get that? You couldn’t stop him as you watched him fire bullets into the ceiling. He shot out a perfect circle as he destroyed the ceiling and roof above. Within a second you saw a swarm of blue glowing orbs take over the sky. Angel didn’t hesitate to take one large leap and join the battle. You didn’t even get a chance to say anything, and then you were all alone. 

You were unsure of what you should do. You were too scared to fight back and you didn’t want to hurt anyone... The house was beginning to shake and shift, even more, you were getting ready for it to collapse when that familiar sound of close range thunder filled your ears. Alastor appeared behind you, you looked over yand found him carrying Angel over his shoulder, who didn’t seem very pleased to be there either. 

“Time to go!” Alastor smiled at you as he suddenly grabbed your hand as a swirling portal opened before your eyes. You didn’t have time to react, you couldn’t even protest as Alastor jumped through the portal and yanked you along with him. From the cold and shaken air of the house, you were met with a hot, burning and even humid heat as you passed through the gates of the portal. Your stomach threw itself into your throat then dropped with a deep throb as your feet slapped onto the ground underneath you.

It took a second to long for your eyes to adjust to the darkness around you. Confused and squinting to see, you found several pairs of eyes staring back at you. A none of them looked remotely human. You found yourself inside some kind of…place? You couldn’t be sure at all, it looked like a rundown hotel but there were way too many pictures of the same family hanging on every inch of every wall, “What… Is this place?” You breathed every word out softly, looking around until your eyes fell onto Charlie.

She looked like she was about to say something, but Vaggie quickly stepped in, “Why did you bring her here?” She was looking at Alastor.

He had dropped Angel and cleaned off the shoulder he was holding him on. His smile wavered as he said, “I didn’t have much of a choice, look at her! A beauty, I know, but she dosen’t seem human anymore!”

“You don’t know that!” Vaggie went on, “She’s still alive regardless, she can’t be here, Alastor! She’s not dead yet, and I won’t let you trap her here until she can die!” You were going to die? You looked between Vaggie and Alastor, watching the two glare at each other until Alastor started to shift his weight from one leg to the other. As he did that, you noticed his whole body begin to shiver and shake as his eyes rolled back. His body fell out from under him and he collapsed into the pool of blood he’d been standing in. 

“Ewh!” Charlie quickly made a sound of disgust, “Someone close his eyes!” You even flinched away from the horrible sight of Alastor, passed out on the ground with his eyes still wide open, “Why does he have to sleep like that?” Charlie whined on.

You watched as Angel did the dirty work. He closed Alastor’s eyes and picked up his limp body like he was some kind of rag doll. You could feel the Xanax you took early started to affect your body. You felt like you should have been panicking, scared even, but all you could do is ask in a shallow voice, “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Angel said, “For now. He’s just gonna sleep like a rock until his body’s healed itself back up. We should take him to his room- and you shouldn’t be here,” His words ended with a sharper tone. It sounded as if Angel was holding something against you, but you couldn’t guess what.

Your silent confusion was answered by Vaggie, “The living do not last very long down here,” She explained, “Lucifer- Charlie’s Dad, can help you get back to Earth-” “No!” You cut her off, “It’s… It’s okay. I feel like I should stay,” You looked over towards Alastor’s broken body hanging over Angel’s shoulder, “He got hurt because of me. It’s my fault he’s like this, I should at least stay until he wakes up,”

“Are you sure?” Vaggie asked while trying to approach you, she held a hand out as if she wanted to comfort you, but… she seemed hesitant and even fearful to touch you, “A living soul only has three days to escape hell or be doomed to stay here forever. And there is no telling when Alastor will wake up, a demon only sleeps like this when they have to heal their body. And-... Alastor has taken months to heal at his worst.” 

“I’m sure,” You nodded slightly, “I can watch over him at least for today. I feel like I should- If I hadn’t-... It’s my fault he’s like this and it’s my fault you guys were attacked. This is the least I can do to make up for it.” You watched Vaggie share a concerned look with Charlie, but neither of them could find a reason to tell you no.

“Come on,” You looked over your shoulder and saw Angel already climbing the grand staircase of this rundown hotel. The Princess waved you off, even Vaggie gave you some kind of small smile and waved as you spun around and raced to catch up with Angel.

You followed beside him as he led you up staircase after staircase, down a set of halls, then another staircase. You could have gotten really lost if it wasn’t for him. You kept looking at Alastor too, dangling there like dead weight, “Is he really going to be okay?” You asked.

Angel kept his gaze ahead as he spoke, “I promise, CB, he’s gonna be fine,”

“CB?” You hesitantly asked.

“Crybaby,” Oh, “You really can’t remember a god damn thing, can you?” You shook your head and watched as Angel chuckled, “I didn’t think you had it in ya,” He said, “You really are full of surprises, ya know that?”

You matched his weak laughter, “I wish I did. This shit is… This whole demon thing? Hell? I mean,” You paused and laughed, “I guess it’s good to know there is something after death, haha,” You even smiled a little bit, “I didn’t believe in ghosts, or heaven or hell… Or god… Is there a god?” 

“The fuck if I know!” Angel laughed, “If there is a god, they don’t care about us. For all I know, the angels rule over heaven and god is dead.” 

That was a bleak look on things, but somehow it felt like the right thing to say. You were in hell after all, with this demon body and a past lover who didn’t want to let you go. You were numb to the shock of everything and eerily calm, perhaps that was because the Xanax was leaking into your blood and mind. But that didn’t stop the questions racing through your brain like stock cars around a speedway. 

“How long have you been down here?” You innocently asked while simultaneously dodging your gaze way from Angel’s own stare.

“Long enough,” He retorted quickly, “Not as long as as you, or him,” Angel shrugged his shoulder and adjusted Alastor’s broken body, shifting his weight around as he walked up a flight of stairs. How many more of these things did you have to climb?

The hallways grew longer, darker, and void of any signs of life. Windows were blocked by heavy closed curtains while cobwebs collected in the free spaces between them. You gazed at Alastor’s bloody face that already seemed to be healing. His open wounds had scabbed over, but blood still stained his skin and clothes.

“What about him?” You nodded your head towards Alastor as you looked up at Angel, “Are you guys friends?”

Nothing could stop the quick and cold, “Ha!” That came from Angel’s chest, “More like- Business partners? Nah- No. Associates? We sure aren’t friends. Before you left, you were the only reason we had common ground, after that we went right back to hating each other.” 

“I’m starting to find that a lot of people don’t like Alastor. I’m starting to think he’s just out to mess with my head then kill me or something,” Your voice sounded somber, shallow and it made Angel’s entire attitude spin around in the opposite direction. 

His features softened only slightly, “Don’t doubt him when he says he loves you,” Angel’s voice wavered slightly, making it sound like he was holding more sour words in the back of his throat, but he spoke on, “I hate the guy, he’s a fucking creep and an old bag of shit but,” He paused while looking away, staring into a memory you couldn’t see, “Alastor would do anything for you. Everyone knows how head over heels he is. He’s a shitty fucking person but I hate to admit it, he was a good husband to you. In fact,” You watched Angel’s face light up slightly and his eyes flash with a light from within, “The only time we ever got along was when he needed my help to make you happy,” He trailed off into a soft chuckle, “This dumb bitch came to me once after you got sucked back into that-- what was that castle called? Castle Keep! That was the castle at the gates of hell where yo-”

“Where I was trapped every six years?” You stared up at Angel with a faint smile, enjoying the surprised look on his face, “Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about it, I guess I really hated that place?”

“Hell fucking yeah you did,” Angel laughed, “But yeah- like I was saying, Alastor always had the hardest time asking me for help and he’d only do it as a last resort. This dumb ass really loved you and got me to help him throw this huge party for you with all of our friends from the hotel and anyone who had twenty bucks for admissions, haha! Shit man, that was the best party ever.”

You wanted to press on and ask about it but Angel had finally stopped walking. There you had found yourself in front of a regular old door. Nothing about it stuck or or made it particularly rememberable. You watched Angel push open the door with ease as it opened up into a dark room void of any light. Little stain glass lamps provided barely any light within the room for you to see. 

Hesitantly, you followed after Angel while watching him carelessly toss Alastor’s body onto his bed in the least graceful way possible. 

“Alright, that’s it for my community service,” Angel brushed his hands together and cleared away the microscopic dirt on his gloves. He headed towards the door then gave a wave of two of his many hands, “If you need anything, don’t bother asking me,” He laughed sinisterly then made his way out of the door, “Oh, and try and not get yourself killed,” Angel winked at you with a grin, “Or you’ll be stuck here for just about forever and the rest of time!” He slammed the door behind him, loud enough for you to wince, leaving you alone, in the dark void of Alastor’s room.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

The Toss of a Coin

Part 2: Bridges and Bad Friends

Part 1

Pairing: male Death x female Reader

Warnings: language, bullying, violence, near death experience

A/N: Reader’s nickname is Birdie, not sure if I’ll keep it for future chapters.

The Summer sun is hot, beating down on your back and bare shoulders, the humidity slogging you down on your walk home, not that you can find a reason to rush. No one was there to make sure you made it back alright anyway.

It was late April of your Senior year and your messenger bag was light with the coming end of your high school career, the dusty side of the country road scuffing beneath your shoes barely keeping your brain occupied. So you tried to recall the sight of the glowing bird. You would be 18 in a couple months and then you could get it forever etched onto your skin so it would never fade from your memory.

The sharp ping of metal bouncing against metal brought you out of your daydream and you realized you had reached the bridge. Glancing around your feet for what you had kicked, you spot a small gleam of silver and crouch down to study it.

A coin, maybe the size of a silver dollar sat before you, smeared with dust and grime but oddly no rust. All it would need was a decent wash to be as good as new. Grabbing it up to examine it closer you see it's not like any currency you've seen before. It looks modern made but the reliefs on it seem old. Like seeing a picture of an ancient artifact in your textbook.

One side boasted an image of a three-headed dog, though the details were vague, simple. Flipping it over you found a two-pronged fork with a snake wrapping itself around the handle, winding upwards.

There were no words or numbers on either side, just the images. You flipped it back and forth, the sun catching and bouncing off the spots not hidden under dirt. It was warm from sitting out in the sun and the longer you held it, the more engrossed you became in the feel of it. Almost hypnotizing you.

The sound of your name being called brought you out of it, back to the heat making your head feel light and your legs heavy. Curling your fingers around the odd little find, you stand up, glancing around until you spot where the voice had come from.

Your town was what most would consider a quintessential 'small town' where everyone pretty much knew everyone and gossip got around as quick as the local stray dog chasing someones unfortunate chickens.

And most small towns also had a group of trouble makers, the kids who swore they'd get out one day and make it big, the ones who didn't have much to do but found plenty of trouble none-the-less.

Sam, the girl the others in the group seemed to revolve around, was the one who had called out to you, sitting with a few others down at the riverside below the bridge. The rusted out shell of a car that had been there for as long as you had been alive serving as a perfect spot to gather.

You had never been on Sam's bad side, always looking the other way when she and her friends lit up under the bleachers, ignoring it when they picked on some poor soul who more than likely had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All to save your own skin. It had worked so far.

But the way she was grinning up at you from the riverbank, half spent cigarette tucked between her slim fingers, told you there wasn't going to be a way to around this. Whatever it was.

"Hi Sam" you called down hesitantly, trying to keep from leaning on the hot metal guardrail of the bridge.

"Hey Birdie! Come on down here, I wanna talk to ya'!" her tone was cheerful and deceptive and the nickname just made it worse. You regretted for the millionth time ever telling anyone about your glowing bird.

"I can't really, I mean I would but-it's just that umm" no excuse would satisfy this crowd. They all knew you didn't have anyone waiting at home for you.

"Aww, c'mon Birdie! It's hot as shit out and we were gonna go swimming before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up" she takes one last pull of her cigarette before snuffing it out against the side of the car, eyes never leaving yours.

You could just say no, walk away without explanation and hope that none of them would take personal offense. That tomorrow at school they wouldn't corner you like you'd seen them do to so many others. Wishful thinking and all that.

By now you're gripping the coin so tight in your hand that it begins to dig into your palm. Looking up at the sky, you see clouds not to far off that were more than ready to burst with rain. It wouldn't be that long, even Sam knew not to mess around in a flooding river.

"Okay" you stuff the coin into the back pocket of your shorts and make your way down the sloping path to the river.

The air is stagnant with cigarette smoke when you finally push your way through the thick foliage and it clings to Sam's hair when she wraps an arm around you as soon as you appear.

"So, Birdie, I've been wanting to show you something" she says, leading you toward the rest of the group by the car.

There are five all together. Sam, Zach and Carter, twin boys that remind you of giant redwoods when they stood side-by-side, then Lily-Ann and Maya.

"I thought you guys were going swimming?" you keep the question light, hoping not to stir up anything.

"We are, but first, I wanted to show something, kind of like a graduation present, because you never ratted us out or anything" Sam tugs you in closer, almost like a hug if her nails weren't digging into your arm.

"That's really not- I just didn't want to get you guys in trouble. You never hurt anyone, you were just messing around" your stomach clenches into a ball of anxious nerves, yelling at you to run, hide, anything.

Lying just makes it even worse because you've seen them get in fights, heard Lily-Ann brag about using her BB gun on that stray dog.

What's worse is the look Sam gives you. She isn't smiling anymore as she keeps a tight hold on you and walks straight toward the water.

"Yeah, but I thought I'd at least show you what I think of you for doing that. What I think of spineless little birds."

Like with most dangerous situations, you've waited until it's too late to work up the courage and run. When you push out of Sam's grip, her nails scrap three red lines into your skin but you ignore the sting and slam right into the trunk of one of the twins. No one could ever really tell Zach and Carter apart, and they didn't really care.

So whoever it is, they grab you by the shoulders and push you backwards hard enough that you fall ass first onto the hard riverbank, the wind leaving your lungs in a painful wheeze.

"I think Birdie here needs to learn how to stand up for herself, so lets help her!" Sam sneers down at you before reaching out to yank on the strap of your messenger bag, tugging you up before suddenly hands are dragging you back.

"Sam please, I'm sorry, I just didn't want-"

"Didn't what Birdie? Didn't wanna get your hands dirty? Christ you are a spineless little shit!" she just laughs mirthlessly and rips your messenger bag off, tossing it into the water.

There are tears slowly leaking out and down your face by now. You're angry but you know people like Sam feed off anger. Anything you might say won't change her mind. So you tug your arms free, hearing the sharp rip of your shirt in the process, before a fist connects with your nose. It snaps your head back violently and sends you into a daze.

"What the hell Sam?! I thought we were just gonna scare her?" one of the girls says, more annoyed than concerned.

"We are! Zach, put her in" Sam orders.

With a head full of quicksand and warm, copper tasting blood rolling over your lips, you focus on their voices. Not the tugging on your arms as one of the twins pulls you into the water and around so you can glance at the open trunk.

He tosses you in like you weigh nothing, frowning down at you with one hand on the hatch. Behind him the sky is darker, it'll rain soon. And then he slams the trunk closed hard enough to shake the whole back end of the car.

It's dark but there are holes where the weather had worn through and light seeps in. Inside here it's even hotter, the heat cloying and suffocating. You can hear them outside yelling at you, about you, and even shaking the car, pounding on the sides.

That lasts for a while, long enough for your nose to stop bleeding and your shirt to be soaked with more sweat than water. You remain silent the entire time, waiting it out. They would let you out before the rain.

They had to, the river would rise well above the trunk.

When fat drops of rain begin to hit the metal above you, their voices fade, yelling out heartless 'goodbyes' and 'good luck getting outs.'

You're almost dumbfounded at the silence, nothing but the staccato of the ever increasing rain to keep you company. Now you begin to yell.

"Sam! Let me out! Let me out please, okay I get it! Just let me out!"

Nothing. They left you. They fucking left you.

"Sam! Maya! Lily-Ann! Saaaaaam!"

Pounding on the metal above you does nothing for the fear crawling up your sore throat. You keep at it until the first trickles of water begin to fill the trunk, until your arms ache and you're sobbing out curses.

You can count the beats of your heart it's so loud. The water is cold and fast, filling up the small space until not even the holes in the metal can provide you air.

The first gulp of water you take in relieves the burn for air but fills you like cement, stopping up your throat and lungs. You think you manage to rip off a few nails clawing at the metal tomb around you and it's the last shred of pain you feel.

The last thing you see, your vision going dark, is the slight gleam of silver shaped like a coin.

Then you open your eyes to see the road you walk home every day, bridge stretched out in front of you, the same muggy heat pressing down on you.

Dropping to your knees in the dirt, you clutch your throat and gasp in the sweetest breath of air you've ever tasted. Kneeling there in the dirt, gaping like a fish, you feel the messenger bag at your hip, no pain in your nose or blood on your face.

Not a single drop of water on you, not even tears.

And when the tunnel vision of panic slowly recedes, you see a familiar round shape on the ground in front of you.

The coin, shiny and silver with not so much as a speck of dirt on it, stares back up at you.

Desperately you search all the pockets on your shorts, coming up empty. But you knew you put that coin in your back pocket. You also knew that you'd been locked in a trunk and left to drown.

You had drowned.

"Hey Birdie! You hear me up there? I wanna talk to you!"

Sam's voice is like ice in your veins. It had felt so real, the scratches on your arm, the blood and the burn of drowning. You make no move to stand up, hoping maybe she'll give up. Maybe you're finally going nuts in this tiny town.

Either way, you weren't going down there.

"I know you're up there Birdie! I saw you, just come down and swim with us before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up!"

Nope. No way. You decide you can run the rest of the way home. You snatch the coin out of the dirt, keeping it tucked in your fist, as you lurch forward into a flat out run, hoping they won't bother with chasing after you. That you weren't worth it.

You don't stop until there's a stitch in your side and even then you only slow to a jog, glancing over your shoulder every other breath. It's as your look back for the fifth time that you see a truck rumbling it's way along down the road. It's not one you recognize, an older model, beat up and pale white with a surprisingly quiet engine. By now you've turned around to openly stare, panting, watching the truck approach, veering away from the shoulder you stand on.

The license plate reads HDS-180. Definitely no one you knew.

"You alright?"

The voice startles you, coming from the open window of the truck now stopped beside you. It seems familiar but the face of the man behind the wheel is foreign to you. He seems a few years older than you, not that you were ever a good judge of age, with deep brown eyes that watch you carefully from underneath the brim of a black, worn out ball cap.

There's a frown curving his lips and you realize it's probably because you haven't answered him.

"I'm okay, thanks" even you don't sound convincing to your own ears but you don't move an inch.

"Are you sure?" his frown deepens, tilting his head in concern.

"Uh, yeah, well. . . it's kind of been a weird day but" you can't think of how to finish that sentence. You just want to forget what happened (or didn't happen) at the bridge.

"You need to call someone? To come get you?" he asks earnestly, putting the truck in park even as you shake your head.

"No, my mom's at work" probably not the best thing to tell a stranger.

"I saw those kids back at the bridge" he tells you seriously, nodding over his shoulder "they wouldn't happen to be the reason you were running like the Devil was at your heels would they?"

"Maybe" you sigh, too tired at this point.

"You want a ride home?"

"Depends, do you plan on killing me?" it shouldn't come out sounding like a joke but it does.

Your mom would be so disappointed in you. But the coin seems to vibrate in your hand as you reach out to grab the passenger side door handle.

"It's not on my schedule, promise."

[vicunaburger]

Imperfect and inhuman, are we?

Fandom: School of Rock: The Musical (AU Verse) Chapters: 2/? Pairing: Dewey Finn x OC (Magdalena Newton) The Players: Dewey Finn, Magdalena Newton, Ned Schneebly, The School of Rock Students Word Count: 1,779 Warnings: M for Future Things

Notes: Oh yeah, this was a thing I was doing.

Chapter 2 - Evening - Serenade 

It was that near perfect sort of weather outside: the kind where it was cool enough to open all the windows, but not cold enough to warrant breaking out the portable heater and pointing directly at his feet. Instead of shutting himself away in the makeshift “soundproof” corner of his apartment, Dewey decided to take his personal jam session out onto the fire escape.

He had long since chased away the neighbors who took issue with his might tributes to the rock gods, so he wasn’t too concerned with having the police called on him.

Again.

Noise complaints carried expensive ass tickets.

Besides, using an acoustic guitar dampened the noise enough to satisfy the holdout residents around the building.

“Why is this G sounding like an A? Are you out of tune- fuck!” He mumbled though the impromptu song, angrily adjusting the strings. “I thought I fixed you when the humidity changed.”

“I don’t know that song,” a voice from the alleyway below called up to him. “Play Freebird.”

Startled, Dewey nearly fell off the windowsill onto the harsh, metal grating of the fire escape. Setting he guitar -gently- on the floor of the apartment, he climbed outside, peering down over the shaky railing to the ground below.

Looking ever so much the small, porcelain doll from such a height, he spotted a familiar woman wrapped in a winter white coat. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder onto the pristine fabric, reminding him of one of those ink blot tests the Horace Green resident counselor would give the faculty every month.

She waved up to him, but it was hard to read her expression from such a distance. He could only assume she was in a good mood from her cheeky joke about requested another song. Then again, he had yet to see her in a bad mood.

Dewey was surprised -in the very best way- to see her so early in the evening. Magdalena had a habit of catching him as he arrived home from late night practice; it was uncanny how she always seemed to sneak up on him, barely making a sound as she approached him on the sidewalk. Normally, he could hear a pin drop from six feet away, but she was something else.

They would exchange pleasantries before she would continue her trek down the sidewalk toward the city proper, “to work” as she explained. She made no attempt to elaborate on what sort of job started so late at night; so, he guessed it was something medical.

Or she was a classy hooker.

Didn’t much bother him either way.

“Hey, Snow White!” Dewey called down to her, “Hold on, I’ll be right down.”

He near leapt back into his apartment, scrambling around on all fours, picking through various piles of laundry on the floor. They were organized – in a way – by the level of wear they received throughout the week. Obviously, something on the fresher side was the goal; it would be mortifying to pick out a shirt that had food stains or some other sign of his lack of forethought to hit the laundromat last week.

Magdalena always looked like a million bucks striking down that grimy sidewalk, whereas he looked like he rolled around a thrift store clothing bin.

He had gotten most of his wardrobe from thrifting, but she didn’t need to know.

“Aaaah – I’ll be right down… gimme just another minute.” He grabbed a sweater vest from under his bed, jamming it over his head as he yelled toward the window. “I don’t want you being late… for… whatever you would be late for!”

Struggling with the vest, as he had somehow managed to slip his head through an arm hole, he failed to notice the woman sitting politely outside the window.

Magdalena watching him angrily try and right himself; amused that he was taking such great pains to dress nicely for her sudden arrival. Frankly, what he already had on was enough for her, as she enjoyed seeing him so vulnerable?

No, casual was a better choice. Sometimes the nuance escaped her.

“No need to shout, Mr. Finn.” Magdalena finally announced herself, wanting to end his struggles. “I can hear you perfectly well.”

Dewey stopped midway removing the vest, dropping the garment to the ground, and pulling his t-shirt down over his stomach. It had ridden upward in his haste, exposing his midsection entirely. A bright blush spread across his cheeks, noting the fact she had been starting directly at the exposed pudge of his belly. Was it because of the pudge? It was the pudge, he concluded, her staring at him for any other reason was making a beeline for cheesy porn fantasy territory.

“What- how did you get up here?” He asked, blinking slowly.

Magdalena tilted her head, mirroring is blink, “The stairs.”

“Well, yeah duh the stairs, I meant like how you got up here so fast. There are like fifty steps up to this floor-” He sat on the windowsill across from her.

“Fifty-three steps.” She corrected him gently, brushing some stray hair behind her ear.

“How do you- “Dewey began.

“I counted.” Magdalena finished for him. “I passed all of my arithmetic courses some years ago, Mr. Finn, as I’m sure you have.”

Pausing, he ran a hand through his mess of hair, trying to smooth down his perpetual bedhead fluff. Magdalena’s hand twitched with the impulse to run her fingers through his hair, wondering if it would be as soft as it looked against her sensitive skin. It wouldn’t have been too hard to just reach over a little, just for a brief moment to keep that sensation as a memory.

Two things kept her impulse in check: one, social convention would frown upon such a familiar gesture of affection towards a man she hadn’t yet spoke a thousand words to altogether. Two; she dared not cross the threshold between the fire escape and his apartment.

Fire escapes were public, specifically owned apartments were not.

“I… sound like a complete jackass when I talk to you. I’m usually better? Sometimes. Most times. Promise. Swear on my vinyl collection; may it melt if I’m lying.” Dewey scratched the back of his neck nervously.

Shrugging, she gave him a small, reassuring smile, “Well, I don’t know anyone personally to compare your behaviors with, but I’m hardly offended by what you say.

Dewey looked about to cry, which she couldn’t be sure if it were because of her response, or the chill in the weather. He leaned forward, elbow on his knees, with his chin in his hand. The fact that his upper body was now technically beyond the windowsill was not lost on her, her eyes flicking down to calculate the angle between his head and the window frame.

He sighed heavily, taking note of her impeccable posture, “You’re so… polite, ya know that? Like those women in fancy drama movies on PBS. Sitting around waiting to marry some fancy lord or whatever. Why are you up here talking to me anyway?”

“Oh, well, shouting from the street would be grossly inappropriate. My mother, she always says, ‘Magda’” She deepened her accent, hunching slightly, “ ‘If they cannot be close enough to hear you speaking softly, they aren’t worthy of hearing what you have to say in the first place.’”

“So, you came up here because you wanted me to hear you better?” Dewey tried to piece what he could through the thick, eastern European accent she had donned. “I would have come down! Now you’ll get that coat all covered in rust and I’m gonna feel bad about it. And that’s gonna make me break out the wallet so you can get it dry cleaned, because I need to be a gentleman.”

Magdalena laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, “I can get it washed, no charity required. It’s just a coat; but a Mr. Finn is unique, so I will gladly sacrifice something that can be replaced.”

The rocker stared at her, his jaw a little slack, “…are you real?”

“The eternal question plaguing the greatest minds in history.” She played with the ends of her inky hair, twisting it around her fingers, “Maybe. Maybe not. In this instance of sitting with you, yes, we are real in relation to each other. Then again, when I leave, you might not exist until I come back. Or vice-versa.”

“Terrifying,” He replied, shaking his head sadly.

Seizing the opportunity, she reached over with her free hand, patting his shoulder softly, “Quite; but I could always be wrong, Mr. Finn.”

Dewey reached upward, placing his larger hand upon hers, frowning when he felt how cold she felt, “Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were freezing? Here.”

Before she could stop him, he took hold of both her hands, pulling them inside the warmth of the apartment, rubbing them between his own hands to generate heat. Magdalena’s arms felt like their were being pulled through a nest of razor wire, her very sinew feeling as if it were being peeled back from her muscles.

She steeled her expression, biting her tongue to keep from screeching in pain from his selfless gesture, trembling head to toe with the effort. He thankfully didn’t notice her discomfort, cupping his hands around hers and puffing warm breaths against her cold skin. What should have been a tender, friendly gesture was being overridden by her compulsion to stay outside. His permission needed to be verbal, not physical. Words were powerful things in her experience.

Her head was pounding, her vision growing blurry with the pain streaking through her veins like acid. Faintly, she could feel a small drop of blood leaking out from her nose, trickling down her to her lip, and falling onto her lap.

Dewey must have taken his attention away from her hands, his eyes growing wide as he let her go, “You’re bleeding? Are you okay? Snow?”

The woman pulled her hands toward her body, one of them going up to try and hide her bloody nose, “Oh! I’m… forgive me, it happens occasionally. Not your fault!”

The moment her hands were outside the threshold of the window, her body felt perfectly normal. No pain, no throbbing headache. Just as she had been moments before.

“Allergy medication. Sometimes with the dry weather… ah, still, I apologize for the gruesome interruption.” She took a handkerchief out of her coat pocket, wiping away the blood as best she could. “Did I get it all? Less hideous?”

Leaning forward, Dewey pretended to examine her face, struggling to keep a stern expression, “Well, less hideous than you usually are, so it’s a start. Might take a little more work to get you from hideous to tolerable.”

Magdalena pouted, stuffing the handkerchief back into her pocket, “I’ll enlist your help to make sure I’m daresay presentable in the future. Goodnight, Mr. Finn, I expect a better song choice tomorrow.”

Writing Tags: @amywright @mrgeuse  @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs @clairjohnson

[penzyroamin]

your wish is my command!!!!

some warnings for this one-- it is heavy shit. there is some mention of potential physical abuse from a parent to a child, so if that’s an issue for you, you’ll probably be okay if you skip the second paragraph and the area between “The night was still too hot and humid, but Davey could hardly bring himself to care as they breathed together.” and “Why? We’re happy.” there’s also some homophobia mentioned throughout, so.

this is.. gosh, the time period is kinda ambiguous, but it felt sorta 90′s to me? and it’s set in the deep south, also kinda ambiguously-- if u want my two cents, i wrote it based off of this teeeeeny tiny town some of my family lives in in north fl.

anyways. this is about loving recklessly and desperately and with much difficulty. please enjoy!!!

no rules in breakable heaven -- read on ao3

In the grand scheme of poor ideas Davey had had over the course of his twenty years of life, kissing Jack had been a bad one. Kissing him again had been a worse one, and continuing to do so, kissing him over and over until they had the closest thing they could to a real relationship, was likely one of his worst.

They had accepted early on that they couldn’t have much in public, not when Davey’s father would try to beat the shit out of both of them if he heard a word of it. Jack lamented it occasionally-- that they lived in the modern world, the present goddamn day, and yet ideals liked freezing in their idiotic, humid little town.

So yes, they accepted that they couldn’t be anything but best friends in public, but that didn’t prevent them from playing with fate.

Davey was in the middle of a shift in his family’s antique story, growing bored quickly of his daily pattern of waiting for someone, anyone, to come in so he could convince them into paying his family’s rent.

But it was miserably hot outside, and no one was out, so there were only empty streets.

And, of course, Jack sitting on the counter, trying to tempt Davey into making horrible decisions. He nudged Davey’s hip with his foot, his old Chuck Taylors ripped up and covered in paint, and when Davey looked over, Jack raised his eyebrows, grinning devilishly and groaning when Davey looked away.

“C’mon, baby, ain’t no one here to see.”

“There could be,” Davey said, opening up the cash register like there’d be something new there. Jack whined pathetically, laying down on the counter and wrinkling his nose.

“Nobody’s out there, and ‘sides, you got the bell to tell ya if anyone comes in.”

Davey busied himself with nonsense. “Don’t got a clue what you’re implying, Kelly.”

“I’m implying that you got a whole bunch of shit in those back rooms that looks real comfy.” Davey’s face screwed up, and Jack cackled. “I love when you get prudish.”

“Who the fuck says prudish anymore?”

“Me, when you’s being prudish. Come on, Dave. You ain’t possibly sold that old armchair yet, it looks fancy.”

“I am not going to make out with you in my parents’ business,” Davey insisted, and he pursed his lips to avoid smiling when Jack took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“When does your shift end?” Jack asked, and Davey checked the old clock next to the register.

“Four hours.”

Jack rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the counter, tugging Davey a little closer. “You sure know how to torture a guy.”

“It’s a gift,” Davey said quietly, grinning at Jack. “You gonna do anything about it?”

That got him a glare. “Evidently not.”

Davey looked past Jack’s head, at the empty street and the heat hanging in the air. He looked back at Jack, and finally relented. “Ten minutes.”

In seconds, Jack seized Davey's hand and dragged him to the back of the store. They passed through perilously stacked furniture and decorations and knick-knacks that his family had acquired over the years and still had little success in selling.

Davey was shaken out of that thought when Jack fell into one of the nearby armchairs, tugging Davey's hand again.

Despite the relatively poor circumstances in which the Jacobs family lived, the antique shop was an expansive place, plenty of hidden corners, and Davey was all the more lucky for it.

Some amount of time after they ran off-- seven minutes, maybe?-- the bell attached to their door rang, and Davey swore against Jack's throat.

He scrambled backwards, desperately tugging down his shirt from where Jack had rucked it up. He frantically surveyed Jack to see how presentable he was.

In short, Jack looked wrecked. And gorgeous, and definitely not presentable. Anybody who saw him would immediately know.

Davey started to look desperately for a mirror, praying he didn't look similar, and Jack seemed to understand his thoughts. He jumped up and held Davey still, tugging a few of his curls back into place.

"You look fine," he said quietly. "Say you were carrying something, it'll explain…" He pinched Davey's cheek. "Y'know, the roses."

A women's voice called from the front of the store, and Jack tugged him in for a quick, hard kiss. "Go sell something, I'll hide in the back."

Davey grinned at him madly, terrified adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Love you," he said, rushing to the front of the store before he could consider his words for even a moment.

It was only when he was halfway through talking up a table that he remembered the implications of what he'd said.

When the woman finally left, Jack had already escaped through the back.

Davey raked his fingers through his own hair. "Shit," he said, with no one to hear him but the odd cat-shaped clock.

After four more hours of work, and then a truly awful evening of financial planning and "family dinner", Davey had pretty much accepted that his day was over and he wasn't doing much other than paperwork and going to bed.

Their office was the only extra room in the house that they rented, in the back with a window that overlooked their tiny yard. Davey didn’t quite like the look of the yard at night, though, so he had the blinds down while he worked on inventory and returns and other things he cared about only by necessity. 

And then he heard a few swift little taps, and he rolled up the blinds to see none other than Jack beaming at him. He beckoned with one finger, and Davey only considered things for a moment before he turned his lamp off and headed for the door.

He slipped his shoes on as he left as quietly as he could, looking around in the darkness and nearly gagging at the thick nighttime humidity. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and had to muffle his own shriek when he turned around and saw the faint outline of Jack beaming.

“Bastard!” Davey whispered through the darkness, and Jack laughed, his hands finding Davey’s face and pulling him into a kiss.

For a few minutes, Davey was content to stand like that with him, gripping Jack’s hips and pulling him closer and closer, shielded from his family’s view and the streetlights by overgrown bushes and trees on either side of them.

Jack finally pulled away, breathing quickly. “C’mon, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Lead the way, baby.”

They ran into the street together, where Jack’s old pickup truck was waiting for them, and Davey giggled when Jack skidded over to hold the passenger’s door open for him. Jack’s truck was an absolute rustbucket of a disaster, but it was kind that night, staying mostly quiet as they raced far away from Davey’s world.

Davey didn’t give much thought to where they were going until Jack came to a stop in the middle of a field, a mostly barren one primarily occupied by weeds and tall grass.

He peered out of the window. “Where are we?”

Jack shrugged. “Beats me. Told me I’d take ya somewhere, right?”

“So there ain’t any purpose to this?”

“‘Course there is. I wanna see you.” Jack reached over and squeezed Davey’s hand, then jerked his head back towards the bed of the truck. “C’mon, I got an air mattress back there, we can get comfy.”

Jack jumped out of the truck, heading to the back, and Davey shook his head as he exited a bit more gingerly. “You really planned this, huh?”

“Duh. How’s a man supposed to woo his lover?”

Davey clambered into the bed of the truck, taking in Jack and the flashlights he had set up to give them a little visibility and the air mattress that Jack was lounged out on. He wasn’t sure quite what to say to any of it, but he managed, “So I’m ya lover now?”

“Obviously,” Jack declared with a smile, tugging Davey forward to lay down with him. He pressed a few soft kisses to Davey’s collarbone.

That reminded Davey of what he’d said, and he pursed his lips a little as Jack continued his ministrations. “When I, uh… what I said…” He trailed off, sighing when Jack bit down. “If you don’t wanna… mention it…”

Jack pulled away, his brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?” Davey gaped, scrambling for words, and Jack took his hand, kissed each of his knuckles. “I love you, too. Best thing I ever heard you say.”

That was… puzzling. It must have shown on Davey’s face, because Jack tilted his head. “You did… mean it, didn’t ya?”

“Yes!” Davey rushed to exclaim, clinging to Jack’s hand. “Yeah, of course, it just… complicates things, don’t it?”

Jack blinked, looking down at their hands and then sighing. “I mean… yeah. Yeah, but… God, Dave, I love you. I’m so in love with you, I feel antsy every second I ain’t with you. I just wanna be with you, that’s all. That’s it.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, so earnest and kind. Maybe it was the way his eyes were even darker at night, or the way their dim, artificial light cast odd shadows across his skin, or the way that his hair stuck to his forehead in the humidity. Maybe it was just that Davey loved him, and he had for longer than either of them knew, and he wanted, he had always wanted, only for Jack to love him, too.

Whatever the reason, he lunged forward and kissed him, as good as he knew how to. He clung to Jack, one hand in his hair and the other on his hip, pulling him closer and closer until there wasn’t any space left for them to breathe in.

Jack groaned, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist and rolling onto his back so Davey was laying on top of him, letting everything fade to a dull roar around them. Cicadas and waving grass and crickets quieted and finally went silent in Davey’s ears as he dipped his head to kiss along Jack’s jaw and then down his neck.

There they were, in the bed of Jack’s rustbucket pickup truck, and their world was finally quiet.

When they were finished, Jack tucked his head into the crook of Davey’s neck, and Davey ran his fingers through Jack’s hair. The night was still too hot and humid, but Davey could hardly bring himself to care as they breathed together.

“Davey?” Jack asked eventually, and Davey nodded a little in response. He felt Jack’s breaths get softer against his shoulder, and then: “What happens? If folks find out? If your dad…”

Davey exhaled softly, brushing the tips of his fingers over Jack’s back. “I dunno. He… It’s… I got no clue what he’s gonna do. And that scares me.”

“If he…” Jack trailed off, and Davey sighed.

“If he tries to beat the shit out of me, I might… I might take it. He’s my dad. I can’t fight him back.”

“Yes, you can. You can, Davey, you should. He’s an awful bastard.”

“Jack.” Davey tipped up Jack’s chin so he could look him in the eyes. “I know he’s wrong. And I wish I could. But if it comes to it…”

Jack exhaled slowly, his shoulders slacking. “He’s your dad. I know.”

They returned to holding each other like they had before, and Jack pressed a few comforting kisses to Davey’s bare shoulder. “If he comes for me…”

“Fight back,” Davey said firmly. “But don’t… please don’t go too far.”

“I won’t,” Jack murmured. Davey felt Jack’s lips pursed, and he waited for the exception. “I… I dunno what I’m gonna do if I see you hurt ‘cause of him.” Hot tears fell against Davey’s skin, and he gasped, holding Jack tighter. “Y’already are, but… bruises, cuts, I’d…” Davey’s own eyes burned as Jack choked out small breaths. “I hate him, Davey, I hate him for makin’ us think about all this.”

“I know. I know, doll, I know. It’s just… We can’t escape.”

Jack stilled, and after a moment, he said, “Why not?”

“What are you… What?”

Jack pulled back, taking Davey’s face in his hands, his eyes dangerously aglow. “Why can’t we escape? Why can’t we just run?”

“My-- Jack, my family--”

“Your parents ain’t given you nothing but hell.”

“My siblings, they’ll--”

“You can send them money, Davey, talk to them before. You can keep them afloat from far away.”

“This is crazy. This is insane. You’re crazy.”

“Why? We’re happy. We can keep being happy, far away from your folks. Happiness without all the dark shit they bring. We can live together, get real jobs, kiss whenever we want!”

Jack’s enthusiasm, like always, was infectious, and Davey felt himself falling. “Where’d we go?” he asked, his voice soft like when he prayed.

“Anywhere. New York, Santa Fe, San Diego, Chicago, some tiny suburb somewhere. I don’t care where we call home, you’re home.”

That slipped right through Davey’s ribcage and found his heart, piercing and tugging with the deep, necessary love he had for Jack. “I don’t have my stuff.”

“Then we leave tomorrow. Pack up what you need, sneak it with you when you go to work tomorrow. I’ll pick you up there, and we just…” Jack snapped his fingers. “Vanish. Become town legends.”

Davey hated that he had to choose-- be loved by your family, be loved by your lover. But then again, Jack was the only person who had ever loved him bravely, loved him when it was difficult, loved him unconditionally. No matter how many times he had to sneak out Davey’s window at night, no matter how many times he couldn’t hold Davey’s hand, no matter how many nights and days were interrupted. He just loved Davey, and Davey loved him back.

“Okay,” he said, the word leaving his throat like it had been waiting there forever. “Okay. Yeah, let’s go.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Davey said again, a beam spreading across his face. “Yes, let’s go. Tomorrow at ten in the morning. Let’s just go.”

Jack crashed forward and kissed him firmly, and as Davey pulled him closer, he felt Jack melt into his arms.

Davey turned over the bracelet in his hands. He’d only had a few minutes with Les and Sarah while he was driving them to school, but they’d all cried in that time, and when he let them out, they ran around the side to hug him tightly. Les had demanded that Davey get back in touch once everyone was out of Esther and Mayer’s home, and Sarah had given him the bracelet, saying that purple looked better on him.

There was a rumbling outside as Jack’s truck pulled to a stop, and Davey looked around the store one more time, shouldering the backpack that he had fit his life in. For good measure, he snatched a little pocketwatch from their jewelry display before flipping the sign to “CLOSED” and locking the front door one last time.

Jack grinned when Davey got in the truck. “Where to?”

Davey took Jack’s free hand and stared at the empty road. “Just drive, baby.”

“As you wish.”

They jolted forward, and Jack cranked the air conditioning up so high that Davey’s curls blew back with the force of it.

A weight slowly lifted off his heart as they merged onto the highway, and it felt a little like finally loving freely.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

The Steinbeck Agreement

PART TWENTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of familial physical/emotional abuse please read with caution, serious angst, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Ella makes some major changes in her life, and Jess reluctantly returns to town for his mother’s wedding.

The afternoon light streamed golden through the diner windows as Liz and Luke came in, Ella leaning on the counter with her sketchbook in front of her. Too enveloped in the drawing of a field of murderous daisies, Ella didn’t even register what they were talking about until she heard them mention her name.

“...maybe Ella could do it,” Liz said, tilting her head at the young woman with dark eye makeup and EAT ME printed across her shirt.

“Hm?” Ella asked, looking up from her sketch with furrowed brows.

Luke rolled his eyes at her distracted nature. Ever since she’d moved out of her childhood home, she’d been in a worse mood, focused almost solely on her terrifying drawings. He’d had to tell her a couple times to make sure to keep the sketchbook off the counter when there were children present.

“Be a flower girl,” Liz said, a big, dreamy smile on her face. She was dressed in a long, floral red dress. “Most of the Renaissance fair crowd doesn’t have small children. But if we’re gonna have a wedding, we’re gonna have a real wedding. Can’t be a wedding without a flower girl.”

“Sorry, whose wedding?” Ella asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, sweetie.” Liz had a high, wispy voice that reminded Ella of the fairies she used to imagine playing in her mother’s garden. “We’re having it right out in the square next week. It’s gonna be beautiful, all our Renaissance fair friends will be there, and it’ll have this great medieval theme! And you could be the flower girl!”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ella began with a shy smile, but Liz only waved a dismissive hand at her, continuing.

“I can loan you one of my fair dresses,” she said excitedly, not picking up on Ella’s doubtful expression.

“Yeah, Ella. You can finally perfect your whole Bride of Frankenstein look,” Luke teased. His expression was far more pleasant than Ella could have predicted. Happy. Happy, in its simplest form, looked so strange on Luke. The past few months had seen the true finalization of his divorce and his having to watch Lorelai date some rich snob from her father’s company. But the news seemed to brighten his mood inexplicably. She was sure the laughter at her expense wasn’t exactly a drag on the day either.

Rolling her eyes, Ella shot him a pointed glance. “Y’know, you would be lost without your best waitress.”

“I’m quaking in my boots. Besides, I’ve got Lane working for me now, anyway.”

Though she narrowed her eyes at him, she could think of nothing more to say. He was right. She would never quit on him. The diner was more of a home to her than anywhere else in the world. Hell, it had almost single-handedly fed her during the worst few months of her life. Along with Lorelai’s frequent feasts of junk food.

“I can just see it, Ella! It’ll be so much fun and you’d look so beautiful!” Liz exclaimed, grabbing one of Ella’s hands in a pleading gesture.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella did her best to protest. She still wasn’t Liz’s biggest fan, despite wherever it was that she stood with Jess. The alcohol, the neglect. But Luke seemed not entirely angry about the match, especially considering his view on TJ when the two had first been introduced back in February. And Liz’s smile was so large, so radiant. Her eyes were desperate and almost kind. Heaving a huge sigh, Ella nodded. Luke was much more than her boss. And he gave a smile so rare when she agreed. She would do it for Luke, she decided. In fact, it was the least she could do.

.   .   .

Sat on the lumpy couch in Lane’s living room, Ella found herself smiling just a touch. The band, finally named Hep Alien, was getting better with every practice. Though the room was piled high with dirty clothes and video game equipment, and it remained cluttered no matter how many times Ella tried to clean it up, she was beginning to get more comfortable. Her king mattress was so old anyway, and sleeping on the plaid couch wasn’t much different. As she had run from the only house she had ever known, she’d packed as much as she could into her station wagon, which had once been her aunt Julie’s. It wasn’t like her old room fit much anyway. Mostly, the backseat was filled with her records, books, clothes.

Loud music making her ears ring, she sketched Lane behind the drums, living the way she had always wanted. As fun as it was watching band practice nearly every night, Ella was eager for her summer classes to start. If she played her cards right, she could graduate a year early with art as a minor. Ella’s mind drifted to the night she left, the day after she finally finished her first year of college. And, over a modest celebratory dinner, the conversation had drifted, as it always did, to the future.

.   .   .

two and a half weeks earlier

Tugging with one hand at the ends of her hair, Ella felt an odd mixture of distasteful nostalgia and happiness in her stomach. The lasagna tasted exactly as her mother’s had, and Ella knew Fiona had followed the recipe, scribbled in the back of the ancient cookbook, exactly. But she would keep quiet. Fiona truly seemed proud of her, beaming and giving her a hug the moment she walked through the door after work. Slowly, very slowly, Ella was beginning to accept it, the motherly love. Though occasionally it still rubbed her the wrong way, it didn’t send her spiralling into anger and melancholy as it once had.

And it wasn’t as though Fiona was a bad person. She had a sunny disposition, glossy hair, expressive eyes. Ella could understand how her father would want to marry her. But she was just too unlike her mother. Would never understand Ella the way her mother had. It still felt like bizarro-world when Fiona tried to give her advice or compliment her on her piano skills. But she could manage dinner every once and a while, and accept pride in her academic accomplishments. She was on the Dean’s List, after all.

Adam pushed his food around his plate as he spoke. From the glances they’d shared, Ella could tell he tasted the same memories from childhood she did.

“We’ve still got about a month, but I really think we can get first place,” Adam said of his mathlete competition. His voice had gotten deeper, and he was finally growing taller. Ella could tell he would end up looking a lot like Noah.

“That’s great,” Jake said, nodding with a half-smile.

“Really is,” Fiona echoed, grinning widely.

As silence fell on the four of them, forks scraped on the Corelle plates and throats were cleared. Awkward silences had quickly become staples of family dinners. Eventually, Jake began twisting his wedding ring and looked straight at Ella, who sat at his left side. The light in the peach kitchen was bright despite the cloudy darkness outside. The May evening was humid and buzzing with cicadas.

“And what about you, Ellie?” Jake asked.

Looking up carefully, Ella put down her fork and faced him. “What about me?”

“Do you have any prospects for the summer? Besides the diner?”

She shook her head. “No. Unless Patty needs me to fill in. Might start painting more. I’m thinking a small easel would fit pretty well near the window in my room.”

Narrowing his eyes doubtfully, Jake tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know. Seems like a waste of money.”

“Why?” she asked instantly.

“We don’t have to discuss this now,” Fiona interjected patiently.

Adam looked down at his plate as he ate.

Jake breathed a frustrated sigh through his nose. “You’re majoring in history. You’re living with us for at least three more years. I don’t think now’s the time for pipe dreams.”

“Hm,” Ella nodded, giving a thin, vicious smile. “It’s funny you say that. When mom was alive, you always thought I should put as much time into my art as she put into her music.”

“You were a kid. Things change. The best you can hope for is being a history teacher at Stars Hollow High, and you have to be happy with it,” Jake explained with cold logic in his voice. His eyebrows were raised in condescension.

Ella’s cheeks heated up. “Oh, so all this time you’ve just been humoring me? Telling me I had talent?”

“Not exactly. But you’re not O’Keefe, either.”

“Never said I was,” Ella snapped, standing up from her seat. “I can't do this right now. I’m buying my fucking paint, dad.”

“Hey!” he shouted, rising from his own seat and following her as she stormed into the living room towards the hall entrance. “Don’t you use that language with me, young lady!”

“Why not?! Might as well let you know how I actually talk if you’re gonna let me know how you actually feel!” she yelled back, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Jake rolled his eyes at his only daughter. “Toughen up, Ellie! You’ve only got so much time on this earth and I’m not gonna watch you waste it on your doodles!”

“Oh, and lecturing about the revolutionary war in the town where I’ve always lived wouldn’t be a waste?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least you’ll make a living! You’ll still be around people who love you, who take care of you. You’ll always be near us,” he argued.

Ella let out a bitter, humorless bark of laughter. “People who take care of me?! I’ve been taking care of you for almost five years! All of you! Especially you! When mom died, I was the one who fed us, I was the one who cleaned and tried to cook! And you did fuck-all except drink and lie around crying!”

Eyes darkening, Jake took a step closer to her and she immediately recoiled. “I lost my wife. You will never understand that!”

“I lost my mother!” she screamed, hands clenched at her sides, so hard her knuckles turned white. Angry tears snuck up on her eyes but she swallowed them back to the best of her ability.

“If I’d have known how much you’d bitch about helping out, doing what a daughter should, I never would’ve let you take that job at Luke’s!”

“Doing what a daughter should?” she asked immediately, eyebrows shooting up. Her jaw was set firm with tension.

Fiona appeared from the kitchen behind her husband, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Baby, let’s just all take a minute to cool down.”

“You brother and I needed you and all you could do was complain!” he roared.

Ella scoffed. “You needed me? You needed me to keep you alive long enough for you to find a new wife to coddle you and baby you and cry with you when you told her about your tragic high school sweetheart! Why do you think she hates you, huh?”

Her stomach did a flip when she saw the hurt on Fiona’s face from the corner of her eye, but a fire burned so hot inside her, and she couldn’t keep her words contained any longer. She’d tried to play the dutiful woman of the house long enough.

“Do not talk about my marriage!” Jake warned. “It’s none of your business!”

“Of course it’s my business! It’ll be my business when I have to pick up the pieces once she leaves you!”

“You have always been such a little brat! You were a nightmare to raise for me and for Sophia!” A vein had popped out in his forehead, and he shrugged Fiona’s touch from his shoulder.

“Fuck you!”

Crack! Ella seemed to hear it before she felt it: a sharp, searing pain as his open palm struck her cheek. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in so long, not since she was ten and had mouthed off at the dinner table. A sinking feeling struck her stomach as silence filled the room. Because she suddenly discovered she had always been expecting it. Always knew it would happen again, someday, somehow. And she’d been almost surprised he hadn’t smacked her in the months following her mother’s death. But, the levee had to break. It always did.

She brought a hand to her stinging flesh, and her father stopped in his tracks. Remorse washed over his features and he went to reach out for her. Flinching away from him, Ella felt her fingers grip at her necklace.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry, baby. I told you not to use that language with me. And you know how my old man was about-”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No.”

.   .   .

The final, strong bass note of the White Stripes song Hep Alien played broke her from her memories. She could see the dull sky as she packed up her car the best she could, the night crossing over into morning as she offered Adam a quick goodbye. He’d been upset, but also somewhat calm. And when he’d come to visit her a week later during one of her shifts at the diner, he told her he had always known Ella would leave. From the first night after their mother had died, he’d known. Though he knew it was fruitless to try and convince her not to feel guilty, Adam had told her not to worry. He could handle home on his own, he was confident. He’d never been slapped. And they were both smart enough to understand why.

And when she’d come to Lane in the early hours of the morning, still painfully holding back her tears with the entire contents of her life parked out on the street in the station wagon, she knew everything would change. Lane had welcomed her with open arms, of course. Had seen Ella cry for only the third time in all their years knowing each other. There was something so sweet about her new freedom, but a heaviness still sat in Ella’s heart. Constant guilt and fear for Adam, heartache over her mother, who she still missed everyday. And she felt so lost, it was all-consuming. She didn’t know what the next step was. Would she still be able to pay for college? Would she ever speak to her stepmother again? Would she even stay a history major, if she was lucky enough to continue her education? She had never been more glad for Luke’s, and for her friends. There were few comforts in her life, continued existence as a waitress, or knowing Adam was only a few blocks away in case something ever happened. She clung to the only constants left for dear life. She’d been dreaming of leaving the house for so long, but it managed to be even harder than she thought it would be. A gloomy cloud had been hanging over her for a few weeks, as she walked through her existence with an aimlessness she had never known before.

Clapping some, Ella offered a big smile and watched as Zach, Gil, and Bryan began to talk amongst themselves about the new tattoo Gil had shown up to practice with. Lane excused herself from the conversation only because of the temptation. She wanted a tattoo, really did, but didn’t want to increase the chances of her mother disowning her any more than she already had. Instead, she came to join Ella on the couch, plopping down and putting an arm around her friend. Ella kept her smile and rested her head against Lane’s shoulder. Since moving in, Ella was reminded every day of what a wonderful person Lane was. They came from such different worlds, but never judged each other, always took care of each other, helped each other with their respective escapes. Working together at Luke’s had been even more fun than Ella could have ever imagined. It was a welcome end to the long, lonely year after Jess’s departure, just she and Luke sulking around together. There was a place for sulking, but the time for it seemed to be coming to an end.

“You guys were fucking great,” Ella said, then gestured down to the picture she had just drawn. “You’re a regular Meg White up there. Really.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lane chirped, beaming with pride.

Snorting a laugh, Ella put the sketchbook aside and bit back a yawn. “Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Lane asked, brows furrowing.

It almost made her want to laugh. Over the past two weeks, Lane had asked her that question more than had once seemed humanly possible. “Yeah, Lane. I’m fine. Just a long day. Got roped into being a flower girl.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Luke’s sister. Liz. Have you met her before? You weren’t working at the diner yet the last time she was in town,” she said tiredly.

“No, I haven’t,” Lane replied. “Jess���s mom, right?”

“She is indeed.”

“And why exactly are you filling what is traditionally a role for a girl in pigtails and Mary Janes?”

Blowing out a sigh, Ella shook her head slightly. “I don’t even know. She just sort of told me...didn’t exactly ask. It’s next week in town square, so there’s not enough time. And Luke really seemed like he wanted me to and I just...I don’t know. Maybe she’s a witch.”

“Always a possibility,” Lane nodded, going along with the bit as she always did. “And have you heard from Jess lately?”

Again, Ella shook her head. “He still doesn’t have an actual phone number, and now I don’t either. Not optimum communication conditions.”

“Yeah, that’s not ideal,” Lane said, commiserating.

“I wish it had crossed my mind, but I moved out in about forty-five minutes,” Ella said, fiddling with her necklace.

A guilty look painted her features. But she’d only been out of the house a little while, maybe he hadn’t called.

“Do you think he’ll come for the wedding?”

Ella scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

.   .   .

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything else?” Ella asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Her chewed pencil sat behind her ear, and her hair fell in a loose, hasty braid over her shoulder. One of her booted feet tapped constantly against the tiled floor, and she smoothed over her blue skirt every few minutes. And she only looked half as stressed as Luke. The wedding was in two days, and nearly everything had been dumped on him. As a consequence, Ella had been dealing with the diner business while Luke argued on the phone with vendors who could give him the proper medieval food and decor.

The midday lull had finally come, and Lorelai stopping in was sure to bring a little sunshine. Though she had been pretty overwhelmed herself, lately. The new Dragonfly Inn opening was only weeks away.

Luke shook his head at Ella when he’d finished giving Lorelai the rundown of the week’s events. “Not right now, kid. That was the last call I had to make. At least for the time being.”

“Just say the word,” Ella shrugged, finally letting herself relax a touch, leaning her forearms onto the counter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, am I caught up on everything, then?” Lorelai chimed in, brows raised and eyes expectant.

“Yeah, I’d say so…” Luke began, but the bell over the door jingled.

A familiar scowl appeared in the diner’s entrance, and Jess trudged up to the counter with a finger pointed at Luke. “I’m not paying for a motel, so I’m stayin’ with you!”

Lorelai gasped dramatically and narrowed her eyes at Luke. “Liar!”

As he passed on his way to the stairs, Jess gave Ella a curt nod. She reciprocated, but felt unnerved by his demeanor. Was it shy? Was it angry? It certainly didn’t seem pleasant. They hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, the longest time since he had first run away to California.

“I didn’t think he was coming,” Luke muttered, watching Jess disappear up the stairs. A wistful, fond smile crossed Luke’s lips. “I went to see him in New York.”

“You did?” Ella asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah. It was a total pig sty and he may or may not be a drug dealer. But, hey, at least he came,” Luke said, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and wonder.

Sighing through her nose, Ella looked down at her feet and bit at the inside of her cheek. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, thoughts swimming around and colliding with each other inside her already crowded mind. “Yeah. At least. I’m gonna take my ten minutes. That alright?”

Luke was busy, back to his banter with Lorelai, and only gave a half nod her way. She snickered at how enveloped in each other the two of them were. Without much effort, she slipped behind the curtain and climbed up the stairs unnoticed. Nerves coursed through her, and her heart sped up in her chest. She gave two short, harsh knocks on the window of the shabby apartment door.

After waiting a moment and receiving no response, she rolled her eyes to herself. Who was she to be nervous? He was pretty much her best friend, besides Lane. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. With a new, determined quality to her steps, she walked through the front door and found him just where she expected, on his old bed, nose already buried in a book.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she plastered on a confident smirk and sat down on the end of the bed. She recognized the book instantly, her own copy buried in the pile of belongings in her car: Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck.

“The only author we could ever agree on,” she said, eyeing the book though Jess still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Pretty much,” he replied flatly, biting at his bottom lip as he focused on the words in front of him.

Sighing shortly through her nose, Ella turned to face him fully, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the familiar brown afghan. Jess unconsciously brought his feet in closer to make room for her, his knees up in the air, blocking her view of his face slightly. But she could see his hair, longer still and without any gel.

“See you’ve completely ditched the pompadour look,” she muttered. “Couldn’t handle being mistaken for an Elvis impersonator any longer, huh?”

“My God, you should do stand-up,” Jess said dryly, eyes widening in feigned amazement as he kept reading.

Shaking her head slightly, Ella let a harsh chuckle escape her lips and furrowed her brows at him. “Out with it, jackass.”

“Hm?” he asked dismissively, taking a pencil from his pocket to underline a phrase.

Ella pursed her lips in frustration. “Well, it’s obvious you’re pissed. I say we skip the passive-aggressive theatrics and you just spill it. But, hey, this is a democracy. You also get a vote.”

Rolling his eyes, Jess finally shot a glance over his knees. Heaving a sigh, he shut his book and tossed it into the open duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. In one swift movement, he mirrored her sitting position and tilted his head at her in askance.

“Have you been doing a lot of hard partying lately? Really taking advantage of this college thing? Or have you been avoiding my calls?” he asked, though he wasn’t angry, despite the sarcasm. There was a defeated tone in his voice which surprised her; almost disappointed.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she gave another small shake of her head, and she spoke firmly. “Well, first of all, I’m not required to take your calls. I asked you to call me because you fucked off to California without telling me and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been serial-killed.”

Jess gave a begrudging nod, almost preparing for a dressing down.

“But, no, I haven’t been avoiding your calls, alright? Paranoid much?”

He scoffed, but she cut him off before he could retort.

“I moved out.”

Immediately, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About two weeks ago. Wasn’t exactly seamless, and I bet my dad will disconnect my old line at some point. I’ve been staying at Lane’s with her and the band. They don’t have a phone yet. And you change your number pretty much every week, so it’s not like I could let you know.”

A smile crossed his features. “I’m...that’s great, Eleanor.”

She snorted a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, it’s so great living out of my car and sleeping on Lane’s forty-year-old couch.”

Jess shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“I guess.”

He looked flabbergasted. “I’m so proud of you.”

A blush heated her cheeks and she chuckled breathily in confusion. “What?”

“For moving out. I mean, I can’t imagine it was a quiet affair,” he said, face falling slightly.

Again, she shook her head, glancing down at the space between them on the comforter and clutching her necklace. “No. It wasn’t.”

“What happened?” he ventured without hesitation, searching her face and exposed arms for any yellowed bruises or healing cuts. Sometimes, he could give even Ella a run for her money when assuming the worst.

Ella shrugged noncommittally, throwing a glance down at her watch, then facing him again with a small smile. “Long story. I’ve only got a couple minutes left on break. You gonna be in town for a little while?”

“Until the minute the wedding ends.”

“Okay, we’ll find some time to catch up,” she said, smirking. “Luke tells me you’re a drug dealer now. You’ve gotta let me in on all your behind-the-scenes Scarface facts.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “God, Luke is such a drama queen. I’m a messenger.”

“Nice cover. Very convincing.”

“Don’t you have coffee to pour?” he shot back, defensive.

Snickering, Ella rose from the bed, smoothing down her skirt and apron. “Whatever keeps the guilt at bay, tough guy.”

“G’bye,” he muttered, grumpy, as he settled back against the wall and picked up his book again. But, just before Ella reached the door: “What time are you off, Eleanor?”

“Six-thirty. Luke’s closing up early to play wedding planner,” she said, hand poised over the doorknob.

Jess chuckled. “Pizza at Antonioli’s tonight?”

“Sure. I even promise not to wear a wire.”

The pillow Jess had thrown barely missed her as she exited the apartment, laughing under her breath.

.   .   .

Sighing softly, Ella ran the key along the chain of her necklace and looked down at the half-eaten pizza crusts on her paper plate. The old wooden table in the pizza place was slightly sticky, and carved with the names of various people and couples who had shared a pie there before. But, they could watch the Stars Hollow evening turn from golden to blue as the sun went down, sitting by the front window. Jess had to leave by eight, and it was half past seven by the time the stars came out. Summer had almost come, and the days were long and bright with sunshine. Chilly breezes swept past at night, but it was getting warmer still.

“So...yeah. It only took me about forty-five minutes to pack everything up. Didn’t realize how little stuff I had until I could fit almost everything in my trunk and back seat,” she said, a small, humorless smile on her face.

Jess nodded, rolling a balled-up napkin absently in his hand as he listened, his face stony. “Was it just yelling? Or did he hit you?”

Breathing another long sigh through her nose, Ella bit the inside of her cheek. “Just once. He just slapped me once. He told me not to swear at him, but I-”

“Eleanor,” he interjected, voice firm but gentle. “Once is way too much. Even a slap. It’s way, way too many times.”

She only shrugged. “I know. I mean, of course I know that. It’s just…”

Again, he nodded wordlessly. Jess knew what it was like to have a parent, or a step-parent, who used hurt as a tool. And he knew the confusion. Sometimes monsters wore masks. She didn’t have to say anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ella shook her head. “It’s not your fault. And I’m moved out now, Jess.”

“Right...and I meant what I said. I’m so proud of you, Stevens.” Jess reached hesitantly across the table, and took her free hand in his. Gave it one squeeze.

She flashed him a tiny smile, squeezed it back. Then she disentangled their fingers and tucked her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat and straightening her back. The severity left her features, a new, mischievous twinkle lighting up her hazel eyes. Her chest was less heavy, and she was glad he knew. Glad he could understand with so few words.

“Proud of you too, Mariano. This time, I didn’t have to watch you step out of a sheriff’s car when you got to town,” she smirked, picking up one of the crusts and taking another bite out of it.

He frowned. “Ugh, please don’t mention Andy Griffith. That car is my property. The only reason I even called Luke after I got to Venice was to ask about the car and he-”

Still chuckling, Ella raised her hands in surrender, cutting him off. “White flag.”

Jess offered a sardonic, lop-sided smirk. “And, believe or not, Luke will be the sanest person at the bachelor party tonight.”

“Why are you even going?” she asked, brows furrowed as she took a sip of her water, ice melty from time and the May heat seeping through the splintered wood of the front door.

Shaking his head, Jess glanced down at his watch and noticed he had only ten minutes before he and Luke would have to hop in Luke’s ancient green truck. “I don’t know. Luke mentioned me not wanting to go to Liz, and then she spent thirty minutes babbling until she finally wore me down.”

Pursing her lips, Ella nodded. “Yeah, she’s very persuasive.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at the flower girl,” she admitted, gesturing to herself.

He laughed breathily. “No way.”

“Yep. I’ll be there in the renaissance dress and all. Though, Lorelai said she would make some alterations for me. I’m going over to her house in a little while to sort out the whole corset situation.”

Jess snorted another chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Right back at ya, Mariano,” she teased. “Where on earth would TJ want to go for his bachelor party?”

“It’s a cliché I’m sure you’ll be able to guess on the first try,” Jess said with a dejected frown.

After only a moment with brows furrowed, realization flashed across Ella’s eyes and her expression turned to one of disgust. “Ugh, Jesus. A strip club?”

“I know,” he grumbled. “Believe me, I’ll be there in silent protest.”

“Mouth off to one of the owners if you get the chance, would you? For me?” she asked.

“Will do.”

.   .   .

“I don’t hate my mother,” Jess grumbled to Luke, rolling his eyes slightly.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, crossing his leather-clad arms. Maybe he should’ve known he would get into a fight with TJ at some point, considering his history with Liz’s past boyfriends and husbands. All it had taken was TJ hitting the Austen novel out of his hands, as he read begrudgingly in the low-lit strip club. And they’d come to blows. And Luke was pissed. They were sat down at a table in Luke’s, the diner completely dark glowing only from the streetlamps and twinkle lights in the square. All the chairs, save for the two they sat in, were stacked up on the red tables. Luke was interrogating Jess about why he’d come for the wedding anyway, if he was so mad about it. As if he hadn’t stormed into Jess’s apartment trying to convince him to come only a few days earlier.

“You don’t?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Then why did you come, anyway, if you’re so against your mother finding happiness? And it’s pretty clear you hate me.”

Jess sighed heavily at Luke’s dramatics. “I don’t hate you. I came here because of you.”

“Stop that,” Luke scolded in disbelief.

“You said it was important to you. Remember?” Jess asked, voice tight with annoyance.

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“Oh, I was listening.”

Luke stared at his nephew for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. “So, you don’t hate your mom. You don’t hate me. But, really, all it took was me coming to New York to yell at you?”

Sighing, Jess said nothing. His lips were set in a thin line, and he averted his gaze from his uncle. He ran a hand over his mouth.

Eyes widening, Luke cracked a knowing grin. “You came because of Ella? But, you haven’t been together in...what? A year?”

Jess gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah, but, we still talk every couple weeks. She didn’t tell you?”

Luke snorted. “Well, I remember her chewing you out that first time you called. Telling you to let her know you were alive. But I didn’t know you were really talking.”

Running a hand over his mouth again, Jess gave another nod.

“So?” Luke asked, prodding. “Why’d you need to come here...if you call so often anyway?”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, squirming under the questions. “Since she moved out, she hasn’t been picking up. I didn’t know what happened. I wanted to...make sure. Because…”

“What?”

“I think...I mean...I’m in love with her, alright?” Jess spit out, an anxious bite in his voice.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up, and a flabbergasted look formed on his face. “Wow!...You think you’re in love with her?”

Jess shrugged. “Pretty sure. But, I’ve been thinking that since I was seventeen. And she doesn’t believe in love, anyway.”

Scoffing, Luke shook his head. “I know she says that, but it’s crap. What do you love about her, Jess?”

“Excuse me?” Jess asked, brows furrowing.

Luke rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jess, I think it’s great that you know how you feel. And like I said earlier, I’m not gonna keep trying to change you. You are who you are. And Ella is who she is. If you’re gonna tell her how you feel, you have to do it carefully. And you have to be sure. So, tell me what you love about her.”

Scowling, Jess looked long and hard at his uncle. “What, do you wanna hold hands and skip afterwards?”

“Do you want to do this right or not?”

Finally, Jess relented. “Okay. Fine. I love that she...she’s so passionate. About everything. And she talks with her hands. And she eats peanut butter right out of the jar when she’s sick. And she hums while she works, without even realizing it. She..she cares so much about her friends and her brothers and her aunt and...I don’t know. She does everything for other people. She doesn’t think she’s a people person. But she really is. Even the way she talks to customers...you can really see it.

“And she’s such an amazing artist. She can feel art. And music. I’ve never met anyone else like that before. I can talk to her for hours...or not say anything at all. I miss her when she’s gone. Everything is...just better when I’m with her.”

When Jess looked up again, he found his uncle with a smug smirk. As Jess was speaking, his eyes had taken on a far-off quality. And though he didn’t want to be talking, his lips had started to curl upward at the corners anyway. Just from thinking of her. Luke recognized everything in Jess’s expression.

Jess shook his head slightly, jaw tense, embarrassment swirling in his stomach. “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke said lightly, almost mocking. “I’ve just...never seen that look on your face before.”

Rolling his eyes again, Jess scoffed angrily.

“Alright, alright,” Luke said, fighting off good-natured laughter. “Open two-way communication is the foundation of love…”

[jj-lynn21]

Plastic and Glass: Rocker Axel ch 5

Ch 1 ch 2  ch 3 ch 4  ch 6  ch 7

Warnings: angst, dash of Daddy Kink

music Dolly Trauma = Zeigeist’s sound

Painting of Axel by @hiddlelecki

The night is barely cooler than the day. The air in the club is smoky and humid. Even though the air conditioning is on the body heat of the patrons makes it seem not to be. Stephanie wears a short baby pink pleated skirt with a black half t-shirt and Axel was in a grey mess tank with black cargo pants as they entered Club Hostel. Bottles and glasses clinked as the patrons drank their weekly worries away or just drank to ease their inhibitions so that they could have a good time.

Axel’s arm was around Stephanie protectively as he glanced around the room of heathens. Stephanie turned to him and padded her nose. A sign she had to powder her nose, in other words use the ladies’ room. Axel nodded. She left his side. He watched her carefully walk through the crowd towards the electric blue and pink sign that said restroom. Todd had come over to talk to him about the set list but Axel barely paid attention until Stephanie was out of his sight.

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” Axel answered. “Just tape the set list on the floor in front of my mic and I’ll sing whatever.”

“We headline tonight so don’t go on for two hours,” Todd reminded Axel.

“Merch table set up with our shit?” Axel asked.

“Yeah, Tyson and Drake are manning it,” Todd said. “Only two of us can fit back there at a Time. I thought I would switch out with Drake or Tyson next hour and you and Stephanie can hangout back there selling after our set. Or you two can go next hour.”

Axel nod’s watching for Stephanie to come back, “We’ll take last shift.  That’s cool.”

“Hey, Axel.” Bella and Albre walked up to him and Todd. 

Axel was not sure which girl spoke to him. He just nodded a hello. He was distrustful of Bella. And he did not really know the other girl, other than seeing her around at shows.

“I have a surprise for you,” Bella smirked.

“Yeah, what,” Axel said puzzled.

“It is more of a who,” She swings Lisa out in front of her and Albre.

“Hey big guy,” Lisa coos.

Axels eyes widen, “Lisa?”

She jumps on Axel wrapping herself around him. She kisses him.

Lisa’s lips still test of watermelon sugar. She still smells of vanilla and patchouli. Axel closes his eyes as the fuzzy memories flood back. He does not put his arms around her or reciprocate the kiss with anything deeper. He pushes her off him in seconds.

Stephanie had come back as, from her point of view, the two were kissing with their eyes closed intensely. She stared stunned for a moment. When Axel pushed Lisa away, Stephanie stepped to her punching her right in the nose.

Bella glared at Stephanie, “I told you Axel would hurt you, but you didn’t listen. You can’t hold back a first love.”

“Did you bring her here Bella!” Stephanie screamed getting in Bella’s face. “I will deal with what I saw Axel doing but did you bring her, you Bitch.”

“I didn’t fucking force him to kiss her,” Bella screamed back. “I told you things would end badly.”

Albre held a napkin on Lisa’s bleeding nose. Lisa was coming around from the punch she took.

“Fuck you,” Stephanie Screamed. “You brought her…”

Axel pulled Stephanie way from the girls. She pushed him away as hard as she could. His eyes looked hurt.

“Get the fuck off of me Axel,” She ran outside to crumble in peace.

“I don’t know what Bella told you Lisa, but I barely remember being with you and that is all my past,” Axel gritted his teeth trying to be cordial. “Now if you excuse me, I have to fucking beg my girl’s forgiveness because you fucking girls can’t deal with change.” He spit in their direction and walked out.

Stephanie is sitting by the side of the building with her knees up to her chest. Tears stream her face as she tries to think of what to do next. Axel walks over to her squatting down in front of her balancing on the balls of his feet. He reaches out for her hand. She pushes his hand off her knee.

She keeps her head down between her knees and body, “Take me back to the apartment, Axel.”

“Come on Baby, stay,” Axel pleads. “Don’t let those Bitches ruin our night. I need my muse right in front of the stage looking up at me with those beautiful doe eyes of yours.”

“Stop acting like kissing another girl is no fucking big deal,” She looks up screaming at him.

The surprise of her screaming knocked him back on his ass. He jumped up bridging over her with his palms against the wall. “Stephanie, she jumped me. I pushed her off me.” He pounded the wall with his fists. “Fuck fuck fuck…I don’t have feeling for someone I really never knew five years ago. Just believe me Stephanie. Don’t let my past rip us apart. I love you my pretty girl. Please don’t stop loving me over her.”

Stephanie stands between Axel’s arms. Stray tears drip down her cheeks. Axel looks at her pensive.

“Tell me we are we going to be alright Stephanie?” He wipes the tears from under her eyes.

Stephanie wraps her arms around him burying her face in his chest. Tears starting up again thinking about how Bella betrayed her. Thinking about how she reacted by punching Lisa when Bella was the one that deserved at least a black eye. She wondered if Bella could get banned from shows. She supposed that was not reasonable. She was embarrassed about her own reaction to the situation also. But her voice wouldn’t work to tell Axel right now.

Axel holds her as he strokes her hair. “I love you more than anything my pretty baby girl.” He looks around to see if anyone else is around. There is no one. “Do you want Daddy to cancel his show tonight.”

She shakes her head no against him.

“Are you ready to go inside,” Axel kept his voice calmer than he felt. He will get all his emotions out of stage. “Daddy will get you one of those pineapple rum and coke drinks you like.”

She looks up, lip quivering, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“That’s my pretty girl.” Axel crushes her lips with his as he pushes her back against the wall. His large hands covering her face. The kind of kiss only the women he loves gets. “Daddy loves you. You remember we don’t share that with others, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” She managed to smile a little.

They walk back into the club. Stephanie hides her face against Axel as they go to the bar. He orders her a pineapple rum and coke, mouths extra strong. He isn’t trying to get her drunk. He just wants her to relax so she can enjoy the music like she usual does. Hate breed is performing  on stage as Axel and Stephanie find a leather couch in the back of the bar to sit on. Its roped off for band members only right next to the merchandise table.  

Todd and Drake are working the merchandise table. Tyson is chatting up a girl he brought to the private area. They sit on the love seat. As Stephanie sips her drink Axel holds her on his lap lightly stroking her back with one hand. His other hand rests between her knees.

“Hey Todd,” Axels yells. “Toss me one of those bottled waters behind you. We’re up next, right?”

Todd tosses Axel the water bottle, “About an hour but yeah, we’re up next.”

Axel catches the bottle in mid-air even with the slight over-throw.

“Nice right hook, Steph” Tyson said. “Those chicks left. Bella was drunk off her ass as usual. This is Elizabeth.”

Axe nods to the girl in acknowledgement. Stephanie did the same with a small polite smile.

“I would have decked her too,” Elizabeth said. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” She said in a cockney accent.

They all laughed at the accent. And agreed.

Tyson looked at his girl, “She is a theater major. A musician and actress, a perfect combination.”  Elizabeth giggles.

When Zeigeist takes the stage, Stephanie is right in her spot of praise. Rick and Peter the bass player and lead guitar for Hate breed stand around her for protection in case the mosh pit expands.  Zeigeist performs Alastis, Stitch and several other songs from their three self-produced CDs. Stephanie sing along loudly. The crowd cheers for each and every song even yelling out what they what to hear. Since that really annoys Axel, he never sings what the crowd wants even if its on the set list. He skips it. Axel ended the show by himself on stage with a guitar performing Stephanie.

[southerneldritch]

It begins (Chapter 1)

The sun was not burning hot so much as painfully reminding him how important it was. High in the southern sky the heat pushed the humidity around enough to make the small shaded porch feel more like a sauna that a place for reprieve. However, now a good 3 feet down and still digging into the grave or one Mr. Lewis Rothburg, it left him wondering if the shade would prove more comfortable than it had once provided.

Stopping a moment to wipe his brow he looked around the long abandoned cemetery. Each stone edifice, once a proud reminder of capable men and women who in their lives had done great things...and horrible things, now standing derelict deep in the woods surrounded by an ever encroaching nature. A slight smirk crossed his lips, "The seem lucky." he thought to himself aloud. "They have no issue with what horrors are coming...they really needn't worry." He laughed as his shovel struck something hard and the sound of hollow wood thunked through the air. "Shit." He muttered.

There were two distinct things that immediately ran through his mind. Either the cemetery back in the day was notably unconcerned with health and safety, thusly the coffins were buried much shallower than they should be or, more worryingly, the man who sold the information about the location of Mr. Rothburg also warned that the graveyard had been used by criminals for hiding all sorts of things. Typically speaking the actions of the criminal world seldom would have bothered him but the fear that Mr. Rothburg was no longer where he was supposed to be greatly shifted the situation from simple to complicated.

With little to no options left for him he began to dig and free whatever thing he had just struck with his shovel. The sun glaring at the actions below as with some considered effort the lid of a coffin was uncovered. The sound of cicadas filling the air he took a deep breath and jammed a crowbar around the edge of the lid. With a groan and firmly planted feet the casket lurched open. "Well fuck." He let the words lose themselves in the summer heat as he looked down in disbelief.

The tires of the old truck did not grip well on what could best be called a trail, perhaps a path, either way he didn't care. With a foot down hard the engine putted and pushed all it had as the vehicle flew through the thick of the woods back towards a motel on the outskirts of town. Skidding onto the actual road the cargo stowed in the back of the truck slid and banged hard against the side causing the skid of the tires to feel far more dramatic than how sharp a turn he actually made. Despite the weight the very coffin sized and shaped container, it didn't break.

With a grinding of gears and feet hard down on the brake the vehicle came to a stop in most of one parking space outside the Quiet Glenn motel. He slammed the door not so much from panic as much as the sweat that had covered him had caused it to slip quickly from his grasp. The setting sun still fighting the cold of the darkness that was now trying to cool the area. He threw the motel door open and as abruptly as it had made such a calamitous entry the cheap door was resting back in its sill with him sliding the lock into place. His heart was racing but he wasn't tired, turning around and smudging cemetery dirt across his shirt he looked up at a surprised woman sitting at the small table near the back of the room. Normally her thick raven curls of hair would have been accenting each side of her face but instead were now tightly pinned up, slightly damp with a glob of something smeared across a part of the her hair. She chuckled while setting down a slice of pizza back into the box on the table. "So it went well?" The question was sincere but purposely teasing in tone.

"Well!?" He exclaimed walking towards the table. "No I think we can categorically label it as poorly." His voice laid out a frustration that was punctuated with his glare at the tv which was currently displaying some sort of reality show, before flopping over onto the bed. "How well do you know Virgil?" His words muffled by the pillow he spoke into.

“Most of my life.” She cocked her head to the side and grasped the pizza box before standing and asking, “Did he give us bad info?”

“No, if anything the info was very correct.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“Several things, most of all, how well do you trust Virgil?” He pulled his face from the bed and sat up on the end of the stiff excuse for bedding provided by the motel. “Also, what the hell is in your hair?”

“I didn't have anything else to do so I’m bleaching some bit of my hair. It looked fun. Anyways, I know him pretty well, he’s known me and my family for a long time.” Her eyes grew concerned as she looked down at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

Drawing in a long breath he looked up at her and the box of pizza and reached out to take a slice. “We’ll at the very least I suppose we can feel satisfied that Mr. Rothburg was where Virgil said he would be.” Pausing to take a bite of the room temperature slice while again finding reason to glare at the TV. “Sadly he also mentioned that such a place tends to attract the more unsavory of folk.”

A smile crossed her lips as she plopped down heavily beside him. “Aren’t we the unsavory types? Somewhat doom and gloom, all manors of suspicious actions, illegal activity and occult hoobie dooby?”

“Not that sort of unsavory, more of the ‘we kill to accomplish our goals’ sorts of unsavory.” He said with a grimace while now looking at the slice of room temperature pizza in his hand. “We have never sought to injure, Mel.” he added with an impressively serious tone.

Placing the box on the bed just behind them both Mel asked, “So are you going to explain what has you in a such a mood or do I have to keep playing 20 questions?”

“I wish it we simple but it feels like it's worse.” he muttered

“Let's start simple.” She hated it when he acted like this, always a man with a plan and if things shift up, big ol grump for a hot minute. “Was Rothburg there?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's him.”

“Good. So first problem?”

“The coffin was roughly three feet down.”

“Only three feet?”

“Yup, first issue.” He stated after taking a bite of the pizza. “Do we have beer?” he added.

“Sure do, but so what if he was buried in a shallow grave. It wasn't like the townsfolk were gonna respect him"

“True. However, there is more to this mood than just interesting burial habits.” He stood and walked over to the small whirring mini fridge and plucked a beer out. “I don't think this is the first time Mr. Rothburg has been dug up.”

“What, why would anyone other than us want to dig him up!?” She was beginning to understand his mood. “What possible reason would they dig him up and then put him back!?”

“Like I said.” he began walking towards the door gesturing for her to follow. “How well do you trust Virgil?”

She got up and followed, both stepped outside into the hot twilight. The sun still determined to broil the area before being slowly beaten back by the encroaching night sky. They walked over to the back of the truck and swung open the tailgate door. He hopped into the back and grabbed an edge of the coffin lid and looked up at her, “Come here I don't want anyone to see.”

She stepped in beside the door and looked down at the coffin lid  his fingers were gripping. “Well enough build up, lets see it!”

With a sudden jerk and a loud crackling of metal hinges set in wood the lid lifted open. Light from the now buzzing parking lot fluorescents poorly lit what was laying in the coffin. First and foremost was the body of Mr. Lewis Rothburg, clearly it was his twisted form as the shin bones had been separated from his legs and placed under his chin. Though a considerable amount of decay had occurred it was also still plain to see that the jaw of Mr. Rothburg had been wired shut with crude metal studs and copper wire, ensuring even in death that he would no longer speak damnable words.

No, the condition of Mr. Rothburg was not the reason for shock or even a turned stomach full of pizza delivery, the reason that both of them looking into the coffin had slack jaws and bewilderment across their faces was because nestled around Rothburg’s remains were countless stacks of cash, gold, intricate medallions with arcane symbols and some weapons of peculiar design.

“What the hell is all of that!?” she exclaimed before realizing there were too few tenants in this particular southern motel outskirts of town to justify shouting without drawing attention. In a more collected tone while he began to shut the coffin. “Why is Rothburg swimming in cash?”

“I'm sorry, but did anything about my entry and line of questions sound like I have more ideas than you do now.” Hopping out the truck he closed and locked the doors, he suddenly felt very watched and disliked the notion. “Let’s get back inside and figure out our next move.” A cool breeze of night air brushed passed them both, typically a wonderful feeling now oddly ominous. They both went back inside the motel room before turning to locked the door behind them he added, “And wash your goddamn hair.”

[katie-dub]

The Princess of White Chapel (9/12)

Dr Killian Jones is having a terrible day. He’s got a mission, he’s got a time machine, he’s got … drunk. What could possibly go wrong?

AO3 | Tumblr

Rated M for alcohol use, violence, minor character death, frank discussions of depression and grief.

The delightful @distant-rose and @ultraluckycatnd beta’d this fic and @princesse-swan made my gorgeous art. Thanks go to all of them, the organisers of @captainswanbigbang and everyone who’s reading this! 

Killian returned to work the very next day, not thinking to grumble about sacrificing his Sunday when he knew how much was at stake.

The heat and humidity that had mercifully vanished yesterday were back with a vengeance. Even the short walk to his lab left him feeling sticky and glistening with sweat. His top buttons might never know how it felt to be fastened again, judging by the endless heatwave that rendered them useless, his thick chest hair providing more than enough protection from the elements. (In fact, in his more desperate moments he found himself musing on the benefits of shaving it off, willing to sacrifice his body hair to stave off heat stroke. Give him another few days of overheating and he just might crack and do it.)

It was actually something of a relief to spend the day in the air conditioned lab, even if he found himself struggling to unlock the mystery of how he had made such a mess of his machine.

He had to work hard not to fixate on how Emma might be spending her day; on whether she was safe. He knew she could handle herself, he just wished that she didn’t have to. But, this was the best way for him to help. He had to focus on finding a solution, on sending everyone back to their realm, on sending her home.

It became routine.

Wake up, go their separate ways, save the world, home to talk and laugh. Sometimes take a walk by the river, sometimes go to the grassy spot by the Thames for more people watching, sometimes show her films so she’d understand the comments she’d hear about herself from strangers - Harry Potter, Star Wars, Wonder Woman.

He would share stories of his day to make her laugh and she did the same.

“A mermaid showed up in the Thames today.”

“A mermaid? Bloody hell.”

“Yeah - not even a nice one like Queen Ariel - one of the real nasty sorts that tries to lure sailors to their death and all that.” She rolled her eyes. “I sent her packing - mermaids don’t need portals to cross realms, she just heard about the carnage and wanted to join in.”

“They don’t tell you that side of the story in the Disney film.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

With every day that passed, he found himself drawn closer to her. He would sit a little closer to her on the sofa as they chatted. He hugged her just a little tighter and a little longer as they said goodnight. He fought that little bit harder not to give into the urge to kiss her as they said goodbye in the morning.

He was falling for this enchantress, and he was hopeless to fight it.

It was Thursday before there was any change to their routine. He stepped through the door and was immediately accosted by Emma.

“Hey. So, I hope you don’t mind, but I -”

“Hi there!” Killian’s eyes bugged out of his head as a red dragon about half his height jumped into his line of sight, cutting Emma off.

“George, we talked about this,” Emma admonished the dragon. “You were meant to let me speak to Killian first.”

Killian looked up at Emma, completely stunned. What was happening? Where had he come from? More importantly, why was he once again giving shelter to a dragon?

“His name is George? That is the worst name for a dragon.” He was going mad, but that was all his mind could conjure up to say at this utterly bizarre sequence of events. He shook his head and walked into the living room, hoping that if he ignored it, it might go away.

“It’s the name my mother gave me!” retorted George, faint wisps of smoke spewing from his nostrils as he stormed after Killian. “And I know you aren’t talking shit about my mother.”

"I just…” Killian ran his hand through his hair in distress as he turned and glared at Emma who had trailed in after the pair of them, looking sheepish. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself and said in as steady a voice as he could manage, “Emma, why have you brought another bloody dragon into my home? Lily was bad enough."

"Don't think you can talk shit about my cousin either,” George sassed him.

"Of course, I should have known you were related," he said, giving George a fake smile. “You’re both annoying as fuck.”

There was a flash of red as the dragon leapt for him… But then Killian found himself pushed back against the wall as though by invisible hands and blinded by light. Emma stood between them with her hands held up, creating a shield of pure white light that was separating him from the feisty dragon.

“If I let you two down, promise you won’t attack each other,” Emma said in a stern voice.

“Yes, mom,” George replied even as Killian said, “I won’t make the first move.” Killian’s reply earned him a glare from Emma, but she released her magic all the same and he could move freely once more.

“Are you going to explain what’s going on here?” Killian pleaded with Emma, ignoring the way George was sticking his tongue out at him.

“So, you know those dragon statues around town?” Emma began tentatively.

Killian clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in exasperation. “Yes.”

“They seem to have come to life.”

“Of course they have.”

“This one’s called George.”

“I gathered.”

“He was scared and all alone and well, he is Lily’s family so -”

“So now we have a pet dragon?”

“Surprise?” Emma said weakly, as George mumbled ‘who you calling a pet?’ under his breath.

He stared at her for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. “I should have seen this coming really. You’re a princess. Of course you need a talking animal sidekick to complete the whole Disney aesthetic.”

He was aiming for gentle teasing, but she went tense, just as she always did whenever her royal lineage came up. He should know better than to poke at that obvious sore spot just because he was annoyed with her - even if George was a fire hazard, and was currently watching the unfolding conversion with undisguised glee. So dragons enjoy metaphorical fires just as much as real ones. Good to know, he thought. He might as well have fucking popcorn.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I don't know what that means,” she said coldly, “but I know when I'm being insulted and -”

“Not an insult just a fairytale -” he caught himself before he said cliché, having enough self preservation to avoid making this even harder. “Just an observation. Disney was a, a er-” Killian paused, realising that animator, film maker, or any other usual descriptors would be meaningless to her. “He was a storyteller. His princesses always had talking animal friends and sang a lot -”

“I don't sing,” Emma interrupted.

“I beg to differ. You sing in the shower -”

“You been watching her shower?” George asked, horrified. “Oh honey, you have to find yourself a better prince.”

Killian's eyes widened in alarm at George's assumption. Looking at Emma's cold fury, she obviously thought that too.

“I didn't - I haven't - you sing loud ok?” Emma gritted her teeth. “It's fine, wonderful, actually. Your voice is enchanting, but I can hear it from outside the bathroom. Or, I don't know, maybe the acoustics in the bathroom are weird? I haven't really had many.. It doesn't matter, I'm sorry. Keep your little pet -” George scoffed indignantly “- I'll just -” He walked into the bathroom himself, closing the door behind him for an escape. Not before he heard George say ruefully, “he's no Prince Charming.”

Despite himself, this jibe stung. He knew he was no knight in shining armour, and he hardly thought himself worthy of a princess, but much as he knew that, he still had this irrational hope in his heart that she might feel different, and it hurt for someone else to point out how vain that hope was.

This is a good thing, Killian tried to tell himself, things were getting a little too cosy between you and Emma. No use settling into a domestic life with someone that you spend every working hour trying to permanently separate yourself from. Not to mention George will be able to help her, should she need it. Assuming he’s a little more reliable than his cousin, of course, he thought bitterly.

They hadn’t seen or heard from Lily once since she’d left his flat and that was a full two weeks ago now. Emma had looked simultaneously sad, annoyed and resigned to this treatment when he’d happened to ask after her one time.

“Oh, this is typical Lily, talks about how close we are, all these things she wants my help with, adventures she wants to go on, then poof! she’s gone and I’m lucky if I see her again any time in the next three years.”

He was right that George’s presence created something of a wedge between him and Emma. The dragon just annoyed him - no way around it - and while it could sometimes be fun to trade barbs with him, he found himself wishing for a bigger flat.

“Jealous, mate?” George had taunted, imitating Killian’s accent, on that first night he spent in their home as he had waited at the door to the bedroom.

“Of the princess’ new pet? Hardly,” Killian scoffed, although he found he did have to remind himself that George would be curled up at the foot of the bed like a dog.

“You should try telling your face that.”

Killian was about to answer back when Emma had opened the door to let George in. “Everything OK out here?”

“Fine” they both answered instantaneously.

She eyed them both suspiciously. “Right, well, goodnight Killian,” she said and turned and headed back into room.

“Night sweetie pie!” George called gleefully, then dropped his voice and hissed, “your eyes are greener than hers,” before following her and slamming the door with his tail.

Killian had glared at the closed door and found himself resisting the urge to poke his tongue out at it.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it was probably a good thing really. He didn’t need to get even closer to an unattainable woman. But he couldn’t deny that he was delighted when Regina had messaged him inviting them to dinner at her place on Saturday.

They were lounging on the sofa munching on toast when he got the message. He was scrolling through Twitter mindlessly on his phone. Emma, having apparently finished Neverwhere, was now reading The Golden Compass. George was stretched out on the floor in a patch of sunlight that streamed in through the large windows, soaking up the heat that was already blazing despite it only being 8am.

“We’ve had a summons from Regina. Her Majesty requests our presence at her house tonight. Sorry, George, the Mills-Locksley Residence has a strict no pets policy,” he said with a smirk at the disgruntled dragon.

“And what exactly am I meant to do while you’re off having fun?” George huffed, hands on hips and wisps of smoke escaping from his nostrils.

Killian tried to look sympathetic, but he knew it came out as undeniably smug. “Alas, you’ll just have to annoy yourself tonight.”

George stomped off to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

“Seriously?” Emma said with a disapproving glare. Killian merely shrugged. He was unable to find it in himself to care when he felt like he was melting, the heat short circuiting his ability to think logically.

This lack of perspective turned him into a simmering ball of frustration as he got ready and left for work. He nearly wrenched the tap off when the water took too long to cool down. He barked out swear words at a cyclist who made the mistake of veering into his path to avoid the fairy that had suddenly appeared in their way. He swatted at another fairy who had the misfortune to materialise before him, sending the poor creature flying into a wall. Dr Smee had wisely only nodded at him as he stalked into the lab, sensing at once that he did not wish to be disturbed.

It wasn’t until he had spent a solid hour cooling off in his lab that he began to calm down. And of course, regret followed.

He wasn’t good in the heat, Britain wasn’t built for it, and Killian himself even less so. His mother affectionately called him a “little hot bod” as he stubbornly refused to wear a coat as a child on all but the coldest of days and was quick to temper in the summer when the sun caused his blood to boil. Others were less kind, calling him hot-headed and fiery. He often thought that it was the others who had it right. This heat wave was fogging his brain and he despaired of ever finding a solution while the temperatures blazed.

And sorting out this mess was becoming increasingly urgent. At first only London had seemed affected by the oddities causing the ripples in reality and random realm crossing, but now they were spreading throughout Britain.

A famous statue of Merlin outside the Burger King in Carmarthen, Wales had caused widespread consternation when it magically transformed into the wizard himself.

(Although whether people were more shocked at the magical mishap or that Merlin proved not to be a wizened old man with a long twisting beard, but was in fact a handsome black man was debatable. In fact, if it weren’t for the stunned customers of the Burger King, who’d been distracted from their burgers for long enough to film the spectacle, Merlin might have been dealing with accusations of actually stealing the treasured Merlin’s Oak. As it was there was a decidedly nasty, racist edge to some of the comments made about the bemused wizard, who only wanted a way to get home.)

The Isle of Man had apparently vanished in a cloud of mist. Residents of the island were still contactable, although irritated at being blighted by poor visibility in the midst of what should have been one of the sunniest summers of their lives. Meteorologists were stumped by the strange occurrence, but one of the island’s leading mythologians insisted that they had actually been shrouded by Mannanan’s cloak. Reports in Ireland of someone claiming to be a sea deity with an invisibility cloak, while mostly dismissed as the ravings of someone who’d enjoyed a little too much Guinness, did seem to corroborate this theory.

Killian had to admit that this meant very little to him - he always got the place confused with the Isle of Wight and he’d never been to the tiny island in the Irish Sea. He only remembered the name at all because he quite liked the Tour de France and Manx Missile, Mark “Cav” Cavendish, the cyclist came from there. But still, an entire bloody country disappearing from view, even a tiny one that residents apparently called “the rock”, was deeply concerning.

And bizarrely enough what appeared to be genuine photographs from reputable sources were now emerging of the Loch Ness Monster, delighting fans all over the world who were now flocking in ever larger numbers to the Scottish lake.

The rebuild of his machine was almost complete, he only had to figure out how to reverse the changes that his machine had wrought upon the laws of physics that had somehow resulted in elements of an alternate universe forcing their way into the real world. No big deal.

Perhaps Emma was right - maybe this was all just magic. Perhaps where they were going wrong was to assume that they were in the Land Without Magic, and sorcery was the missing link in his calculations.

Or perhaps he needed London to cool the fuck down so he could sleep at night and stop theorising like a madman.

It was probably that.

As he toiled the day away, the sky gradually darkened. The storm clouds gathered, hanging over the London skyline with menace.

Killian sighed as he glanced out the windows just before he left for the day. He knew they needed this storm to break the intense heat, but he didn’t much relish the prospect of living through whatever damnation Thor had sent their way.

Bloody hell, Thor himself better not show up.

The thought was only halfway to joking - he'd seen way too much by this point to dismiss it as absolute nonsense.

As he stepped out of the glass doors the first drops of rain started. He lingered in the shelter gazing at the spiked archway before him - it looked even more threatening in the gloom of the storm clouds. Should he bother with an uber? It’s just a little rain, he decided, might even be refreshing, and strode forwards with purpose.

He quickly came to regret this choice. He’d never known anything like it; British rain just didn’t come in this flavour. They were used to it raining off and on, when the weather could never quite decide what it wanted to do and would send a sudden shower to soak you when you’d been tricked by the sun into stashing your umbrella or removing your raincoat. They were used to it chucking it down at the perfect angle to render your umbrella entirely pointless. They were used to fine, misty rain, the kind that makes you feel idiotic if you carry an umbrella, but really gets you wet - even if you brought the brolly. (Really it was a wonder that anyone in Britain bothered with the bloody things, considering the lengths the rain went to to sneak past this meagre defence.)

But this rain? It was warm. The storm was meant to break the heat, not somehow, inexplicably add fuel to the fire. The hot, fat drops of rain left him feeling stickier than before, his shirt clinging to him as rain mixed with sweat, rendering the white fabric transparent and making a mockery of his refusal to bare his chest like the tomato-skinned residents of the city.

As the rain got heavier he started to run, briefly cursing his lack of umbrella, however pointless they may be.

He was soaked by the time he reached the flat. He resisted the urge to shake the rain off like a dog, and squelched into the living room. Emma was lying on the sofa, reading, George was curled up on her feet, reminding Killian of a sleepy dog, although he snapped to attention the second he entered.

Emma raised her eyebrows at him over the top of her book, but refrained from commenting on his appearance. George, still tetchy after the news that he would be spending the evening alone was far less kind. “Oh look what the cat dragged in, Your Highness, it’s a drowned rat!”

“Ha, bloody, ha,” Killian replied dryly. There was some kind of joke there, about how his voice was the driest part of him, but it didn’t quite come to him. “We have to leave soon, Swan, I’m gonna shower and change, you ready?”

“Yeah,” she said then frowned down at herself. She sat up and held the book down at her side to allow Killian to get a better look at her outfit, a simple slouchy top and denim skirt. “Unless… is this ok? Regina’s kind of fancy.” She chewed on her lip.

Killian moved as if to go hug her, instinctively wanting to comfort her, but a deliberate cough from George accompanied by a pointed look at the slightly puddle that was forming at his feet stopped him. “It’s fine. Regina isn’t as scary as she seems - and besides, it’s too hot for fancy clothes.” he said with a smile.

George winced and shook his head, then reached out and patted Emma’s hand. “You look smoking hot, just like always,” he reassured her. She shook her head instantly, although a corner of her mouth twitched up at his declaration.

Killian didn’t hang around to see George’s smug, triumphant smirk.

He was ready in fifteen minutes flat, eager to escape for the night.

He got the uber alert that Leroy was nearly there just as he strolled back into the living room. “Time to go.”

George pouted. He wouldn’t have thought that it was possible for a dragon to pout, but there really was no other way to describe the look on his face. He opened his mouth - and the thunder started, rumbling across the sky like the sound of drums. George’s eyes flew wide open and he slithered behind Emma’s legs, trembling. Killian cocked his head, shocked by the thought that this overconfident sass monster might actually be scared of the storm. A flash of lightning sparked across the sky, filling the room with light and George disappeared into the bedroom.

Killian’s jaw dropped. Emma met his stunned gaze. Her brow had crumpled with concern and she chewed on her lip.

“Do you think we should stay here for him?” she asked, eyes darting to the wide open bedroom door and back to Killian. “I’ve never seen him this scared.”

“I’m not scared!” George’s voice called out from the bedroom, “just remembered that there’s something in here that I need.”

Killian smirked and Emma rolled her eyes, they both headed to the door. There was a trembling lump underneath the blankets. “Something that’s in the bed?” Killian asked, leaning against the door frame.

“I need a nap,” George replied.

“You just remembered that you need a nap?” The derision was hard to keep out of his voice and he earned himself a smack on the arm from Emma accompanied by a look that plainly warned him to “cut it out”. He playfully pretended that it had hurt a lot more than it had, delighting in the way Emma tried to restrain her laugh as she shook her head at his antics.

George poked his face out from under the blankets. “Yeah, I just remembered that I’m tired of watching your embarrassing attempts to flirt with Emma. I’m glad that I have the night off to recover. Talk about out of your league - Emma’s so far out of your league, she literally belongs in a whole other realm.”

“George!” Emma admonished, blushing, as Killian gaped at him.

Of course, what he said was true, but it hurt to hear - especially from the dragon who was squatting in his home.

Before he could recover enough to reply, Emma grabbed him by the arm “Anyway!” she said brightly, steering him towards the door and calling behind her, “enjoy your nap, George!”

On the drive Emma looked agitated, nervously tapping her foot and shifting restlessly. Killian watched concerned as she squirmed from slouching in her seat to attempting to cross her legs to turning her back towards him and leaning against the seat belt and back to slouching again. Finally, she awkwardly settled with her chin in her hand, staring out at the rain. For a minute at least, because then she cracked her head against the window as Leroy took a corner way too fast - barking out insults at pedestrians as he went.

Killian was fairly certain that the storm wasn’t bothering her, but perhaps she was worried for George. He hadn’t known her long, and already he could see how quickly she took on other people’s worries and how much she delighted in helping them. She was clearly agitated about something - perhaps it had been unfair to expect her to leave her friend at home in distress.

She was the one who all but pushed us out the door, he reminded himself.

It seemed unlikely that the dragon was the cause of her anxiety, but whatever it was, he hoped he could help to calm her. Carefully he reached out and placed his hand over hers. She jumped at the contact and her head snapped around to look at him.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Easy there,” he chuckled, “just checking everything’s ok?” It suddenly occurred to him - she’d been a little unsure about her outfit earlier, perhaps she was just feeling insecure about the night. “You’re not still worried about Regina are you? Honestly, I know that she’s a little - well, a lot - intimidating, but she’s a teddy bear deep down. Don’t tell her I said that. And she absolutely loved you. Anyone who puts me in my place deserves a medal as far as she’s concerned. You should have seen the way she smiled in approval at some of those witty insults you sent my way when we went out. I thought she might actually handover  Robin’s gold medal with ‘Best Insult Ever’ scratched onto it, and that’s his prized possession.”

“Oh it’s not that,” Emma said then looked down and began picking at invisible lint on her skirt, “not exactly. I … Well, Regina looks like someone from my realm. And that person, she, she fucking terrifies me.” Her statement was punctuated by a flash of lightning with a rumble of thunder hot on its heels. She jumped at the sound, looking embarrassed by her reaction at once.

“Fucking weather,” grumbled Leroy, not actually under his voice, as he swerved around a corner.

Killian reached out for her again and this time, Emma let him take her hand. He stroked it gently, and she stared intently at the way his thumb moved.

“I’m sorry to hear that, love. It must be hard to spend time with someone who has the same face as anyone who you don’t feel safe around, however much you know they’re a different person.” He grinned. “For what it’s worth though, Regina often scares me, she can be downright terrifying when you get on her bad side.”

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and he winked for good measure. “Well. Yeah. Regina seemed - well, nice isn’t the right word, but I liked her - so I feel horrible but she looks so much like the Evil Queen that it’s -”

Killian stopped stroking at the name “Evil Queen”, slightly stunned by this revelation. “Sorry, did you just say Evil Queen? Like once upon a time she forced Snow White to eat a poisoned apple and all that?”

“Exactly. Snow White’s my mother.”

Killian could feel his jaw drop at this revelation, Emma was literally straight out of a fairytale. Perhaps he should consider seeking out therapy - just in case he was really just going crazy in the back of an uber with an overly grumpy driver.

“But really the apple thing was the least of what she did - I’m more bothered by all the massacres.”

Just when Killian thought this couldn’t get any weirder. “Massacres?” he asked weakly.

“She slaughtered entire villages hunting for my mother when she realised that her curse hadn’t done the job. We don’t call people evil just over a cursed apple.”

“Well, what’s a little cursed apple between friends?” He hoped he didn’t sound as hysterical as he felt.

Emma frowned at him and shook her head, but chose to reply to the rhetorical question. “So… yeah. It’s hard not to feel a little bit strange about being around her, which hardly seems fair.”

“Would it make you feel better to know that apples are banned from her house?”

She laughed and it was good to see some of that tension fade away. “Really?”

“Her step son Roland’s allergic.”

She nodded to herself. “Why do you call her your Majesty?”

“Bad joke. Her family has money - her parents are important, her dad had some kind of peerage or title, probably both, before he passed away, and her mum's the Chief Commissioner of the Met.”

“The what?”

“The police in London.” He held back a laugh at Emma's look of confusion. “The good guys, heroes, whatever you want to call them. Regina and Robin live in Knightsbridge - the rich part of town - well, one of them. It's about as close to a castle as you can get in the middle of London. Unless of course you live in Buckingham Palace, but Regina's not actually the Queen.” He cringed internally at his thoughtless comment, closing his eyes to avoid seeing her reaction. “I’ll cut that out, so thoughtless, I -”

The car screeched to a halt outside a row of beautiful terraced houses, all with white columns framing the porches leading up to their front doors. Railings to the side of the doors hid the discreet stairs that once upon a time led down to where the help resided, but now was just another indicator that the people who lived here absolutely had more floor space than you. Old fashioned street lamps of the style most commonly found in Narnia these days lined the picturesque street and were glowing softly through the downpour. The road remained free of the garish supercars that blighted other areas of Knightsbridge in the summer months, instead showing far more tasteful displays of the privilege of the residents - Bentley, Mercedes and Rolls Royce badges adorning the cars in shades of black and grey. The houses faced the private garden only accessible to those who lived on the street, hoarding the precious green space in the centre of London and keeping it for themselves like the miserly dragons they were.

Killian would hate Regina and Robin for it if only they weren’t the best people he knew. It was hard to begrudge them the best of anything.

“We’re here,” growled Leroy, a man who clearly didn’t care for driver ratings, and was fast cementing himself in Killian’s mind as simply “Grumpy”.

Killian said, “cheers,” as he put up his umbrella and climbed out of the car. He was immediately grateful that he’d remembered to grab it at the last minute. They were but two yards from the door, but would surely be drenched regardless. He hurried around to open Emma’s door and shielded her from the rain as she struggled to climb from the car. “As graceful as your namesake, Swan,” he said, taking pity on her and helping her out.

They rushed to the porch, folded the umbrella up as quickly as possible and up the steps to the door. “Some might consider it treason to mock a princess,” she said as he rang the bell, “and you know what the penalty for that is.”

He grinned, glad to see that her anxiety had lessened. “Lucky for me that you’re a forgiving and benevolent royal, then eh?”

If she said anything further on the matter, it was lost as the door flung open and a small blur flew into his arms.

“Killian!” He felt as much as heard the muffled squeal of his godson who had buried his face into his stomach.

He shoved the umbrella into Emma's hands then lifted Roland up into his arms with an exaggerated groan. “Have you been eating rocks again, Roland? You know that’s not good for you.”

“No, Killian, I just really, really big now,” Roland answered seriously.

“Roland, what have I told you about ope - oh hi Killian, lovely to see you again, Emma.” Regina’s scolding of her stepson melted into a smile on seeing him wrapped up in Killian’s arms.

It was moments like this that always made it hard for Killian to take Regina’s icy demeanour too seriously. He looked to Emma to mutter something to that effect, but was surprised to see she was looking at him with a similar soft expression, albeit one tinged with sadness. The softness evaporated into awkwardness on seeing that she had his attention.

Robin came up behind them and smiled at everyone. “Come in, before the rain gets in.” He said, stepping back to let them past. Emma stepped inside and Killian followed, moving as if every step was taking all of his energy, grunting as he did so, delighting in Roland’s appreciative giggles. “We were just waiting on you to get here so this little monster -” Robin nodded to Roland, who snarled on cue “- could say goodnight.”

Roland put his hands on Killian’s shoulders and pushed back in his arms to look him in the eye. “I a big, scary monster Killian! Raaaaahhhh!”

Killian always forgot how cute Roland was until he was around him. He had to fight back the urge to smile indulgently and instead played along, pretending to drop him with shock, but catching him immediately. The boy shrieked and giggled. “Againagainagain!”

“Big, scary monster, I think your daddy just said it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I get to say goodnight first!” Roland whined.

“Oh alright then, goodnight Roland,” Killian said and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“Goodnight!” With that Roland wriggled his way out of Killian’s arms and ran to Regina grabbing her hand and dragging her to the stairs. “I go bed now.”

“Make yourself at home while we get him off,” Robin said then rushed after the pair. The sound of roaring, giggling and thumping gradually faded as the trio went upstairs.

“So, that was Roland,” he said with a laugh, turning to Emma.

She appeared to be trying to vanish into the wall. He chuckled. “Everything alright, love?” he said. At times Emma reminded him so much of the little mermaid, only just discovering how to walk on land, a ball of awkwardness and charm.

“I'm getting the nice floor all wet,” she mumbled apologetically, “with the rain shield thing.” She held up the umbrella, which dripped pathetically around her feet.

Smiling, he took it from her and placed it in the umbrella stand by the door. “Unfortunate side effect of the Great British Summer. Even the best I've ever known comes with a large side order of rain. Admittedly it's usually less.. apocalyptic, but honestly, no harm done.” As he talked, he kicked off his shoes and placed them neatly by the door. Once she had followed suit, he guided her up the stairs to their grand living room.

“It's very… pale,” she said, scrutinising the white walls, beige rug on the wooden floor and delicate green sofas with an anxious edge to her voice. Everything was tasteful, clearly expensive and while the cosy throws on the sofas and Roland’s framed family portrait on the wall, marked this as a family room, it was impossibly spotless. In short, it looked like a recipe for disaster for someone who at times seemed incapable of controlling her limbs.

“Don't worry, they only serve clear beverages in this room, can't have red wine sullying the overpriced carpet,” he said with a wink. “Places around here come in a variety of shades of beige as standard. I believe it creates the illusion of space so that the wealthy can tell themselves they really do live in the palaces their obscene money should have been able to buy. At least this place looks like real people actually live here and not like Louis XVI’s interior decorator attempts minimalism, which I believe is the style du jour.”

“I'm sure you meant that as an insult to the rich, but it comes off kind of bitter. Not jealous are you?”

“Of the rich as a species? Nah. Of Robin and Regina? Absolutely, but then I don't deserve all that they have.” He tried to downplay it, but his self loathing seeped out in his words and he studied the carpet to avoid seeing Emma's reaction.

“You don't really believe that do you? You deserve a family.” His eyes leapt to hers in surprise, anyone else would've thought he meant the house, or the money, but Emma? She really understood him, and she knew what he meant at once. “Thing is, I'm pretty sure you've got one. There's a little boy upstairs who clearly adores you.”

He scratched at his ear awkwardly. “Aye, Roland's something special,” he said and would've added a self deprecating comment, but that look was back on Emma's face, the one that suggested the way he talked about Roland made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Have you known them long?”

“I met Robin at uni, we were in halls together -” he caught Emma's look of confusion “- we lived together in university accommodation - he was the first person I met, actually - so I've known him for, bloody hell, just over half my life now. We were always close, but when he lost his first wife, Marian, Roland's mother, it brought us closer together. He met Regina at a support group for people who have lost their partners and it wasn't long before they were married.”

“They both lost loved ones?”

“And found each other. Meanwhile I lost Milah and my hand and am in the process of destroying the world.” He could feel the bitterness in his words and didn't want to examine that further. Or think about how he found Emma, not when he didn't get to keep her, so he barreled on. “I didn't meet Regina until she was dating Robin, but as I understand it, she fell in love with a man who worked for her family and her mother had disapproved, which I think was equal parts snobbery and genuine concern that she was being taken advantage of by an older man. She had distanced herself from her family and her wealthy friends who didn't understand that Daniel was genuinely in love with her, so when he died of a sudden heart she was left alone. Meeting Robin has also helped her to reconcile with her mother. He’s from a far more respectable family, and Marian was a Lady, so he's got the appropriate connections.”

“Sounds a little cynical.”

He shrugged. “Cora may mean well, but she also cares a lot for appearances. She wants Regina to be happy - as long as it's with a suitable match.”

“You're on first name terms with Regina's mother?”

He flushed a little, really not wanting to explain that while he'd known Regina for just three years, his association with her mother went back much further, to when his bitter and angry younger self thought nothing of consequences in his quest to bring Gold to justice. If he had to seduce a high ranking police officer to get it, he would. (And if said police officer was a gorgeous woman, all the better for him.) Emma’s eyes narrowed at him and she cocked her head thoughtfully, seeming to read what he wasn’t telling her in his eyes.

“Hey, Regina says we can go down for food now, if you’re ready.” Robin leaned into the room to deliver his message, and Killian sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

“Sure, let’s go, Swan,” he said turning to his old friend and ushering Emma out of the living room and away from the difficult conversation.

***

The meal was a great one - Killian always loved Regina’s cooking, and today was no exception. She’d cooked her speciality, lasagne, with a side salad. They’d long since finished her homemade summer fruit pavlova ice cream, which she’d brushed off as “something I just threw together”, although her delighted grin made it clear that she appreciated the recognition of her culinary skills. Now they were sipping glasses of rum and talking about everything and nothing.

The dining room was lit by candlelight, both on the table and in the unused fireplace, the soft light of the lamps on the mantelpiece and the glow of the street lights shining through the window. Killian and Emma sat at one side of the dinner table, Regina and Robin in the other. Killian had pushed his chair back and was lounging in it, one foot rested up on the opposite knee. He was quiet, smiling at Emma as she threw her head back and laughed at Robin’s recounting of a story from their unidays. She seemed relaxed, content and what is more, he felt the same. It was getting harder and harder to remind himself that he had to let her go. The target Gold had placed on her back seemed somehow unreal compared to this happiness.

A loud crash of thunder rang out. There was a pause as they all looked at each other, startled by the noise. They were on the verge of collapsing into giggles at the sudden tension broke when there was a flash of lightning and Regina vanished.

In her place sat the Evil Queen.

Killian had never met the woman, but that much was clear. She had Regina’s face, but that’s where the similarity ended.

Her hair was piled on top of her head in a sweeping updo, except for a few artfully placed strands that draped along her forehead to frame her face. She wore a reptilian leather jacket, with large puffy shoulders and an oversized collar that was turned up. It was fastened just below her breasts, creating a plunging neckline that accented her cleavage and highlighted that she only wore a lacy push up bra underneath. The look was completed with an ostentatious pendant necklace with a large black diamond at the centre and multiple strands of black crystal beads lying along her collarbone and dripping below the pendant to point down to her considerable assets.

Regina wouldn’t be seen dead in something this over the top.

Killian’s eyes darted unthinkingly towards Emma, who had momentarily frozen in fear. Gone was the wide easy smile that overtook her whole face, and instead she radiated pure dread.

Regina’s lip curled. “You!” she growled at Emma. She twisted her right hand and produced a fireball.

The reaction was instantaneous - all three friends leapt to their feet, but Killian and Robin could only watch, powerless to help. Emma, however, immediately raised her hands before her and magic flowed from them. One hand created a shield around the men, the other pointed to the queen. It extinguished the fireball, but stoked Regina’s ire. She growled and raised her own hands. Emma had anticipated her. She used her brilliant white magic like a rope, twisting it around the hissing witch.

The Evil Queen twitched and twisted. She spat and snarled. But nothing could free her.

Killian was overcome with admiration for Emma. She looked so bold and powerful, easily restraining the villain. He looked back to the Evil Queen, and she was Regina once more.

Emma startled and her magical restraints and shield evaporated at once.

Regina looked around, pale and shaking. “What happened? I was in -” she swallowed hard - “I was in a dungeon.” She broke off into sobs and Robin wrapped his arms around his wife, who curled into his chest at once.

Killian stared before him, his eyes unseeing, thoughts racing. What if Regina had been stuck in that awful place? What if they had been stuck with the Evil Queen forever? What if it happened again, when Emma wasn’t around to help and Robin and Roland were -?

Bile rose in his throat at the thought of anything bad happening to the boy. He had never hated himself more. He knew that terrible things were happening, but so long as they happened to nameless, faceless strangers he could forget about it and carry on in a fantasy where Emma belonged with him. What was the world’s suffering compared to his own happiness? And now, he had to face the truth: his selfishness was causing innocent people pain and suffering, and he had to do all that he could to make it stop.

“Who are you and what did you do to my wife?” Robin’s words snapped him out of his self-flagellation. Regina still had her face buried into Robin’s chest and he had his arms wrapped around her protectively. He was glaring at Emma, his face cold and hard. “I invited you into my home and you -”

“I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t! It wasn’t me!” Emma cried helplessly, tears running down her face. Killian pulled her into his side with his prosthetic.

“This isn’t Emma’s fault,” he said evenly. “It’s mine.”

His friends both looked around to him, alarmed. Emma continued to mutter “I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t…” to herself. His jaw ticked and his eyes watered as he realised that it was time for him to come clean about everything that had he had done.

“I think we should sit down. I’m sorry, I’ve let everyone down.”

***

When everyone was settled, Emma much calmer at last, but still curled in on herself, her head buried in her hands. Regina and Robin were looking at him expectantly, their hands on the table in front of them grasped together so tightly that their knuckles were white.

“You know what losing Milah did to me - and who caused her death - I let you all think that I stopped pursuing Gold, but the truth is that I just switched tactics.” He stared at his hands, the real and the prosthetic, knowing that if he met his friends’ eyes he wouldn’t be able to continue. “My studies led me to believe that time travel might be a possibility -” Regina gasped - “so I have been working on a time machine with the intention of going back to save Milah and murder Gold.”

“Fuck,” Robin breathed.

Still Killian didn’t look at him. He needed to let them know everything. He wet his lips, and felt himself trembling all over.

“Gold has long loved messing with me. His latest play was to get the uni to withdraw my funding at the end of the academic year.”

“He can’t do that!” Robin yelled indignantly.

Were he in his right mind, Killian would’ve appreciated the show of support even in the midst of his terrible confession, but he was stuck on auto pilot, unburdening his soul, and he couldn’t be stopped.

“I knew that my time machine was unstable, but I was desperate.” He felt goosebumps spread across his skin, his body tingling and the trembling increased. He tried to shut down the pain and talk. “So I tried to use it and it - well, the simplest way that I can put it is that it’s caused a kind of parallel universe to interact with ours. Emma here is Princess Emma from another realm, my machine brought her here. I brought the dragon here. All the people disappearing, all the statues coming to life, all the monsters that we’re seeing. They’re all here because I couldn’t let go of Milah. Because I didn’t want her to be dead. I’ve ruined so many lives and I haven’t - I couldn’t - I -” a lump swelled in his throat, his anger rising - “I failed her. I failed you all.”

He stopped speaking, giving into the overwhelming need to cry. He heard the scraping of a chair and a minute later, he was pulled roughly into Robin’s arms. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

He gulped in a breath and pushed back from him, staring at him through eyes blurred with tears. “What? I - what?!”

“I wish that I had been more supportive when you lost Milah. You had so much to cope with, losing her and adjusting to life with a disability all at once. I worry that we rushed you into feeling better, because we just wanted you to be ok. It’s only when I lost Marian that I worried that we pushed you too hard. I can see now that we did.” Killian gaped at his friend who shook his head sadly. “I never should’ve expected you to be happy so soon when you had gone through so much. I’m sorry.”

Killian felt numb with shock, tingling with surprise. How could Robin be so good as to blame himself for Killian’s mess?

“I’m a grown man. I should have known better.”

“Yes you should,” cut in Regina. “You’re both idiots but you are both responsible for your own dumb mistakes. I love you both but if you’re quite finished with all the manly bonding, we need to figure out how to deal with what’s happening now.”

Killian laughed, stunned by Regina’s matter of fact attitude to everything.

“Now, Emma -” Regina turned to her - “I mean, Your Highness.”

“Oh you don’t have to -” Emma demurred.

“Nonsense, you’re a princess, I’ll address you properly, my mother would be horrified if I did any less. This person from your realm who took my place?”

“The Evil Queen.”

“Yes, her. Is my family safe if she returns?”

Emma drew her breath in sharply, and looked at Regina thoughtfully, before shaking her head. “No.”

“Killian -” Regina turned to him - “can you guarantee that I won’t swap places with my evil counterpart again?”

Killian wished he could give her hope, but he knew Regina well enough to tell it to her straight. “We’re close to a solution, but, no, I can’t.”

She nodded sadly and took a deep breath. “In that case, I must leave, immediately.”

“Regina, at least stay to say goodbye to Roland!” Robin pleaded, rushing to her side and taking her hands in his.

“It’s because of Roland that I can’t. I can’t put him in danger, I love him - and you - too much for that.” Her eyes shone with tears and Robin nodded sadly. “I’ll be at the Ritz, I’ll send for some things tomorrow.” She looked to Killian. “Fix this so that I can come home.” She gave Robin a tender kiss and left the room, pulling her phone from her pocket and calling for a car.

Killian stood in shock, he had torn apart the lives of some of his dearest friends and they treated him with nothing but compassion. Compassion that he was sure he did not deserve.

“Do you want us to stay?” he asked Robin tentatively, scrutinising the man who stood staring at the door after his wife looking crestfallen.

“Huh?” Robin whirled around to look at him. “Oh, no. No. Go home and get some rest. Then wake up tomorrow and work your ass off to bring her back to me, you got that?”

“Aye aye, captain,” Killian said, saluting his friend. He quickly ordered an uber, then tugged Emma towards the door. “Come on, Emma, let’s get out of here.”

Before he could leave the room, Robin seized him and pulled him into another hug. As they parted, Robin pressed a business card into his hand. “When this is all over, you call him,” he said, nodding to the card. “We’ll pay. Don’t argue with me, you’re not ok, and we’re going to help you get better. And I have a feeling that you’re going to have to face more loss before all this is over.” Robin’s eyes flicked to Emma, before looking back at him with a sad smile. “He helped me to come to terms with losing Marian. We’ll talk soon, OK?”

Killian stared down at the card in his hands: Archibald Hopper, Psychotherapist. Specialist Bereavement Counselling. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such good friends in his life, but if they could forgive him, it didn’t matter whether he could forgive himself. Right now, he had to fix reality and save their world.

I hope you all like George - he’s my favourite :D

[fallenesspoetry]

Venus and the Wolf (A Blindspot AU)

Summary:

A Roman/Tasha AU story, in which Jane’s memory hasn’t been wiped yet. Instead, she’s missing and presumed dead after the Orion mission had been taken down. A story, in which Roman makes a different decision, and a story, in which Tasha already is an undercover agent for the CIA, posing as an identity dealer.

It’s based on the scene in 2/17 when Roman remembers staring at Alice’s name at the papers for the trust fund (with the bank in the Bahamas) he was asked to cash out, sobbing.

A collab with @eachdressiown (Roman), I'm writing Tasha's POV.

Warning: Swearing.

Chapter Two “A Venus on Ice”

The heat was unbearably stifling, literally crunching on the tip of the tongue, its gritty taste rolling in the mouth. The sky was cloudless, and the sun shone in its full force, leaving no chance for the weather to change into something more humid.

A young woman stretched herself in the chair, desperately wishing the heat to slacken at least for a tiny bit. Her day had just started, so she had, at best, ten hours to go. Or more, if it was a busy day. But it seemed some people were followed by a trouble, so every day had become a busy one quite too often.

Usually, the clientele started coming in ranting how fast they needed the things done and refusing to agree on the price. It never ceased to amaze her how ridiculously dumb most of the people were. No one could comprehend a simple truth:

If you want to get something, you need to give something in return.

It was as simple as that. You could bend the rules, break the laws, but in the end of the day there was always something you had to give up.

The woman clicked the remote, lowering the temperature on the AC, not really expecting it would help. Just as it hadn't helped at all for the past hour. Right now she wished nothing more than to sink into the icy cold bath.

Her outfit made her even more irritated: the white tank top was clinging to her body, and denim shorts almost itched the skin. Her dark straight hair was pinned at the back into a messy knot, a few loose strands tickling her wet neck from time to time. But she couldn't care less about appearing unprofessional.

Anyway, lots of her clients were often hanging by a thread, and judging by their you-are-my-last-hope looks, they could have been fine even if she were naked. She just needed to make them dissolve as if they had never existed.

There was something rough about this particular woman. One could say various tests at the FBI and later at the CIA had certainly left their mark on her: a fit and tough figure as well as outstanding marksman skills made her an invaluable asset for any kind of an op. Especially off-the-books ops.

It was no time though, when the untamable nature got the best of her. Soon enough she got sick of constantly getting under one's thumb and being dependent on someone's dirty secrets.

And so, here she was, in Bahamas, running a business — well, not exactly a business — but it was much better than slaving on one's behalf in the middle of nowhere, risking to be thrown away at the exact second the things went sideways.

Just as she came back with an ice cube taken from the fridge, now pressing its refreshing coldness to her neck, sliding it back and forth, the phone rang.

The number was unknown. Well, it didn't matter. She would answer it anyway.

“¡Hola, señorita! ¿Cómo estás?” cheerfully wondered a cheeky voice, with raspy softness to it, masked by a quite decent Spanish pronunciation. She immediately recognized it:

Richdotcom.

For the past few years she got used to this man's eccentric way of having a conversation. She had to, anyway, since they both had started off this small ‘enterprise’.

Together they developed an intricately sophisticated way of bypassing any kind of security measures allowing to craft a completely untraceable new identity for those in need.

Her business partner was the most skillful hacker of the century who breached dozens of secure and unbreachable systems. And she was the rogue CIA agent going off the radar.

“What's up, Rich?” the woman asked, sounding as nice and polite as she could. Actually, the time went by and she got to like him, but it didn't change the fact he was nothing but a pain in the ass.

“Cold as ever, huh, Toots?”

“I swear if you call me anything but Tasha…”

“Would you mind to keep going? I don't want that ice cube to be wasted,” completely ignoring her, leisurely said Rich, his voice getting silkier and raspier.

“What if my gun is accidentally stuck somewhere it doesn't belong? What do you say about that?”

“I'll say, I'm all game for a good gun-play.”

Un-fucking-believable!

Just as Tasha thought about it, Rich continued:

“As much as I like to chat with you, I actually have a job here.”

“Ok, shoot.”

“So, the lead came from a guy we both know, so it should be solid. Let me double-check real quick...”

Rich made a pause, and Tasha heard the drumming strokes followed by occasional ‘What the…’ and “You're fucking kidding me!”

Meanwhile, the ice cube between her fingers had melted into a liquid. It trickled down her neck to her cleavage, tickling her a bit. She put the phone on a speaker mode, and rose, walking to take another one or two.

The sun seemed to penetrate with its scorching fingers even though the closed curtains. It felt as if one was trapped in the microwave, which was getting hotter and hotter with every second.

The place once was a two-storied flower shop, but Tasha and Rich expanded it into a cozy two-bedroom apartment on the second floor, and the office on the first floor.

For all the nosy go-byers there was a sign that this building was currently on sale, but the price was so sky-high that soon enough no one even dared asking for an estimate. There were a lot of much more cheaper options, and soon enough everyone had just quit to come. Rich also made sure the mayor didn't bother them too. Rumors travelled fast, so only those who had an urgent matter of disappearing from the radars could find their way in here.

Despite the house had been mostly her office for seven days a week, 365 days a year, Tasha liked it. It reminded her a bit if her own apartment with its minimalistic decor, yet preserving the coziness she remembered since that time.

Finally, sounding extremely angry, Rich hissed through his teeth:

“We have a problem. A fucking serious problem.”

Tasha had never heard him talking like that. Hell, she couldn't even remember when it was the last time Rich got angry over something.

“What is it? It can't be that bad, can it?”

“I can't confirm this fucking passport. Not a single trace. It's a damn fake! A good fake, actually. It took me a lot of effort to crack it. It's as fake as the whore's...”

“Please, don't even… So what do we do?”

“‘We’ don't do anything. You, on the other hand, have to meet with this guy. Because according to our idiotic middleman, this fella is on his way to you.”

Tasha got used to different kinds of clients as some of them were either thugs or complete jerks. But this time her gut told her that the guy she was about to meet was a different story. And certainly, confident as hell.

We'll see about that, — thought Tasha to herself. Rich was still murmuring curses as he fiercely typed something. Soon her laptop dinged with a few emails.

“I hate to bring it up, but what if he's… Well, he gets here, sees the place. He could be anyone, you know. What do you want me to do then, Rich?”

To be honest, such things happened not too often, but happened. Just like at any job, there were some complications. And in her line of work, these complications acquired a physical embodiment. It wasn't foreign for Tasha to kill in cold blood and cover her tracks, but it had become very much tiresome.

“Listen, we've talked about this. I'm not a big fan of dead bodies. That's why you get your extra clean up fee, right?”

Well, it was true. Leaning back on the chair, stroking her neck and arms with the ice, she said:

“I'm hoping you're right. I'd really hate to stick to my gun-play promise.”

They said good-byes and hang up. Just as Tasha was checking her gun, she noticed it became dark outside.

Apparently, the sun had finally hid behind a thick set of clouds slowly floating by. The clouds seemed to stall and become filthy gray, but it wasn't raining yet.

But Tasha didn't have time to admire the view as rushed to hide the case boxes with files. Once she was done, she also cleaned any papers left on every shiny surface in the office. A few of her other guns had been also re-loaded, and sticked with tape under the table and the chair.

For obvious reasons there was no alarm, but a special self-destruction protocol and other security measures had been in place. All the files being deleted, one could remotely set the house on fire by provoking an electric circuit failure.

Satisfied with how well she had prepared for her 'guest', Tasha took a quick shower and changed into another pair of shorts and another tank top, this time black.

Just as she got back to her laptop to open the email from Rich, the doorbell rang.

She rose, hiding the gun behind her back, and walked to the door. Pausing for a second, the woman took a deep breath, put on a polite smile and turned the doorknob.

Tasha blinked, making sure it was real.

The man, probably in his early thirties, stood in the doorway, curving his lip in an undecipherable grin.

He perfectly blended in with the environment, wearing a pale-blue shirt, loosened the way one could notice a hard, defined six-pack, and a pair of light shorts as well as sneakers.

Once he saw the door opened, he idly took his cap and sunglasses off, meeting her with the keen gaze of his light brown eyes with a bit green to them. His oval face was slightly tanned, and he had a one-day bristle. Grinning, he looked like a well-fed cat, glowing with a smug satisfaction.

One thing was certain — this man was making her skin crawl. She had dealt before with the most unpleasant and, sometimes, very horrifying men. But he... He was different. The inner strength was emanating from him, though she wouldn’t say he was a typical 'muscle' type.

The stranger was a bit taller than her — almost six feet. His fit figure, wide shoulders and well-defined muscular arms indicated he was always on the move, letting his vigorous self free.

Tasha had an odd feeling she could have known him. But, of course, that wasn't true.

He had something vaguely familiar about him. Was it his roughness reminding Tasha of her own untamed nature? Or, perhaps, the lone wolf-like intense stare?

He kept himself at ease, but she felt he was putting up a show. No, it wasn't nerves — Tasha was sure he was pretty much confident about himself as such a man could be.

The thing was, she sensed this particular man had a bunch of very unpleasant reasons to hide behind this carefree mask.

Meanwhile, the guy was shamelessly checking her out, not even bothering she would notice it. Well, she was used to get dirty looks so it wasn’t a big deal. Those who dared to cross the line got a set of a painful punches resulting in a few broken ribs. This guy hadn’t crossed it yet, so he might enjoy himself while he still could.

Returning him a smile, Tasha noticed a long and thin scar on his cheek. The wound edges were rigid, as if someone was using a piece of glass to cut him. The scar made him look even more dangerous and somehow attractive.

Certainly, this guy was constantly alert, always aware of the situation, and if needed, he could struck swiftly and ruthlessly. His veined, skillful hands with spider-like fingers, lean and long, had told the story to anyone who had a keen eye — he was undoubtedly capable of killing someone, no weapon needed. And one hadn’t needed to guess what happened to the person leaving him with the scar.

At least he seems to know what he wants.

Because most of the time the clients coming in here were nothing but a hopeless whining pieces of shit. It felt good to meet a man like him for a change.

Something told her, things were going to get very interesting.

TBC

[captjameshookthoughts]

Here’s a bit more thing from the THING, but this part is like all about an OC so not gonna tag it or shit. Oh, Lo and behold I let my ideas get away from me and this is longer than I intended it to be. oops.

Another year, another summer, another birthday party for Lucy. Sunset at the pier, food, drink, a DJ, dancing, laughing, the constant clicking of cameras. She had just reached Twenty-five, these were the best years of Lucy's life. She had just received her first promotion at work, not that it mattered much. Her father and stepmother still covered most of her expenses, including this large party. She sat on her boyfriend's lap, laughing at a joke he had just made. This day was almost perfect. Almost. Her stepsister was sitting alone, looking over the pier towards the sea. Lucy had been forced to invite her, and Faith had been forced into attending. Lucy never did like her stepsister, had always found there to be something pathetic about her. Even as small children, before Faith had gotten sick, Lucy thought herself to be the better sister. Faith had taken piano, boring in Lucy's eyes. She didn't understand when family would ask to hear her fumble over the white and black keys like it was something special. Lucy had begged for dance lessons, and she had got them. She had performed at recitals, multiple times every year, always attended by family and friends. That was something worth watching, Lucy thought. She liked to show off her dances, until the lessons had been taken away. That's when she really started to hate her stepsister. If Faith had just kept her mouth shut, Lucy could have kept going to dance.

Lucy's father had tried to explain that it had been Faith's grandmother who had been paying for the dance lessons, and there was nothing he could do about it. He confided in her that he thought it was unfair how she was being punished for simple childish teasing and jokes. He even tried to pressure Faith into asking her grandmother to change her mind. Simon was always on his daughter's side. She was his little princess, perfect in every way, he gave her everything she wanted. When Faith became sick, he gave Lucy even more. He was so afraid that she would feel pushed aside with the extra attention Faith would need. Faith got company at the hospital, Lucy was given new toys, clothes, a laptop, eventually she was even given a car. Simon thought that this was equal, and he taught Lucy that it was too.

Extravagant and expensive birthday parties were one of the many things given to Lucy over the years. She enjoyed being centre of attention. It was the only way she had ever learned to feel loved, the thing that made her feel wanted. It was good for her, that she had looks that were hard to ignore. Tall, platinum blonde, and very thin, Lucy turned heads wherever she went. She was the type of attractive that made others ignore her faults. Faith was not exactly unattractive, in fact, some people would go as far as to call her beautiful. Faith never believed them, though. How could she when for the best part of two decades she had a stepsister delighting in telling her just how ugly she was.

Faith wasn't much of a 'party' person at the best of times, she didn't like being surrounded by so many people, always feeling like she took up too much space. This party in particular somehow made her anxieties worse. The summer heat and humidity felt oppressive, and the constant noise and chatter overwhelmed her senses.

Beeeeep

Faith startled at the alarm coming from her phone. The evening reminder for her medications. She sighed and reached into her jacket pocket for the small plastic box containing five different tablets. She opened it carefully and took all of the pills at once, quickly so that she could go unnoticed. She hated being asked about all that was wrong with her.

Another beep.

Faith looked at her phone and smiled. A message from her Bubbe.

"How are you holding up? X"

"I just want to go home." Faith admitted.

"Is it that bad?"

"Worse."

"I'm sorry. Would it make you feel better if I told you I am going to bake your favourite for when you come to visit?"

Faith let out a small laugh, Bubbe Moskavich always resorted to food when people weren't feeling great.

"I can't wait for Shabbos." Faith told her, happily. 

Although she wasn't exactly observant, and she hadn't even prayed outside of Synagogue services since she was very young, Faith was proudly Jewish. Her Bubbe always tried to encourage her to be more involved with Shul, but it never stuck. Faith inwardly felt quite upset with the almighty for having given her this life. When she was young she would pray, begging to be made beautiful, talented, healthy, or just even worth something. What she really wanted was to be equal to her stepsister, but as a child she hadn't been able to articulate that properly to the people who could change things. Her mother often scolded her for jealousy and pettiness, and she felt like God wasn't listening either, so Faith just stopped asking. It felt like an eternity since Faith had last prayed to ask for help. Life had taught her that help wouldn't come.

Suddenly there was quiet, the birthday cake had been brought out, the guests started to sing. Lucy looked almost angelic in the candlelight, smiling and surrounded by people who loved her. Faith looked away, a strange ache pushed at her chest, no one had ever looked at her the way Lucy's guests were looking at her, no even Faith's own friends or any of her exes. That moment made her feel so small and insignificant.

"I'm nothing." She thought to herself, "alone."

Faith looked back out to the sea below and closed her eyes and silently begged any God, any deity, any being who might listen for help.

"Please. I don't want to be alone anymore." She pleaded, “I don’t want... this.”

She wasn't expecting a miracle, she wasn't expecting anything at all, but opening her eyes to find the pier, the sea, and the party once more filled Faith with disappointment. She sighed deeply, shaking her head trying to force her thoughts to stop. That's what she needed right then, to just stop thinking. A bottle of vodka had fallen from a table and had rolled to where Faith was sat. She wasn't supposed to drink alcohol with her medications, but Faith didn't care. In the moment all she wanted was to stop thinking, and vodka felt like the key to achieving that goal. She took hold of the bottle and started drinking, the cheap alcohol burning her throat.

At first, Faith felt light and giggly, she kept drinking. She drank until the night blurred and faded away into darkness.

Darkness can be many things, it can be fear, loneliness, despair. It can also be softness, security, and hope. Faith had suffered terribly from nightmares as a child. All those years ago darkness brought her only fear. As an adult, she found a certain sense of honesty lived within the darkness. When there was darkness there was no pretense, no need to act a certain way or ignore aspects of herself, she could just be. Faith's head spun, she should never have drank so much, she rubbed at her closed eyes. They stung so much, her arms stung too. Her whole body ached. The pain was so present it distracted her from the feeling that something was very wrong. Had she been of clear mind, Faith would have noticed straight away. She opened her eyes and one type of darkness turned into another, like a grey daytime storm becoming a calm night. Upon opening her eyes, Faith saw a clear nights sky dotted with stars, the darkness pure and untouched by the light pollution she was so familiar with. It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to this darkness, and several more for Faith to register her surroundings. She sat up with a groan, even this small movement made her head spin more. It was as she pushed herself forwards with her hands that she realised that she had been laying on sand, with that realisation everything else came into focus. The smell of the ocean, the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the dampness of her clothes, and her shoes were missing.

Faith swore at herself for her stupidity. How had she let herself get so drunk that she left the pier? Faith didn't recognise this beach at all, but she was sure that she must still be on the same beach that was home to the pier. Anything else would be impossible. She turned her head, trying to spot the distant lights, but there were none to be seen. She swore once more. It wouldn't have been the first time Lucy had taken her somewhere and left her there as some sort of 'prank'. That hadn't happened in years though, it was impossible for Lucy to convince Faith to leave with her without alcohol having been consumed.

"You utter fucking donkey." Faith admonished herself, remembering Lucy's twentieth birthday party. Faith had accepted a cocktail from her stepsister, she didn't think for a moment that it would be unsafe. She didn't think Lucy would dare be so cruel with so many people around. Of course she had been wrong, and the drink had been spiked. Faith didn't remember much of that night after finishing the drink, just being locked in the rental houses basement. Alone and afraid. The aftermath was worse, though. The aftermath taught Faith that she couldn't trust her mother or stepfather anymore. Faith had passed out when they found her, she should have been taken to a hospital, but they didn't want Lucy to get in trouble. They called the situation a 'joke gone wrong'. Lucy had cried her crocodile tears about how she didn't mean it, and she didn't know it could go badly and then tried to justify herself to Faith with:

"You know how I am when I drink."

That was just Lucy, though. She would always insist that she didn't mean it, or didn't know what she did was bad. People believed her. That was the thing, although she was attractive and popular, Lucy wasn't very intelligent. As a very young child, she often didn't understand how her actions could hurt others, so she often went unpunished. Faith was less than a year older than her stepsister, but all through her childhood she had been told to be the bigger person, that she had to make allowances for her stepsister. She was the older sister after all, and as she did so much better in school she couldn't possibly understand the struggles Lucy had. Faith wouldn't have minded so much if things had changed as they got older, but it all just stayed the same. Even now, Faith was sure that in the morning she would have to listen to the excuses from both Lucy and their parents. Lucy would say that she was just trying to have some fun, that it's not her fault that Faith didn't think it was funny. Then Faith's mother would tell her that being angry or upset is an overreaction and Simon would tell her that she needs to learn how to laugh at herself and be grateful that she was involved in the party at all.

Faith took a deep breath and reached into her jacket pocket for her phone. There was no point putting off the inevitable. She would have to call someone to come get her. She didn't know where she was exactly, whoever she called would have to ask Lucy. That was the plan, it would have been an okay plan if Faith still had her phone. She searched every pocket in the old military jacket, finding her pill box, her small instant camera and film packs, a compact mirror, and a tube of red lipstick, but her phone wasn't there. Faith swore loudly out of frustration and decided that she would finally be taking up her Bubbe's offer to move into her London bungalow regardless of her mother's disapproval.

"I'm done." Faith said aloud, "just done."

She closed her eyes, thinking of what she could do, she didn't know where she was. She didn't what time it was or if the party was still going. She told herself that the party must still be going, it had to be, if it had ended then someone would notice she was gone and would come looking for her. Faith laid back down, waiting to be found. At least it wasn't a cold night.

"Faith." A voice called out.

Faith's eyes snapped open and she sat up, peering into the darkness trying to see who was calling to her.

"Faith." This time multiple voices called to her. She didn't recognise a single voice among them.

"Who's there?" Faith asked the darkness.

"A friend, help, guide."

"Wha-"

"Get up." The voices said, their tone commanding but not unkind.

"I can't." Faith argued, "I-"

"You can."

Suddenly a gust of wind surrounded her, strong enough to lift Faith from the sand to her feet. She could feel the wind closing around her. The closer it got, the more her pains were eased. Faith didn't understand, it didn't make sense. She had been annoyed before, angry, and frustrated. Now she was terrified. She span around, desperate to see something, anything that might help her make sense of this, or at least see who had spoke to her. All she saw was the silhouette of a large rock formation and trees.

Trees? Faith questioned her sight, she didn't know there were trees anywhere near this beach, there wasn't trees there. She knew that, she had lived locally since she had been seventeen.

"Where am I?" Faith thought out loud. She wanted to cry, feeling lonelier than she had earlier that evening. Something very bad must have happened to her, something very bad was happening to her. She didn’t know what to do.

“Walk.” the voices spoke again, their tone a whisper, only heard by Faith. She covered her ears, trying to block out the noise. She was sure she must be going mad, hallucinating, in a coma. This couldn’t be real. The only explanation was that the alcohol she consumed had reacted very badly with her medication. She couldn’t possibly be so far from home. 

“Am I dead?” She asked the voices around her, finally believing she had it all worked out. She was dead, and this was the afterlife.

“No. Now walk.”

“I- how- where?” Faith said, giving in to the strangeness of the night.

“Onwards.”

This direction wasn’t exactly helpful, Faith stood stubbornly still for a second, trying to decide which way to go. Before she could make up her mind, the decision was taken away from her, another gust of wind came and pushed her forward. Towards the rocks.

On and on, one unsteady foot in front of another, Faith walked across the sand. The more she walked, the further away the rocks seemed. She thought that she might never reach them at all. Despite her fears, Faith did reach the rocks. She stopped and leaned against them, head still spinning. Just as she thought that this night could not get any worse, it did. The heavens opened a torrent of rain.

“Oh, come ON.” Faith shouted, her frustrations boiling over. Although she often dreamed about running away to a distant land, and her life changing suddenly, this was not what she had in mind.

The sky lit up from a lightening bolt unlike any other Faith had seen before, and as it did, for the briefest of seconds something was reflected on the rocks she was leaning against. Faith peered towards the spot that had lit up, hoping for another strike so that she might see this peculiar thing properly. She didn’t have to wait long, the storm had come closer and just as quickly as the last flash, Lightning struck again, and Faith saw it. Glassy, and unfocused, the reflection had been against an eyeball the size of her fist. Faith took a step back. This wasn’t a rock formation at all, but some sort of creature. With the next flash, she was able to see the entire beast. A crocodile, but bigger, and more terrifying than any crocodile should be, and it was dead. Something had managed to kill something so monstrous. Faith was terrified, but it was that fear that motivated her to walk past the crocodile. She was determined to get away from this beach. She felt hopeless, like there was no point to her walking, like she was getting nowhere at all, until she saw it.

In the distance, there were dim lights. She hadn’t been so far from the party after all. At least, that’s what Faith wanted to believe.

[xottzot]

2018-02(FEB)-Saturday--internet stuffed AGAIN--HIGH HEAT & FEELING VERY UNWELL BECAUSE OF IT--FALSE CALM.

2018-02(FEB)-Saturday--internet stuffed AGAIN--HIGH HEAT & FEELING VERY UNWELL BECAUSE OF IT--FALSE CALM.

internet stuffed AGAIN -- Yep, absolutely stops absolutely DEAD for no reason whatsoever. EVERYTHING STOPS. And when it restarts up again, everything is as usual dead bloody SLOW. - Welcome to thie hellhole of this shitty area, where crime is high but any internet speeds and connectivity is not. It's been like that since late 2015.......

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It's a bloody HOT day again...........currently as I write this, it's about 36 C, or around 98F depending if I can focus my eyes in the sweat running down over all my face and into my eyes outside.

So much AGAIN for the bullshit forecasted 'mild' day. - Weather forecasts that mean absolutely NOTHING of reality to this hellhole area and are never applicable. As always......

Was cloudy/overcast earlier and the humidity was sky high too. Bt that soon all burned off and now there's just the damned heat....as always...the damned merciless heat.....

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Had to do some physical work outside, nothing extravagently physical, not that I'm able at all to that, and today what I struggled to do it exhausted and nearly killed me....all whilst the sole remaining chicken was going crazy......for no reason......

The sole remaining chicken the insane one Fliss literally found wandering the streets and at the Koongamia shops area, and then dear Fliss brought it to this place to be with our other happy chickens), that chicken the last one alive kept as a pet and as a reminder of time long gone and now dead of when things were happier and not destined for me to die and be dead, it was LOUDLY carrying on and squawking and running/fluttering about in assumed terror. Then AS ALWAYS, after I was done in its fenced-in chicken plot area making the ground nicely cool and damp, then overlaying it with fresh clean straw, the chicken suddenly shut up and thought nirvana was there again.......the entire place there needed that or else the dark dirt gets so VERY HOT in the terrible heat....and what thanks did I get? What thanks or recognition do I EVER get for anything good I ever do in my life for anyone or anything...about ANYTHING? - NOTHING. - ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING.

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Returned inside this hovel and nearly collapsed. Utterly drenched in sweat. Had a very cool shower and also washed my clothes and hung them outside to dry in the damned heat under shade. I've since brought them in now because they were dry as if having been being in an oven drier....even in the shade it's so damn hot.

Just took poor Sam and poor Max outside for them to desperately water the ground, and being black-furred animals, they have to come back in quick out of the sun or suffer/die from the damned effects. Not that Fliss cares for them or me it seems. Did she ever, or was it all a pretend act she's STILL putting on that everyone buys into?

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Outside is currently false calm.

Let's see what new shit will eventuate as always shall we?

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Grabbed a local free paper today, one deigned for a DIFFERENT AREA even though it covers the same areas as the one that gets delivered here but they DON'T include relevant local information in it either unless they've been allowed to. - Shit.

CRIME NEWS:-----Some abo woman in Midland Gate Shopping Centre in Midland made off (stealing) some merchandise that was chained up inside a store (she cut the chain), and despite being yelled at to stop, she ran off with it. --- Just a criminal. NOT someone in need or one of the the 'valiant' ones so championed so hard by idiot groups and idiots and fools. But just another one who shouts loudly to DEMAND to get everything for free or else they'll steal it or violentally assault & bash you for it. - How NOT civilised and expected.......

She should go into abo activism & politics......especially since ALL politicians are liars and thieves.....

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Just had to take more painkillers and another painkiller for this damned very bad headache that's returned from earlier becaue the painkiller has worn off. That's what's happens because just short time ago I dared to go outside to take dried clothes off the line under cover in the shade before they go cripsy. - And so I got another dose of damn heat upon how I already very poorly feel.

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Criminals will come out when it gets darker, as they alwasy do, fuck the lot of THEM.

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Here below is a couple of NEWS bits...once again posted here LATE because the fucking utterly useless internet now seems to REFUSE to send to me my own emails I post to myself until MUCH LATER....sometimes not even until late in the day, sometimes not until the NEXT DAY.

As if the so VERY SLOW & STAGGERING internet now has become just a huge single forever-behind-in-being-updated fucking 'internet cache', and that has been plaguing me since late 2015....which for Fliss caused her to actually BLAME ME for the damned problems in my trying to keep in contact with her and reconciliation during it all....... -- Am I bitter about that? - FUCK THE WORLD AND PASS ME THE BUTTON TO BLOW IT ALL UP WITH. - PRESS. PRESS. PRESS.

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a VICTORIA AUSTRALIA NEWS BIT:------(CALLOUS CRIME ATTACK ON 77yo)----Elderly woman fighting for life after being assaulted while walking dogs in St Albans

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-02-02/woman-fighting-for-her-life-after-st-albansl-assault/9387354

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BTW, dear Fliss loves murder stories and gets great 'enjoyment' out of them, and the uncovering of the facts. But she is SO IGNORANT of real life things and personal values including love whilst at the same time trying to fit real life to her medically manic and delusional imaginings of crime and criminals that she revels in........which she passes off as 'entertainment'....and which is accepted by so many idiot women too....

Has dear Cath in QLD Australia yet figured for herself that I have ALWASY been telling the truth about everything? - Or has she too fallen into the delusions and bullshit and lies and other shit...?

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NT AUSTRALIA NEWS:----(ABO WOMAN MURDERS ABO MAN IN A PLACE & SITUATION LIKE FATGUTS DRIVEWAY ABO HANGOUT)-----Stabbing victim's wound was 10cm deep after fight over alcohol, court hears

Stabbing victim's wound was 10cm deep after fight over alcohol, court hears

By:--- Georgia Hitch -- Updated about 2 hours ago

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-02-02/stabbing-victim-wound-more-10-cm-deep-court-hears/9387300

PHOTO: (SCENE) --------- http://www.abc.net.au/news/image/9390278-3x2-940x627.jpg

PHOTO: (outside court, accused murderer Anisa Cadell is currently on trial charged with the 25-year-old man's murder) --------- http://www.abc.net.au/news/image/9390478-3x2-940x627.jpg

PHOTO: (SCENE) --------- http://www.abc.net.au/news/image/9390434-3x2-940x627.jpg

PHOTO: (SCENE with bloody murder weapon in situ) --------- http://www.abc.net.au/news/image/9387468-3x2-940x627.jpg

A Darwin court has heard a man who was stabbed and killed last year had a knife wound more than 10 centimetres deep after a fight with a woman over a cup of alcohol.

Warning: This story contains graphic details and images.

The 25-year-old man died in the community of Kalano, near Katherine, in February 2017, after an alleged fight with 22-year-old Anisa Cadell.

Ms Cadell pleaded not guilty to the man's murder and is on trial in the Northern Territory Supreme Court.

Today, forensic pathologist Dr John Rutherford told the court the man had a wound between 10 and 13 centimetres deep that had split one of his ribs and partially split another.

Dr Rutherford said the blade had continued to pierce the man's left lung and ultimately penetrated, and stopped, in his heart. A woman exits the front doors of the Supreme Court.

The court heard more than a litre of blood was found in the man's chest cavity as a result of the wound.

Earlier in the trial, the court heard Ms Cadell and the 25-year-old were engaged in a "vicious" fight over a cup of alcohol, moments before he was stabbed.

Witnesses said at one point they saw the man sitting on top of the woman and punching her.

The man's uncle, George Maroney, testified he did not see him get stabbed, but did see him fall back onto a long table beside a fridge with a knife in his chest. Wound self-inflicted 'unlikely': forensics

When asked by defence counsel John Lawrence SC whether he could exclude the possibility the injury was self-inflicted, Dr Rutherford said he could not, but it was unlikely.

"You can never entirely exclude a self-inflicted injury on basis of pathological findings alone," Dr Rutherford said.

He said there were "lots of little pointers … to suggest that it wasn't" self-inflicted.

They included:

Self-inflicted wounds with sharp objects are relatively uncommon statistically

Among those wounds, stab wounds are also uncommon

People who do stab themselves usually have a history of past self-harm or psychiatric care

There are usually other smaller wounds near the site from previous attempts where people have underestimated the toughness of the skin

Dr Rutherford said there were no other tentative stab wounds found on the body, and instead it was a "perfectly clean wound".

The expert told the court someone would need to use moderate to severe force to inflict a wound of this nature, and it was more likely the result of a strike than from a push-pull struggle beforehand.

The trial continues.

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I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you. I forgive you. You've known that too since last 2015.