#and when ryan walked on screen i IMMEDIATELY started sobbing

[1980ssunflower]

I miss & need them both so badly...

[somekindoftuber]

vld youtuber AU (klance, part 5)

(I apologize if the tense changes all over the place, I’m writing this as a sort of stream-of-consciousness thing because I care more about getting the idea out than writing something that’s grammatically perfect. I’ll probably clean this up and make it an actual fic once it’s all done. Thanks for reading!! :D)

part one | part two | part three | part four

There is a definite shift in Keith’s demeanor after Lance’s last visit.

They play Overwatch a few times a week, and while Keith goes into stern-leader-battle-mode when the game is going, between matches he’s loose, candid. He laughs at Lance’s jokes and makes casual conversation about his job, the garage, tells funny stories about Kosmo. Lance tells Keith stories about the customers he has at the cafe. It’s nice to hear a softness in Keith’s voice that Lance hadn’t heard before.

Keith shows up in nearly all of Lance’s Overwatch videos, even if his mic isn’t recorded. They sort of fall into a rhythm, meeting online every Tuesday and Thursday night to search for servers.

“Y’know,” Keith says one night while they’re in queue. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a sniper type.”

“Eh?” Lance is in his Widowmaker menu at that moment, flipping between two skins to see which one he likes more. “What d’you mean?”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Keith clarifies, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “You just seem like more of a Mercy or a support or something. You’re really…” he pauses. “Generous. Always helping people. Then you get in here and you turn into a cold blooded assassin.”

Lance laughs. “I’ve always played a sniper, though. Gotta have balance somewhere, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

.

They text a lot. It’s all small stuff, like pet photos or memes (which Keith doesn’t understand 90% of the time and Lance finds that kind of adorable). But it’s nice. Occasionally they’ll both have an early shift, and Lance will text Keith photos of the ancient espresso grinder, captioned “this thing wants me dead” surrounded with skull emojis. Keith’s sense of humor, Lance learns, is dry as cracker juice. He gets a photo of a broken rubber floor mat with the question, “what sound does a floor mat make when it splits right before a fitness class?” Before Lance can answer, he gets another photo of the same mat, this time with Keith’s middle finger pointing soundly at it. “That sound,” says the caption. Lance laughs so hard that his boss yells at him for being on his phone during a shift.

August comes to an end, and Pidge prepares for her final term. Lance helps by assisting in an apartment clean out, getting rid of literal clutter to ease Pidge’s impending mental clutter. Lance tries not to think about how this might be their last few months in this apartment together. He’s really enjoyed living with Pidge - he wasn’t exaggerating when he said she was like a sister. Pidge is an extension of his family, ever since they met at space camp all those years ago. She’d been a tiny, fluffy, indomitable ball of pure snark and Lance loved her immediately. Since then, they’d stuck together, seeing each other through some of the hardest times. Lance had cheered his lungs out when Pidge was handed her high school diploma, and in a few months, he’d see her walk across another stage in a cap and gown to receive her bachelor’s degree in Robotic Engineering.

It made him a little misty-eyed to think about it.

Pidge is playing Stardew Valley one afternoon (how the hell did she manage to make such an insanely profitable farm before the end of year one?) when she casually brings up one of Lance’s favorite fall events.

“You gonna go to the Founder’s Fair this year?”

Lance doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Uh, is the Pope catholic?”

“Good.” On the screen, Pidge’s character gives a bouquet to Penny. Dating everyone but marrying no one: the Pidge method. “Hunk is coming in for it.”

“Sweet.”

The Harborville Founder’s Fair was the highlight of every autumn. Right as the summer was fading away and the air was showing a hint of a chill, Oceanside Park would explode into three days of carnival rides, food trucks, fireworks, and everything in between. It was also the best time of year to surf - they didn’t get much in the way of waves here, but there would always be just enough in late September to rent a board. Lance had put in his time off request a month ago, buttering up his boss with the ‘this might be my last September in Harborville’ sob story. Which was sort of true, even if he wasn’t quite ready to face that reality yet.

Lance felt like he was getting closer to Keith. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was the case, but if nothing else, Keith seemed to finally be relaxing around him. There were one or two times when Lance could almost swear Keith was flirting, but he quickly shoved the thought aside. Nope, don’t go there. That’s assuming things. Assuming is dangerous.

.

The fair is in a week and to make up for missing work on what will be one of the busiest weekends of the year, Lance is working at the cafe nearly every day. He has more steam burns on his hands and wrists from making lattes than ever, and he thinks if he hears the word “pumpkin spice” one more time he might lose it. He hasn’t played Overwatch all week, too tired from extra shifts to do anything other than zone out to Netflix when he gets home.

He’s got two hours left in his Thursday morning shift, then he’s free for the whole weekend. He can practically taste the funnel cakes now - and the Rancho Alegre food truck, the only decent source of Cuban food in the entire state, will be there. God, he’s going to eat until he can’t move.

The morning rush has come and gone and the afternoon crowd isn’t here yet, so Lance is cleaning up the mess of coffee grounds and cinnamon around his work station when the bell on the cafe door sounds. He doesn’t look up as his coworker/supervisor Romelle greets whoever walks through, too preoccupied with wondering how the hell almond milk ended up underneath the grinder.

“Hello,” says the customer and Lance totally knows that voice. He stops wiping sour milk and looks up.

It’s Shiro. And right behind him is Allura and - oh shit. It’s Keith. He’s here, he’s here in the cafe and Lance had no idea he was coming and he probably looks like shit, overworked with bags under his eyes and his face breaking out from stress and he didn’t even shampoo his hair this morning because he was running late --

But then Keith smiles at him and wow. His hair is down and he’s wearing this black and red leather jacket and it should be illegal to look that good. Especially when Lance is such a mess.

“Hi,” Lance says, hating how his voice cracks. “What are you guys doing in town?”

Shiro is pulling out his wallet with his left hand. “We came for the fair. It was always one of my favorite things about going to school here.”

“Oh,” Lance squeaks.

They’re here for the fair. Lance might get to spend time at the fair with Keith. He forces himself to focus on the present before a dozen fantasies of ferris wheel rides and sharing cotton candy can take over his brain.

They all order drinks and Lance claims them before Romelle can even finish ringing them up. Shiro gets a hazelnut americano, Allura orders a tuxedo mocha, and Keith shyly asks for a latte. Lance can tell he doesn’t go to coffee shops often and makes the drinks carefully. He can’t embellish Shiro’s americano, but he uses chocolate sauce and extra foam to draw a bow tie in Allura’s mug. For Keith’s latte, he sends a prayer to the coffee gods to grant him latte art prowess. It works, and Lance is rounding out rings of coffee and foam, pulling through to form a perfect heart.

He slides the mug across the counter to Keith, who’s eyebrow shoot into his hair. He breaths a little “wow” and blushes, taking the mug and smiling. He’s wearing fingerless leather gloves. Lance’s heart flip-flops in his chest.

The three of them find a table near the window and sit, chatting and drinking their coffee. They’re too far away for Lance to hear what they’re saying, and even if he could, he’s on the clock, and the lunchtime regulars are starting to trickle in.

Would it be gauche to text his evening shift coworker and bribe him to come in early so Lance can leave?

Lance thinks Romelle can tell he’s pouting by the way she sides up to him.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Is that the guy?”

He follows her gaze and sees that it lands firmly on the table where Keith is sitting with Shiro and Allura. Keith looks up at Lance, and smiles a little before turning back to his brother.

“Yeah,” Lance whispers back, feeling his face heat up. “The one with the long hair.”

Romelle lets out a low whistle. “Quite the catch,” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “What about the girl they’re with?”

“Allura?” Lance thinks. “I don’t know her very well, but she’s nice.”

“She single?”

Lance rolls his eyes and starts on the next drink. “No idea, you should ask her.”

It’s slower today and Lance is thankful for it. With Keith in the room, he can’t focus on anything - it’s a miracle he doesn’t catastrophically screw up the drinks he’s making. There’s a break in customers and Romelle comes over to Lance where he loading a portafilter with espresso and waves her phone.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she says, and he does not like that voice. That’s her Supervisor Voice. “I’ll call Ryan in an hour early if you get me Cute Girl’s number.”

Lance puts the tamp down. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He looks over at the table where Keith is sitting. They’ve all finished their drinks and will probably be leaving soon.

“Romelle,” Lance states. “You are an evil super villain and I love you. Consider that number yours.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan Kinkade is walking in and he doesn’t look particularly thrilled about it. Lance takes off his apron and motions at the jar of cash by the register.

“Ryan, you’re a lifesaver and my tips are yours. Thank you!” Lance clocks out before anyone can argue and walks over to where Keith and Co are sitting. He’s very much aware of how he probably reeks of coffee and looks like garbage but does his best to smile anyway.

“My shift is over, did you guys have any plans?”

Shiro smiles and stands. “I think we were going to head to our Air B&B and check in, actually. We could use a breather after that drive. We can meet up for dinner later, if you want.”

Inwardly, Lance lets out a sigh of relief because this means he’ll have time to take a shower and make himself presentable. “That sounds good! Any place you want to go?”

Shiro shrugs. “Is Vinnie’s still open?”

Lance lights up. “Oh yeah, still as good as ever, too! Want to meet there at, uh - “ He checks his phone, it’s barely 3pm. “Around five? We should beat most of the dinner rush that way.”

They all nod and the plans are made. They walk outside together and Lance watches the three of them get into a very nice Chrysler sedan - maybe Allura’s, given how she goes for the driver’s seat. Once they’re gone, Lance heads for his car and books it home. He immediately washes and exfoliates his face, then applies an anti-inflammatory mask and works at cleaning up the apartment. It was already fairly clean since Hunk will be crashing on the pull-out sofa bed for the weekend, and he has no idea of Keith will ever even see this place, but Lance doesn’t want to take any risks.

He shoots Pidge a text to tell her about their plans in case she wants to join. Hunk isn’t due until tomorrow morning.

Apartment clean(er) and his face mask dry and itchy, Lance hops in the shower and scrubs himself sore. Keith is here and will be spending the weekend here and Lance is equal parts ecstatic and terrified. He meticulously goes through his whole grooming routine, moisturizes, swabs, trims his eyebrows, even files his nails. He checks his reflection once he’s done and thankfully his face is less red, the stress acne barely noticeable.

There’s still about 45 minutes until he needs to be at Vinnie’s so Lance takes his time picking out clothes. He settles for a low cut tank top that shows off his collarbones and a beige button down over it with the sleeves rolled up, finishing it off with a pendant necklace and grey skinny jeans. He examines himself in the mirror and frowns a little. Does it look too much like date clothes?

He doesn’t have time to change because then his phone pings and it’s Shiro, saying they’re heading to Vinnie’s a little early. Lance all but throws himself out the door.

.

Vinnie’s is starting to get crowded, Lance can already see the line forming when he parks. He spots Shiro and Allura easily, their white hair making them stand out. They’d managed to claim a patio table - no small feat - and were chatting happily.

Lance joins them and it’s amazing how welcome he feels in this group, the way Shiro half-pulls a chair out for Lance. Keith is sitting to his right, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, the black t-shirt he wore stretching nicely over his chest. And if he didn’t know any better, Lance could swear he saw Keith’s eyes sweep down his neck and linger.

They ate and laughed and ate more, drinking fancy gourmet sodas. They make loose plans for the weekend - beach tomorrow, then the fair on Saturday, and maybe brunch before they leave on Sunday. Lance educates Keith in the ways of the garlic knot, the most sacred food item on earth. And when Keith shrugs and says they’re “alright,” Lance feigns offense, gasping and clutching his chest.

Pidge joins them later, looking utterly spent from a long day of classes. Lance gives up his seat so she can collapse into it. He kneels beside the table instead, passing Pidge the last of their pizza and appetizers. Keith gives him a look, then scoots over to one side of his chair, patting the other with his hand.

Lance short circuits, looking from the empty side of the chair to Keith’s face several times.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Get up here. That,” he points to where Lance is kneeling, “Is super bad for your knees.”

“Oh?” Lance slides into place, and it’s sort of uncomfortable with half of his ass hanging off the chair, but he can feel heat pouring off Keith’s body with how close he is. “You care much about my knees?”

Keith goes super red. “I’m a physical trainer,” He said, suddenly very interested in his soda. “It’s my job to care. Doing stuff like that will ruin them.”

“Right.”

Lance glances over at Pidge, who had a garlic knot halfway to her mouth and giving Lance the most predatory grin. He glares at her to shut down whatever evil plans she might be formulating.

They finally finish the food and decide to stop taking up a table, bussing it themselves to save the staff some work. Instead of a bar, they decide to head over to Lance and Pidge’s apartment to chill - half because Pidge isn’t 21 yet and wouldn’t be able to join them at most of the bars in town, and half because Vinnie’s was so loud that they’re all craving some quiet.

Lance is so thankful that his past self had the sense to clean a little more. They all sprawl out over the living room, Lance going to pull a chair from the kitchen to sit on so the guests can have the nice couch and Pidge can curl up in the easy chair. Lance offers up the ice cream sandwiches from the freezer and everyone takes one; Allura seems to be examining hers with great interest, like she’s never had one before.

Shiro talks a lot, mostly about what Harborville was like when he and Matt were in college. About their first apartment that should probably have been condemned, the dogs he’d walk between classes for extra cash. Eventually Lance’s cats come out of hiding to investigate, and Keith goes starry-eyed at Batou’s big green eyes and plush grey coat.

Pidge falls asleep in her chair just after nine. Everyone takes a second to coo at how cute she is before Lance bends down to scoop her up.

“Lemme put sleeping beauty here to bed. If she stays there she’ll be sore and cranky when she wakes up.”

He takes Pidge to her room and sets her on her bed, then wrestles her sneakers off her feet, setting her glasses on the bedside table and draping a sheet over her. When he goes back into the living room and sits in the chair he’d removed Pidge from, Allura gives him a fond look.

“You’re very sweet to her.”

Lance shrugs. “She’s pretty much family. Also, I have to do that all the time. I’ve found her face down on her homework out here more times than I want to count.”

They talk for another two hours. Lance feels a little lonely with Keith sitting on the side of the couch furthest from him, but then again, if he was closer, Lance isn’t sure his brain would work. Allura yawns wide.

“I think it’s time we turned in,” she states. “I’d like to get some rest before the weekend starts.”

Shiro agrees. Lance ends up seeing them off in the parking lot, waving as they drive away.

.

Hunk arrives just after 10am the next morning, armed with bags of groceries to pack a picnic for the beach. He puts Lance and Pidge on an assembly line in the kitchen, making pork sandwiches, vegetable rolls, hummus wraps, crab and radish tartines, potato salad, and chocolate-dipped clementine slices. He’d picked up a package of Lance’s favorite lemon cream cookies and Lance could almost kiss him for it.

With their precious picnic food carefully packed in an ice chest along with plenty of drinks, Lance shot a group text to Keith, Shiro, and Allura to ask if they were ready for the beach. He got confirmation quickly, and they agreed to hit the north shore near the lighthouse, where the sand was rougher but the tourists tended to be a little thinner.

Parking is a bitch but they find a spot, then wait by the trunk for Keith and Co to arrive. About ten minutes later Lance sees Allura’s Chrysler pull in to a spot. They walk over to meet them and Lance is practically bouncing, because 1) he gets to go to the beach, 2) he gets to go surfing with Hunk, 3) he gets to spend time with new friends, and 4) Keith is here. Everyone is in shorts and light shirts, Allura has this big floppy sun hat that is absolutely precious on her, and Keith’s face is shiny with sunscreen. Lance bets that fair skin of his will still be red by the end of the day.

They find a spot that’s decently clear and set up. Hunk, Keith, and Lance tackle the portable canopy that will hopefully keep them all from becoming completely sunburned while Allura and Pidge set out the sand blanket and arrange their stuff to keep the wind from blowing it away. Once they’re settled, the ice chest is opened and sodas and juice are passed around. The wind is strong today but not enough to be a problem for their canopy, and the waves are large and plentiful. Lance eyes the surfboard rental shack a quarter mile down the beach.

Once they’ve had enough of snacking and chatting, Lance gives Hunk fingerguns and they almost take off down the beach together, making a beeline for the surfboards. Rolo is working it as usual and after some searching they find the perfect boards and duck into the changing tent to get into their springsuits. Lance has the white and blue suit up over his hips and was about to pull it the rest of the way on when he remembers that Keith is sitting out there. Ever since Lance learned he was a Crossfit trainer, he’d started running and working out again. He wasn’t in as good a shape as he was when he’d been swimming competitively, but thanks to months of regular exercise, he at least sort of looked the part again. And maybe he wanted to show off a little. So Lance left the top of his springsuit open and hanging from his hips as they went back to the group with their boards.

“Showoff,” Hunk accused while they were still out of earshot of everyone else.

Lance subtly flexed his chest. “So? I worked hard for this.”

When they got back to the canopy, Lance did his best to act nonchalant as he set his board aside and started pulling his springsuit up over his chest. Keith was definitely looking at him. Mission accomplished.

His flirty nature satisfied, it was time to surf. Lance missed this so much, the first step into the ocean water was like heaven. He and Hunk paddled out until the water was smooth, then sat on their boards and waited. They didn’t have to wait long, Hunk caught the first good wave that came their way, riding it out and away. Lance caught the next one, and it was a crazy high. It just felt so good, cutting through the water with his board, turning, riding through tunnels of blue-green. The waves tossed him, wrecked him, dragged his body against the sand below. But every time, Lance would surface, shake it off, and paddle out for another go.

His legs finally started to shake, so Lance hauled his board back to the shore. Hunk was already sitting under the canopy again, changed out of his springsuit and sipping on a juice box.

“I was gonna give you ten more minutes before I dragged you out of the water,” Hunk said.

Lance didn’t reply, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His board hits the sand and he all but collapses onto the sand sheet, his ears ringing.

A water bottle appeared in his periphery. Lance looked up enough to trace the hand that held it back to Keith, who was wearing this cute little smile. Lance smiled back and took the bottle, downing half of it in one gulp.

Pidge starts pulling out food and Lance blindly eats whatever is handed to him, too exhausted to care what it is. It’s all delicious but with how many calories he burned surfing, he could probably be eating stale saltines and they’d taste like a delicacy. He leans back on the sand sheet and basks in the post-surf euphoria.

Lance notices everyone starting to get up. Allura is holding several frisbees with a gleam in her eye, and most of the group is rising to join her. Keith stands and, after fiddling with the collar of his shirt for a second, reaches back and pulls it over his head, letting it drop to the ground.

Lance is instantly awake because holy shit. Keith is ripped. He’s all tight skin and perfect muscles and - oh.

He’d been wrong when he’d assumed Keith’s tattoo was a wolf. It’s actually a lion, roaring fiercely, emblazoned in dark red ink over his left hip.

Keith takes a hair tie off his wrist and uses it to pull his hair up high on the back of his head. He shoots Lance a loaded glance before walking out into the sun to join everyone else for a game of frisbee tag. Lance memorizes the muscles of his back as he goes.

“Good god, you’re so loud.”

Lance sits up and turns to see Pidge, sitting in the center of the sand sheet in her shorts and green rash guard, with her phone in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“I didn’t say anything!” Lance protests. Pidge just cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Not with words, anyway.”

Lance frowns, then dares to look back out at his friends, finding Keith and tracking his movements across the beach.

.

They empty the ice chest of food and drink and, after several more hours of beach fun, they decide to pack it in and head out. Lance is going to remember this day for the rest of his life - the image of Keith glistening wet as he walked out of the ocean had finally taught Lance the meaning of the phrase “looks good enough to eat.”

Lance is so, so tired. Surfing wore him out but he still played a round of beach volleyball after that, and then swam some more. He’s going to be so sore tomorrow. He drives himself, Hunk, and Pidge back to their apartments to shower and change before they head over to the Air B&B where Shiro, Keith, and Allura are staying. Lance decides on a regular shirt and his favorite jeans, only bothering to put a single layer of moisturizer on his face.

The Air B&B turns out to be a whole house, with a yard and a little deck where they all gather around faded patio furniture as Shiro hands out beers. He gives Pidge a look as she takes one for herself.

“What?” She says as she twists off the top of the bottle. “I’m gonna be 21 in a few months, I’m in safe company, and I’m not driving.”

Shiro just sighs and sits down.

They talk and laugh for hours. Pidge only has one beer before switching to sweet tea, and Lance is a little relieved. He has no idea what drunk Pidge would be like and he’d rather not find out this weekend - he would be cash money that she’d be ornery as hell. Hunk orders some delivery from their favorite noodle place when Lance isn’t paying attention. Keith looks happy as a kid on Christmas with a giant bowl of pho in front of him, and Lance learns that Vietnamese food is his favorite.

They move inside once the sun goes down to keep from bothering the neighbors. Lance settles into a corner of the faded couch, and is too tired to panic when Keith sits next to him. Hunk launches into a story about his last term at school when he almost blew the breaker for the entire engineering building and Lance tries to pay attention, but he’s worn out and Keith is radiating heat like a furnace. Combine that with his full stomach and a couple of beers and he’s so, so sleepy.

Someone is calling his name and Lance inhales sharply, eyes fluttering open. It was Hunk, who’s smiling at him from across the coffee table. Lance is leaning on something warm and solid. He rubs his eyes and looks up.

He was leaning on Keith.

Lance’s eyes bug out but Keith just looks down at him with this tiny smile and a blush on his cheeks. Lance suddenly feels like the room is a million degrees as he carefully sits up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pass out.”

Keith laughs softly. “It’s fine.”

They all start to wrap up their stories and conversations. Lance doesn’t know what time it is but it feels late, and since they want to hit the fair tomorrow, they should all get some sleep. Hunk offers to drive home and Lance hands him the keys as Keith, Shiro, and Allura wave goodbye from the front porch.

He almost falls asleep again in the ten minutes it takes Hunk to drive them back to their apartment. Lance helps set up the pull-out sofa, then goes to brush his teeth. He’s practically nodding off at the bathroom sink when Pidge comes up to him and pulls out her phone.

“Thought you should see this,” she says, holding it up.

On the screen is a photo of Keith, and, with his head resting on Keith’s shoulder dead asleep, Lance. Keith is looking down at him and definitely blushing.

The toothbrush stills in Lance’s mouth as he swipes the phone from Pidge’s hand, using his thumbs to pull and zoom. Keith was smiling.

“Please send this to me immediately,” Lance tells her, words muffled from the toothbrush still hanging from between his teeth.

He’s in bed setting his alarm when he gets the text from Pidge with the photo attached. And if Lance hugs a pillow and kicks his feet a little at the sight, who could blame him?

.

Continued in part 6!

[allthingsfangirl101]

The Bet Part 2–Peter Kavinsky

Part 1

Reader's POV

Throughout my college tour, I couldn't stop thinking about Peter. His smile. His eyes. His laugh. The way his lips felt on mine. How my lips tingled long after he left.

Monday morning I was a little nervous to go to school. I haven't talked to Peter since he kissed me in the jacuzzi and his mom called him from inside telling him that it was time to go.

I scanned the halls as I walked to my locker. I opened it and started getting my books when I felt someone standing behind me. I turned around expecting it to be Peter but froze when it wasn't him.

It was three of his teammates. "Hi," I said softly, looking between them.

"Y/N, we have a question for you," Ryan said.

"Okay," I elongated.

"Settle a bet for us," Charlie smirked.

"What bet?" I stuttered.

"Did Peter kiss you this weekend?" Tommy's question made my stomach drop.

"What?" I asked, my voice barely coming out. "What are you talking about?"

"He didn't tell you?" Charlie laughed.

"We bet Peter that he couldn't get you to kiss him." Tommy laughed. "So, did he?"

"He," I stuttered. As the realization hit me, my eyes started to water.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," Ryan smirked.

"I guess we owe Peter 50 bucks."

"50," I said under my breath.

I looked up, my breath getting caught in my throat when I saw Peter walking towards me. He smiled when his eyes met mine, but it fell when he saw his teammates around me and the tears threatening to spill.

"Peter!" Charlie gave him a weird "bro-hug" thing as he walked over, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I gotta give you credit man," Ryan laughed. "I didn't think you could get Y/F/N Y/L/N to actually kiss you."

Peter looked at him before quickly looking back at me, his eyes wide. "Y/N," he started. "Let me explain."

I slammed my locker shut and quickly walked past them, with my head down. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I heard Peter ask his friends before chasing after me.

"Whoawhoawhoawhoa, whoa." Peter ran and stopped in front of me, blocking my get-away path. "Let me explain, Y/N. Please."

"There's nothing to explain, Peter." I said, my voice getting stuck in my throat. "It's all pretty clear. You and your friends made a bet to see who could get the school's mute to kiss them. And you won."

I tried to brush past him, but he immediately stepped in front of me. "It's not like that."

"Really?" I laughed sarcastically. "Then what is it? Huh? If it wasn't a bet then why did you kiss me?"

He opened and closed his mouth, stuttering. "It wasn't. . . I mean it was, but. . . Y/N."

He grabbed my hands, but I took a step back and pulled my hands out of his grasp.

"Congratulations," I said, my voice breaking. "You got your loser neighbor to kiss you. I hope it was worth the $50."

I brushed past him wanting nothing more than to disappear.

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

I skipped school and went directly home. I walked into my room and angrily threw my backpack on my chair in the corner.

I sat on my bed, struggling to hold back the tears. I had just started to calm down when my phone started ringing. I grabbed it out of my pocket, a sob getting stuck in my throat when I saw Peter's name and picture on my screen. I let out a frustrated scream as I threw my phone across the room, making it hit the wall.

The sob escaped my lips as I slowly slid off my bed, leaning against it and putting my head in my hands. My shoulders shook as all the frustration, hurt, confusion and embarrassment came out.

Suddenly, my door swung open. "Y/N? Baby, what happened?"

I looked up and could just barely see my mom through my tears. She walked into the room, instantly sitting next to me and pulling me into her chest.

She didn't say anything and gently rocked me, allowing me to sob. Once I had calmed down, she helped me stand up and we sat on the edge of my bed.

"What happened, sweetie?" She asked, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Peter," I said, my voice breaking.

"Peter Kavinsky? What does he have to do with. . . Did he do something, baby? Did he hurt you?"

I explained everything to her. I told her about my crush on him since we were little. I told her about the barbecue and how Peter kissed me. I told her how it was all a bet.

"Oh, honey," she said gently. "That doesn't sound like Peter. Maybe his reason for the kiss had nothing to do with the bet."

"Doubt it," I said, picking at my nail polish.

"I don't," my mom shrugged.

"What do you mean?"

"Honey, I see the way Peter looks at you when you aren't paying attention. I think he really likes you and just. . ."

"Just what?" I scoffed. "Used a bet to kiss me?"

"Have you talked to him?" She sighed when I shook my head. "Maybe you should, baby."

After trying to convince me a few more times to talk to Peter, my mom left me alone. She kissed me on the forehead and told me she would let me know when it was time for dinner.

As I watched Netflix on my laptop, my phone continued to ring almost every hour. Well, every time Peter was between classes. By the end of the day, my eyes were red and my throat was raw. My mom must have warned my dad because he didn't ask why I was so quiet at dinner.

After we ate, I headed right back to my room. I took a hot shower, longer than normal. As I got out, I got dressed and slowly started brushing my hair. I stopped when I heard an odd sound. I shook it off as I finished brushing through my knots.

I walked out of the bathroom and stopped when I heard that weird sound again. I looked over just in time to see a small circle hit my window. I sighed before walking across my room and opening it up.

I looked down to see Peter standing by our garden, looking up at me. "You. . . You weren't answering your phone," he stuttered.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "That's something you tend to do when you don't want to talk to someone."

"Give me a chance to explain. Please, Y/N. I hate knowing you're mad at me. It's been distracting me all day. I couldn't focus in class because I just wanted to see you. I let pretty much every ball pass me during practice because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Please, Y/N. Just give me five minutes to explain everything."

I hesitated as I looked down at Peter and the desperate look in his eyes. "Fine," I finally gave in. "Five minutes."

I hesitated before ducking back into my room and closing my window. I slipped on a cardigan and quickly pulled my wet hair into a braid. "Where are you going?" My mom asked as I left my room.

"Peter is here. He wants to talk." I ignored her smile as I walked down the stairs. I opened the door, Peter standing directly in front of me.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hey."

"Do you wanna talk in your room?" He asked, gesturing behind me.

I cleared my throat as I stepped outside. "Actually, let's talk out here." He nodded as I walked over and sat on the bench. He hesitated before sitting next to me.

"I never should have made that stupid bet," he sighed. "At first, I told them I wasn't going to do it, but they kept talking about it."

"About me?" I stuttered. His expression softened as he nodded slowly.

"They made jokes about what it would be like to kiss you. They thought I turned the bet down because I didn't want to kiss you. But, it was actually because I didn't want that to be our first kiss."

"But. . . You did kiss me. It was our first kiss."

"I know," he sighed, running his hand through his hair. He reached over and grabbed my hands. "You have to believe me, Y/N. When I kissed you, I wasn't thinking about the bet. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how much we used to hang out and all of our adventures chasing dragons and fairies and whatever else we came up with. I was thinking about our parents' barbecues. I was thinking about our secret friendship and how I didn't want it to be a secret anymore. I was thinking about our late-night conversations. I was thinking about us."

"What do you mean, us?" I asked, my voice getting caught in my throat.

"About how, when I'm around you, I really feel like I can be myself. You know everything about me, Y/N. More than my teammates, my friends, even my mom. But there is one thing my mom knows that you don't."

"What?"

He reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. His hand lingered, cupping my cheek. "The one thing she knows that you don't is how much that kiss meant to me," he said softly, his hand still holding my cheek.

"What do you mean?" I asked softly.

"In middle school, I realized that you weren't just my neighbor or my best friend. You also were a lot more. You were the love of my life."

"But. . . But, middle school was when we stopped hanging out at school." I stuttered, not sure what to stay to that.

"I know," he laughed as he looked away, dropping his hand. He looked back up at me, his expression changing. "It was the days I didn't spend with you that made me realize how much you meant to me. The longer I would go without seeing you, the more I realized how much I cared about you. It didn't take me long to know that I was in love with you."

"What made you. . ." I let my sentence drop.

"The guys had seen you wave at me and started talking about how quiet you were. The more they talked about you, the angrier I got. It's not that they were saying rude or inappropriate things, it was just I had this weird feeling of protectiveness over you."

"Really?" I gasped, my eyes watering.

He nodded as he pulled me closer to him. I held my breath as he pressed his lips to mine. I instantly started moving my lips against his. He pulled away, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'm sorry I didn't make as big of an effort to be around you, but I promise to change that. Starting tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?" I asked, leaning away.

"I drive you to school, walk you to and from class, hold your hand, and eat lunch with you. All the cliché couple stuff." He smiled at me.

"Couple stuff?" I asked, getting caught on that word. "We're a couple?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, sending me a playful smile. "If you'll go out with me. Officially."

"I'd like that," I smiled before pulling him towards me and pressing my lips to his.

[tbhwhocaresanymore]

Nancy Drew 1x10

SHE’S BACK BITCHES. DEAD LUCY IS BACK.

Ahem. Sorry, had to get that out of my system.

Okay so I finally had time to rewatch the new Nancy Drew ep and it is just as fantastic as the first time. When you look at it in comparison to episode one you can really see just how much the characters have grown, as individuals and especially as friends. Bess being very obviously in George’s office so she’s not alone with Ryan? Watching George go from hating Nancy’s guts to trying to break open a door with poison on the other side just to get her out? Nancy very resignedly saying to Claire “yeah but they don’t ever listen to me.” Beautiful. And Ace is back from his coma, and it sounds like Lara Tandy also soon will be. The writers are just juggling so many storylines with such a huge cast, and they are doing such a great job which is a nice change of pace from the other shows I watch.

This episode had some phenomenal jump scares, mostly involving Dead Lucy (my literal favorite character). When they entered the gym and the lights and buzzer switched on with no warning? I physically fell out of my chair. And the plot was really good too. It was written like a stand alone episode, but also in a way where it still tied into the overall plot. Nancy hanging all the ghost traps, mentions of her dad’s arrest and her arraignment, the Bonny Scot stuff. As for Claire being the murderer? The second Nancy started showing symptoms and not Claire I grew suspicious, but the plot twist was still wonderfully done, and Claire’s actress did an amazing job for only having like five minutes of lines. Also, Ace’s dad? Huge plus. He seems like a cool character and I am always down for deaf/ASL representation, and they did it so well.

I don’t trust that the Bess being a Marvin storyline is fully wrapped up, it could just go so many different ways. And for it to have been the point of like six episodes only to be wrapped up in thirty seconds? Maybe Bess is not really a Marvin and Owen is playing her to get her to help him with the Bonny Scot case because I still do not totally trust him. But I may be biased here, because the book fan in me is still rooting for her and George to turn out cousins somehow, and if she’s cousins with both George and the Marvins? That’s pushing the suspension of disbelief a little bit.

I also truly do not know where they’re trying to take Ryan Hudson’s character. Maybe going for some sort of morally grey character, or an anti-hero? He told Bess and Owen he wouldn’t help them but he also has an artifact that was clearly from Bonny Scot, and wants to get together with his dad. If I had to guess, and I love to guess, I’d say he’s planning to blackmail his family with it. Whether to just get out, or maybe get recompense for Lucy all those years ago, I don’t know. But I do love that George does not buy his bullshit.

Nancy did a really amazing job this episode. Seeing what her father’s arrest has done to her, how much it has taken away her confidence and made her question herself. I am very much looking forward to her coming out the other side of this stronger than ever. And she is honestly so brilliant. Realizing Claire must have taken an antidote and that it was the ring on her finger because one of the pearls was missing? Are you kidding me? And even though she’s dying, using her possible last breaths to try and find out if this is the woman who killed Tiffany. And then seeing Nancy Drew, badass, crooked cop catching, murder solving, take no prisoners Nancy Drew, asking for mercy, saying she doesn’t want to die, because after all she’s only 19 years old? Spectacular.

All the Nancy and Nick moments? I am officially deceased. When he was performing CPR, his voice cracking as he yelled “come on Nancy!” And then when she woke up and he gave this little sort of half-sob and just held her into him, saying “got you, I got you.” I am dead and these writers have killed me. Then at the end, when they were leaving, and Nick left and Nancy sort of turned around and rested her head against the door. The shipper in me was hoping they would get back together right then, but I also think it’s good that they didn’t. Nick broke up with her because he feels she just doesn't have room for him in her life, I think he’s going to stick with that for a while, regardless of his feelings for her. In the meantime, still pretty sure the writers will go in the Nick x George and Nancy x Owen direction, or maybe Nancy x Ace? This episode definitely showed off their chemistry.

Now I have to talk about this, you know I have to talk about this, I am so looking forward to talking about this.

DEAD LUCY.

As I said, she’s BACK. When Nancy was walking toward the light and you could just sort of see her standing up? Poetic cinema. The second I could sort of see her silhouette I was like “FUCK YES.” Nancy is literally about to die and she’s just like “not today” and screams her back to life. I have two possible reasons. This plays into my Nancy is Lucy’s daughter theory, or it could be that she knows Nancy is her best chance of her murderer getting brought to justice after almost 20 years. And then at the end of the episode, when the camera pans, I legit sat up straighter and leaned toward the tv, all ‘come on where is she’. And then she was there in the closet doorway and I felt so vindicated.

The one downside of having a cast full of amazing characters is I want all of them to be on screen all the time. (Except Owen and Ryan, they can go get married and move to Europe and be shady husbands only mentioned in passing and I would be fine with that.) Chief McGinnis, Lisbeth, Victoria who I am still waiting on, Ace’s dad, Lara Tandy. I want them all to come back.

A few final thoughts moving forward. Is Nancy ever going to get arraigned for breaking and entering? This happened all the way back in episode one or two, and it keeps getting mentioned. I mean at this point Dead Lucy better show up and kill the judge, like I need something important to happen at this thing. I am also now even more invested in my ‘Nancy’s mom killed Lucy’ theory. Her dad isn’t explaining any of the evidence against him away, and the only reason he would do that is to protect Nancy. Now either he is protecting her from the Hudsons, because they told her dad to take the fall and he knows they’ll hurt her if he doesn’t; or, he is protecting her from the knowledge that her mom is a murderer. And because I feel like we’re supposed to think the Hudsons killed Lucy, it makes me think the mom killed her. Speaking of Dead Lucy, I’m hoping there was a specific reason Simon threw her very far away, and it’s not just chalked up to ‘he’s evil’. Still hoping that George eventually becomes psychic like her mom.

Super excited for 1x11 the promo and summary look promising. I have no idea how Carson’s arrest relates to the Bonny Scot sinking, but I can’t wait to find out. And Dead Lucy will be present, which immediately improves any episode quality by five thousand percent. And the episode title, the Phantom of Bonny Scot, makes me think we might be getting another ghost. Fingers crossed.

[wetookanoath]

It's Jason day, here's a silly prompt: the boys get stuck in a Friday 13th movie, The Final Girls style

(On AO3)

5

They are not gonna make it.

Movies are easy to experience because at the end of the day, doesn’t matter how intense feelings can get, it’s still on your screen and it won’t actually try to murder you.

But the blood in his hands is real, and so is Ryan’s wound on his shoulder and the fact that all their friends are now dead, and they are freezing in a lake, under a deck, shivering and scared as hell.

All Shane could do was to look at Ryan, the way his body was shaking with the cold, his eyes still wide open in spite of the pain and exhaustion. A part of him wanted to say this is not happening, it’s impossible, out of the realm of reality. But the truth is right in front of him.

Shane knew, as he took Ryan’s hand and interlock their bloody fingers, the man looking at him with frightened eyes as he saw the ruins they were now, they were not gonna make it.

1

Shane woke up to Devon’s screams and a weird feeling of being watched.

It was not their hotel room, not the city they were in, not any place they have ever known. The only real and constant thing with him was Ryan, trying to make him run, saying it’s happening, it’s Friday the 13th and it’s happening.

When the hockey mask appeared, he laughed. He laughed like a maniac, thinking this time TJ and Ryan really did it, they went beyond themselves for the prank.

It wasn’t until someone’s lady’s head was in his hands that he realized, this was not a joke.

3

They used to joke that they would survive a situation like this, no one has seen as many horror movies as them and no one is more logical than him. Ryan had been sure they would make such a great team, their survival was secured.

Back then it was easy to joke, all Shane had to do was ignore his feelings and listen to Ryan all the time. The best part of his day, the face he loved. It’s hard to look away and ignore all those feelings when your breathing is difficult and you may never see that person again.

“I love you.” Ryan broke the silence and Shane slowly looked at him, both sitting under the same old and tall tree.

“Would you have said it if we weren’t about to get murked?”

There’s a tiny smile on Ryan’s lips. He knew he wouldn’t, none of them would. They had been running from the truth for so long, ignoring the way things were better with the other around to the point being single seemed to be the only constant in their life from outside their little world.

He should have said it back in that moment. Maybe if they had kissed or stood up to hug, Shane would have seen the killer coming and Ryan wouldn’t be bleeding, they wouldn’t have needed to run, and run, and run, and run, and run…

4

“I love you, too! I love you, too!”

It didn’t matter how many times he said it, Ryan wasn’t opening his eyes and there was nothing Shane could do.

He thought of the first time he saw Ryan, clean shaven and cheeks round, happy smile and big laugh so distracting, Shane almost asked to be seated somewhere else. But the sight in front of him was a blessing, something beautiful to go work with.

Before Los Angeles, things weren’t right. He had been drown in so much self doubt and emptiness, he had forgotten things could be light, that they weren’t just ruins.

This bright young thing in front of him was a blessing, and his life was turning off in his arms as he hide them from whoever was trying to kill them.

“Ry?”

“Not dead yet.”

Shane sighed, his chuckle sounded strange even to him. Like a sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby…”

They were just running now, Ryan always so brave was running away from the scene with him, who has always been a coward. He wished he would had given him something else. Hope, perhaps. Hope and bravery in the shore of their lives.

2

Ryan had a theory. A stupid one. Like every theory in every case of their supernatural segment. But it was all they had.

“I think we are in a movie.”

“I’ll kill you myself if we weren’t being chased by a maniac that thinks he is Jason.” TJ answered, Devon started to cry harder at his side.

“No, I mean it!” Ryan said, Shane kept driving, trying to cancel the sound of his voice.

They were all stressed and scared as hell, of course Ryan would lose it at some point. It was common for the mind to try and explain, a form of escapism when it feels like there’s nowhere to run.

But the entrance to the cabins they had been left in was right ahead and Shane sighed, driving as fast as he could to reach it and say goodbye to this hell.

“None of us remember how we got here because we fell asleep as normal in our rooms. Hell, does anyone actually knows where we are?”

“Drugs, kidnapping…”

“Teej, please. You said it yourself, the sensation of being watched? It’s because we are! It’s a movie!”

“Ryan come on!” TJ said, sounding more angry every time. They finally passed the entrance and Shane sighed, driving as fast.

“And the way people talked to us! Dialogues! They don’t know what to say when we ask different things that aren’t part of the script, the killer can find and reach us even when he goes so slow, we can see in the dark because there’s light enough for the scene to be seen—“

“Guys,” He tried to interrupt, the road was open again, rocks instead of pavement.

“We’ve been dying like in a slasher movie: the adult, the kids that had sex, the smart one, and now…”

“Guys…”

“Christ, fucking fuck, Ryan!”

“I’m the jock, TJ you are the badass, Shane is the nerd and Devon is the final girl!”

“Guys!”

By the time they finally shut up, they were passing the cabins again. The same body they left behind was there, the lights, the other cars. He drove away in silence, faster, faster, faster until they passed the entrance again.

There was a sense of dread in the car, it felt like a graveyard, these ruined fragments of people they had become, with its silence and darkness.

And then, the road opened and they passed the cabins again.

6

“I got another theory.”

“Shoot.”

Their clothes were damp, Ryan’s shoulder looking worse than a few minutes ago and they were walking aimlessly in the grass when they saw a barn on the other side.

In silence, they walked towards it as most of Ryan’s weight was on Shane’s body and the man kept their hands joined.

“What if when we die, we go back to the real world?” He suggested, Shane looked at him. “Since we fulfilled our part in the story and all.”

“At this point, Ry, I believe in everything.”

In another life, Ryan’s laugh would have been sarcastic, tonight was happy and hopeful. Shane didn’t dare to tell him he didn’t think so, these fragments of stolen moments hitting their ruins were theirs to enjoy for as long as they were able and Shane loved him, he loved Ryan too much to take his hope away.

“Maybe we can make it.” Shane said. “We’ve seen all Friday the 13th movies, right? We can kill this bitch.”

Ryan laughed again, this time seeing a bit more alive. They were close to the barn now, when the door opened and from it, Katie’s head popped, looking frightened but very much alive even if covered in mud and blood.

They stopped walking, holding each other up. He wondered if they were thinking the same, of how if this was a movie, the ruins they had become were not to survive.

But when Katie went out with a big smile, waving at them without saying a word, obviously trying to not catch anyone else’s attention… Her smile was so big, full of relief, Shane couldn’t hate her even just a little bit.

“The final girl.” Ryan murmured.

Shane nodded. “These fragments I have shored against my ruins…” Ryan looked up at him, now fearless but so profoundly sad. “Keep rolling, sweetheart.”

They met Katie at the door and immediately went in.

They were not gonna make it.

[pollylynn]

Title: Safe. Keeping. 

WC: 1500

The phone calls that she doesn’t answer start later then she would have thought. Not immediately. Not the very second that she walks away from him in the hospital. And they stop sooner. The voicemails she doesn’t listen to—hasn’t listened to, won’t listen to—stop piling up on her phone. Even the hang-ups fall by the wayside, as though in this day and age there’s any mystery to who it is. All of that—the start and stop—isn’t what she would have thought.  

She, as far as she can tell, is the only one he calls. That’s a surprise, too. That he’s not coming at her from all angles. From any angle other than her phone. 

But it must be the case. There are no questions from anyone who really matters after the first day or two. 

Castle sleeping in? Ryan asks, utterly innocent.  

Sleeping with the fishes? Your boy’s connected, you know. Esposito adds, his bid for a secret handshake with his partner, dying in mid-air. 

There’s a puzzled look from the Captain, followed by a somber one—a disappointed one—but he makes no comment. None of them gives any indication that their phones are ringing, before, during, or after what can hardly be considered a barrage on her end. 

Where’s your shadow? 

Heard we scored a floater overnight. Anything you want to share, Beckett? 

Those linger a while. Knowing grins from people who don’t know a fucking thing. They linger, but not too long. Word gets around and then there’s silence, minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day. 

Lanie doesn’t say a thing. She has to wonder. She does wonder. Kate sees the way her friend watches the swinging doors, waiting for them to smack him practically in the nose because he’s paying more attention to his damned phone than where he’s going. But she doesn’t say a word until a week out or so. 

The phone is still ringing, then. At longer and longer intervals, but it’s still ringing. The vic on the table has nothing to do with anything. A woman who’d been too well-dressed to be in the derelict building where her body was found and that’s it. The only thing resembling a lead she has, after the canvas, after the interviews, after turning the woman’s life inside out. 

Lanie has nothing for her. Blunt force trauma to the head, a few injuries consistent with a tumble down the stairs, after not before, and that’s where the story ends. Kate knows, suddenly, absolutely, that this woman’s story ends there, and she can’t bear the weight. She just can’t bear it. 

She plants a palm on the counter that runs along the wall. She heaves in a breath, and when the room snaps back into its usual geometry, Lanie is studying her with all the empathy in the world. 

Honey . . . 

Fine. Lanie, it’s fine. 

It’s the only thing the two of them say on the subject. 

There’s silence, then. The phone stops ringing, even intermittently. The last question dies away, Hey, Beckett, Where’s . . .  and there’s nothing of him left beyond the occasional hissing of the espresso machine. 

She works. She goes home. She meets Will for coffee, for a dinner. They both try too hard, and that’s the end of that. She doesn’t go for drinks with the boys when they ask. She begs off the every-other-week Sunday breakfast she’s supposed to have with her dad, once, twice. 

It’s the third Sunday when there’s a knock on her door. There’s a bike messenger with a crinkled Manila envelope in his hand. His legs are bare all the way down to the tops of the bright blue bike shoes. There’s sweat slipping into the neck of his sleeveless jersey and she realizes with a blink that it’s summer. It’s gotten to be summer while she wasn’t looking. 

She signs her name without seeing. She scoops some amount of cash out of her wallet and shoves it into his hands. It could be too little or too much. The astonished look on his face tells her nothing, and She doesn’t stop to check before she practically closes the door on his bright blue toes. 

She makes her way to the couch somehow. With uncertain steps and the envelope held at arm’s length from her body like something noxious, she makes her way there and drops it to the cushions as she sinks down. 

Her phone rings. Rage sizzles through her, but a glance reveals it’s her dad. It’s the try again week she’d suggested and he deserves better. The people in the life she’s clawed out of the wreckage of her mother’s death deserve better, so she answers. 

Yeah, Dad. Today is still good as long as you don’t mind making it lunch . . .  

No, nothing. Just something landed on my doorstep just now. 

A laugh that sounds almost normal. 

Yeah, Sunday morning and still . . . I just need to take care of it. Won’t take long. 

A laugh from him. Warm words tinged with concern. 

Yeah, Dad. Me, too. See you soon. 

She sets the phone aside. She folds her hands in her lap and pulls air into her lungs methodically through her nose. Too rapidly, too rapidly at first, but the technique does its work, out of practice as she is. 

When her pulse has slowed, when her breath levels out on its own, she reaches for the envelope. She feels the weight of it across her knees. She turns it over. It’s sealed tight. The gummed flap is smooth and secure, the brass wings are folded flat. The crackled yellow expanse is uninterrupted on this side. There’s no message scrawled, no plea or admonition. She turns it over again and studies the simplicity of it. Her name and address, Kate Beckett,  no title. In the left-hand corner, RC and his address, nothing more. 

I just need to take care of it. 

She hears her own voice, strange and far off sounding. She looks through the kitchen to the arch of glass and beyond to the outside world, where it’s summer. It’s practically summer, and that puts paid to whatever melodramatic fantasies she might have been entertaining about oil drum fires, flames licking at the careful slant of his small caps. Kate Becket, Kate Bec, Kate . . . 

I just need to take care of it.

She tosses the thing away from her. She showers. She dresses carefully. Not too carefully. She hears her voice, strange and far off and tells herself she won’t cause her dad another minute’s worry. Not another second. She takes up her keys and her wallet. Her phone. She checks the screen out of habit. She checks it again out of stupid expectation, but there’s nothing. No missed calls. None. 

She heads for the door. She’s on the far side of it, her key in the lock, when she retreats. She retraces her steps and takes up the envelope where it’s slid to lean against the big ottoman she uses as a coffee table. She shoves it under her arm, unthinking. 

She goes on like that—unthinking—until Lanie opens the door to her own apartment. 

“Kate.” 

She opens her arms as though she’s been waiting for this moment for days, for weeks, for a long, long time. The envelope crackles between their bodies. Something like a sob undulates through Kate for the first time. The very first time since she walked away down that hospital corridor. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

It’s the only question Lanie asks. The only one. 

They’re facing one another on her couch, knees practically touching. The envelope is . . . somewhere. It’s out of Kate’s hands, out of sight, and that’s a mercy. That’s where it needs to be. It’s why she came here. 

“Just keep it?” She wishes that she sounded more certain of herself. More certain of anything, but Lanie takes up that burden for her. “I think . . .” 

“I can keep it, I can burn it, I can cut him with it so he bleeds out—”

Kate snorts. She laughs and as the sound makes its jagged way into the world, she realizes how out of practice she’s gotten. “With a Manila envelope?” 

“You doubt me?” Lanie arches one brow. 

“I don’t.” Her voice is low. Her chin burrows between her collar bones. “I might ask for it. I don’t know, Lain. Maybe . . .” 

“You might ask for it,” she says quietly. “I might say no. I might not. I know you, girl.”

“Glad someone does.” 

She laughs again. She means to, but what happens instead is painful. It’s shockingly painful, even though she’s relieved. She’s relieved that it’s out of sight, out of her hands, but that crackled, uninterrupted expanse of yellow is painful, wherever it is. The silence of the phone in her pocket is painful.

She walks out the door and into the world, where it’s summer. She walks out, wholly alone. 

It’s painful. 

A/N: And that’s that. Thanks for reading. Hmmm. 

images via homeofthenutty

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Sting stays with Ryan, but it isn't always safe. Finding a new friend helps him make an important decision.

Chapters (10/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia (Fairy Tail) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

**TW for drinking/drug use and insinuations of non-con

-----

unconditional |  \ ˌən-kən-ˈdish-nəl  adjective : not conditional or limited

.

viii winter age seventeen

.

Sting spends his seventeenth birthday in an unfamiliar alley, trying his best not to pass out. He can’t remember how he got here, but he’s got a bloody lip and his knuckles are scraped, so he’s pretty sure it has something to do with Ryan.

The world tilts under Sting and he leans to the side to throw up, but nothing comes out. All he can taste is blood from his split lip, and bile and liquor in the back of his throat. It’s been a while since he had something to eat.

“Fuck,” he whispers, tipping his head back against the concrete wall behind him. He’s not drunk enough to be numb anymore, and the cold is creeping up through his jeans, under his hoodie, up into his chest where it turns into something like fear. If he can’t go back to Ryan’s, he has nowhere to go.

Don’t be such a fucking baby, he thinks, wiping at his face and shaking his head. This is your fault. He pulls his knees up to his chest and takes a deep breath, staring at the wall opposite him. Someone’s written Emily sucks cock in sharpie, and the ground underneath the graffiti is covered with broken glass.

A shiver runs through Sting and he grinds his teeth, pressing his forehead to his knees. He’s more than just drunk, and he vaguely remembers taking pills of some kind from one of Ryan’s friends. Then there’d been touching, and Ryan getting jealous, and Sting’s not sure who threw the first punch but it doesn’t really matter because now he’s cold and alone.

Continue reading on AO3

Sting’s about to try to stand when there’s a rustling sound in the trash nearby, followed by a pathetic meow. An empty can tumbles from the bin, clanging on the concrete, and it’s followed by a thin, orange tabby cat with its foot caught in something. It meows again, stumbling as it tries to pull away.

“Hey kitty,” Sting mumbles, pushing himself up onto his knees and reaching out to the cat. Its ears immediately go flat against its head. “’s okay,” he said softly, settling back down closer to the cat as the ground starts shifting again. “’m not gonna hurt you.”

The cat stops struggling and stares at Sting for a second. He realizes that its paw is caught in a six-pack wrapper and he sighs, reaching out for it again.

“C’mere,” he says softly, rubbing his fingers together. Everything’s still swimming, but he tries his best to focus on the cat. It stares at him suspiciously for a minute, then slowly approaches, sniffing his outstretched fingers before bumping its head against his hand. “Good kitty,” Sting says, running his fingers over its head as it meows at him again.

“Okay, okay, lemme see,” Sting says softly, blinking a few times to clear his vision before tugging the plastic wrap off the cat’s leg. It squeaks indignantly, then realizes its paw is free and immediately starts to purr.

Sting shoves the wrapper into his hoodie pocket, then gestures at the cat. “Get outta here,” he says, pointing toward the end of the alley. “I don’t have anything for you.” He rubs his face. “Don’t have anything.”

The cat meows at Sting again and he frowns at it as it moves closer and nudges his hand again. When he scratches it behind the ears, it starts to purr louder and rubs itself against his legs.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he rubs at his face, digging it out and staring at the screen. It’s from Ryan.

Come back, baby. I’m sorry.

Sting sighs, tipping his head back against the wall and staring up at the hazy sky. He doubts that Ryan’s really sorry, but he doesn’t really have much of a choice. If he has to choose between sleeping on the street and sleeping in Ryan’s bed, he’ll choose Ryan’s bed ninety percent of the time.

Only ninety, though.

Sting looks down at the cat, who is now curled up in his lap, purring so loud that it’s vibrating under his fingertips.

“C’mon, little guy,” he says, shoving his phone back in his pocket and tucking the cat under his arm as he slowly pushes himself to his feet. “Let’s get somewhere warm.”

~

As soon as Sting walks into the door of Ryan’s apartment, he regrets it. The whole room is hazy with the smell of pot, and Ryan’s standing in the kitchen, eyes red and gaze mostly vacant. He’s got a beer bottle in one hand and he stares at Sting like he’s not quite sure who he is.

“’s that?” he asks, gesturing to the cat that Sting has tucked under his jacket.

“I found him,” Sting says, and the way Ryan looks at him makes his stomach hurt, suddenly. “I just—he was cold.”

“What the fuck are we gonna do with it?” Ryan says, pushing himself off the counter and stepping toward Sting. “You didn’t even have the money for Jeremy for the shit he gave you, how th’fuck are you gonna take care of a cat?”

Sting takes a step backward, wrapping his jacket tighter around the cat as it meows at him pathetically. “I don’t… I was gonna take him to the shelter tomorrow,” he says. “Its just for the night. Don’t we have some… I dunno, tuna or something? He’s just hungry.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, rubbing his face and gesturing at the fridge. “Sure, I got food.”

The way he says it makes Sting uneasy. Sting’s been here on-and-off again for the last year – as long as he does what Ryan wants, he gets to stay. The ‘no’ from the first night they’d met had worn down into a reluctant ‘yes’ after several weeks of floating in a numb haze, and it’s been keeping Ryan happy. When Ryan is happy, Sting gets a place to stay and eat and drink.

Right now, Ryan doesn’t look happy.

“I’ll pay you back,” Sting says quietly. “I just gotta—I can find a new job.”

“How ‘bout you pay me back right now?” Ryan says, reaching out and grabbing Sting’s wrist. He pulls Sting close, breathing the words in Sting’s ear. “I had to pay Jeremy earlier, so he’d leave. You already owe me.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Sting says again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t want your money,” Ryan says. His hand travels down Sting’s arm to his hip, gripping it tightly. “C’mon, baby. Come to bed with me.”

Sting’s suddenly sure he’s going to be sick and he pulls away, backing up into the door. He’s not drunk enough for this, and everything is hitting him at the same time. “No,” he whispers, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t want to.”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted,” Ryan growls, reaching out to grab Sting’s arm again. The cat hisses at him, squirming desperately in Sting’s grip, and Sting pushes Ryan away.

“I said ‘no,’” he says, shaking his head and reaching back for the door handle. “I’m… I gotta go.”

“You got nowhere else to go,” Ryan says. His voice is both hard and sweet at the same time, and Sting nearly throws up.

“No,” he says again, fumbling at the handle until he can push the door open.

Ryan sneers and waves dismissively at Sting. As the door closes between them, Sting hears his final words – “You’ll be back.”

~

Once Sting is out of the apartment building, he runs. He knows Ryan won’t chase him, but a cold terror is pulling him apart, and he can’t get away fast enough. He stops once to throw up behind a bus stop, then keeps going, gasping and trying to ignore the tears on his cheeks.

When he finally stops, he realizes he’s at the bus station.

“Fuck,” he whispers, wrapping his jacket tighter around him and the cat. “I…”

He stumbles over to a bench and sits down, staring at the sign declaring departures and arrivals.

Saint Portage – Departs in 7 minutes

“I can’t,” Sting says, stroking the cat’s head when it starts to meow at him. He’s crying now, and shivering, and sort of feels like he’s going to die. “I don’t… I can’t.”

He can, though. Uncle Wes has texted him every week for the last year, sending the same message over and over.

I love you. I miss you. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, please come home.

This morning he’d texted again, and Sting pulls his phone out now to stare at the message through blurry tears.

Happy birthday, Sting. I hope you’re safe. I know that you’re hurting and life hasn’t been kind to you, but I want you to know that I’ll always love you, no matter what. I miss you every day, and I will always, always be here if you need me.

Love, Uncle Wes.

Sting bites back a sob, rubbing at his face with his dirty sleeve and trying to swallow back the tears. He looks up at the sign again, then back at the text, then at the cat that’s sitting patiently inside his jacket, staring up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Before he can change his mind, he shoves his phone back in his pocket, then darts across the street and sneaks onto the bus to take him home.

~ 

Walking up the steps to Uncle Wes’ house is the hardest thing Sting’s ever done. He turns around so many times that it takes him nearly an hour to get from the end of the block to the front door, and when he’s finally there, he can’t even bring himself to ring the doorbell.

The cat, which he’s decided to name Lector, meows pitifully at him from inside his coat. Sting shivers, clutching his phone so tightly that he’s sure it’s going to crack. He’d read and re-read every message from Uncle Wes for the entire bus ride, and he’s still not convinced that the door isn’t going to be slammed in his face the second Uncle Wes sees him.

Lector meows again and Sting takes a shaky breath, then reaches out and presses the doorbell.

He doesn’t even have time to change his mind because as soon as he takes his hand away from the door, it swings open, and there’s Uncle Wes, staring at Sting with tears in his eyes.

“You’re safe.”

Uncle Wes breathes the words as he reaches out and pulls Sting into a tight hug. Everything in Sting lets go and he starts to cry, pressing his face against Uncle Wes’ chest and letting out a loud, wracking sob.

“It’s okay,” Uncle Wes says softly, pulling Sting closer and kissing the top of his head. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I love you.”  

Lector meows pitifully in Sting’s arms as he’s squished between the two of them, and Uncle Wes pulls back, looking down curiously at the cat.

Sting has so many things he wants to say. The words are stuck – words like I’m sorry, or I fucked up, or I’m scared.

Instead he looks at the miserable cat in his arms and whispers, “Can we keep him?”

[ultimavolatusrpg]

ACCEPTED // FALCO FIELDS

35 years old, Father to Aspen Fields, Fc: Jay Ryan

Humble, loyal, closed-off, idealistic, intuitive

tw: murder, execution, death

As a boy growing up in District Nine, Falco Fields thought that he would do what every boy in District Nine would do. They would be born, they would go to school, meet the woman of their dreams, get married, have a baby, work in the fields, and eventually die. It was a typical circle of life in the Grain District. At first, that was how his life started out. He was born as one of three boys, him being the oldest of them. However, at his youngest brother was born, his mother died shortly from birthing complications, leaving him and his brothers with his father. 

Their life didn’t end up as different as he would have thought it would, looking back on it. He started young in the fields with his father, learning quickly how to harvest grain and the proper methods. Due to how badly they needed help to put food on the table, he rarely went to school so his brothers could have the privilege of doing so. At the time, he didn’t mind it. It was his duty as the oldest brother to help provide for them since their father didn’t have their mother to help with everything that should have been helped with. 

As he grew older, he took the mantle of caregiver seriously, and that branched off to when he met Orla when they were fourteen. As much as he wanted to take care of his newfound love, she had made it an impossible task for him to take care of her. She was headstrong and spritely, bringing out the adventurer in him. She made him care about what was happening beyond the bounds of their village despite the Peacekeepers always looming around them. Every time she took his hand, he knew it would be an adventure in of itself. 

Their young relationship had blossomed overtime, creating love from the two of them. Orla gave Falco a reason to want to see a bigger picture while Falco had given Orla a reason to stay still for a moment and see the world as it was in that moment. Falco loved her more than anything else in the world -- until they found out at seventeen that she had gotten pregnant. 

It wasn’t uncommon for many people of District Nine to have children at such a young age, but they normally waited until after they were freed of the Reaping. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but his family was supportive and offered to help each other when they could. It was five months into the pregnancy at their final Reaping that everything seemed to shift and then right itself all at once. It was the second loss that Falco would experience in his life, and something that he still to this day felt he needed to repay.

His name was pulled from the bowl, only to be saved within seconds by his best friend, Harlon. The amount of shock that pummeled through Falco in that moment was enough to make him quiet for days, even as he watched the screens and saw Harlon try to charm his way into sponsorship, only for him to die at the hands at the Victor of that Games on the second day -- Fell Vasile. 

Falco didn’t have long to grieve after Harlon’s body was brought back to Nine. A few months later, his girlfriend had gone into labor and she delivered twin girls. First came Aurelia, and then came Aspen. Falco was an eighteen-year-old father that was attempting to navigate a new world of parenthood. Orla never lost her spirit. In fact, she gave some of it to her daughters, especially Aurelia. While Falco spent most of his days in the fields attempting to get some money for his family and put food on the table, it was Orla who stayed at home and raised their girls. Before long, it became apparent that the two girls, while they were identical, had very different personalities.

There were days that Falco and Orla would lay in bed, talking about how much alike the girls were in comparison to them. It was obvious Aurelia had taken after Orla, while quiet little Aspen had taken after Falco. It was extraordinary to them at the time, but that was a time long passed. They spent a lot of years happy, but Falco knew that Orla was not someone to abide by the law of the land. She was rebellious and outspoken and always had been. Falco knew of his wife’s allegiances and never spoke about them. He stayed quiet, but encouraging. Then, ten years into their marriage, tragedy had finally struck them.

Someone had ratted out the family as being of a rebellious nature. However, as they hunted them down, Orla had taken the blame, leaving him nearly blameless. They rounded her, her parents, and him and dragged them out into the open in the middle of District Nine while their daughters were at school. As they tore Falco’s shirt off, they chained him to the pole and forced him to watch as they executed Orla’s parents first. As they put the woman to her knees, facing him, Falco plead and cried for them to spare her life. The last words upon her lips was ‘Falco, I love’ before the trigger was pulled. She couldn’t finish her words as her blood sprayed him in the face.

Falco was lashed thirty times as he cried and screamed in his emotional and physical anguish. It didn’t take long for him to realize that his twelve-year-old girls had walked up while he was still being lashed. It was the only time in his life where he couldn’t bare to take care of anyone else, even his own children. After that, it felt almost like he lost half of who he was. It was only after his wounds began to heal thanks to the help of a local nurse and his daughters that he managed to get out of bed at all. 

It took a long time for Falco to get back on track, but he dove into taking care of Aurelia and Aspen to the best of his abilities as a single, young father. Having just turned thirty and already being a widow, it was hard enough as it was. His best friend was dead and all he could do was try to take care of his daughters. Then, shortly after the incident, his father had a heart attack and passed away. It felt like one thing after another that kept assaulting his heart. He thought that the tragedies were over, until one day, Aurelia had turned up missing. He spent weeks trying to find her, trying and praying that she didn’t get caught by Peacekeepers, but nothing turned up. She was gone too. Just like Orla. Just like his mother. His father.

After all of that time, after all he did to try and take care of the people he loved most, all he had left was Aspen.

And then weeks after Aurelia’s disappearance, she was Reaped into the 96th Hunger Games. The moment he heard her name over the loud speaker, everything came out from under him and he collapsed to his knees, the soul ripped from his very bones. It took three Peacekeepers to pry Aspen from his arms so they could take her to the train to ship her to the Capitol. Every ounce of Falco’s resolve was stripped from him until the only thing left to hold onto was his brothers, who immediately came to his aid as soon as Aspen had been shipped off.

While Aspen was in the Capitol, Falco didn’t leave the television screens. Whenever he wasn’t forced to work, he was in the Square watching the screens to make sure his daughter was doing okay. They had dolled her up, put makeup on her, paraded her around as if she were a toy. He would have felt enraged if he hadn’t felt as though he was losing his baby girl. Every night as he went to bed, laying in the dark, he would pray his heart out and apologize to his wife’s spirit, where ever she may be, that he couldn’t protect their girls. 

As the Games progressed, no one thought Aspen would win, but her resilience and her ability to be faceless in the Games had benefitted her. As the Games continued, the longer she stayed alive, the more hope the man had. As it came down to the final Three, District Nine congregated in the Square. Then it became the final Two. As they watched the two of them running for their lives on the island, Falco standing alone in the Square with his brothers, he was suddenly surrounded by support. Strangers he only knew from passing by, grabbing a hold of him to keep him upright. It was a moment that he had never experienced -- a whole District coming together to take care of one of their own as it came down to the wire.

And then suddenly, Aspen was the Victor of the 96th Hunger Games, and Falco lost feeling in his legs all over again as he collapsed from relief and joy. He had never felt like that before, but all he could do now was hope he could have her back in his arms again soon. It took over two weeks until he could get her back into District Nine. As soon as she stepped off, he bolted to the stage and grabbed a hold of his daughter and fell to the floor with her, hugging her and sobbing from joy that she was still alive. The last little bit of his heart was still hanging on. 

Eventually, however, he knew that he and Aspen had to leave District Nine behind forever to let her join the ranks she earned in Victor’s Village. Their arrival there was slow and steady, but getting moved in and settled was the hardest part. Falco knew it would be a weird change of pace for him, but it was a better alternative than losing his daughter forever.

PENNED BY: TABBY

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Ballon For Life, Dude. (Dallon Weekes x Reader)

For: @fandom_queen_4life (on Wattpad)

Request: I have a request!! You’re one of the best oneshot writers I’ve seen in forever, so, it would mean a lot if you did this.

Ok, so, it would also be a Dallon x Reader (I’m a little addicted to iDK How currently). So, the scenery might be a bit angsty, and so, I apologize in advance. So, the reader is just chilling with Zack while they waited for the boys to change. But, then they heard arguing. Because Dallon wanted to leave, and Brendon was kinda pleading for his best friend not to. It escalated quickly, and Zack had to break the two up. So, Brallon was done. Dallon actually had a nervous breakdown at home, where the reader was with him and kinda told him that it was gonna be alright and that she was sure that Brendon didn’t hate him. Then, timeskip to when iDKHow formed. When they released 1981 EP, Brendon helped promote it (like the instagram post) and went to Dallon’s to try and make amends. Then, it could end in like, something cute or something-

I dunno, it’s probably a bad scenario, but, it would mean a lot to me nonetheless- Thanks for reading, cause you easily didn’t have to ;)

 REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

 *

Note: It hurt my heart just reading this prompt, and then writing it was pure heartbreak because I miss Brallon so damn much. Also, this is more a Brallon oneshot than a (Dallon x Reader).

Warning: A. N. G. S. T.

It was normal for there to be noise wherever the Panic! boys were. But said noise was usually a combination of laughter, singing and playful banter – not aggravated yelling. That’s why when the angered words of Brendon and Dallon ricocheted off of the walls all through the hallway of one of the concert venues, you and Zack immediately ended your own conversation and hurried to the room three doors over.

When you reached the dressing room door, you managed to duck down just in time to avoid getting hit in the face by a water bottle, courtesy of Brendon.

“I can’t fucking believe this!” the singer laughed bitterly, focusing his steely gaze on Dallon, “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Your husband scoffed and leaned down a bit. “Really? I’m an asshole? You’re the one who’s too fucking arrogant and self-centred to even let me speak!”

“You’ve already said what you wanted to say, didn’t you?” Brendon shrugged in a mock show of nonchalance, throwing his hands out and arching his brows. “You wanna leave. You’re leaving. Like a fucking traitor.”

You noticed Dallon’s hands twitch slightly. He swallowed hard and when he spoke, his voice had an eerily calm tone to it. It was unsettling.

“I’m a traitor for wanting to try and actually make a name for myself instead of playing second fiddle to you?”

It was Dallon’s turn to laugh now, except his was a real one, because Brendon’s selfishness had left no room for anything other than amusement.

“Wait, I forgot…” Dallon lazily pointed a finger at himself, “I’m supposed to see you as my saviour, right? I should be falling to my knees and worshipping the ground you walk on because you felt charitable enough to allow me to be in your fucking band. And not as a real member, oh no – I would only be awarded the title of ‘touring member’.”

“Fuck you,” Brendon spat, eyes wild as he took a few steps towards the taller human, too pissed off to even think straight, “I gave you countless opportunities to become a full-time member – you’re the one who rejected all of them! And hell yeah you should be thankful to me; I gave you a chance when no one else would, you prick!”

The singer reached out to shove his friend, but Dallon hit his hands away.

“That’s exactly my point, Brendon! I didn’t want to be a full-time member of the band! I wanted to be the lead singer of my own one. That’s all I’ve ever wanted and now I finally have the chance to do that. As my boss, I understand why you’re pissed. I do, I get that. Me leaving is gonna cause one hell of a nightmare.” Dallon’s features softened and the anger drained from his eyes as he slumped his shoulders and looked at Brendon imploringly. “But as my friend…fuck, dude, I thought you’d get it. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“How the hell can I be happy about the fact that you’re fucking walking out on me?”

Brendon was borderline incensed at this point. He knew that he was offside, and he knew that he was being unforgivingly selfish, but he had been through this exact thing too many times before and every time it happened, it reopened that wound from 2009, and he was left being infected with the same pain over and over again.

His anger was really just a desperate attempt to prevent his best friend from leaving him – just like all the others did – and he prayed that Dallon would read between the lines.

Unfortunately, Dallon was too far-gone to even think of it.

“Why is me leaving to start my own career suddenly such a big taboo, huh?” Dallon huffed impatiently, running his tongue over his teeth. “The others-“

“Exactly my fucking point!” Brendon growled, pulling at his hair frustratedly before jabbing a finger in Dallon’s chest, his breathing growing ragged. “Ryan, Jon, Spencer – they all fucking left me! You-you’re all I have left, damn it!”

Brendon had grabbed hold of Dallon by the front collar of his suit jacket, catching the taller man by surprise. Before the bassist could react, you and Zack rushed forward and separated them.

Zack pulled Brendon back and dragged him to the other side of the room, speaking softly and trying to calm him down while you began leading Dallon out of the room.

“Yeah,” Brendon shouted after the two of you, voice cracking from the strain of all of the emotion, as he struggled against Zack’s vice grip, “yeah, that’s right. Leave! Fucking leave just like the rest of them!”

~

You’d known Dallon for ten years, and you’d been married to him for five out of those ten, but you had never seen him more broken than the night of his and Brendon’s argument.

The moment the two of you crossed the threshold into your home, your husband broke down. He collapsed into your arms almost instantaneously, sobbing into your shoulder and trying but failing to stop the tremor that was wrecking his body.

All you could do was hold him and comfort him as best you could, shushing him and rubbing up and down his back the way you always did when he was feeling troublesome. Tonight, though, you didn’t seem to be enough, because a half hour later, his sobs were yet to subside.

“Shh, honey,” you tried again, pulling him closer into your embrace and pressing your lips to his head.

“He hates me,” Dallon finally managed to choke out. The clear devastation and heartbreak in his voice broke your heart. “He fucking hates me, (Y/N).”

“Baby, he doesn’t-“

“I didn’t wanna lose him, (Y/N). I-I didn’t. That was the last thing I ever wanted.”

“I know. Hey,” you mumbled, pulling back a little so that you could wipe away the tears free-falling down his angelic face, which was now blotched from all the crying, “He doesn’t hate you, okay? I promise you that. You guys’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Your promise was seemingly failing to ring true, however. Because almost a year after Dallon officially departed from Panic!, he and Brendon were yet to have a proper reconciliation.

The few times they were forced to interact were during meetings with the label or management team, and they were civil – not more than that. You could see it eating away at Dallon, tearing him apart from the inside, but he never brought it up, so you refrained from asking about it for fear of causing an argument.

The fans were understandably shattered over the news of the bassist’s departure, but for the most part they were nothing but supportive and loving, something which you were incredibly thankful for; Dallon needed it now more than ever.

The two men were not the only ones feeling the effects of the rift between them; it was affecting you greatly. Besides the fact that Dallon was your husband and his pain was your pain and all of that, you too were suffering from Brendon-withdrawal symptoms.

You and him had formed a close bond over the years, and you loved him like a brother. So you too were beginning to become increasingly miserable at the lack of Brendon in your life.

That’s why when you saw the post made by the Panic! accounts on Twitter and Instagram, you were understandably ecstatic. You shot up straight on the couch as your eyes took in the picture, and the booming sound of Dallon running down the stairs told you that he had seen it, too.

“(Y/N)!” he wheezed breathlessly, skidding to a halt at the end of the couch.

You nodded briskly, eyes still glued to the screen. “I know.”

Before either of you could say anything more, the doorbell rang.

“You get it,” Dallon waved it off, rushing over to the armchair, “I need to- need to reply to this or… something.”

You did as he said and went to answer the door, eyes widening once you saw who your guest was.

“Uh… Dall?”

“I can’t come to the door, (Y/N)!” he insisted urgently, gnawing on his bottom lip as he hovered his fingers over his cell, “I have to message Brendon! Shit, what do I say? Maybe I should just call him. Should I? Should I call him?”

“I… don’t think that will be necessary,” you half-smiled, ushering Brendon inside.

Dallon turned to you with a frown, mouth open as he prepared to argue with you. His words caught in his throat when he saw Brendon standing next to you.

The musicians stared at each other for a little while, while you stood to the side with an expectant look on your face. You were about to yell at them to communicate, damn it, when both of them started rushing towards each other.

You gasped and reached forward, preparing to pull them apart but recoiled in a mixture of surprise and elatedness as they threw their arms around each other in a massive hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Brendon apologised.

“Me too,” Dallon agreed.

They pulled apart and shared a laugh. Dallon lightly punched Brendon in his shoulder. “I missed you, dude,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” Brendon breathed with a nod. “Look, Dall, I acted like a complete dick. There’s no excuse for my behaviour. I was just- I was scared, alright? After everything that’s happened, I couldn’t handle the thought of not having you around. I mean, you’ve been a part of Panic! for longer than any of the other original members have; you’ve been my road-wife for the better part of a decade.” He blinked back tears. “Hey, I’m really happy for you; you’re one of the most talented motherfuckers I’ve ever met, and I’m super hyped that you’ll finally get to live your dream. The only reason I lashed out was ‘cause I’m gonna miss you a fuck ton.”

“Dude,” Dallon replied softly, breathing out too, “I’m gonna miss you, too. You think leaving was fun for me? ‘Cause it most definitely wasn’t – especially with the way it went down. And I’m sorry, too, for what I said – I really am grateful for what you did for me; that shit was unreal, and I’ll forever be thankful for that. But yeah, man, I’m just stoked to get working on my own shit. It’s been a long time coming.”

Brendon nodded in understanding and closed his eyes for a second. When he reopened them, he smiled at Dallon and opened his arms, cocking an eyebrow.

“As long as we can reinstate our monthly laser tag dates from here on out, I’m good. We good?”

Dallon laughed and gave an eager nod. “Brallon for life, dude.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

Taglist:

@darknessdancing

@raversam

@username-number-01834

@moosesmoose

@underscoredarcy

[the-million-mile-mountain]

It All Lies Here (Chapter 1)

Jeremy Dooley is the first to die.

It’s on the nightly news, in every paper across the city, passed around the other gangs like wildfire. Rimmy Tim, Los Santo’s infamous madman, gone up in flames, his car turned over and dug into the dirt. It had been a long and tedious car chase, the cops nearly losing sight of him several times before the Rimmy-mobile had lost control, practically flying into a nearby field. By the time law enforcement had reached the scene, there was nothing to be found aside from the blazing car and charred leather interior.

From the outside, nothing appears to change with the Fakes. Half the city expects them to go scouting for another member for their inner circle, a sixth to balance them out like they’ve always had, but it never happens. Instead, the deals go down like normal, the crew members still take jobs around the city. To all who aren’t involved, it almost looks like it doesn’t affect the Fakes at all. But there are a few perceptive individuals, the B Team and a few dirty cops on their pay role, who notice things. They’re small, hardly worth mentioning, but the Vagabond seems to stand a little stiffer during drug exchanges, Ramsey’s eyes lose their sparkle, and the Golden Boy’s shine is dimmer now.

Trevor is the first to really see it. He’s visiting the penthouse, running some updates on a small-time gang scuffle back to Geoff, when he sees Gavin and Michael on the couch in the living room. They’re staring at the television, leaning against each other, their eyes vacant and hollow. The two men are getting a little gray around the beards; they’ve been doing this for more years than anyone thought possible, but they’ve never looked so…old. Here, letting their age and grief show, Trevor realizes he’s never seen them not laughing. Or yelling. Or just generally roughhousing. He clutches the files closer to his chest, making his way to Geoff’s office as he tries to block out the sound of Jeremy’s laughter, the home-made videos still playing on the big screen.

“Knock knock!” Trevor chirps, forcing happiness into his voice as he walks into the office. There’s papers on the desk, screens glowing on nearly every wall, but Geoff is merely reclined in his office chair, a bottle of scotch in one hand and the other rubbing at his temples.

“Got what you asked for, boss.” He plops the files down in front of Geoff, startling the other man into sitting up straight. Trevor pretends to not notice Geoff wiping away the tears. Or the bags under his eyes. Or how it looks like the man hasn’t shaved or slept for about four days, if the amount of stubble on his chin is anything to go by.

“Thanks man, I’ll look it over in a bit.” Geoff settles back into his chair, the worn leather creaking in protest.

Trevor nearly turns, nearly walks away from this whole thing, but he pauses just in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. He’s known Geoff for years, ever since he took Trevor in off the streets, gave him a job, a home, people to call family. Geoff is the reason that he has Alfredo for a partner, Matt for a friend, Meg and Lindsay as a team, a future to look forward to. Geoff and his gang have always been there for him. And now, though he knows that he wasn’t anywhere near as close to Jeremy as Geoff was, he still can’t help but miss the older man.

“Look, I’m not really good with words, and I don’t know if it’s my place to say anything,” he begins. Geoff doesn’t make any indication he hears Trevor, but doesn’t tell him to go away either. “But he was a good guy. We’re all gonna miss him.” Trevor tries to ignore the way his own voice wavers.

Geoff lets out a heavy sigh, and Trevor can hear the weight in it. “Yeah. Things just…won’t be the same without him.” He sniffles loudly, taking another swig from the whiskey as a few more tears roll their way into his beard.

When Geoff doesn’t continue, Trevor merely leaves, making a mental note to tell Jack to lock up the liquor, at least for a little while.

 ..:..:..:..:..:..

 Gavin is next.

No one expects it. It’s a high-speed pursuit down the coast, Gavin’s bike creating bright pink trails in the darkness and flashing red and blue lights try to keep up with him. They have reports of the others involved in the heist having already evaded law enforcement, but this chase seems to be lasting a bit longer. From the news helicopter following along, it almost looks like Gavin will get away again just like the times before, disappearing into the night without a trace only to reappear the next day. It’s a plot even the police are expecting to follow, so it’s a shock when Gavin’s trail of lights plummets into the ocean. His bike runs dead into a guard rail, and the rider goes somersaulting into the sea.

The cops never find the body. Honestly, they don’t really try; a storm kicks up right after they lose Gavin and they lose hope of finding him. The ripples across the crime world are a little stronger this time; the Golden Boy, Ramsey’s infamous hacker, is gone. No more internet surveillance, no more tracking or monitoring how much information that man may or may not have access to. The other gangs in the area start to pick up activity, emboldened by the Super Power’s sudden loss of influence. Sure, they may seem as calm and collected as ever as they run their usual jobs, but the gang bosses and drug lords around the city boast that they have to be crumbling.

The turn out to be more right than they think.

Lindsay races to the penthouse as soon as she hears the news. Yes, Jeremy’s death had hit her and the rest of the B Team hard, but Trevor had warned them to stay away, to give the crew time to grieve. To his credit, he’d tried to tell her the same this time, but this is Gavin. Her boy, her partner in crime, her best friend is gone. And this is Michael. As much as Lindsay hurts, which is a fucking lot, she knows that out of all six partners, Michael has to be hurting the worst.

Lindsay is almost expecting there to be shouting when she bursts into the penthouse. Screaming, things breaking, Ryan yelling back, something. But instead, the quiet is almost suffocating. Ryan’s on the couch, his skull mask nestled firmly on his face and his eyes glued to the television. She can hear the re-hashing of tonight’s fateful car chase, and she’d have half a mind to scold him to torturing himself, but instead she makes a beeline for the back bedrooms.

She doesn’t even bother knocking before barging into Michael’s room, and her heart nearly stops at what she sees. Michael, the firecracker, the loudest of the lads, is curled into a ball on Gavin’s side of their humungous bed, pressing Gavin’s pillow to his face. She can see his shoulders shake from her position in the door, and the quietest of sniffles and sobs echo in the silence.

“Oh Michael,” Lindsay breathes, immediately rushing to the side of the bed. In the dim glow of the single lamp, Lindsay can see the tears tracks running down his freckled cheeks. She cradles his face in her hands, tears forming in her own eyes, and he doesn’t even look at her and she brushes her fingers down to his shoulders, pulling him into a somewhat awkward but crushing hug.

“Michael, I’m so sorry.”

Michael say nothing, just snakes one hand around her neck and crushes her to him, and she chooses not to mention him shaking as the sobbing starts back up.

They lay together in bed like this for a long while, only pulling away when Michael’s breathing evens out, his shoulders losing their tension and his face going slack. Lindsay doesn’t hide her open staring, wondering how one person can go from being so vibrant and full of life to a mere husk of who they used to be. Michael’s been in this business for nearing thirty years, an impressive feat for anyone in this walk of life, and in all the time Lindsay has known him, both as a dirty cop and as a fellow criminal, she’s never known him to not be…loud. Obnoxious. Reckless and brash. Loving and caring. Himself. But now, with his boi gone and Jeremy already buried, he’s empty. And that’s not something Lindsay likes to see.

She wipes a thumb across his cheek, the other hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I’m sorry,” she says again, because at this point, what else is there to say? Gavin and Michael were together the longest, boyfriends and partners before even meeting the Fakes. A bond like that…it can’t be fixed with just words. Michael just lowers his eyes, fingers idly playing with the now-fraying edge of Gavin’s pillow.

Lindsay’s a talker, always has been and always will be. As The Phoenix, Agent of Chaos, and an absolute madwoman with a rocket launcher, there’s nothing she can’t and won’t do to bring her enemies to their knees in both fear and awe. But now, as Lindsey Tuggey, best friend to Michael and Gavin, she can’t find anything to do except hold Michael as he falls into a fitful sleep.

When Michael wakes the next morning, Lindsay is still here, small circles under eyes and a flimsy smile on her lips. And if she notices Michael reaching to the other side of the bed, desperately looking for Gavin under the covers, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she makes the remains of the crew french toast, not sticking around long enough to intrude on their private moment of grief.

On her way out, Michael tugs on her sleeve, fixes her with a steely gaze, and whispers something into her ear.

“Take care of Meg.”

Her heart squeezes as she thinks of her girlfriend, who must also be devastated, and just nods, peeling away from the building a minute later.

 ..:..:..:..:..:..

 No one is really that shocked when Michael goes next.

Mogar had been irritable the past few weeks, without the calming presences of the Golden Boy and Rimmy Tim to ground him. Setting fires, starting fights, and causing havoc have been his pastimes of late, and the other gangs just know it’s a matter of time before he does something stupid, like set a building on fire and not make it out.

Which is exactly what happens.

The nightly news covers it as a freak accident, a stray power line that had gone haywire and set an empty apartment building ablaze. And, by all accounts, that’s exactly what it looked like. Anyone who may have been in the building at the time would be unidentifiable by now, burnt to char by the blaze. The news crew conveniently left out that there was a tag on the side of the building, a “G” in bright gold spray paint. Or that there had been a puddle of gasoline near where the fire had started. Or that there was no way the power line could have just fallen into the middle of the building.

Or that all the doors were locked from the inside.

Meg is the one to visit this time, her already-thin figure shaking with rage. She barges into the penthouse, her hands curled into fists, knives clenched in each hand. She doesn’t announce herself, doesn’t ask if anyone is there, just lets out a blood-curdling scream. Three gaunt and mildly-alarmed figures appear from around the corner, their guns dropping as they catch sight of the infamous Baby Doll.

“Meg, what’re y—”

Meg interrupts Jack as she launches herself at Ryan, the older man’s eyes going wide behind his mask. Meg can’t think of anything coherent to say as they tussle on their carpeted floor of the penthouse, so she just starts yelling. A shout when he knocks the knives from her hands, a yell when she lands a punch on his chin, a scream when he falls and she pounces, fists pounding into his chest with a series of solid thumps.

She’s barely aware of Geoff and Jack yelling in the background, of their hands grabbing at her arms, of them bodily hauling her away from the Vagabond. Ryan merely stands up slowly, eyes not reaching hers as he reaches beneath his mask to wipe away some stray blood.

“You were supposed to keep him safe!” Meg screeches, struggling against Jack’s arms as she pins the smaller girl to her body. “You were supposed to watch him, make sure he didn’t do something stupid!”

“It’s isn’t anyone’s fault—” Jack soothes, but Meg just shouts again, he voice cracking near the end as she tries to keep the lump in her throat away.

“No! Someone should have been with him! I should have—” Meg breaks off, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. She stops struggling, going limp in Jack’s arms. “I should have been there.” Meg’s voice is barely a whisper now, and she doesn’t even try to keep the tears from falling. Jack lowers her slowly to the ground, Geoff’s hands on Meg’s shoulders to steady her. Meg grips her own shoulders, as if trying to keep herself from breaking apart. “I should have kept him safe.”

Meg stiffens as large arms encircle her, and she feels the rubber of Ryan’s mask rub against her cheek as he squeezes. “It’s not your fault. He was hurting.” She can hear the tremor in Ryan’s voice as he speaks, feel the trembling in his shoulders. “No one could have stopped him, you know that.”

Meg barks out a short laugh, arms gripping at Ryan’s leather jacket, hiding her face in his neck. He still smells like Michael a bit, like Gavin and Jeremy too. Meg’s been a part of the B Team for years, known Ryan and Michael for longer than that. Back when they’d first met, it had almost seemed like they couldn’t die. Like they could rule the world forever, side by side. But now, that dream is crumbling, and the only people left are sobbing in each other’s arms, the night closing in around the penthouse and the remnants of its broken crew.

 ..:..:..:..:..:..:..

 The others follow soon after.

What was left of the Fake AH Crew had tried to do something small-time, rob a bank like they’d used to back when they were two-bit criminals. And at first, it had all gone smoothly. The money was in the cars, the police were almost evaded.

Until the blockade.

The news stations had eaten up the story of Ryan Haywood, the infamous Vagabond going down in a blaze of glory, law enforcement on all sides as he fires his weapon into the mass of officers. They say that Sergeant Burns was the one to fire the killing blow, a bullet aimed at a weak spot in his already-damaged body armor that dropped the criminal in a matter of seconds. The Kingpin and his Right Hand were nowhere to be found during the confrontation, but many suspected they had retreated to their base to lick their wounds, the only members of the Fakes left alive. In certain circles, plans begin to form: take out the last two remaining members of the original Fakes and their territory would be up for grabs. Multiple crews around the area begin to whisper and plot; now that the Vagabond is out of the way, the other two will be easy pickings.

It only takes a few moments after hearing these rumors for Trevor to immediately set out for the penthouse.

Trevor speeds over as fast as he can, swerving in between summer tourists and cops cars who didn’t bother chasing after him. Everyone in the city knows that Trevor’s fleet of cars can outrun the cops any day at half-speed, and his foot is already pressed to the floor, the landscape blurring into a haze of building and headlights as he speeds to the penthouse.

Trevor knows that something is wrong as soon as he enters the penthouse. The lights are all off save for a few lamps in the corners. The coffee table and kitchen counter are immaculate, not a stray coffee mug or glass of beer left out, almost like no one’s lived here in months. The silence in the flat is only broken by the dull drone of the television still left on; just a few months ago, he’d be able to hear Michael screaming after Gavin, Jeremy laughing manically as he watched from the couch. Geoff would be half-heartedly trying to get the two younger men to calm down, and Jack and Ryan would just watch from the kitchen with matching grins, tired but fond, on their faces. The penthouse had never been silent, or clean for that matter, in the several years that Trevor had known the six Fakes. But now…

“Geoff?” Trevor calls out into the empty house. “Jack? You there?” Only his own voice answered him back, the blank, white walls almost mocking him. Trevor takes a moment to wonder when the photos, pictures of heists and vacations and picnics, had disappeared from the walls. It may have been right after Jeremy died; after all, being constantly reminded of someone who wasn’t there anymore couldn’t have been easy.

Trevor makes his way into the living room, and the two things that catch his eye make his heart drop. The first is an envelope, plain white with only his name on the front. It sits on the coffee table, as if awaiting his arrival. The second is the television. It’s tuned into a news channel, the blond woman sitting behind her desk obviously reading off of a teleprompter behind the camera.

However, it isn’t simply the news story that has Trevor’s blood freezing in his veins. It’s the video playing in the top right corner of the screen, and Trevor frantically grabs for a remote, turning up the volume in horror.

“—appears to have collided with the side of Mount Chiliad after a malfunction with the aircraft.” The camera zooms in on the brunt-out husk of a chopper, the make and model undeniably Jack’s prized helicopter. Trevor would know that vehicle anywhere; heaven knows he’d gone on enough jobs in that thing with Jack in the cockpit. “Officer Sorola of the LSPD recovered two bodies, positively identified as the Kingpin Geoff Ramsey and his right hand, Jack Pattillo.” The screen in the background changes to a still photograph of Gus, still in his uniform, and Trevor could have sworn that Geoff had paid off that officer ages ago.

The image of Jack’s helicopter, still ablaze and bent at awkward angles, slides back onto the screen, and Trevor can’t seem to move. He isn’t one to cry very often, hell he’s more likely to laugh something off and deal with it later, but something hollow settle sin his chest, and he opens Geoff’s letter without thinking, bringing the paper up to his face with shaking hands. It has Geoff’s trademark scrawl across the front, and he’s thankful he’s had years of reading his handwriting, or else it’d be illegible.

 Hey there,

If you’re reading this, then I guess the worst happened. I didn’t wanna write this; it’s bad luck to act like you’re gonna die, ‘cause then it’s a guarantee. But with everything that’s happened, Jack said we have to have a backup plan. Which is you, I guess. The key to the penthouse and all of the passcodes to the warehouses and shit are in this envelope. Looks like you’re the next Big Man, kid. I hereby beq beake bequeathe leave the city to you. Take good care of the city while we’re gone, keep Lindsay and Meg from blowing it up.

See ya, kid.

Geoff, Jack, and Ryan

P.S.: The faucet in the secondary bathroom leaks, just so you know. Might wanna get that looked at.

 Trevor glances between the screen and the letter, his heart pounding in his ears, his hands not quite feeling like his own. When Trevor had joined the Fakes, they had become his family almost instantly. That family had only gotten bigger when the rest of the B Team had come aboard, the whole lot of them nearly inseparable. But now…

It’s just them left. Just Trevor and his team. His family, the people he could trust with his life and more, are mostly gone now. He only has Alfredo, Lindsay, and Meg left. And as much as he truly cares for his team, sees them as family, there’s nothing they can do to replace Geoff and his goofy grins, his advice that sounds a little too sage coming from someone like him, or Jack with her reassuring presence and sharp wit. Michael too, Gavin and Ryan and Jeremy, they had at one point all seemed so invincible. But now, with the letter in his hands and the television still droning on, Trevor can’t help but feel small, almost lost without his family.

He isn’t quite sure how long he stands there, how long the tears have been falling, but when he comes back to reality, Alfredo’s arms are around his shoulders. They’re sitting on the couch. The TV is off, the letter in on the table, and Alfredo murmuring comforting words to him through his own tears. Trevor just lets this happen, closing his eyes and hoping that this nightmare will end soon.

..:..:..:..:..:..:..:..

Here’s the first chapter of It All Lies Here, finally! It’s been up on AO3 for a while (username is MillionMileMountain if you want to stop by and hang out), but this is the first time I’ve had a computer that could connect to this site for a while, so it’s a little late, but here you go! I’ll be putting the other two chapters up here in a bit, but please feel free to leave comments or anything! Also, my inbox is always open for prompts and things, or even just to talk. Thanks for reading! :)

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Imagine: Insecure Black plus sized reader x Tom Hiddleston

Requested by @thisiskayworld : Can I get a plus size black reader who’s with Tom Hiddleston but is kinda insecure because she’s not the women he’s dated before (l.e Taylor Swift) but he shows her how beautiful she is to him  (maybe a little smutty)

“Hi and welcome back to E!News, now let’s talk about the hottest topic at the moment!” Ryan Seacrest spoke on the TV.  “Tom Hiddleston just announced on his Instagram that he’s been dating Y/n for a year. The superstar took it up himself and posted a picture of Y/n and wrote”, he finished before Tom’s picture was shown on the screen.

“My darling Y/n, today it’s been a whole year of full of love, kindness passion and growth. One year since I made the best decision in asking you on a date. One year since you’ve shown me what true love is! I love you my sweet darling. Sincerely your loving boyfriend Tom xx.”

“Wow isn’t that the sweetest? But how come that Tom changed from Taylor Swift to a big sized business woman like Y/n?”, Ryan questioned.

I frowned and looked down, fidgeting with my fingers. Ever since Tom posted that picture of me, my social media accounts have been blowing up. Most of his nice and wonderful fans have messages me and told me that they were happy that we’re a couple, and other people told me to lose weight, participate in the biggest loser or told that Tom downgraded by asking me out.

Suddenly the TV was turned off. Turning around Tom was standing behind me with the remote in his hands and an angry look on his face.

“It’s none of their business”, Tom spoke clearly annoyed at Ryan Seacrest. I sighed and stood up wanting to go to our shared room and hide myself under the covers.

Tom stopped me by reaching for my arm and pulling me in a tight hug. “You’re beautiful Y/n, all of you, please don’t listen to those attention seekers. I love every inch of your beautiful dark skin darling”, he whispered and then kissed my forehead. I sighed and closed my eyes and enjoyed having Tom so close to  me.

“Thanks baby, I love you”, I told him while looking up to him. He smiled back at me, his eyes holding so much love in them. “I love you too darling”, he whispered.

“Hey are you hungry? I could make us something to eat”, I asked Tom, my stomach growling at the fact that I hadn’t eaten yet. Tom nodded his head and followed me into the kitchen, his hands never left my thick waist.

I decided to make some fajitas with salsa sauce and guacamole. Tom helped me season and cook the chicken in the pan, while I cut some tomatoes, red onions, peppers and made the salsa sauce and guacamole.\

We finished cooking after an hour. Tom took his plate and went into the living room, making himself comfortable on the couch. I followed him after I finished cleaning and washing the pans we used.

I sat next to him on the couch, “Bon appétit”, I told Tom. He chuckled and gave me a sweet kiss before repeating the words to me. We ate in a comfortable silence. “Wait don’t move Y/n”, Tom said suddenly while taking his phone out of his pocket.

“Smile baby”, Tom instructed me while he held his phone in front of him.  I smiled and stuck my tongue out for him. Tom chuckled and posted the picture and tagged you in it with the caption “Eating with my favorite person”

He locked his phone and we finished eating. I leaned my back against the couch and closed my eyes, feeling full and happy. Soft lips pressed against mine, making me open my eyes and see Tom kissing me sweetly.

“Sorry you just looked so cute, I couldn’t help myself”, he apologized. I laughed and told him that I didn’t mind it at all. Tom smiled at me before taking our plates from the table and walking into the kitchen. Suddenly phone buzzed on the table. I picked it up, unlocked it and saw that the tagged picture Tom posted of me was liked by Taylor Swift liked and commented “So pretty” and every body was going crazy

I clicked on Tom’s pic and went into the comment section.

Taylor Swift: So pretty

Ew Taylor probably commented because she felt sorry Tom’s downgrade

Omg Tom should watch out, his “favorite”person might eat him next

Y/n is not a good role model, she’s showing all that’s it’s good to be overweight and do nothing about it

Omg Tom should’ve stayed with Taylor, at least he could pick her up lol

The comments never stopped...I felt a pang of hurt run through me as I read through the negative comments about me. Everybody was telling me to lose weight, some even proposed to make me a work out plan.

I felt so ashamed reading all the comments. Maybe it’s true, maybe Tom shoudl’ve stayed with Taylor or someone thin...My view on my phone became glossy as I felt the tears build up and run down my cheeks. I closed my eyes and sobbed into my hands. I tried to be as confident as possible but those comments always tore me down and made me ashamed of my thick curvy body.

I didn’t notice that Tom had come back in the living room. When he saw me crying he rushed over to me. “Darling what’s wrong”, he asked me panicked while frantically trying to get me to look at him. I bowed my head and gave him my phone.

Tom looked at me confused while I stood up and started to walk up the stairs, into our shared bedroom. Tom didn’t know what happened. He hated seeing his precious Y/n cry because it hurt him.

He unlocked Y/n’s phone and immediately was in the comment section of his picture. He read what Taylor had written and shook his head confused to why she would even make the effort to comment something. But the comments that followed hers were the worst. He read them all and felt so much anger run through his body.

Tom dropped the phone and went up the stairs, into his and Y/n’s shared room.

I was lying on the bed when I heard Tom’s footsteps approaching. I panicked at ran into the bathroom and locked the door. “Darling?”, Tom called out for me.

I sniffled while wiping the tears off my face. I walked over to the mirror and took some wet wipes to remove my make up. “Darling please open the door”, Tom begged while knocking on the door.

I sighed and walked to the door and opened it, being greeted with Tom looking hurt, angry and worried. “ I read the comments”, he spoke softly. I nodded my head and walked into the bedroom with Tom following me.

“Lay down on the bed”, he suddenly instructed me. I frowned but silently did what he asked me to do. I laid on my back and looked up at Tom who crawled over to me and hovered above me. “I love you, every inch darling. Please don’t think that you’re less worth because of your weight. You’re perfect I love every stretch mark, cellulite dimple and all the thickness of you.”, he whispered while staring into my eyes.

I stared back and in that moment it really downed on me. Tom loved me no matter what and no matte how much I  weight. I leaned up and kissed him, showing him how much I loved him. Tom kissed me back with just as much emotion.

I pulled back and smiled up to my handsome boyfriend. He winked at me before he started undressing me. He took his time to kiss and caress every inch of my skin until I was lying naked on the bed.

Tom stood up and removed his own clothes before he hovered above me again and kissed me sensually. I moaned as his hands went down my waist and gripped them tight. Tom continued to leave kisses all over my body before he positioned himself in between my spread legs and started to kiss my inner thighs.

“If you would know how much I love your thighs wrapped around my head and waist darling”, he whispered before grabbing them and wrapping them around his head, while darting his tongue out and slowly moving it over my clit.

The action made me cry out in pleasure, getting more and more aroused.Tom wrapped his lips around my clit and started to suck on it, while he slowly slid two fingers in my entrance.

I cried out and arched my back from the bed while Tom never stopped his movement. His fingers picked up the pace as he drove me to my high. I came with a loud gasp and moaned Tom’s name when he kept on sucking on my clit, making my thighs shake.

After I came down from my high, Tom unwrapped my thighs from his head and crawled up until he was facing me again. He kissed me, making me taste myself. His lips never left mine when he aligned his length to my entrance and thrusted into me.

I whimpered in the kiss and wrapped my arms around his waist while Tom thrusted into me with a steady rhythm. Tom groaned and let his head fall in the crook of my neck while whispering how much he loved me.

“You’re a goddess darling”, Tom said through gritted teeth, the pleasure making it hard for him to speak. I moaned when I felt him twitch inside of me, while I felt my second orgasm approaching.

I arched my back when Tom suddenly lifted my right leg and positioned it on his shoulder, the position making him reach a deeper spot inside of me. Tom moaned and thrusted deeper into me, hitting my sweet spot over and over again.

I came with a loud whimper, while Tom continued to thrust into me. He came shortly after me, feeling my inner walls clench around him. Tom slipped out of me, and laid next to me while trying to catch his breath.

“I love you sweetheart”, he whispered.

“I love you too Tom, so much”.

Hope you like this one :D

Requests are open :)

xxx

Emma <3

[becausehiships]

No Mystical Design - Chapter 11

Note:  it's almost 6 months without her. it took me 5 months to read through our google chat. i'll start organizing everything we ever wrote and edit it out of typos and start posting. i'm sorry it's taken so long; grief is fucking awful.

this one is a stupid little one we wrote right when glee ended.  they get much better as time goes on... i promise to organize everything and get it posted.

the one that happens when Darren gets a case of nostalgia.

Masterpost | AO3

Darren has the biggest, baddest, most powerful iPhone money could buy.  So when a notification pops up to let him know that he’s nearly out of space, he scoffs loudly in his empty apartment and sets to start a reorganization project between his iCloud and the phone immediately, since there is absolutely no point to having a four thousand megapixel camera on a cell phone if he can’t use it to capture every special moment.  It’s sunny and warm in the city; he should probably be outside.  But then he’d want to take pictures of how beautiful everything around him is and he can’t do that until he cleans out what’s simply not needed.  He plugs in and gets started.

As he’s watching the photos and videos flash across the screen within the import to his hard drive, it’s as though he’s watching a chronological movie of his whole life.  Every single moment that he once thought to be important enough to document reflects for a split second, glaring back at his reflection he sees against the sunlight of the window behind him.

Every person in every picture is familiar and a complete stranger, and holy shit they’ve all come so far since Darren’s start on the show.  Baby faces and grins, the billions of photos from hanging out on tour, selfies that weren’t classified as such yet on duck boats and in front of royal living quarters and decked out in pointed black hats in Salem, and later at sushi restaurants and Disneyland and whoever’s house.  Pictures of a baby-young Chris taking his first shot somewhere in the midwest, pictures of Ashley and Dianna posing in second-hand prom dresses they found in a vintage shop in Brooklyn, the Zurich sky, the Eiffel Tower.  Dublin.  A group photo dressed as Cheerios, Darren blowing out birthday candles with Chris grinning at him in the background before they were totally good again.  A video of Chris doing Single Ladies on tour.  Warbler rehearsal.

Darren leans back in his chair and covers his wet eyes with one hand.  He feels flushed and dizzy and all alone.  Cooper appears and sits beneath Chris’ desk, staring at him through the glass top.

“Okay, Coop.  I’ll take you in a minute.”

He navigates to his iTunes shamelessly and scrolls to the exact four minutes and fifty-seven seconds that he needs to hear right now.  He crosses the room and turns on the bluetooth stereo system on the top of their dresser.  He comes back to his computer and hits play.  Lea’s voice floods the apartment, and he sits underneath the desk with Cooper, hugging the only thing that will let him right now.  The dog grins and bears it, wagging his tail softly.  Man’s best friend.

Glee has given him so much opportunity, a chance at fateful and unconditional love, friends and lovers that have since turned into family.   Even if no one has really reached out to Chris or Darren since they found each other again, they all have a special bond that only those on the inside looking out will ever understand.  It’s a connection that will remain for the rest of their lives.

He loses it at more than trophies on a shelf because God, that’s so fucking true.  He wrote the damn song and he doesn’t realize the thing that he took away from the experience is the new shape of his career, his life, his heart.

Darren sobs in the midst of pushing Cooper off of his lap, the dog glaring back at him before stalking away to spitefully pee on the rug near the laundry room and Darren can’t bring himself to care.  Not now.

He lets the song fade out as he climbs in bed and hugs a pillow, crying silent flowing tears that stream down the bridge of his nose as they fall to their death.  Nearly three years to the day and it finally hits him.  He feels like such a douchebag for not getting emotional at any point before right this second.<br /> Those days were sacred and irreplaceable but most of all, over.

Shaking his head, he attempts to snap himself out of it once and for all.  It’s not fair that he’s crying about it when it’s old news; it’s not fair that he’s sad about any of it because he would trade it all in a million times if he could still wind up with Chris in the end.

He hears the door’s lock hitch; he hears footsteps in the foyer and a distinct, “Oh Coop!  What’d you do?  Dare?”

He doesn’t trust his voice so he waits until Chris can figure out the fact that he’s right around the corner.  Eventually, he’s welcomed by a tilted head and a very confused expression.

“What happened?”

Darren turns his neck to look at Chris.  “Glee’s really over.”

Chris looks startled and laughs but cuts himself off when Darren continues to stare, wet eyelashes and puffy red cheeks to boot.

“Oh, honey.  Did it just hit you?”  Chris rushes around the back of the couch and gathers Darren in his arms.

“I owe my whole life to that stupid show, Chris.  My whole life.”

“You would have found your career without Ryan Murphy.”

“Would I have found you?”

Chris lets out a larger than life sigh and curls his lips into the childish smirk Darren loves.  “I would have still been in Clovis without Glee.  I imagine I’d be the assistant manager of a Best Buy.  So no, probably not.”

Darren nods and kisses him, a brush of lips hardly enough to enunciate his gratitude for this perfect moment between the two of them.  “I love you so much, Colfer.”

He’s faced with a genuinely concerned, nervous look on Chris’ beautiful face.  “Dare…”

“Shhhh, just hold me.”

“That, I can do.”  Chris rubs a palm up and down Darren’s forearm, ignoring the fur babies to take care of his boyfriend.  “I love you.  But honestly, why did it just hit you?  How?  It’s been...”

Darren shrugs.  “I dunno.  Just looking at pictures.  Hey, what did you take from set?”

Chris giggles.  “Oh.  I don’t remember.”

“Shut up.  Of course you remember.”  Darren smiles and pats the couch under them.

“Fine.”  Chris combs through Darren’s curls and looks out into space as he thinks.  “I took… the hippo broach, a pair of pants from the last episode, Pavarotti’s bedazzled pencil box casket, because I actually spent time and effort on that. Oh, and I got you.”

“Me?”

“I took miniscule little things that, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing.  Because the prize I got was so much better than your couch or Cory’s jersey, or Santana’s Cheerio skirt.”  Chris nuzzles Darren’s neck.  “What was the line?  We didn’t need to win any stupid show choir competition singing a break up song.  Because we won so much more than that.  What’s the line!”

Darren grins and straightens his posture, slipping into Blaine one last time.  “We did win.  We got each other out of this.  That’s better than any trophy, don’t you think?”

“I ask you to walk the dog once while I’m gone, maybe pick up some milk while you’re on your way home, and nothing.  But you can remember one measly line from like, your fourth episode ever.”

“Certain important things stick.  When I was memorizing that script, I saw so many… I thought about you a lot back then.”

“And now?”

“And now.”  Darren shrugs his way into a smirky little kiss that turns quickly into so much more.

[ghoulluck]

She had seen an angel in the hallway. Julien put a hand to her mouth as she watched her spread her black raven like wings over Ryan. Her legs failed her and she sat in the middle of the hallway. She put her hands over her head as her knees came up to guard her from the outside world. Coté put her arms around the blonde as she began to scream and fight and kick. Edmund pushed the other away. Coté immediately looked as if she had been burned at his touch. Her hazel eyes burned into his blue ones as Julien started to sob weakly and started to pray against his chest.

None of them were allowed to see Ryan. They weren't family. Edmund had his arm around Julien as she slept. Her anxiety had been deemed too bad, that she when she had willingly asked to be put into a medicated sleep it was a relief. Antoly's and Hart's feet were ceaselessly tapping. The russian was gripping his significant other's hand so tight that his knuckles were white. There was dark tracks of tears on Hart's face that matched the sedated teenager's. They were waiting.

Antoly had phoned the Chilean girl who had gone home hours ago for Paulina, but hadn't come back or gotten an answer. There was a bad feeling churning in the russian's stomach and he was starting to believe there was a reason why Julien wanted to sleep instead of waiting. A banging sound made Antoly jump to his feet. Edmund looked lazily in the direction, pinching his nose before rubbing his eyes as Eddie emerged from the hallway with the coffee he had requested. Her big brown eyes were met with Antoly's blue ones. Their hands went to their hidden guns as the sound got closer. Edmund reflexively put a hand over Julien's head.

"Indy!" The voice that followed the noise was broken and cracked.

Coté tried to grab his arm and he brushed her off easily.  The swinging doors opened as he used both hands to get him out of his way.  His boots were so loud against the floor, that she swore she couldn't hear anything over the thud of his weight. "You can't see her--" He knocked her back as she dug into him with all her might that the skin split from the nail.  Coté didn't understand. Her boots squeaked across the floor as he dragged her when she latched on to him again.

"It can't be the last thing I said."

When she walked out that door, it felt like it was the last time he would ever see Ryan. It felt like bricks on his chest. Every step she had taken was one more brick. He had all the weight of her distance on him and it was his fault. Coté as similar as she was, she was a footnote like a stupid yellow post it on a mirror reminding him of something important. She wasn't the real thing. Just close enough to it to remind him to keep going.

He elbowed her and she crashed back with a bloody nose. Coté skidded across the floor and she got up again to tackle him as each door kept booming. Hart and Eddie visibly flinched. The coffee was set down. Edmund rose from his seat. His blue eyes were trained on the door before it too boomed open. Eddie moved out of the way to shield Julien as Edmund put a hand behind his back to signal the woman to protect what was important to them.

Antoly moved across the floor as fast as he could. There was surprise all over his face just like it had been on Indy's when the charges had been dropped. There was no explination, no hail marys to say and he now knew why. He had to make things right between him and Ryan before the last thing she would ever remember him for, was his abandonment. He stopped before Antoly who had become a buffer between him and Ryan. "Don't stand in my way, boy," he huffed in a voice that cracked. There was an angry look in Indy's eyes.

"You can't go to her. None of us can."

There was a twitch across his features. No had never stopped him in the past. No would not stop him now. His hand grasped Antoly's shoulder. "You stand out of my way boy." Indy's jaw and temples clenched. The russian had seen that look on John's face. (Whoever comes... I'll kill them all.) Antoly swallowed. Edmund stepped in the very outside of Indy's tunnel vision.

"You can't keep me from her!" The bellow was so loud that even Julien's troubled dreams shook. Her eyes cracked open. He was here. The unstoppable force.

"I tried telling him--" Coté stated as he pushed through Antoly who stood there stunned. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be in the way, but he knew there were cops, cops he didn't have under his pay or in his midst of friends and Indy was going to go straight back to the slammer. She was latched to him again and Antoly grabbed his other arm as he powered forward. Their shoes squeaked across the floor and Edmund jointed the intent as he grabbed the man's other arm.

It couldn't be the last words she heard.

He bellowed as he knocked them down. Even between the three of them, there was no match. Antoly was knocked back into the wall with a crash that made other patrons finally look when it was the last thing they wanted to see. "You can't keep me from her!" His voice cracked and for the first time it was obvious he was both angry and full of grief and guilt and things he couldn't keep in anymore.

Julien blinked the medicated sleep from her eyes. Eddie gripped her and breathed in shakily as Hart closed their eyes to look away. They knew that kind of grief. When Edmund skidded across the floor, she joined the effort.  As short as she was, she was just as determined to keep him back. Indy kept putting one foot in front of the other. The effort became a pile of people, their feet dragging across the floor as he dragged them as if they were nothing.

Julien could see him and she stumbled away from her seat. Hart grabbed her wrist, but it sent a startling amount of static electricity through them. "Julien don't come near--" Eddie stated as she planted her feet firmer in the ground. The blonde could hear everything in his head. His strength was starting to slow down, but it wasn't going to stop. Julien became the pin, the last nail that bolted him to the ground as she wrapped her arm around his head and began to whisper into Indy's ear as she stared into her God father's eyes. Both men froze.

He had never actively seen his god daughter use her abilities.

Her eyes were hollowed out by a red color and so were Indy's as he began to sink to his knees. Finally, when he gave into her influence after a tense minute, Julien slipped across his back and Antoly had to grab her as she began to seize.

Edmund gave a soft exhale as he wiped at his tired eyes. After all this was said and done, he couldn't wait to get back to the cabin to take care of the seperate life he had there and to figure out what this part of his life needed to make it better for both his god daughter and the girl she was so attached to. Indy was numbly staring at the white wall. His face was puffy from a combination of crying and getting hurt. He was sitting next to Paulina who was gripping his hand so tight that her knuckles were a sallow white as she asked the jackal headed god to not let death claim the teenage girl.

Julien had somehow wandered off.

When his phone rang, he was puzzled to see a weird symbol pop up and Eddie grabbed it as she suddenly passed him by to give Indy the phone. On the heavily pixalized screen was a very drowsy looking Julien who had barely come out of her seizure not more then an hour ago and couldn't remember anything at all except for her drive to see Ryan curled up in the seat bedside. Next to her was Ryan and she laid her head on the bed as the screen became solely concentrated on the goth. Someone else was holding the phone.

He snapped out of whatever trance he had been.

"Ryan-" His voice was funny and tinny from all the yelling he had done. She didn't even look concious to him, but he was laughing and crying in relief that she was alive. Paulina let go of a breath she had been holding in, but didn't stop praying to the only god she had proof of. Coté squeezed into the frame with a shakey looking smile that turned into a sob of relief. Antoly and Hart leaned in trying to see the screen.