#except id probably only be able to do like. two different couples at most

[ella-ashmore]

bbbhhgh. i sjould be eepjng but. the brainworms

[etherrealoblivion]

A Broken System

MASTERLIST

Summary: At her birthday celebration, Y/N is out on the town enjoying herself when she runs into a cute FBI agent who she’d love to take home and do terrible things to. Normally, someone meeting an FBI agent at a bar wouldn’t be that big of a deal. There’s just one, miniscule, microscopic, meager, problem... Y/N is only twenty.

tags: Large Age Difference, power imbalance, choking, Dom/sub, safe sex, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, cliffhanger.

A/N: this just made so much more sense in third person. i tried replacing it with second person, but trust me it did not work. hope you enjoy! gif by @toyboxboy​

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5,930

~

Spencer Reid never really thought he was attractive.

Probably had something to do with his perpetually messy hair, gangly stature, and his tendency to ramble on and on and on and. . .

Yeah. Like that.

Another factor definitely was the fact that he was in his 30’s and had never really had a stable relationship. Sure, he’d had relationships with a few women. Well, two women. The first being a girl he’d met in college with whom he had a brief fling. Spencer didn’t really count it as a stable relationship due to the fact they barely even kissed. And the other woman, the only woman he’d ever really loved, died tragically several years ago. 

Maeve.

Maeve was the real reason Spencer didn’t like going to bars with Morgan or being set up on dates by Penelope. She was the reason that Spencer wasn’t interested in anyone anymore. Who could possibly compare to Maeve?

Damn it. That was the other reason he wasn’t looking to date. He knew how the mind worked and there was no doubt that if any new person came into his life, she’d be unconsciously compared to Maeve. He couldn’t put anyone through that. 

So, Spencer Reid stayed single. Which, for him, was relatively easy. Whenever someone started to get a little too close with him, he’d blabber and spout facts until they ran off. Morgan would ask what happened and Reid would just put on a slight frown, mumbling how she had to go. 

The charade got more effortless the more they went out. Morgan, almost always going home on the arm of some woman and Spencer content to get a cab back to his own place, have a quick efficient orgasm, and fall asleep.

He had a system. And no one was going to break it.

~

Y/N hated the summertime. 

Well, she didn’t usually. Anywhere else on the planet it would be mildly enjoyable. The beach, ice cream, staying up all night. All that fun crap. In Washington D.C, however, summer was hell.

But! When one was accepted into Georgetown and their parents offered to pay FULL tuition plus housing, how can one say no?

Seriously, she wanted to know.

After two whole years in this armpit of a town, Y/N had finally gotten used to the sweltering heat that plagued the city during the summer. Whatever. She just stayed in the comfortable A.C. all day anyway.

But, the summer before her third year was almost over, and the only thing she could think about now was graduating with a major in Journalism. She didn’t really like most of the courses, but it’s what she needed to do to become a full-time editor.

Living in a rent-free apartment was heaven. No roommates meant no worrying about, well, anything. The only problem was, her parents could hold it over her head every time they called. Which is why she never answered their calls.

Today, however, answering was unavoidable.

Because not only was it the day before her first class, today was her twentieth birthday.

Y/N was in the middle of getting dressed to go out with her friends when her phone vibrated from the kitchen table.

“Hello?”

She tried so hard to suppress the cringe at her mom’s voice.

“Sweetie! How are you? Are you eating?”

“Yes, mom.”

Oh boy. Strong start, mom. 

“You look skinny in the pictures on Facebook!”

Yeah, she was definitely going to be late.

Surprisingly, it only took five minutes to push her mom off the phone, insisting that her friends were on their way and she had to keep getting ready. 

A sharp rap on the door saved her.

“Come on!! It’s almost ten!” Y/N’s friend, Mina, said, annoyed. “All the old people leave the bars at ten and if we don’t get there soon, the bouncers won’t let us in!”

Y/N didn’t really understand the logic there. Hot girls always got into bars. Especially late at night. How were there not more crimes committed in clubs? Maybe she’d find out in her first class tomorrow.

“Hey!” Mina snapped her out of it, “Come on! Let’s go.”

They arrived outside a dinky little club a few minutes later. It had taken Y/N a while to get accustomed to how close everything was together in this town. Before college, she had been a small-town girl. Promise ring and everything. That, uh. That didn’t last long.

Before they got in line, Mina took a long satin sash out of her purse and secured it across Y/N’s torso.

“What the hell’s this?”

The sash was white with large pink flowy letters that poignantly spelled out: Birthday Bitch.

“It’s a sash.”

Three of Mina’s friends strode up, quickly exchanging hugs and wishing Y/N a happy birthday.

“I see that it’s a sash, but why am I wearing it?”

Mina confidently strode up to the bouncer, Y/N at her side, fake ID at the ready. Technically, it was the right birthdate, the year was just a little off.

“Go through. Happy Birthday,” the guy said, barely sparing the ID a glance, more focused on the huge sash. It made sense. She didn’t look her age. No one would think she was only in college by taking a glance at her.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Look,” Mina pulled her aside just before they entered, “this makes every single guy in there want to buy you a drink. So, go enjoy a free Shirley Temple, on me.”

Y/N scoffed and entered the club, immediately overwhelmed by the booming of the music.

Jesus Christ. How did people not die from this? It felt like her heart was beating out of her chest.

Sure, she’d been in a bar before. But not a real, proper club. She was pretty sure she saw some people wearing neon. Oh my god, there was a DJ.

Suppressing a laugh, she headed to the bar. At least there was a bar. There were so many people gathered around though that she couldn’t get much access to the one bartender on staff.

Luckily, he spotted her sash that seemed to shine under the blacklights.

“Hey, make some room for the birthday girl!” 

And the crowd parted like the red sea, every man’s head turned towards her, and she cautiously approached the bartender who gave her a quick wink.

“Scotch. Neat.”

A dark man with a silver nose ring slid onto the stool next to her.

“It’s on me,” he addressed the bartender, staring at her the whole time. “So. Birthday girl. How old are you turning?”

She smiled softly. The sash was working great, but now she had to come up with a way to answer his question without explicitly lying. 

“Who wants to know?”

Maybe flirting would be distracting enough.

He smiled, glancing down for a moment, then holding out his hand. Ha. Men.

“I’m Jon.”

Ugh. She hated handshakes. But for this man, she might be able to make an exception.

“Y/N.”

Five minutes later, she wished with all her heart she could take the handshake back. Y/N should have known better than to talk to a guy at a club. They were all sleazebags. But! She did manage to get a couple of drinks out of it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said after his fifth time mentioning Outback Steakhouse.

But before she could leave the bar discreetly, a hand wrapped around her arm, yanking her back.

“Hey, what’s the matter? I thought we were talking?”

Y/N may have been a small-town girl, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his shoulders and driving her knee up into his crotch, stomping off toward the exit.

Only when she got outside did she realize how fast her heart was beating. She leaned over, hands on her knees to catch her breath.

A soft hand on her shoulder made her snap around, grab the hand and twist it around the stranger’s back, shoving him up against the alley wall.

“I’m sorry!” the man squawked shrilly. “I’m sorry!” It wasn’t Jon.

“What were you doing?” she demanded, not releasing him yet.

“I saw you lean over. I just wanted to see if you were ok!”

She finally drank in the man’s appearance. He was wearing a soft purple sweater vest over a grey button-down, slacks, and worn black converse on his feet.

Confident that he wasn’t a threat, she released him and took a step back.

The man rubbed his elbow softly, glancing at her chest. Before she could tell him off for staring at her rack, he pointed to the sash.

“Is it your birthday?”

She looked down. Oh, he’d been looking at the sash of course. Then why did she feel … disappointed?

“Oh, yeah. Some guy bought me a drink and got a little, er, touchy.”

Suddenly, the man’s face went dark.

“Who is he? Where is he?”

He started to walk back into the club but she stopped him, reaching out and gently grabbing his arm.

“Hey! It’s fine. I kicked him in the crotch.”

The man’s eyes switched from anger to surprise in a flash. He flustered for a moment, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back into the alley.

Y/N now took a closer look at his face. He had deep, wise brown eyes, a small five-o-clock shadow gracing his jaw, and very full lips, the latter of which he was biting profusely. Aw. He was nervous. But why?

Maybe because he was in an alley with a random girl who had just been groped at a club and he didn’t know what to do.

She chuckled, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Um. I didn’t get your name?”

He smiled brightly, thankful for the change in topic.

“Oh! Of course, sorry. I’m Spencer!”

And Y/N braced herself for the telltale outstretching of the hand.

But none came. He simply stood there, one hand in his pocket and the other waving at her, a dopey smile on his face.

Her face lit up. 

“You didn’t try to shake my hand,” she muttered, awed.

The man, Spencer, got an embarrassed look on his face, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I, uh. I’m a bit of a germaphobe. But, really, everyone should be! The amount of germs passed in a handshake is staggering. They really should be abolished altogether.”

“Right! People should just bow their heads or, or, wave!” she said excitedly, gesturing to his hand. “I mean a handshake is like a hug with a part of you that comes in contact with everything! Might as well go up to someone and start making out with them.”

As she spoke, his face lit up in wonder.

“Right? It’s crazy! But the thing is, some people actually do that! I was in that club for fifteen minutes and I swear I saw three couples leave together that definitely didn’t go in together.”

“I know!” she said, starting to pace in the cramped alley. “I mean, who goes home with someone that you just met! They could be a serial killer for all you know!”

She looked at Spencer and was delighted to see a joyful expression on his face. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t introduced herself.

“I’m Y/N. Sorry for blabbering,” she waved, chuckling slightly.

Spencer smiled even wider.

“Don’t be sorry! Usually, I’m the one who has to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Blabbering,” he said sheepishly, hands back in his pockets. When he was talking, they had been moving about wildly. It was kind of endearing.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, considering. “Blabbering is underrated. One could argue it’s the best way to learn useless information.”

“Well, I’d agree but no information is really useless.”

Y/N held up a finger.

“‘Information is useless if it is not applied to something important or if you will forget it before you have a chance to apply it.’”

Spencer’s mouth fell open.

“Timothy Harris?”

She nodded. “The 4-Hour Workweek. Outdated, but still applies.”

When she noticed his expression, it nearly knocked her breath away. He was looking at her like no one ever had before. Like he’d just realized the most important thing in the universe.

Before her cowardice could catch up, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His face went blank, shocked by the sudden approach. He nearly gasped when she spoke.

“It’s totally ridiculous to go home with someone you just met, right?”

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Totally.”

“Why were you out tonight in the first place? You don’t exactly seem like the club-going type.”

He smiled softly.

“I, uh, just got a promotion last week. My friend Morgan wanted to take me out to celebrate. It was either this or karaoke.”

She chuckled softly, their faces so close he must have felt her breath.

“I don’t know, I’d have liked to see your rendition of Bad Romance. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a whole Lady Gaga vibe?”

“You should see my Beyonce.” And he did a little mime of the Single Ladies dance, sending Y/N into a fit of giggles. Without thinking — probably due to the trace amounts of alcohol in her system, not enough to be drunk, but enough to be tipsy — she reached up her arms around his shoulders, clasping them together behind his neck like a teen slow-dancing at prom.

Spencer seemed startled by the sudden physical contact. He froze, hands unmoving at his sides.

Y/N pulled her arms back, stepping away from him, discouraged and embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said, collecting herself and walking back towards the club door. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Wait!” he called before she could reenter the club. A tiny part of her let out a breath in relief. She turned around to see him with a hand outstretched toward her, frozen with the uncertainty of what to do next.

He recovered quickly, a blush visible on his cheeks in the lamplight of the alley.

“If you’re leaving, would you, um. Could I walk you home?”

She had no idea what possessed her in that moment but just as he spoke, she walked up to Spencer, threaded her fingers through his hair, and pulled him down into a passionate kiss.

To her surprise, he responded immediately, running his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him, eagerly returning the kiss.

His lips were so warm. He tasted very faintly of alcohol and maybe a breath mint? Y/N let herself fall into the sensation.

Suddenly, her back was pressed up against the wall of the alley, Spencer’s hands lighting a trail of fire down her body. He hesitated, pulling back briefly to make sure she was ok.

A glint in her eye, she yanked him back down, tongues clashing together in a blaze of glory. He hiked her leg up around his hips, pressing them closer together. Y/N could feel the hardness in his pants pressing into her stomach, sending a wave of heat down to her core.

She pulled back. If they went any further, she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave the alley.

Y/N tried to hide the smile on her face but it was no use. She beamed at Spencer, linking her arm through his elbow.

“Lead the way. Wait, that doesn’t make sense, you’re taking me home. I’ll lead the way!”

And so they walked, arm in arm down the busy D.C. streets, silently enjoying each other’s company.

They arrived outside her apartment fifteen minutes later, Y/N clumsily unlocking the door, nervous from the thought of what was about to happen. They hadn’t explicitly said anything in particular. Was he going to come in? Would she invite him?

Spencer, it seemed, was also daunted, standing awkwardly on the threshold of her place, hands buried in his pockets.

An idea sprung into Y/N’s brain.

She approached him, wrapping her hands around his neck again only this time, his hands rested lightly on her waist.

“Still think going home with a stranger is a bad idea?”

Spencer chuckled softly, stroking the exposed skin of her waist from where her top had ridden up.

“I’m still debating it.”

“Oh?”

He slid his hand around the sash, fingers hovering above her chest.

“I never asked, how old did you turn?”

She smiled. For some reason, she felt she could trust this man. The worst that could happen was he calls the cops on her for having a fake ID. She could deal with that. Destroy the evidence, bat her eyes. Easy. Besides, he looked barely of age himself. She quickly wondered what he did for a living? He did say he got a promotion.

It would be easiest to just tell him the truth.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this…”

He chuckled lowly in her ear, moving his lips gently across her neck.

“I can handle it.”

She gasped at the sensation, legs clamping together.

“Officially, it’s my twenty-third. At least, that’s what it says on my ID. One of them.”

Spencer froze, waiting for her to go on.

Y/N quickly backtracked.

“It’s okay! I’m twenty! Not a minor, no worries.”

But Spencer pulled away, an extremely worried look on his face despite her assurance.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re underage.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah? Come on, by one year. What, you never had a fake ID?”

“No!” he said shrilly, running a hand through his hair.

“Spencer, it’s ok! It’s not like I’m gonna get caught. I look much older and when are there cops at a place like that?”

He reached into his pocket and fished out a folded wallet. Snapping it open, Y/N’s jaw dropped at the FBI badge with his picture in the corner.

She floundered for a moment, unable to truly comprehend what was happening.

“You’re . . .”

“Yep,” he said shortly, pocketing the badge.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my reaction too,” he said, sighing. “I should arrest you.”

Y/N took a step back, incredulous.

“Arrest me?”

“You have a fake ID. You’re clearly drunk.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Great idea, Spencer. Book me. Take me down to the FBI and tell them exactly what happened to lead to you finding out I’m only twenty. I’m sure they’ll need very specific details.”

A look of realization flitted across Spencer’s face and he buried his head in his hands, groaning.

“How old are you anyway?!” she demanded, upset at him for being upset.

“Thirty-four!” he shouted, throwing his arms up in the air.

Oh shit.

This was bad.

He was fourteen years older than her, in the FBI, and probably was seconds away from arresting her.

“There’s no way you’re thirty-four. I mean, look at you!”

He rolled his eyes, snorting, and beginning to pace the small hallway.

“This is exactly what I get. I meet a girl I really like for the first time in years and she’s decades younger than me. And a criminal!”

“Hey!” she said, shoving his shoulder. “Not decades. I’m not a criminal. And how the hell do you think I feel?  I’m out trying to have fun on my birthday, some guy gropes me leading me to run into the perfect man, take him back to my apartment thinking I’m gonna get lucky only to find out he’s a cop who’s gonna arrest me. Best birthday ever.”

Spencer eyed her carefully.

“Get lucky?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Shit. She hadn’t meant to reveal that part. Even though it was pretty obvious, something about it not being said added to the excitement.

“Did you really . . . I mean were you…. Um.” Spencer seemed to lose all authoritative tone suddenly, stammering nervously. It was such a 180, it shocked Y/N. 

“Was I going to let you fuck me?”

He cringed at the bluntness but nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, Spencer. I was.” She scoffed. “Honestly, I still would. But I understand if I’m more than you can handle,” she said coyly, trying to keep a straight face. “Just please don’t arrest me, Sir.”

His expression darkened at her words. Something deep and lustful behind it. Feeling bold, she went with it.

“Or is it Agent?” she cocked her head, holding a finger to her lips in thought. “How do I address you properly, sir?”

A small groan left Spencer’s mouth and he stepped forward, brushing a hand over her hair.

“We shouldn’t do this, Y/N…”

Slowly, she backed up into her apartment, pulling him with her.

“We shouldn’t.” She gently led him to her bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed, him towering over her. “To be fair, you’re the one with handcuffs.”

He groaned again, wiping a hand down his face.

“This is a bad idea.”

But he crouched down in front of her, pressing his forehead to her exposed knee, breathing deeply.

“Spencer,” it was barely a whisper but he met her eyes instantly. She smiled gently, reaching out to him and coaxing him up from the floor so he was hovering above her, mouths inches apart. “Listen, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she assured him. “But I want this.”

She leaned back, pulling him with her so he was lying atop her, an obvious bulge pressing against her through their clothing.

“I want this, Spencer.”

Y/N hoped that he knew he could leave if he wanted. She didn’t want to pressure him into anything. Despite the age difference, she seemed to be the one more in control.

Spencer lowered his head, sighing.

“Fuck,” he moaned, lightly thrusting against her, a moan escaping her mouth at the contact.

That seemed to be the last straw.

He sat up, ripping his sweater vest off along with his button-down, quickly moving back over her, lips latching to her neck and chest.

Oh thank god. She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to stand it if he’d left. But from the way he was touching her, hands moving up and down her sides, gently pulling her skirt down, looking up at her every now and then to make sure it was alright, he wasn’t going anywhere.

She just spurred him on, stripping off her top and bra, now only wearing her panties.

Spencer groaned at the sight, a hand reaching up, hovering over her breast. She arched her back up into his hand, letting out a gasp as he started to fondle her. 

God, his hands were huge. And nimble. Oh, so nimble.

She reached for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tossing it across the room, pushing his pants down faster than possible.

He groaned again, a magical sound, reaching a hand down to stroke her through her panties, coaxing a gasp from her beautiful lips.

In a flash, Spencer had pulled down her panties and buried his head between her legs.

Y/N gasped, hand flying to the back of his head, edging him on.

He slipped two fingers into her, his tongue flicking against her clit wildly, making her writhe and moan on the bed, gasping his name.

“Spencer, Spencer.” It took all the resolve she had to pull his head away from her. “I need you to fuck me.”

Spencer looked at her, trying to read her expression.

“Y/N . . . are you sure?”

Rather than answer, she yanked him up, crashing their mouths together, one hand quickly pushing down his boxers, his erection springing free.

Good god.

Wow.

How the hell was she supposed to fit that inside her?

She looked up at him, impressed, only to see a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Well,” she said, kicking off the panties pooled around her ankles, laid bare underneath the stranger on top of her. “This night gets better by the second.”

His size was a little daunting, but the thought of him slowly filling her up, probably not being able to fit all the way in, only added to her desire.

He dipped his head down, stealing a quick yet passionate kiss.

“Do you have . . ?”

“Yeah, in the drawer.”

He reached over, grabbed a condom, and rolled it on. It looked extremely tight on him. Y/N unconsciously licked her lips. Spencer chuckled.

“Maybe next time. I need to be inside you.”

And with that, he flung her legs around his hips, positioning his cock at her entrance, slowly running it up and down, moistening the condom with her juices.

God. The feeling of him being so close and yet so far was almost enough to push her over the edge right there. He had been a god with his tongue and she was desperate for more friction.

Reaching down, she lightly circled her clit, moaning at the instant pleasure.

Before she could enjoy it much, hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her on the bed, Spencer staring at her with a dark look.

“If you wanna touch yourself, you have to ask permission. Understood?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Words escaped her so she settled for a small nod.

“Use your words.”

His tone was so commanding the word left her mouth the moment he finished speaking.

“Yes.”

He lightly placed his hand around her neck, not applying any pressure, just hovering.

“Yes, what?”

Fuck. She wondered if it was possible to come just from being talked to.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, he slid inside her, slowly filling her up with his length, moaning roughly at the sensation.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, watching as Spencer’s face tightened, jawline even sharper, and a dark look in his eye. He carefully applied a bit more pressure to her throat, quickly releasing his hand afterward.

They were both still as she adjusted to the size of him inside her.

“Is this ok?” his voice sounded so different than it had a moment ago. He had shifted back to the geeky guy she’d met in the alley.

She nodded gently at him, running a hand over his cheek in a way that was surely far too personal for a one night stand. 

“My safeword is apple.”

He froze for a moment, shocked. Apparently she was kinkier than he’d expected. 

Tired of not being fucked by this man, she dug her heels into his back, directing him to move.

He did without hesitation, groaning at the sensation of slowly pulling out and thrusting back in. 

The feeling overwhelmed both of them, a litany of curses and moans falling from their mouths. Spencer’s hand moved back to her throat, squeezing much harder now that he knew what to listen for if she wanted to stop.

The sound of her moaning was enough to make him come right there and then. That, with the feeling of her around him and the fact that his hand was around her throat, totally in control.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Oh my god, where was this coming from? Her nails scraped down his back, leaving a trail of marks.

“You like feeling me fuck you?” he wrapped a hand around her leg, pulling it higher to try to hit the magical spot inside of her. “You like when I wrap my hand around your pretty little neck? Showing you how in control I am of you.”

She nodded ecstatically, legs tightening around him. She was definitely close to coming.

“What were you thinking? Going to a bar when you’re underage. Then leading a stranger to your home, intending to let him fuck you silly. Finding out I’m ages older than you and still practically begging me to bend you over and pound you till you can’t see straight. Is the age difference what gets you off, Y/N?”

At the sound of her name, she let out a raucous moan, no doubt waking up the other tenants of the building.

Spencer smiled, drilling harder and tightening his grip on her throat.

“Oh, you like it when I say your name? You like when I shove my big cock in you and moan your name in your ear?”

She practically screamed as his hand started to circle her clit, the stimulation practically knocking the air out of her.

He was hitting her g-spot with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She was so close. She just needed….

“You gonna come for me, Y/N?” he punctuated it with a particularly hard thrust, feeling her begin to clench around him, orgasm washing over her.

Her walls tightening around his cock was enough to send him barreling over the edge, grunting as he thrust in her four more times before feeling his balls tighten up and spill his seed deep inside her.

“Fuck,” he grunted, using his forearms to stay above her, both of them completely out of breath.

Slowly, he pulled out with a sigh, discarding the condom in the trash by her bed.

Y/N was seeing stars. This man had just given her her first penetrative orgasm. And, possibly the best sex she’d ever had.

‘Fuck’, was right.

Spencer flopped down next to her, still naked, trying to catch his breath.

Y/N turned to him, placing a hand on his chest.

It was strange. Even though they’d just had some of the best sex Y/N had ever had, she didn’t even know this man. And yet, somehow, she felt like she did. Did that happen a lot once you had sex with someone?

Her eyes refocused from where they’d been staring off into space to see a concerned Spencer looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

He studied her for another moment before speaking.

“You were biting your lip.”

A blush crept up her cheek.

“Yeah sorry. Helps me think.”

He let out a sharp breath, a sort of soft laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said as he retrieved his underwear, slipping them back on and starting to button up his shirt.

Oh. Was he going to leave? Of course he was! That’s all this was, anyway. A one night stand. You had sex. That was the point.

Then why did it feel like hell?

“You okay?”

Her thoughts had drifted into space again. Spencer had laid back down, now on his side facing her, holding her hand, looking at her intensely. His gaze was practically burning.

“Yeah.”

“I, uh, I don’t normally do . . . that.”

She chuckled. It was rather obvious he wasn’t the hookup type. Despite the dirty things that had come from his mouth.

“Me either.”

He softly stroked her cheek. 

“Are you going to stay?” she blurted.

His face fell.

“Oh, no I wasn’t going to impose if you-”

“NO! I mean,” she took a breath. “I want you to . . . I mean, if you want . . . I'd . . . I’d like you to stay. If you want?”

God. She sounded like a teenager asking their crush to prom. This was no stuttering sophomore she could kick in the crotch if he said no. He was a man. Although, he did tend to stutter. Maybe it wasn’t all that different.

He lit up, a wide smile brightening his features and he began to stroke her hand.

“I’d like that too.”

Wondering if it was possible for cheeks to sprain from smiling, she pulled up the covers, cuddling up against him, falling asleep almost immediately.

~

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Ugh. The stupid alarm. She had been right in the middle of a wonderful dream involving Spencer’s hands and her bruised throat.

What time was it anyway?

The red clock radio proudly displayed: 7:00.

Right, it was the first day of classes. Maybe she’d just ditch and stay in with Spencer. He had been so warm she was sure he had a sun where a heart should be. College didn’t matter anyway, right? Ugh.

A shiver ran through her. She reached out for Spencer, only to find the cold other half of the bed.

Sitting up in bed, she stared at the empty spot.

Had he really walked out on her in the middle of the night? No…. No? Fuck. How could she be so stupid. Of course he didn’t want to-

Oh, he’d left a note.

In a fast yet tidy scrawl, Spencer had left the following message on a little notecard.

Good morning! I am truly sorry to walk out like this, but I have a class at 7:30 and I have to stop by my place and get ready. I’ll be back at the bar tonight, 10:30. I’d love to see you there.

-Spencer. X

Her heart melted into an ocean at the sentiment behind each individual letter. The man she’d just had a dirty one night stand with wanted to see her again.

Wait, he’d said a class? He hadn’t told her he was a student! To be fair, neither had she. That’s another thing they had in common apparently. It made sense why he didn’t tell her. A lot of people were ashamed of going back to college later in life. She thought that was ridiculous. Good for him.

Maybe she could look him up in the student registry. Actually, he may not even go to Georgetown. There were plenty of colleges nearby. She couldn’t have looked him up anyway. She didn’t even know his last name.

It was probably a good thing he left, because she, too, had a class at 7:30.

It only took her twenty minutes to shower, get dressed, and walk the very short distance to campus.

She arrived in the lecture hall with exactly one minute to spare, finding a seat next to a brightly dressed redhead holding a fuzzy pen.

“Hi! I’m Allie.”

“Y/N,” she said, suppressing the cringe as Allie reached out to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you! What’s your major?”

Oh god. The inevitable college question.

“Journalism. You?”

“English,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Super boring I know, but it lets me take fun classes like this one. Why are you taking this class?”

“Oh, um. It looked fun, I guess. My dad was a lawyer and he kind of piqued my interest in the criminal justice system.”

Allie sighed.

“Thank god. You know half the girls are here just because the Professor is a hottie,” she said with air quotes, rolling her eyes again.

“Really?” Y/N asked, glancing around at the seats noticing the vast majority of the population were women. “Wait, I thought Ms. Merklins was the teacher? Did something change?”

“You didn’t get the email? It just went out the other day, Ms. Merklins had to retire. Something about a club foot. Anyway, the new teacher is supposedly super overqualified. Plus, he’s cute.”

“Huh.”

“Yep. I talked to this one girl in the hall, she actually said she’d sleep with him! Can you imagine?”

Y/N laughed.

“Nooooo. I cannot and I don’t want to. I’m just here to learn, I promise.”

“Same here. Although, if I start getting C’s, all bets are off.”

Y/N laughed and politely chatted with Allie while they waited.

The Professor’s office door swung open and Y/N reached into her bag to get her laptop.

“Hello, class.”

“Hello,” the class echoed.

“Welcome to Criminology. I am Professor Reid and I-.”

Y/N looked up over her screen as he stopped talking, making sudden eye-contact with the Professor.

She froze in her seat, blood running cold.

No way. No fucking way.

Spencer?

~

TAGLIST

~

@whollytaciturn​ @101donuts​ @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid

[mementomori-demimonde]

Old Wounds

Hidden Scars: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII - XIX - XX

Bonus Chapter (21):

Three years ago, you broke up with Miranda.

Or, to better say, three years ago, Miranda broke up with you.

After escaping Victor’s grasp and embarking on the flight headed to England, Miranda thought it was best for the two of you to be constantly moving around.

She easily procured fake IDs and documents and, as Mrs. & Mrs. O’Brien (so lame that you loved it), you checked in the most expensive hotels and made a mess of the room, only to be off the next day. Every bill was paid and the staff generously tipped, even though the money didn’t certainly come from your pockets as you didn’t have any: you found out it was fairly easy to transfer money around and trick the systems; at least all those hacking software lessons had proven useful, though you weren’t up to anything illegal - it was a matter of survivance, that was what you told yourself. 

Life was wild and exciting, every morning you were someone slightly different while remaining the same, every night you got lost in the scent of her, only to be woken up by her fingers exploring your body.

Miranda was never satiated. And while it was only a matter of sex, before, there was something addicting, now, that flickered between the two of you.

It was something you thought was unbreakable. Something so rare to be born in such a hostile condition that it would be so hard to kill that nobody would even try to.

You thought.

Miranda lit up the day you reached Glasgow.

You could see her eyes gleaming, you could see her sharp fangs shining at the pale light of the sun as she dragged you around, showing you this and that, telling you about her childhood while turning a child herself, innocent and carefree and happy enough to be pulling you in and kiss you in the middle of the road.

You stayed in Glasgow for five months after that, because she thought you were both safe.

You decided to rent a small apartment next to the theater because, apparently, Miranda loved the theatre and you loved discovering things about her just as much as you loved watching her glow as she watched the show and the people acting or the orchestra playing.

You even convinced her to take yoga classes and, except for a couple of smashed glasses when she thought a waiter was ogling you, and an exploded pillow when her football team lost to the rigors, she seemed to have learned how to manage her anger pretty well.

Even her part-time job as a dog-sitter helped her keep her calmness, even to balance with the frustration she would accumulate during her other job as a consultant; of what, you never worked it out completely, you simply knew it was something to do with finance, probably internationally. Miranda didn’t like to talk about it excessively - the pay was good, she seemed satisfied with it - so you let her be.

As for you, when the first opportunity came out, you accepted it right away: as a receptionist of a luxury hotel, you had a fair amount of working hours, perfectly timed with Miranda, and you were able to bake breakfast for the both of you, pack your lunch boxes and be back before her to prepare dinner when Miranda didn’t surprise you, instead, with some take out and a lit candle.

She uncovered a nice, unexpected side of her, but sometimes she still was the scary old Miranda, even when it wasn’t necessary, to your opinion.

Whenever she acted bad, you served her a banana on a plate instead of a nice dinner you baked, to commemorate the first meal she had you eat. Miranda would pout, eat the banana in silence, and ask for forgiveness between the freshly cleaned sheets. This worked the other way around too, of course, with the exception that she enjoyed herself a little too much, sometimes, prolonging the punishment to something more than just a banana for dinner. Either way, everything was solved in bed. Not that you complained about this method, of course.

You thought you couldn’t be happier; but you thought you could never be any less happy either, and, of course, you were wrong.

It was a casual question you blurted out without much thought.

One night, you were watching a cheesy movie on tv, just for the fun of hearing her complain while she had her legs slung over yours, silently demanding for cuddles she would never admit to be requesting. As the couple on the screen kissed and cried happily, you said “have you ever thought about marriage?”

Miranda froze. You tried to explain that it meant nothing in particular, it was just conversation, but something in her eyes had changed.

She never answered the question.

Days went by and you could tell that something had painfully shifted between the two of you.

You tried to take it back, make her forget with some rough nights, just like she used to like it, but nothing worked.

Miranda wasn’t the same.

And then, one morning she was simply gone, without a single explanation. 

After twelve days of waiting, you made peace with yourself that Miranda wouldn’t be coming back.

You started to hate everything you loved so quickly that even going out in the streets and hearing all those people talking Scottish made you sick, so taking the next decision wasn’t too hard, after all: you told Cecilia to mind the tabby cat Miranda pulled out a stray dog’s jaws and brought home for you to heal, vacated the apartment hotfoot and accepted the job as head manager of the hotel subsidiary in Rome, Italy.

 After a few weeks, you realized the change was exactly what you needed: Rome was amazing, you like the people and, most of all, the food. You even decided to join a gym so you could keep eating the delicious meals the hotel chef cooked for the staff and when the weather was good, you went for a run, early in the morning, enjoying the sight of the city lazily waking up. Late in the night, before going to bed, you would flick your tear-drop-shaped dagger and put it in the top drawer in the nightstand, only to wear it the next day, because now you felt naked without its cold blade pressing against your leg. You dropped the habit of wearing it on your thigh - it wasn’t practical with your work attire - but strapped to your calf or pocketed inside your boot. You hated yourself for it, but it couldn’t be helped. You tried to convince yourself it was just in case you had to defend yourself - it was sensible since you had to walk by yourself most of the time.

All things considered, you fit in well.

Your apartment is good, with a nice view on the Tevere, the pay is almost double the one in Glasgow and you can allow yourself some treats, from time to time, whenever you feel too blue to stay in the apartment by yourself.

You contemplated the idea of getting a pet for a time, but you decided against it since that too would awaken sour thoughts.

You tried to date for a while, but nobody was enough.

Nobody compared to her.

Despite everything Miranda did to you, her memory was latched to your brain like a plague.

It still is.

Sometimes, only some heavy drinking can get her out of your head.

 You weren’t on duty tonight, and while you’re coming back from a peaceful stroll, your colleague calls: there has been a great fuss in the hotel; he tells you about ambulances and police cars hurrying with the sirens blaring to arrest some psycho that attacked a woman in her room. A guy was shot, but you don’t register much about the events, nor do you ask for further information, eager to drop the argument and avoid some unpleasant memories rising in your mind. Guns, people attacking other people, blood… It’s all in the past.

Hurrying up the stairs and fishing in your purse for the keys, you barely notice that the door lock is slightly scratched.

You don’t pay attention to it, nor the way your key slides inside the hole, until you step inside your home, pawing at the switch, and the light doesn’t work.

Immediately, all your senses turn on, your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, your ears eager to capture the smallest sound.

It’s the hair on the back of your neck that puts you in alarm. Rising for an imperceptible breath of wind, they notify of the imminent danger.

The next thing you feel is a strong arm wrapped around your throat, and a warm body pressed against your back.

The attacker clearly knows what they’re doing, but you do too.

Everything she taught you is stuck in your brain, branded on your bones.

In a flash, you lift your dominant leg just enough to grab the knife.

You plunge it into your attacker’s thigh without hesitation.

She - it’s a she - grunts in anger.

The hold of her elbow softens, her arm slides from your neck, her body moves abruptly from yours as she limps away, leaving you alone and scared, but in complete control of yourself.

“My, my. I am getting sloppy.” The voice sends chills down your spine. It’s warm, it’s smug, almost amused, and familiar. Terribly familiar.

Your heart, despite yourself, throbs painfully.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes from your lips.

“Good.” She says, “very good, m’eudail.”

Whatever doubt you might’ve had, now it’s completely gone. It’s not your mind playing tricks, associating a familiar event with a lost person, this is happening for real. Running away from England to another country, taking a new name, a new identity, rebuilding your life almost from zero has served you nothing: she still has found you.

“Miranda?”

Three years.

Three years you haven’t heard from this woman.

Three years you’ve tried to push it out of your head.

Three years of pretending it was just a nightmare.

Three years and she’s back as if it’s nothing, standing in your apartment like she owns the place. She does, in a way. Miranda still owns you, in the first place, whether you like it or not: it’s not your choice to make. Until Miranda decides to let you go, you’re hers. It’s inevitable. And you know, you feel it in your guts, that Miranda will never let you go.

Some exchange rings, some jump over an old broom; your ‘until death do us part’ was a carving in the shape of an M - not on wood or marble, but on flesh - and you wonder how could she be so scared of marriage in the first place if she, too, has made a promise for life.

She comes into the light pouring in from the windows: it’s sunset, and the streetlight has just been lightened up.

Like it’s no big deal, you watch her bend down and wrap her fingers around the handle of the knife and, with a quick motion, she pulls it out from her wounded flesh with minimum bleeding.

With a wince, you notice that her trousers are already stained with dried blood, mixing with the fresh one.

She straightens her back and bares her teeth into a crooked smile, her split lip glistening with droplets of crimson. It looks painful. She doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Her cheekbone is blooming with blue and purple, her throat bears a sore line around. Miranda wears her bruises as if it was makeup, proud and confident. And, oh, so beautiful like the night before she left.

You can’t help but feel concerned, which only adds to your frustration: you shouldn’t care about her, you shouldn’t feel so strongly about the blood running down her chin - she probably deserves it, and more - but you do care.

You watch her, powerless, as she stumbles toward the couch and lets herself fall unceremoniously on top of it, grunting as her bruised body slackens against the soft pillows. Her shirt is stained as well, her knuckles scraped.

“You’re beaten up.” You dumbly point out.

She lets out a dark chuckle and lolls her head back. Your eyes are drawn to the rhythmic movements of her throat as she swallows. You can almost taste the iron inside your own mouth - how many times she’s kissed you after a training session, how many times your sweat mingled with hers when you wondered if you were fighting or fucking.

It all felt so long ago and, still, it hurt like it was yesterday.

“Tried my best, but you can’t expect the featherweight to win against the heavyweight without a significantly favorable weapon. He was just a bigger psycho than me: came out on top, in the end.” Miranda murmurs, a smug expression deforming her features. “Victor, on the other hand-”

The name has your head spinning. His ugly mouse-face comes to visit on the blurry surface of your mirror every time you shower, the rough lines crossing your back are a distant yet a painful reminder of those days of imprisonment, confined in that small room with Miranda, uncovering her past, her job, her boss and his despicable ways. Those marks hurt, but not as much as it hurts the one on your left shoulder - not until now.

“You’ve gone back to work for him?”

After all you’ve been through, after all the pain he inflicted, after she promised to have him killed because he took it out on you, Miranda decided to still work with him. Betrayal didn’t even compare to what you felt.

How many things can change in three years? You lived a lifetime in two months, since Miranda kidnapped you. Three years, right now, are an eternity.

Miranda’s smile drops. Her blue eyes wander aimlessly around the room, stopping in a dark corner. They aren’t focused, but it’s easy for you to see the regret blaring in her lost gaze.

“It was what I am,” Miranda murmurs, her voice emotionless, “it was the only thing I knew.”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you. It feels like forever before you move your first step toward the couch, your gaze fixed on her as if you were trying to control a snake about to snap its vicious attack.

You know Miranda won’t move, not to attack you anyway, but you’re cautious when you speak.

“You’re talking in the past tense.”

“He’s dead now.” Miranda breathes out heavily. Her voice almost overlaps yours, as if she’s completely zoned out, not listening at all, unaware of her surroundings, as impossible as it seems. “I killed him, gave him what he deserved.”

The sheepish look she gives you is the sparkle that lits your flame. It doesn’t matter if Victor is dead now, the memories still haunt your dreams, and Miranda has gone back to work for him.

You feel cheated on, betrayed, and you still don’t know what she wants from you. Frustration builds up from within until you feel like exploding.

You would smack her and shake her by her shoulders if she wasn’t so bruised - and if she’d let you, of course, before succumbing to her strong arms and be stopped by force.

“Miranda, why are you here?” You would ask her to leave, tell her you can’t stand her sight… if only that was true. Angered beyond words by her persistent silence, you walk to her with heavy steps, until you’re in front of her, for the first time, towering her small figure on the couch. She looks frail, harmless, submissive, but you know she’s not any of those things. “Miranda-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know how she’s managed that - if she’s pulled you down by the collar of your shirt, or hooked her fingers in your belt, or even hit the back of your knees with her foot - but you’re falling right onto her, like the controlled destruction of a building, collapsing right where the demolition expert planned. You try to catch yourself with one hand on either side of her head, fingers clawing the soft pad of the back cushion, even if it’s not necessary: of course, Miranda has caught you first.

Although ‘catch’ is not entirely correct. Her greedy fingers are grabbing your head, pulling more than supporting, and before you can realize what’s happening, her lips are on your mouth.

Oh, God, how much you missed her.

It’s not a nostalgic kiss, she’s not asking for forgiveness or awakening long-lost memories. Her lips are urgent, almost aggressive.

It’s like those three years never went by, as if a lot of things never happened: this one isn’t Miranda, but the mysterious woman who kidnapped you in the alley; she’s back to that unhinged creature that tortured you in the most pleasant ways, who turned a cage into paradoxical heaven where wrong was right and the pain was pleasure.

Too easily you fall back into the addicting spiral that bound you to her. You’re completely at her mercy, once again, with no power nor will to pull yourself out of it. Despite everything, you want more of her kisses, you want more of her touches, you want more of her, no matter if she’s rough or brutal - something of Miranda is still better than nothing.

Hungry hands travel fast from your face to your neck and, for a moment, you prepare to hold your breath thinking she will wrap her fingers around your throat to have you squirm in her lap, desperate for air, just to assert her total control, but you’re wrong. Miranda doesn’t stop: she paws possessively at your breasts, teasing your nipples through the coarse fabric - you hate a little how your body seems to react regardless of your mind, answering to her touch in all the right ways.

You always take minutes to remove your uniform, Miranda hasn’t taken more than one to leave you in your undergarments, confused and wondering if you were actually wearing something before she claimed ownership over you and your body, like always, like she was entitled since the beginning.

Her mouth travels fast, in tow, she nibbles and lavishes, sending electric sparks to your core.

You don’t dare speak, afraid that the spell will break, that you’ll wake up from a dream even though you don’t remember falling asleep, even if it feels real, so real, almost too real that you can’t bring yourself to renounce it.

The tip of her nose tickles the valley of your breasts when she kisses her way down your stomach and belly, her nails scratch dully at the small of your back, pulling your knickers down in one move.

You’ve never noticed how chill your apartment can be. Or maybe you’ve never been so hot before, within these walls.

Her mouth knows exactly where to tease you, her tongue touches all the right places and only in the right ways. Her body remembers everything, and at the same time, it feels new. She tastes you, pursuing the depths of you, almost as if she wants to drown right there and then.

Bare and vulnerable, you don’t even perceive the typical powering position on top of her; Miranda is always on top, also when she’s not.

You can only arch over her as she draws a hurried orgasm out of you, leaving you raw and trembling, your mind spiraling from contentment, nostalgia, and a deep sense of guilt and then back again, when her tongue doesn’t stop until she isn’t satisfied with a second climax, and a third.

It’s easy to lose count when Miranda is having her way. It’s easy to get lost and losing track of time and of yourself, it’s easy to set aside everything to chase her with your hips, desperate for everything and in everything.

She doesn’t allow you to catch your breath when she’s done. You barely catch a glimpse of her when she pulls away, working her jaw to relieve the soreness that has surely set in her muscles, but her eyes are elusive, disappointing you when you hoped to look at her and find the woman you know.

It’s just another confirmation that she is still somewhere else, at least in spirit.

You’ve learned to know her strength, despite her petite size, and yet you can’t prevent the surprised gasp that escapes your mouth when she pushes you off of her and into the couch on your front, so fast that you gape at the pillow below.

You struggle to adjust your head and tilt it to the side when you feel her climb on your thighs, her ripped legs grabbing yours with vicious force when she lowers herself, and despite being fully clothed, you can feel the heat from her core right below your bottom, where she sits.

You swallow in anticipation, shiver when her nails rake at your skin, and then, then everything stops. She pauses.

You feel all the tension leave the room like the fog lifting from the streets.

Her legs are looser when she shifts lower on your thighs, her hands are softer when she glides her fingers up the small of your back and they linger, for a moment too long, across your shoulder blades.

You want to say something, even say her name again, listen to your own voice calling Miranda while still striving to breathe, wearied by the pleasure her skilled tongue has brought you. But as soon as you take a small breath to speak, a startling weight on your back knocks the air out of your lungs.

You take a moment to comprehend that Miranda has leaned on the top of you, her chest rises and falls rhythmically against your back, her breath tickles your left shoulder and you blink at the fact that her cheek is probably resting on her carved initial, and not just by chance.

You mentally count three seconds in, three seconds out. Her warm breath sends shivers down your spine.

“Had to find you.”

It’s a murmur, barely a whisper, so small you even doubt you heard it for real or just in your head.

“What?”

You try to squirm from below, eager to watch her face, read in her eyes if she’s making fun of you in the cruelest of ways or not. Her voice has tricked you on many occasions… or not. Maybe it was her eyes. Maybe it’s better for both of you if you can’t cage into each other’s eyes.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, relax your muscles, stop your hands from scrambling in the purchase of a steady surface to push yourself up and Miranda off of you.

It’s better this way: she won’t talk, otherwise.

“Thought I could do it.” She sighs, her lips move on your skin, leaving a moist halo around her lips. “Thing is… that I could.”

“You’re talking about-”

“Glasgow.” She snaps. You feel her clenching her jaw tight. “When we lived together.”

“You’re scared that you could live normally?”

Silence.

“You don’t understand.” She huffs. “People like me can’t usually walk away whenever they please and forget about their pasts.”

“But you did.” You retort. “We were fine.”

Miranda chuckles. It’s a bittersweet one, and it ends quickly.

 “I was doing fine before you came.” She clarifies. It clarifies nothing, but you don’t dare to interrupt, fearing she’ll just walk away for good. “There’s a reason why so many have failed. No one was able to ruin me while I ruined them. No one was you.”

You can breathe easily now that Miranda has rolled off of you.

You turn to your side quickly, eager to follow her with your eyes and make sure she won’t take the door and never come back after such a declaration. Rare have been the times you’ve heard Miranda talk in such ways and you can only imagine what is the prelude for: something fatally bad, or something impossibly good.

In the forced darkness of your apartment, the blue of her eyes glows at the dim reflection of the streetlights.

Her voice echoes in your head.

When you initiate the kiss you’re surprised she doesn’t pull back. She doesn’t even complain. She doesn’t grab your face or the back of your neck, she doesn’t claim the lead.

It’s startling, and it’s a foreign sensation you’re not used to, at all.

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as you chase her taste and mingle it with yours.

And then finally you feel her hands on yours, her slender fingers reaching for yours and sliding almost perfectly in between, like pieces of a puzzle.

She swallows your breathy moan.

You haven’t expected your hands to be drawn closer to the warmth of her body. She lets her fingers move to your wrists, she lets them loop around the protruding bone there - she doesn’t squeeze, she doesn’t pull nor push - leaving your pads free to roam over her stomach, through the small crack of her shirt, gliding over the taut skin of her abdomen. You feel new bumps, new scars perhaps.

She squirms when you push a little too hard against her hip bone.

Or, maybe, she doesn’t exactly squirm.

You feel her adjust, raising her pelvis off the couch, but not to ease discomfort.

Your fingertips slip easily beyond the band of her high-waist trousers.

Miranda doesn’t move.

She’s even stopped the kiss, letting you decide.

It’s an open invitation - a request, perhaps - to touch her, properly, like you’ve been asking, for weeks, silently, before you decided to voice your thoughts and your feelings. 

Everything went downhill from there.

Your breath catches, the long-awaited moment feeling so terrifying, now, that you can’t bring yourself to just stop thinking and follow your guts, your innermost desires, to claim what has been denied to you for so long.

Miranda wouldn’t have hesitated. She didn’t hesitate to take when she wanted and could.

Thing is, you’re not her.

You pull away from her in a blink, your fingers tingle with unsatisfied electricity when you hide your face in your hands.

“Miranda.” You growl. Your voice comes out muffled from behind your palms. You’d want to yell at her, berate her, but it only comes out desperate, you sound on the verge of crying. Maybe you are. “What are you doing?”

Her hands are touching your wrists again. She’s gentle. More than she’s ever been. She forces you to unpeel your hands from your face.

In the dim light from the streetlights, her eyes shine again. They seem full of unshed tears, but you don’t want to fool yourself with dull illusions that don’t belong, with every possibility, to either of you.

Miranda doesn’t talk. You know it, you can see it, there’s a whole universe of things she’s dying to say, and still… she doesn’t speak.

You let out a shaky breath, sit lower on her legs, your gazes locked.

“Miranda, what’s your point?” You try again, softer this time.

She opens her mouth to speak then, only to close it soon after with a frustrated sigh.

You can’t endure more of it. You’re too spent to keep playing.

Miranda speaks only when you push yourself off of her, trying to stand up.

“My point is- I’m done.” She huffs out a disbelieving chuckle as if it’s the first time she’s told that, to herself even; the first time she’s truly grasped the idea and made it final. “I’ve got tons of money now and I can leave it all behind.”

“Miranda-”

“We can leave it all behind.” She corrects. One of her hands slithers to the small of your back, pushing you down to keep you near. It’s confident but for the first time, somehow, it’s not possessive. “Start over, for real.”

You swallow a mouthful of sand. Your head is spinning. You even wonder if something has possessed Miranda’s body and has turned her into some normal person who is actually repentant and is willing to start over.

How much can a person change in three years? Does it also apply to Miranda? The rules of mortals apply to such mysterious creatures like her?

You’re about to ask for a moment when you hear a distinct mew.

“What the fuck-” You startle, snapping your head toward the kitchen. It’s hard to see, but there’s definitely something on the counter. A box, maybe a crate. With something furry poking out. “You brought the cat?!”

Miranda’s lips are crooked into a sheepish smile when you look back at her.

“Please?” She whispers. Her voice is velvety against your lips, so close you could answer with a kiss. “What do you say?”

Maybe you will answer with a kiss.

Maybe.

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 3

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.4k chapters: 3/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. 

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the gall to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous.  

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous.  

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators.  

He’d never been called a manipulator before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… cunning than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms suave or charismatic, if he was being honest. Deltas were charming, dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him.  

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.”  

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it.  

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.”  

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?”  

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, very few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.”  

“Or,” Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went extremely scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.”  

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.”  

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity.  

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?”  

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.”  

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a fucking machete from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?”  

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.”  

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.”  

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.”  

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.”  

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags.  

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.”  

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.”  

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.”  

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.”  

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.”  

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.”  

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?”  

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.”  

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint.  

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—”  

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any nonsense, “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.”  

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances.  

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through while she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on provoked, “and you were being antagonistic.”  

“I was not, I was just—”  

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond.  

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.” 

“You don’t even know what charm is yah fuckin’ grifter.”  

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence.  

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.”  

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?”  

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.” 

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—what the fuck, Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates. I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.”  

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.”  

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.” 

“They are library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?”  

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.”  

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.”  

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.”  

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.”  

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.”  

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?”  

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.”  

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega—their omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival.  

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things.  

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s struggled when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega.  

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently.  

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom.  

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head.  

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined. She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.”  

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—”  

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.”  

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by his clothing first.  

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He missed the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien (especially if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles.  

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and scented. He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first.  

It was a good thing he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, he needed to prove he deserved it more—Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime.  

“Sure thing, any in particular?”  

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.”  

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience­—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s mingled scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, communicated like real people. The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d known there was something too much about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t share. They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out quickly, before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever. 

[beautifultrash-101]

for the robin request maybe like a heartfelt confession? I’d like a little bit of angst 👀 tysm!

Crush

Pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader

Summary: Robin and you are friends and you go to scoops ahoy to say goodbye before your vacation trip when you come back and great her at the video shop things have changed except for her feelings for you

Warnings: angst? - Words: 2956

Robin P.o.V

The sight that comes infront of me makes a smile form on my face instantly, making me feel like an idiot too. Y/n enters with all eyes turning to her, she just radiates a good vibe. She walks over to me I’m all her eyes focus on “hey Buckley” I groan dramatically “I can’t believe the last thing you’ll see me in is my ahoy outfit” she laughs straighting my blue vest “I don’t know what you mean it’s such a sexy look” sending me a wink after that, I laugh though it’s more breathy then it should be, she really makes me lose my breath. Steve throws the door open “Robin look at this” he looks between Y/n and I who now lets go of the vest. He lets out a whistle “no way, Y/n Y/l/n?” She smiles at him “Steve the hair Harrington, how’s life treating you after school?” He looks down at his uniform “I work in an ice cream shop with this one” he ends his sentence with pointing at me, Y/n laughs at his attempt of a joke “I can think of way worse things” she looks to me giving me a grin bumping my shoulder with her fist “don’t you dare have to much fun without me while I’m gone” I roll my eyes pointing out “I think I should be the one saying that” she tilts her head with a big grin “you’re probably right about that, but when I get back we’ll do a lot of catching up” I agree to which she claps her hands. She gives me a tight hug bidding her goodbye before leaving, which was probably for the best because my heart is beating crazy and my cheeks already turned a light rose. Steve quickly begs me “I need her number Robin” I look to him with shock “no way, you traumatise any female that converses with you” he pouts to which I proudly smile walking into the break room to see Dustin still working with the Russian dictionary. I put my hands into my pants feeling a piece of paper in it, taking it out I open it “already missing you :(“ it’s in Y/n’s hand writing, folding it up again I put it securely in my pocket smiling to myself.

So much time has passed since everything went down. Steve and I have become closer then I ever expected us to be, even working together again after the mall burnt down and everything else. All I want is for school to start again so I at least have that distraction. I wouldn’t say I’m totally scarred from what happened but I’d be lying if I said there weren’t nights where Id lay awake thinking back to what went down. I hear the bell of the door ring, my head shots up happy to finally have a customer. When I see who it is my jaw drops “Y/n!” she gives me a wide smile rushing over to me to give me a hug “Buckley! What has been up? I’ve missed you, I would have visited you at your old job, but the whole mall burnt down?” I put my hand behind my neck “yeah that’s a long story” Y/n takes my hand exited, but all I’m feeling is nervousness “well I think a long story is perfect, since I wanted to invite you to my house anyways, my parents are away two days longer so we’d have the place to us, what do you say?” I know she doesn’t have the intensions I wish she would have when mentioning her absent parents, but I can’t help but imagine, I hoped my feelings for her would have toned down after she left for a while but they seemed to actually have gotten worse since I didn’t see her almost every day. She waves her hand infront of me “hello earth to Robin, you okay?” quickly snapping out of my thoughts I explain “sorry I was just thinking of something, but of course a night with you sounds great” she was about to say something when the back door opens “I’m back!” Steve calls out not expecting someone to be in the store “oh hey Y/n” he tries to casually let out while going threw his hair “how are things going?” Y/n gives him a sweet smile “hey there Steve, things are going good thanks” he slides behind the counter next to me giving her a charming grin “meet anyone interesting on your trip?” I try not to show how much that question interested me by sorting the pens in the jar Y/n chuckles “nope, just had fun with the family, why are you interested?” she raises her eyebrow with a teasing grin. I look between the two of them Steve looks almost frozen “maybe I am” he tries to let out smoothly, Y/n chuckles patting his arm “you wouldn’t be able to handle me” he stuttered out “I w-wouldn’t say that” she laughs turning to me with a smile “I’ll see you tonight?” “tonight” I confirm my hands gripping a pen a bit to hard. She waves at us both before exiting the store.

I turn to Steve “you need to stop” he looks to me with a frown “why? She’s attractive, I’m attractive, that’s a win win situation” I frown at his words trying to say something that would make sense to why I wouldn’t want them to date “if you did date and it wouldn’t work out I’d have to choose sides that would be to hard” Steve lets out a quick laugh “please if she were dating me, I’d do anything for it work out” I cross my arms leaning against the counter “you’ve said that about like three girls this week” he goes quiet, but then gets a goofy smile “but it’s different this time” I’m about to correct him when I get an idea. If Steve goes out with Y/n maybe seeing her taken will make my feelings go away. I get a piece of paper writing her number down “here take it” I say rolling my eyes while he grabs it exited. He quickly goes to the next phone “you think she’s home yet?” “I don’t know, try your luck” he dials the number waiting for someone to pick up after a few rings she does pick up. Quickly I move to Steve so I could listen in “hello?” a voice questions a little out of breath, she probably ran to the phone. Steve now answers her after nervously going threw his hair “hey Steve here from the video shop” her sweet giggle fills my ears making me smile “I know who you are Steve, how did you get my number?” he looks to me with a smirk whispering “she knows who I am” I look at him with a deadpan face when the phone call continues “Robin actually gave it to me, because she thinks it would be a good idea for you and I to hang out, you know since you’re her friend I’m her friend” I hit his arm “I didn’t say that” I mutter to him to which he waves me off. There’s silence on the line as if she had hung up “like on a date?” She now quizzes, making my heart stop, she doesn’t sound that disgusted by the idea. Steve tries to play it cool “yeah we can call it that” “if you don’t want it to be a date-“ “no, yes I want it to be a date” he now chirps out quickly, she giggles once again in respons. Y/n now suggests to him “how about I pick you up after your shift, I’m guessing it ends the same as Robins so six p.m, we can grab some food and then after I can meet up with Robin since she has to eat at home anyways” she was going to go on a date with someone else right before I go to hers to be alone with her, that hurts more then it should. Steve grins widely “sounds like a plan, till then” Y/n laughs one last time “till then” hanging up. Steve puts the phone away doing a little victory dance to which I can’t help but laugh a bit. Steve runs to his bag looking threw it only to pull out a comb and some hair spray “got to get ready for six p.m” he points out with a small smirk playing on his lips.

Six p.m came faster then I wanted it to. As the time went by the more I regretted what I did. If this ends up actually going good, I’ll completely have messed up my chances with Y/n, not that there were any there anyways. The door opens and in walks Y/n with her high rise denim shorts, a short turtle neck top and her denim Jean jacket, a jacket I’ve bored a couple million times, a jacket she loved to wear for special occasions, which always confused me why she’d wear it so often, yet her reason would always be “any day spent with you is a special occasion” it makes my heart flutter anytime, but break with the fact that she’s wearing it for Steve now. She comes over to me with a suspicious look “so what’s the deal Buckely? Setting me up with Steve” I try to act like I actually wanted this “don’t know, what can go wrong with two of my friends dating?” She raises her eyebrow as if I just asked the most unlogical thing “literally so many things” before we could continue the conversation Steve appears “hey Y/n, you look very- very- pretty” she smiles at him “why thank you Steve, you look the same as you did before” he laughs a bit to hard at what she said his nervs not hidden at all. I interrupt the awkward moment “we’ll time to go” Y/n looks to me for a moment “yeah you’re right” for a moment she looks like she’s thinking over something, but it’s gone as soon as it came “Steve let’s get some food” he wraps his arm around her shoulder “no need to tell me twice” leading her to the exit. Y/n looks back at me over her shoulder giving a small wave “bye Buckley, see you later” I silently wave, painfully wishing that that was me leading her out the store to a date.

****

Waiting outside of my house, Y/n’s familiar car turns up and she halts right infront of me slowly letting the window roll down “what’s a girl like me gotta' pay for a good time with a girl like you?” she pushes the car door open for me letting me step inside. I turn to her with a mischievous grin “for you, maybe I’ll let a discount slide” she dramatically puts her hand over her heart swooning “oh to be so lucky” we laugh while she starts driving. While on the route to her house I shyly question “so, how was the date with Steve?” Y/n turns silent for some time, and I worry that maybe something bad happened. But Steve he’s a good guy. Y/n taps on the wheel taking a quick glance at me before setting her eyes back on the road “it was okay, Steve is a sweet guy” she stops at that so I ask “but?” she pulls into the drive way now turning fully to me “there’s someone else I actually like” I feel my body sinking, losing my words all together. With Steve I would have at least known who she was with, I would have at least seen her often even if it was with him. My door opens making my head turn to it where Y/n is standing “you coming?” “yeah, sorry” I get out hearing the door close after. She puts her hand on my shoulder “all good?” “all good” I smile at her which probably looks forced. Y/n walks with me to the door “as much as I loved vacation I’m glad to be back” I chuckle a little “how can you be glad to be back in this hellhole?” she unlocks the door “well you’re here aren’t you?” she steps in, but I’m frozen in my spot. This is going to be a long night.

****

We decided to make a pizza now sitting in the kitchen waiting for it to be ready. Y/n’s sitting on the counter telling me about what she did while she was gone. She ends with a shrug “so nothing special, but it was great nothing less” I quickly take my chance “is that where you met you’re little crush?” she looks down with a small smile “no, you actually know them, and trust me it’s not just a little crush” my eyes grow wide at that “wow, do I know him?” she looks at me “pretty well yeah” I look away to the pizza “well I hope it works out” I lie feeling my chest tighten. She hops of walking to the fridge “yeah, but I don’t think it will” “how could it not? You’re a whole catch” she turns to me with a wide smile “you think so?” “I know so.”

The pizza finishes and while we’re eating we stay quiet a shift of the air between us. She knows that I’m acting weird. We keep looking up at each other until she breaks the silence “now tell me, what was the real reason you wanted to get me together with Steve?” I wipe at my mouth “I just thought you’d enjoy each others company” “so there’s nothing between the two of you?” I shake my head rapidly “no, definitely no” she chuckles at my reply “so there’s no one out there for you?” I meet her curious eyes knowing I should tell her half the truth “maybe I’m interested in someone” she gives me a exited smile “do tell, you barely ever like someone” it’s true since Tammy it’s always been Y/n. I try to change the topic “this pizza is really good” Y/n notices that I don’t feel like talking about it so she doesn’t push “yeah I picked it up after the date” “did you tell Steve you don’t see it going anywhere?” she nods “yeah but he took it well, we still had a great time though, he actually told me he had a crush on you” “yeah poor guy can’t catch a break” she chuckles at my words bringing the plates away. She turns to me with a big smile “movies?” I agree so we move to the living room. She sits down on the couch patting the spot next to her. I sit down suprised when she lays her head on my shoulder yawning “I’m so tired, if I fall asleep just wake me” I nod, my breath stuck in my throat.

****

Time has passed and I’ve noticed Y/n being really affectionate, which she always is, but tonight it’s different, and I can’t help but feel irritated. Y/n starts playing with my hands making me lose my mind “I need a second” I quickly say moving away from the couch fast leaving her alone and probably confused.

Stepping outside of the house I take a deep breath moving my hand threw my hair. She’s going to think I’m crazy. Not long after I hear her voice “Buckley where are you going?” “Nowhere” I shortly answer, she simply takes my hand “we’ll come back inside it’s cold and dark outside” I pull my hand away from hers to which a look of hurt washes over her face “what’s the matter Robin?” her usage of my first name makes it clear to me that she’s very worried now. Oh no. I cross my arms trying to defend my behaviour “nothing” she stand infront of me her arms losely crossed over her waist so I blurt out “you, you going on a date with Steve and then telling me about your crush on someone, yet then being all touchy feely with me” Y/n looks taken back by my words “You told me to go on that date, and what does my crush have to do with you?” I put my hands in my hair laughing at how ironic her question is “that’s exactly the point! It doesn’t have anything to do with me and that kills me, because I like you Y/n! I like you a lot” the last part I say quieter noticing that we’re still outside and anyone could hear us. Y/n looks frozen in her spot not saying anything. I move past her into the house my breathing heavy trying to find my things.

A hand turns me by my wirst and I’m looking right at Y/n. She questions with an unsure voice “did you mean that?” I swallow so hard it actually feels like there was a lump in my throat, slowly nodding my head never breaking eye contact I don’t move as she takes a step forward to me, the next thing I know I feel her soft hand against my cheek and her lips are pressed to mine. In this moment right now everything washed away, it’s like all the bad things from the passed weeks, even the knowlege of having to explain this to Steve is forgotten in this moment. All because of one simple kiss. All because maybe I’ve always been the girl for her.

[topsytervy]

Hello ~ Rafe Cameron

This is Part 2 to Goodbye cause I had the thought in my head and I didn't want to write it only for it to sit in my docs so you can read Goodbye (aka Part 1) here.

Blurb: A lot can change in five years.

Word Count: 3,677

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, smoking, cocaine, spelling/grammar mistakes, i think that's it.

Small note: I’m 19 and have never planned a wedding. I’ve been to my fair share of weddings as guests and my only experience with a wedding would have been when my sister got married, however, her in-laws are kind of assholes so her wedding was really lowkey and shit, like it took place in my sister backyard lowkey, cause her mother-in-law was like 'Im not paying for anything cause you guys wont last but I'll pay for your sisters weddings' so like I’m winging half of this shit if not most of it. I’m sorry.

~~~~~

It was 5 years later.

You were 21, along with the rest of the pogues, and able to legally drink and purchase alcohol. So no more hassle with a fake ID.

Nothing had changed except for college and jobs. You and JJ had broken up after two years of dating and, much to everyone's surprise, it was like nothing had ever happened between you two.

It was insanely easy to slip back into the friend zone with JJ, despite both of you thinking that it would be awkward. Both of you fell back into old habits fairly quickly. Sure there were the first couple of weeks where you two felt as if you had to force normality but after that, it was like nothing happened. Sure, JJ still called you princess and you still found yourself hiding into his side during scary movies, but those were habits you two had prior to dating, and old habits die hard.

The only other difference was that John B and Sarah were getting married.

They were planning on getting married at The Lodge at Bear River in fall which meant a ferry to the mainland and then an almost 8-hour road trip to the venue. 

You, Kie, and Wheezie were bridesmaids, Kie being maid of honor, and Pope, JJ, and much to John B's displeasure, Rafe were groomsmen, JJ being best man. 

You and Pope were walking together which left Rafe and his half-sister to walk together. 

Rafe looked at his sister and John B, trying to stay as unphased as possible. "Y/N's gonna be a part of the wedding party?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette from his spot by the pool. 

John B and Sarah were outside at the patio table with their wedding planner, going over guests and the wedding party. The three looked over at Rafe and Sarah nodded.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"No reason. If you need someone to walk with her, I'll do it." He told her as nonchalantly as possible. 

"She's walking with Pope." John B responded. Rafe made a face as he brought the cigarette back up to his lips and John B narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is there a problem?" Sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"No. No problem. It's your wedding."

John B rolled his eyes before turning back to the wedding planner. 

Rafe stood up and walked inside, flipping John B the bird as he walked by. He felt as if John B was put on this earth just to make him miserable at this point.

Rafe walked over to the bar and fixed himself a drink, Wheezie rolling her eyes from her spot on the couch in between Rose and Ward, who were currently scrolling through formal wear for the wedding. 

"Dad, Rafe's day drinking... again." The now eighteen-year-old piped up.

Rafe glared at her. "Just wait Wheezie. This will be you in a few years." He told his half-sister with a smirk.

Wheezie scrunched up her face in disgust at the sight of her brother holding his cigarette in one hand and drink in the other.

Rose, a glass of wine in her hand, rolled her eyes at her stepson as Ward, a gin and tonic in his hand, just sighed. "It's five o'clock somewhere, Wheezie." 

Rafe clinked his glass against his father’s as he made his way upstairs to his old room that he was temporarily staying in since his apartment building had taken some damage during the latest hurricane and was currently getting the necessary repairs done, and closed the door behind him. He sat down at his old desk chair and looked at the corkboard above the desk where a couple of polaroid pictures of you hung. The pictures were the first thing Rafe went looking for when he had gotten back to his apartment, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the little lockbox he had stored the polaroids still in the closet and completely unscathed. Rafe downed his drink as he swiveled his chair back and forth. 

Of course, John B wouldn't pair you and him up. That would be helping a brother out. Rafe did everything he could to show that he changed once he heard you and JJ broke up.

 He quit cocaine and took up cigarettes instead. He went back to college and got a business degree. He was currently working and getting along with his father. He had his life together, mostly, and on track. The only thing missing from his life was you.

He had barely spent more than 5 minutes in a room with you since the breakup because you were either by JJ or you retreated as far from him as possible. He'd casually bring you up in conversation with John B and your friend would just roll his eyes. 

"We don't bring you up in conversations, Rafe." John B told him one day.

That cut the blue-eyed man deep.

Especially since this was after Rafe gave John B the money he needed to buy Sarah an engagement ring. 

Some wingman John B was.

Rafe stood up with a sigh and walked downstairs, deciding to bring the entire bottle of whiskey upstairs since he could already tell it was going to be one of those nights. He halted by the patio door though when he heard his sister and John B start talking.

“Would it be that bad to pair Rafe and Y/N up for the wedding? I highly doubt Wheezie wants to walk with him. At least Y/N won’t whine about it.” She asked as she placed a hand on his arm, the wedding planner nowhere in sight.

Rafe leaned against the wall, biting his lip as he waited for John B’s answer. If Rafe was being honest, he was kind of surprised that his sister would even consider asking John B that since she could care less about what Rafe wanted.

“Sarah, I love you but you did not see her that day or the day after or the following month and a half after that. Do you know how hard it was seeing Y/N like that? Heartbroken. Not wanting to get out of bed. Thinking she did the wrong thing and that caused him to go over the edge. Do you know how many times JJ, Pope, Kie and I caught her reading the obituaries to make sure Rafe’s name wasn’t in there?” John B looked at his fiancée. “I’m not pairing them up together without her permission. That’s that.”

“Then ask her.”

"What?" 

"Ask Y/N if she wants to walk with Rafe?" Sarah saw the 'are you kidding' look in John B's eyes. "I'm serious John B. Rafe's changed a lot and, despite what you think, you cannot keep her from talking or seeing my brother all your life."

"I can try." The curly-haired boy stated, crossing his arms.

"You know what, JB? You are acting like a damn child. It is not going to break Y/N/N if you ask her one small question that contains the name Rafe, okay? I'm sure she can hear his name and not break down or something. It's been long enough. Let him have that 5 minutes he needs to talk to her cause, yeah I do not doubt that Y/N took their breakup hard, but what about Rafe? Hmm? Believe it or not John B, but my brother has fucking feelings too, okay. He probably took that break up just as hard and Wheezie and I witnessed it. So stop acting like even whispering Rafe's name will break her and just fucking ask her if she wants to walk with Rafe or Pope."

"Fine. If it makes you and Rafe happy, I'll ask her." John B huffed.

Rafe didn't stay to hear the rest, just turned around and walked back to his room, the whiskey bottle long forgotten. 

****

Fall had come quickly and the wedding date came even faster. It was like Rafe blinked and then he was on the ferry two days before the wedding, sitting next to you, very awkwardly might I add, his leg bouncing up and down as he played with his fingers. It was like he didn't know what to do with his hands. After all these years, the most natural thing to do with one of his hands was still to place it on your thigh and the amount of willpower it took to not do that exact thing was unbelievable.

Rafe had told his dad that he was going to rent his own car because eight hours in a car with his family was a hard no for him. 

So there he was, walking over to the car he rented and opening the door before stopping and watching you get in a car with Pope, Kie, and JJ.

You glanced up just before you got in, making eye contact with him. You gave him a small smile to make it a little less awkward and Rafe returned the smile before hopping into the car. He watched you guys pull away and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh before putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. 

This was going to be the longest three days of his life.

***

He was happy for the long-ass drive of day one considering once everyone got to the hotel, there was a silent, collective decision to all just turn in for the night. 

Day two was a little less chill. After being awoken by a panicked banging on the door of his hotel room, Rafe got out of bed as quickly as he could and opened the door, only to be greeted by Sarah who roughly pushed past him into his room.

“Yeah. Come on in. Good morning to you too.” He deadpanned before shutting the door.

“What the hell am I doing, Rafe?” She asked out of the blue, causing a look of confusion to settle on his face.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He stated.

He watched as Sarah sat on his bed and ran her hands through her hair, letting out a breath. “Is this too soon? Am I getting married too young? Like, I’m 21, Rafe. I should be out getting blackout drunk and having hookups and having regrets but instead, I’m doing the exact opposite.” She rambled.

“Okay. I see what’s happening now.” Rafe walked over and sat down next to Sarah. “Sarah, trust me when I say that marrying John B will not hurt any of that. I guarantee that you and John B will get blackout drunk together and call someone for a ride. I guarantee you will be having hookups, it’s just that all of them will be with John B. And you will have regrets. What those regrets are, I have no fucking clue but life is full of them. Trust me, I have a lot of regrets and I’m only 24.” Rafe told her. “But, I don’t think marrying John B is going to be one of your regrets. Canceling this wedding would be. After all, the venue does say no refunds.”

Sarah snorted slightly and Rafe bumped his shoulder against hers. “Believe me, Sarah, if anyone is ready to get married at this age, it’s you. You came down with a damn binder filled to the brim when you were like seven and placed it in front of me and dad on the coffee table and told dad to start making connections with everyone in that binder, right down to the dress designer.”

Sarah smiled before turning and wrapping her arms around Rafe. “Who would’ve thought you could give a pep talk. And liked John B.” She said.

Rafe slowly wrapped his arms around his younger sister. “Apparently you because you came to me. However, this does not mean I like John B. I am not going to start canceling shit just to have some one-on-one time with that curly-haired surfer dude. Okay? I simply tolerate him because he somehow makes you happy.”

After breakfast and lunch that he spent with Wheezie, last-minute plans when he walked to your room to ask you to lunch only to knock and have you answer the door which caused him to quickly abandon that plan and say “Whoops sorry. Room 202 for Wheeze,”, the rehearsal dinner came quickly. 

In all honesty, Rafe wasn't really paying attention to the dinner at all. How could he when you were right there, quite literally within his reach, laughing and smiling?

The actual wedding day itself was stressful leading up to the ceremony but after everyone got where they needed to be, it was smooth sailing. Rafe and Wheezie walked out after Kie and JJ. 

Rafe watched you walk down with Pope and couldn't help the pang of jealousy he felt in his chest. He also couldn't help but imagine himself as the groom and you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him.

He quickly shook the thought from his head though, watching you take your place next to Wheezie before turning your attention towards the door to watch his dad and sister walkout. 

You glanced over at Rafe and smiled slightly when you saw him bring a hand up to his cheek, wiping away a tear. You turned your attention to John B before Rafe could look over and catch you staring.

You saw John B wipe his hands on his trousers as subtly as he could. You caught JJ's eyes and he shook his head, mouthing 'fucking whipped' to you.

You nodded and moved your eyes between Sarah and John B before settling them back on JJ. 'Obviously' you mouthed back before the pair of you stopped before someone caught you.

In all honesty, Sarah did and she saw Rafe catch the interaction as well, noticing him swallow hard.

The ceremony went smoothly with no objections -Rafe fought back the urge to object just to mess with everyone but he knew his entire family wouldn't appreciate the humor- and after pictures, everyone moved inside for the reception as the sun began to set.

Dinner and drinks were served, toasts were made -JJ had made sure to include a few of John B's stupid and most embarrassing moments, much to Rafe's pleasure-, and then the dancing began. 

Sarah and Ward had their father/daughter dance and then John B and Sarah had their first dance before everyone else was encouraged to join them on the dance floor.

Wheezie walked over to Rafe and Rafe looked at her. "I am not nearly drunk enough to get out on that floor and dance with you Wheezie."

Wheezie just rolled her eyes. "You have a shot right now to go ask Y/N to dance and no one will even notice you. Take it." Rafe ignored her. "Oh, okay. So you can sit there and stare but you don't have the balls to walk up to her and say 'wanna dance'?"

Rafe glared at his half-sister. "Watch your mouth, Wheezie."

Wheezie took one last glance at the dance floor and shrugged. "That's fine. Looks like someone else did."

Rafe had never scanned a crowd faster than he did right there and sure enough, there you were, a cousin of his with his hands on your waist and yours on his shoulders, moving slowly around the dance floor.

"I'm going out for a smoke," Rafe muttered before getting up and making his way out of the building. 

He stood outside and brought out his pack of cigarettes, along with his lighter, and opened up the little carton. He withdrew a cigarette before closing the pack and shoving it back into his pocket, placing the cigarette between his lips. He heard the song from inside end before another one started back up as he flicked the spark wheel a couple of times, his thumb landing on the fork before a flame appeared.

He cupped his hand in front of the flame and brought the flame to the cigarette that rested between his lips, making a mental note to buy a new lighter since his was running out of juice.

Rafe heard the door open and close as he shoved the lighter back into his pocket and inhaled. He blew out the smoke before looking over to see who had joined him and was a little surprised to see you.

Of course, Rafe knew at some point you'd duck out of the party for some fresh air considering in social situations where they were tons of people, you needed to get away for a bit and recharge your social battery. He just didn't expect you to do that so soon.

You both stared out in front of you, not saying anything and Rafe brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another drag.

"It's beautiful out here." You breathed out, trying to start some conversation.

Rafe nodded as he exhaled. "Yeah, it is."

"I wouldn't mind getting married here." You added absent-mindedly.

If Rafe had a drink right now, he would've choked at your words. He nodded nonetheless. "Yeah. It's a pretty nice place to get married."

You looked over at Rafe. "You gonna be okay over there, big guy?"

Rafe turned his head to look at you, confusion written all over his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you wipe a tear away, bub." Rafe's heart sped up at the nickname that you used to use on him. "When Sarah was walking down the aisle. You gonna be okay or should the same reaction be expected at Wheezie's wedding too?" You smiled as Rafe groaned, tilting his head to look at the almost pitch-black sky.

"Don't even mention Wheezie getting married. To me, she's still that annoying thirteen-year-old that was always eavesdropping and snooping through shit." 

"Awe, Rafe. You got a soft spot for your sisters now. That’s so sweet." You cooed, knowing that when he was 19, the only thing he did was complain about the two Cameron girls. "Seriously though, I think it's sweet that you walked with Wheezie and that you shed a tear today." You told him.

Rafe couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth. "I wanted to walk with you but you told John B you'd rather walk with Pope."

Way to go, dumbass, he thought to himself.

"What are you talking about?" It was your turn to look confused.

Rafe sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke pour past his lips as he spoke. "I offered to walk with you and John B said no. I overheard him and Sarah talking a bit later and Sarah told him that it wouldn't hurt to ask if you wanted to walk with me or not. And I think you know the rest."

He might as well fess up about it since his mouth and brain already decided to rat him out anyway.

You shook your head. "I don't know the rest because John B never asked me who I wanted to walk with nor did he ask if I wanted to walk with you."

Rafe looked over at you, his eyes locked on yours. He knew when you were lying and this was not one of those times.

He chuckled before shaking his head. "God. He's such a dick."

You ignored his comment about one of your best friends and walked closer to him. "You seriously wanted to walk with me?"

Rafe nodded, looking down at the ground. He was in way over his head, admitting that after half a decade he was still thinking about you and wanting to be with you. Even if it was for like a 20-second walk down an aisle.

You felt a blush grow on your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers.

A beat passed before you spoke, keeping your head down. "If it makes you feel better… I would've said yes."

Rafe looked at you. "Yeah?"

You nodded and he took another drag from his cigarette.

"Can we start over?" He asked.

"What?" Your Y/E/C eyes lifted from the ground to meet his blue ones.

"Can we start over?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah. Sure."

Rafe cleared his throat before placing a small smile on his face and giving a little bow. "Hello. I'm Rafe."

You breathed out a laugh before giving Rafe a slight curtsy. "Hello, Rafe. I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rafe shook his head. "Oh no. The pleasure is all mine."

Your heads both turned to the building when the song changed once again to a slower song and Rafe took Wheezie's advice on seizing an opportunity. 

"You still like this song?" You nodded once more and Rafe put out his cigarette before extending his hand to you. "Would you like to dance?"

You smiled and took his hand. "Of course."

He placed his hands on your waist and yours looped around his neck, him starting to sway you two slightly.

"You look amazing by the way." Rafe complimented, taking in the lavender color of your bridesmaid dress.

"Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself." You took your hands from his neck and straightened his tie before returning them to where they previously were.

You moved closer to Rafe, resting your head on his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Rafe?" You mumbled towards the end of the song.

"Mhm?"

"I missed you." You admitted.

Rafe smiled before placing a kiss at the top of your head. "I missed you too, Y/N/N."

"Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you maybe wanna ride back to the ferry together? 8 hours is a long trip.  Especially when you're alone and I have to deal with JJ, Pope, and Kie." 

You heard Rafe’s heart speed up a bit before it calmed back down as he took a deep breath. 

"I would love that."

~~~~~~~

[kawaiijellymonster]

I have thoughts that everyone is gonna hate but this is my blog so I can say whatever I want and you have to deal with it.

Basically I watched the 2016 suicide squad movie the other day bc the new one came out and I realized I had never watched it, it was then i realized that's where the Jared Leto joker came from. Ive been thinking about the movie a lot because it seems like a lot of people really didn't like that movie, probably bc it's a bit of a mess but I think it's okay.

These thoughts are a mess too but thats fine, basically I'm trying to get at two things, the first is that I find the first movie more dramatic and compelling. Part of this is just that the atmosphere of the first movie is a lot darker whereas the second one relied a lot on heavy dramatic cgi gore for its darker moments. The other part is the relationship between Harley and the joker. We all know it's bad and psychotic and wrong, but it's also interesting. for every bold daring shitty thing joker did Harley followed it up with her own crazy shit, it's basically the ao3 tag "consensual but not safe or sane". Someone said that there's a difference between romance in a literary sense and romance in reality, that in literature, "romance" is about writing the id in its simplest most grandiose form, it means "this is beautiful, this is tragic, this is grotesque, this stirs emotion". That literary romance isn't something you would feel comfortable seeing in your everyday life. The Oscar Wilde quote "I didn't say I liked it, I said it fascinated me, and there is a great difference" really embodies this idea. No, their relationship wasn't good, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, but it was evocative and dramatic so I appreciated it.

Secondly, everyone hates the Jared Leto Joker. And I kind of get it, he isn't a psychotic clown, which isn't true to the "joker" character. 's tracker. But at the same time, batman didn't show up a single time except because of Deadshot which is also very out of character. This movie wasn't about joker, it wasn't about him being himself, it was about his relationship with harley.

Yes, he acted more like a mob boss, looking for power and money instead of just being batshit and dosing everyone on joker gas or fucking around with batman. But in this movie, Harley was center stage. He needed money and influence and power in order to do the majority of the things he did later on; pay off debts to get the guard to pass Harley the phone, break into the lab, have enough cronies to break into the lab, and then get to the city to disable Harley. The original joker didn't play well with others, often it was just him and Harley and maybe a couple of goons, but that joker wouldn't have been able to pull off this kind of prison break. This movie needed a joker with infectious psychotic charisma, absolutely batshit but willing to work with others, play by the rules a little to get what he, and more importantly, Harley, wanted. And even though none of those came into play until later if they only had him build power and influence after she was captured he would be building from the ground up, it made for a much more cohesive character to be more mob-bossy from the start than to 180 halfway through, and if he did who's to say Harley would still be in love with a much different joker? No, he isn't the original joker, but he is the one that Harley needed.

[farfromtommy]

better than this (dad!chris evans)

summary: a little insight into life as a parent with chris throughout the years 

warnings: talk of preterm labor but nothing graphic or major

word count: 2,250

A/N: okay so like this idea came to me at 2 am and wrote it till about 5 in the morning and im crying at the softness. totally unedited and posted bc im so obsessed with it. i havent written in this kind of format before but i loved loved loved it. i was also thinking while writing this to do this but for steve rogers and i swear i lost my mind. if you guys are interested in something like that id love to write this but for steve <3 

masterlist 

add yourself to my taglist here! 

After meeting through some mutual friends you fell in love with each other. Chris swore he would have married you after your first date. A ring came about a year and a half later, Chris not wanting to call you anything but his wife for any longer. One dream wedding and a month-long honeymoon around the world, you were Mrs. Y/N Evans.

The conversation about kids came fairly early in the relationship. Him coming from a big family, he wanted the same for himself. He wanted a big house in the Massachusetts suburbs, the white picket fence, a couple of dogs, and the kids. He wanted to come home from work being attacked by a couple of kids and seeing you walking towards him barefoot and pregnant.

You were an only child to divorced parents, growing up mostly on your own. You never saw yourself as a mom, but always loved the idea of running after a couple of kids. Never wanting to bring a child into the kind of world you grew up in. The sad and lonely kind of world you endured most of your life. After meeting his family after a couple of months of dating and seeing the way he interacted with his nieces and nephews, you couldn’t help but hope to see yourself raising some kids with him.

He loved the idea of raising a family with you.

Grayson Christopher Evans

You brought your first child into the world not too long after your wedding.

You were in labor for about 16 hours before you were met with the screams of a baby boy.

Your baby boy.

He cried and cried until his skin met yours, calming him down almost instantly. Looking over at Chris who was at an absolute loss for words at the little person calming himself with the sound of your heartbeat. He looked at you for a while before looking back at his baby boy.

Chris couldn’t quite process the feelings he felt that night his son was born. He knew how much he loved you. You knew how much you loved him. But having this little person as a tangible expression of your love and commitment for each other was just beyond him. It was beyond anyone.

Grayson was just like his dad. Almost an exact copy of him if you were being honest. The same big blue eyes. The same soft brown hair. The same everything. Lisa often said how much Grayson was just like Chris was when he was a kid. There was little of you visible in him. Maybe he had the curve of your nose and the shape of your lips. But he was all Chris.

His little personality bubbling since day one. You couldn't have asked for a more perfect baby. He giggled as much as he could and played until he fell asleep with a toy in his hand. You were so lucky to have been gifted this little boy as your first baby. Chris had been struggling to balance work and his responsibility to you and Grayson but never failed to make sure you knew how loved you both were, even from thousands of miles apart.

Eleanor Olivia Evans

After another long labor, you welcomed a little girl into your new family of 4. A tiny little girl who, just like your boy once did, calmed themselves down at the sound of your heart and the warmth from your body. Chris once again sat there just absolutely beside himself at the sight of the love of his life with his little girl on your chest.

Introducing Eleanor, or Ellie, to Grayson was probably one of the greatest moments of your life. Chris walked in with Grayson in his arms telling him that we needed to use our indoor voices when talking to mommy and the baby. Grayson quickly climbed to sit right next to you, not bearing even 1 day away from you. You hugged your little boy and talked to him about meeting his sister. Grayson ran his little hands running along Eleanor’s cheeks as you sat there crying at the moment they were having with each other.

Now with a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old life couldn’t have been sweeter. You had hardly been working while pregnant with Ellie, still having to keep up with a rambunctious toddler. Before kids, you were doing some writing for all sorts of movies and TV shows. After kids, you took fewer jobs that require travel and stayed mostly local.

Chris not wanting to leave you at home with a toddler and a newborn had made sure his work kept him close or allowed you and the kids to go with him. You both wanted to make sure you were there when Grayson and Ellie needed you.

If Grayson was a mama’s boy, Ellie was 1000% a daddy’s girl. She refused to let Chris out of her sight if she could help it. She refused to sleep most nights without hearing the sound of her dad’s voice and would cry and cry if he didn’t sing her to sleep. When Chris was pulled away for a week for work you were losing your mind trying to get her to sleep.

After a mild breakdown, you gave in and called Chris knowing even hearing his voice over the phone would calm the baby down. He sat there on the phone and just talked to her. She fell asleep almost immediately and slept through most of the night. You thanked Chris and ended up asking him for voice recordings of him talking and singing so you could play them in case he was pulled away again.

Charlotte Rose Evans

Charlotte, or Charlie as she's been nicknamed by her siblings, came into the world with a crew waiting so patiently for her arrival. By far the most painful and complicated birth you have had, she had quite dramatically made her entrance into the Evans family.

You had been monitored closely the last couple of months of your pregnancy as Miss Charlie tried to make an appearance early. You had some complications about halfway through and your midwife had been worried about possible preterm labor. You had started to have what you knew were contractions at 30 weeks and were immediately rushed into the hospital to try and halt the contractions and luckily succeeding.

You were placed on strict bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy, not even allowed to stand at the stove making dinner, only getting up to use the bathroom and move from the bed to the couch.

It didn’t make your life with an overactive 4 and 2-year-old easy at all. Chris stayed home 24/7 to take care of you and his mom and sisters rotating taking the time to stay with you to help with the kids.

When Charlie did make her debut both of you were as healthy as you could be. Once again, bringing Chris to tears as another baby made their way into your family. He didn’t know he was capable of loving this much. He thought he had reached capacity after Ellie but the love he had for you and his kids just kept growing as you kept adding on.

If Grayson was all Chris, Charlie was all you. Except for her blue eye, which you figured would be a pattern with your kids. She was a copy of you and Chris ate it up. Eleanor is a perfect combination of the two of you. You could see the traits of you as well as the traits of Chris throughout her. But Charlie was completely you.

Grayson fit right into his role as big brother and protector of the Evans girls. He made sure every night he said goodnight to his sisters and told them he loved them with a kiss on their foreheads.

Ellie was excited that she no longer had to share her dolls with Grayson and would finally have a girl to play with. Charlie looked up to her big sister, seeing her as the most amazing person she has ever met.

Grayson, however, felt like he needed another sibling, specifically a boy sibling, and constantly asked you for a brother. He said to you over and over again that his friends at school had brothers and he needed one so very bad. You and Chris had agreed to stop at 3 but had given into the idea of having 1 more to try and even out the numbers. With Grayson in 2nd grade, Ellie in kindergarten, and Charlie starting Pre-K soon, having another wouldn’t be impossible.

Declan Robert Evans

The 2nd boy and the 4th and final child Chris and Y/N had brought into their world. Another perfect mix of Chris and Y/N.

His birth being the last time you would be in the hospital having a baby made it just that more emotional. You soaked in the first moments of his life just a little bit more. Chris cried just a couple more tears, seeing that angel on your chest for the first time. You admired the father of your children just a little more seeing him introduce the addition to the family to your other kids. Adoring the look on Grayson’s face when you set Declan on his lap, finally meeting the little brother he’d been wanting. Asking you if he could take him to class to show off to all his friends.

Walking around your house Declan’s first day home was more emotional than you had thought it would be. You brought every single one of your babies right through your front door. You had pictures littered around the house of moments in your life you were lucky to have immortalized forever. Knowing you had started your family here made you love everything just that much more.

Declan now 5 years old, Charlotte 8 years old, Eleanor 10 years old and Grayson at 12 years old you couldn’t imagine life any differently. You and Chris celebrated 13 years of marriage and almost 15 years together surrounded by the physical representations of the love you two shared for each other was unexplainable.

You had slowly started to get back into the work you loved doing so much after Declan started school. You were able to work on projects offered to you with Chris and had become an unstoppable duo professionally and personally.

Even having the amazing opportunities to do something you loved to do, nothing would ever beat sitting around a table listening to your kids talk about everything and anything that came to mind. Listening to them talk about what happened at school or about upcoming events they want to participate in was the highlight of your day.

Grayson had been playing with a football the moment he could pick one up. Chris nearly cried when Grayson had approached you guys about doing little league football at the rec center. Chris had been watching Patriot's games with Grayson since the day he was born. Taking him to games with Scott whenever they had the chance. The love for football ran in his blood and when he found out he could play on a team he took the chance as soon as it presented himself.

Eleanor had found a love for music and performing, just like her dad. She had picked up music and singing at a very young age, which probably came from her dad's love of performing. You encouraged her to pursue her love for music by telling her stories of when her daddy was young and used to stand on stage before he started doing big movies. She loved looking at pictures and watching old videos of Chris performing in high school whenever she'd visit Grandma Lisa.

Charlotte had picked up your love of reading and writing as soon as she could. Her favorite day of the week is when her class gets to spend time at the library finding new things to read and learn about. So far a running theme with her is books about nature and animals. She loves sitting down with you in the afternoon and telling you about what she learned in the science portion of her day. She had learned about how plants and animals interact and how important they are for all humans. She told you that when she's big she wants to make sure no one ever hurts plants and animals since they are so important for us.

Declan hadn't quite developed a love for something like his siblings had. All he cares about right now is the kind of snacks his mom packs for him and superheroes. You and Chris had introduced him to the world of superheroes recently, knowing that being in school someone was bound to mention to him about seeing his dad on a movie they watched. He was obsessed with the fact that his dad was a superhero once upon a time. He loved watching Chris' movies and would always ask to watch them whenever Chris wasn't home.

You looked at Chris from across the table as Grayson talked to him about football tryouts and asking him if they could practice after dinner. He felt your eyes on him and looked at you with a smirk and a wink thrown at you before giving Grayson his attention again.

You sat back a little to look around at this family surrounding you, knowing there was nothing better than this.

[yandere-ac]

Waited for anon 😎 May I request... literally anything for Marshal? I love the little guy 😫

Yandere Marshal X Reader

I really enjoyed writing this! Probably because I have Marshal and know him better than the other villagers I’ve written for. This one is much lighter than the last one. Also i made Marshal and Raymond best buds (because this is my blog and y’all can’t stop me)

Marshal thought of himself as out of the ordinary. His beautiful singing voice, his stunning looks, his amazing personality. Yup, as far as he was concerned, he was the ultimate package. Never had he really met a person who he thought was as amazing as him, sure there had been people who were close. But never quite there. One of those people was the grey cat whom he was currently drinking tea with.

“So, hows the house hunting going crisp?” Raymond had asked his shorter friend. Marshal was currently moving out of his previous village and was looking for a new home. “No, no I haven’t. It’s tough, but I can’t seem to find a lot of open villages as of late” He said, lifting up his teacup and gently placing it on his lips. “Oh? Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s moved onto islands now. All part of the Nook inc. getaway package” Raymond gave him a smile as he placed a hand onto the squirrels shoulder. This made Marshal perk up. “Huh? Island getaway? I heard old Nook was gonna start something new but I didn’t think he would do something like this...” This made the office cat laugh. “Well, it’s actually quite nice Crisp” now this, this really shocked Marshal. “Wait really? You? Living on an island?” Marshal asked in a tone that he hadn’t quite meant. “Pff, what’s so strange about that Marshy? I’m not THAT high maintenance you know”. Hmm, so Raymond was living on an island now. ”How come I’ve never heard of this move of yours?” Marshal looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. “You never asked” He simply stated as he took yet another sip of tea. “Well I’m asking now aren’t i? So tell me all about it?” The blonde critter had asked, moving in closer to his feline friend. Raymond let out a snort at Marshals eagerness. But nevertheless, he delivered.

And so, he told him about his island life, about the different residents, about the island activities, about the sunny days and about the rainy days, about the different friends he’d made, basically, he told Marshal about pretty much everything.

“And on Saturdays the one and only K.K. Slider visit us to have a small concert” By now, both of them had drunken up their tea. “What?! No way!” Marshal had said enthusiastically. Raymond let out a chuckle as he reassured him. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you about our island representative! Their name is Y/N, they are such a doll, honestly. One time I left my stuff at another residents place and the next day they delivered it to me. Their such a dear, I think you two would get along just swimmingly” he said as he clasped his hands together. “Hmm? How come?” Marshal asked, looking up at Raymond puzzled. “Well, you both like fashion, and it shows, that’s for sure. You both are quite the small charmers, uhhh- oh! You both have good singing voices” This made Marshal very interested. “Oh really? I’ll have to visit sometime” Suddenly, Raymond’s eyes lit up, as if he got an idea. “I know! Why don’t you move to the island?” He said proudly, grabbing a hold of Marshals shoulders. “What?” Marshal stated in confusion, he couldn’t just...move to an island, could he? “Think about it Marsh! If you moved to the island, I wouldn’t have to take such long trips just to see you in person! And I could introduce you to Y/N and we could become the best trio!” By now, Raymond was rambling. But Marshal was thinking about it. It would be nice with a hand of scenery, plus being able to live next to his best friend was always good. And hey, who knows? Maybe he could come closer to this Y/N person. They did certainly sound interesting.

A couple of days later, Isabelle was happy to announce that a new friend was moving onto the island. And that new friend was Marshal. The first to greet him as he stepped off the plane was of course Raymond, who helped him unpack and get ready as friends do. But soon enough as Raymond was showing Marshal around the island they had heard footsteps coming closer to them. Without warning, Raymond was tackled into a hug. “Raymond! I missed you!” Shouted the person clinging onto him. Both of them laughed as the other let go of him.

“Oh! Y/N! There’s someone I want you to meet” The cat said as he gestured to the smaller animal. Y/N smiled as they held out their hand with a playful smile on their lips. “Greetings! The names Y/N” Marshal took a hold of their hand and shook it, giving them a gentle smile. “Marshal” he simply stated. “So, you’re the new resident? It’s good to have you on the island!” Y/N said as they looked over at Raymond. “So, Raymond. I wanted to ask you if I could boro-“ by now all that they were saying had become an absolute blur in Marshals mind. Y/N...they...they were perfect. Never in his life had he seen someone quite like them. They were so elegant, yet, they looked so laid back. Their eyes shined like two sparkly diamonds. Their hair, it looked so soft, he just wanted to touch it, to feel how soft it would be. He wanted to feel their skin brace against his fur. He didn’t know what was up with him, but he wanted to feel more of this feeling.

“Marshal? Hello? Earth to Marshal? This is Raymond speaking” Marshals thoughts were interrupted by a grey paw waiving in front of his face, taking him back into reality. “O-Oh! Umm sorry, I uh got lost in my own little world there...” Y/N let out a laugh at this, making Marshals cheeks get ever redder than usual. Once Raymond noticed this he got a wide smirk started growing on his lips. “Oh! I just remembered! I really gotta go do something...important! Y/N, since your here could you show Marshal across the island?” Raymond said, scratching the back of his neck while giving a nervous smile. Marshal looked at him and glared slightly, that bastard! “Yeah sure! Id be happy to” Y/N said, turning to Marshal and giving him a reassuring smile. “Okay, thanks! Gotta go!” And so, Raymond dashed off, leaving Marshal alone with Y/N. “So, uh...shall we go?”

And so, Y/N showed Marshal around the island. They showed him the different stores, the plaza, the beaches, they even showed him all the residents houses. “Aaaaand over here we have my house! In all it’s glory!” They said and pointed towards their house. It was beautiful. And fully upgraded to. Marshal was in complete and utter awe. “It looks very nice Sulky” He said, seeing the smile form on their lips made him feel proud. “Thanks, actually most of the island constitutions are made by me!” Y/N said, this was Marshals opportunity. “Oh really? That explains why they look so good” as he said this, he flashed a toothy grin. This caught Y/N off guard and Marshal could see the small tint of pink brush their cheeks. “Heh, thanks”

After the island tour, Y/N and Marshal decided to hang out for a while. They talked about a lot of things, but mainly it was Marshal talking about himself. At one point, he had brought up his amazing singing voice. To which Y/N responded with interest. “Oh really? What’s your favorite song?” They had asked, tilting their head. “K.K. Swing, it’s so good. And you?” He had returned the question, keeping his voice and posture calm. But on the inside, he was shaking in anticipation. What was your favorite song? “Well, I guess it’s kinda cliche but I really like Bubblegum K.K., but I also love a lot of his other songs as well” Y/N answered, giving him a sheepish smile. Oh. My. God. Not only were you incredibly good looking, but you had great taste in music!

“Hey I have an idea! Why don’t you sing a little? Raymond told me you had a great singing voice so I’d love to hear it” He said. Please except, please except, pleASE EXCEPT-

“Ooo, id love to. But I’m kinda hoarse at the moment. But hey, once I’m feeling better, you’ll be the first person I’m gonna go to alright?” As Y/N said this, Marshal could feel his claws digging into his arm, his eye twitch slightly. Damn it! He screwed up! But before he could think of anything else he felt you grab a hold of his arms. “Hey, it’s getting a bit late and I’m gonna go home now, but let’s see each other later alright? Bye Marshal!” Y/N said as they ran off. Well, better luck next time. They’ll see, in a short time. He’d have them. He’s sure of it.

“You seem to really like them huh amigo?” A certain office cat told Marshal. By now it had been a couple of weeks since the move. Marshal had told Raymond about his feelings for Y/N. And now they were talking about it. “What can I say Ray, their just so amazing, everything about them makes me wanna scream at the top of my lungs!” Marshals tail started to wiggle slightly as the thought of you entered his mind. “I see, well i hate to break it to ya Marshy but your not the only one who seems to want that human” Raymond said, going into Marshals kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Marshals eyes went wide as he heard this, did...did Raymond? “Calm down, it’s not me. I’ve seen the way you look at her, I would never try to break that up. It’s really quite adorable to be frank. No, the person that seems to have the hots for our fellow island rep isn’t even someone that lives on the island” huh? What was this? Who would it be if it wasn’t a resident. “The name of the person is Jolly Redd. He’s been coming too our beach and has been selling fake art. But the thing is, for whatever reason he always give Y/N the real art, for free nonetheless. It was very strange until I realized that he was probably in love with them. But what do I know, it’s just a guess. But it might be worth considering since I heard he’s coming to the island tomorrow” Raymond picked up his coffee cup and sat down beside Marshal, handing him a second cup. “Hmm, weird tell me more” He had said intrigued yet also angered. How dare someone try to steal his Y/N away from him. Hearing this, Raymond furrowed his eyebrows slightly and gave an unsure look around. “Well...oh but i really shouldn’t tell you this...but here’s the thing-“

The next morning you were walking around the island, greeting different people when all of a sudden Marshal came running up to you. You assumed that he wanted to teach you a new reaction but to your dismay you saw that he had a look of worry on his face. “Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you about! A-and it’s pretty urgent” Marshal has said, grabbing a hold of your hand. “Oh? Can it wait just a second Marshal? I have to go visit Redd down by the-“ “NO!” You were quickly silenced by Marshals sudden outburst, an outburst even he seemed surprised of. “I mean...this is about...Redd...” now this, this made you stop dead in your tracks. “Huh? What about him?” You asked, wondering what this was about. What about Redd made this so urgent. “Well, do you know why Nook hated Redd so bad?” He had said, this made a bunch of bricks form in your stomach. You did know that Tom hated Redd but he never wanted to tell you why, to you, Redd had always seemed so nice. So you didn’t understand what the big deal was. “They used to be businesspartners. Not only that but they were also friends. Good friends. However, Redd would later show Tom what their friendship meant” Ge said in a sad yet serious tone. “What do you mean by that?” You said, feeling a knot in your throat. “Well, Redd scammed Tom out of all his bells and abandoned him” As he said this you felt a gasp leave your mouth. You thought you knew Redd. although you had to be honest with yourself, this didn’t sound to out of reach for him to do. You a had always been very uncertain about Redd and one thing that would make you upset is how he sold fake art to your fellow islanders. “I...I see. I was gonna visit him but...if he could do such a think to Tom when they were friends...maybe he will try to scam me as well” you said as you started to fidget with your hands. “I was gonna head over to Brewster if you’d like to come with? Maybe that would take Redd off your mind” Marshal offered.

And so the two of you went to Brewster. you were talking, well, it was mostly Marshal talking about himself and you listening but it was still a conversation. “Hey Marshal? I’m glad you told me about Redd. I don’t feel comfortable buying stock from him if he scammed Tom. I can’t support someone who would do that to my friend” You said as you took a sip from your coffee. “Oh, no worries sulky. I’m always happy to help” Marshal said with a happy and satisfied grin.

Little did you know that he was overjoyed at the moment. He had successfully made you break off your relationship with Redd. Now you could be his! He’d have to wait of course. But he is willing to do so. After all, if someone else tried to take you, he could always tell you what a horrible person they were. Yes, that’s how he’d do it. Only he could have you, he was the only one who deserved you. You had awoken something new in him. Because for the first time in his life, he felt like someone was equal to him. Maybe even better than him! Every time he saw you he felt so soft and happy. And he wanted to explore this feeling. He wanted to go on fancy dates with you, he wanted to sing with you, he wanted to hold hands with you, wake up next to you in the morning and the last face he saw before he went to sleep. He wanted to have you. Scratch that. He NEEDED to have you.

You were going to be his.

You had no say in this.

[copias-thrall]

This is Halloween (Halloween)

Mary expands Suey's world by taking her to a crazy art party.

(Part: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9)

It’s one of the stretches where you actually haven’t seen Mary in a few days. He’d apparently been by your apartment—dishes were done and he took out your trash—but you’d spent that day hunkered down at a coffee shop so you could have sandwiches with a friend who got a job downtown. And while Mary can be lyrical when he wants to be, his texts are usually brief and full of letters that only make sense to him in his shorthand … so you’re not ever going to get any missives from the front lines from him.

Which is fine: you’re super-busy and full of your own hobbies. Like napping. And complaining. Occasionally you’ll round that out with chip-eating. You’ve never been particularly creative—which makes Mary wince at you every now and then (you love art, you’re just not … adept, and sometimes it seems unfair that he can write music AND lyrics AND doodle great sketches)—but you are a voracious reader. You’d been shocked to find out that not only had Mary read Austen, but he also had a love of Persuasion—a novel you yourself found superior to Pride & Prejudice. He’d been similarly chuffed when he’d realized you liked Chuck Palahniuk for more than just Fight Club. 

Which is all to say that when Mary’s not around, you like to combine your hobbies—a little chip eating while you read, only to fall asleep with the book on your face. 

Tonight is no exception.

It’s nearly Halloween (it’s tomorrow actually, and you’re only slightly bummed that Mary has to work), so in honor of the holiday you’re working your way through an anthology of Lovecraft. Unexpectedly, there's a knock at your door. You check your phone, but there are no texts.

Hmm.

There’s another knock, so you set down the book and sprint to your bedroom to take up what Mary has dubbed your “Masher Hammer.” You make it back to your apartment door just in time for a third series of knocks. When you look out the peephole, however, it’s clear that whoever’s on the other side is blocking the viewer.

Gripping your hammer tight—ready for swing mode—you unlatch your door and open it.

You’re met with the sight of a Jack O’Lantern. 

No—

Not a Jack O’Lantern … some guy with a carved pumpkin on his head.

“Ta-d—Jesus Christ, Suey … put Masher down,” says a muffled voice.

“Mary?”

Mary lifts the pumpkin—a real pumpkin, not a plastic basket from the dollar store—a little off his head enough for you to make out his face. You lower your swinging arm.

“Why is there a pumpkin on your head? What are you doing here?” 

He spreads his arms out and does jazz hands. “Mischief Night!” 

When you just stand there squinting at him, he finally takes the pumpkin fully off his head. His hair is squashed, and he’s only wearing some light makeup around his eyes and on his lips.

“So, you gonna let me in, or … should I duck?”

“Oh, right,” you say as you step back.

As Mary suanters in, you can see his eyes sweep to the couch where you’ve made a nest of blankets and pillows—your book lying face down, and the open bag chips positioned at an optimal angle on the coffee table.

“That looks nice.” He sidles up to you to squeeze your tits through your hoodie. “Almost makes me want to call it a night and get cozy in those blankets … I could crush those chips and lick them off you before I eat you out.”

His hand slides down to your crotch.

You’re trying to take him seriously, but he’s holding a pumpkin under his arm. You snap at his face.

“Mary—focus. What the hell?”

He gives you a put out look, exaggeratedly pushing out his bottom lip—but it’s soon replaced with a wicked grin.

“Mischief Night! Do you wanna go to a weird-ass art party?”

“An art party?” you ask dubiously.

“No, not what you’re thinking.”

He sets down the carved pumpkin on your table and walks to your fridge, rummaging around before pulling out the pisswater beer he keeps around.

“Think of it as a teen-movie house party—but on steroids and no one there got laid in high school. With, you know: art.”

“That’s … very specific.”

He walks back over to you, cradling the beer in one hand, and puts the other on your shoulder.

“We are under no obligation to participate in the orgy.”

You don’t think he’s joking.

He gives you a once over. “It’s also a—hmm—masquerade, so we gotta get you outfitted.”

Your mind darts.

“I only have those stupid headband cat ears my friend got me as a joke.”

He gives you a vulpine smile. “You’re gonna go as me.”

It had been a fun little party of two as you’d put on a YouTube Halloween playlist from your phone. Mary’d given you a dramatic mohawk with his precious airplane glue, then fished around in the pink makeup bag with hearts (that you’d put his stash in as a joke and he’d kept) to give you his iconic look—blood and all.

There was no way you were going to fit in his skinny jeans, but you’d been able to pair one of his well-worn tees (that you hadn’t already stolen) with your favorite denim skirt. Mary had taken off one of his studded belts to wrap around you—it’d needed a couple of safety pins to act as extensions, but Mary had assured you that that just made the style more authentic. Upon Mary’s request, you’d put on your ripped fishnets, and you had your own worn Docs to complete the look.

“Do I get to be a sex-crazed jerk all night?” you’d asked as you’d admired yourself in the corroded full-length you had propped up by the bathroom.

“You say that as if that’s something new and different for you—fuck ow,” said Mary as you’d tapped his balls.

“So where is this place?” you ask as Mary and you head to the train. 

It’s in the old factory district, which means it’s a ways away, but still subway accessible.

“It’s actually in a converted co-op. I think they started out as squatters—unclear—but now it’s above board as a residence and shit. I used to know a guy who lived there for a while—they had sectioned off areas with screens—and he had a corner so he slept in a hammock. Most of the space is for their art, though. What a fucking life to live.”

You look at him, incredulous. “Mare. You live in a 2 bedroom with 4 other dudes.”

He scoffs at you. “We also have a couch. It’s a whole ‘nother level.”

You just hum at him.

When you finally get there—after a few mis-turns in this silent neighborhood full of abandoned brick factories—you’re surprised (despite Mary’s description) to see that the place is lit. There’s a guy standing at the entrance to the parking lot (that slopes dangerously toward the river) checking attendees; it becomes clear that not only is he checking for 21+, but for alcohol and toilet paper. Those without either have to “donate” $10.

“Oh—” says Mary right before it’s about to be your turn. “I’m not Mary tonight.”

“What should I call, then? The ‘Great Pumpkin’?”

“Just not Mary,” he hisses as you shore up to the “bouncer.”

The guy is not in any kind of costume—just grey sweats and a sports team hat. He’s sitting on a bar stool, and he has a little flashlight he’s using to check IDs.

“Hey, guys!” he says cheerily. “Welcome to Magical Mischief Mystery at the Factory. IDs? Ah! TP and suds? Cool, cool.”

He checks your IDs, then looks at you, then your IDs … then at Mary’s pumpkin face, then at you.

“OH MY GOD,” he starts chortling and slips off the stool to grab Mary’s arm. “Mary, you old bastard—I haven’t seen you since Dusty left to get hitched.”

You take a deep breath and—in your best screamo voice—you say, “I’m fucking Mary Goore,” (not a lie) “and he’s ‘Late for Dinner’.”

The pumpkin head turns to you. You can feel Mary’s unamused gaze.

The bouncer starts wheezing so hard that you’re afraid he might expire from laughing.

“Fuck, fuck,” gasps the dude. He shakes his head, eyes watery from mirth, and waves the two of you through.

“I hate you,” says Mary.

“I didn’t call you ‘Mary’, though,” you quip as you slip your arm through his.

“Why do I have to carry all the shit? Here. Pull your fucking weight.”

Mary hands you the toilet paper roll he heisted from your bathroom.

“Are we going to TP something?” you ask as you take the roll from him.

“Heh. No, it’s purely functional. This many people? It’s so the bathrooms don’t run out.”

The two of you enter with another mass of people, traveling through the miasma of secondhand smoke from the smokers. You cough, but Mary inhales deep, sighing. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you gape as you look around.

You and Mary stand on an open floor—which is what 5 or so floors look out onto all the way up. The place is crowded, but not jam packed. There’s a makeshift kitchen area where a dude in a bare chest and suspenders is accepting the toilet paper and libations. Above him is a white sheet that’s stretched out, on which an Art Film is being projected. The film has no sound because in the far corner there’s a DJ spinning, and a group of people are “dancing” to his jams. Mary was right: it’s like some kind of frat party for the artsy set. Because of the theme, most everyone is in a mask of some sort, and people—or groups of people—are making out in corners in various states of undress. 

Mary grabs two beers, then leads you to a staircase—there’s a freight elevator by it, but it’s got cheesy Halloween “do not enter” tape blocking it.

“The first year too many people loaded into it, and it dropped 3 floors before the emergency brakes kicked in,” says Mary as he notices where you’re looking.

In a loft on the second floor you and Mary watch a woman—nude and covered in white paint—become the canvas to her girlfriend’s landscape painting.

In what’s clearly a shared bedroom, you and Mary peruse some really great paintings and sketches from what must be a number of the co-op residents.

“You should have told me to bring cash,” you say.

“We can always come back. I know a guy.”

You imagine Mary’s probably winking at you.

On the third floor there’s an inexplicable open-air kitchen attached to a bathroom. In it there’s a dude doling out beer from a keg.

“What’s this,” Mary asks him.

“It’s my homemade IPA, dude! Pumpkin for the season!”

He hands Mary a business card.

“We have a small space in the boonies, but we’re trying to get a brewery up and running in the city. Red tape though, man.”

“I fucking hear that.” Mary takes a sip. “Good shit, dude.”

The guy high-fives Mary.

“One for your girl?”

Mary hands you the solo cup, and you take a sip. You were expecting something grassy and hoppy—but the pumpkin actually balances it out nicely without it itself being cloyingly sweet. When you nod, Mary just lets you have his and indicates to the brewer to pump another cup.

The two of you enter what you think might usually be a studio space, but instead there’s a burlesque performance going on. There are some people making out, but Mary and you watch, rapt, praising the skill of the performers to each other.

The fourth floor has the least amount of people. Someone is doing a reading in one corner, and across the way there’s some sort of performance art going on. A woman stands in a white shift and gauze. Every time a dude who looks like a Nazgul rings a bell, she contorts herself to a different pose with a dancer’s ease.

You roll your eyes, but Mary begs your patience—watching solemnly as she continues.

“What is it?” you ask when the set is clearly over.

“Did you not feel it?”

“Uh …”

Even through the pumpkin you can feel his eyes on you.

“She’s a dancing monkey. Bound and constrained, only ever allowed to perform at the whim of her faceless master.”

“Mary …”

“No—don’t scoff. That was meant for you. It’s an allegory for the patriarchy, and I for one found it quite moving.”

You guess you can see it now that Mary’s pointed it out to you. He takes off the pumpkin, and you hold it while he goes over to talk to the woman. You shift uncomfortably as they engage, and she grabs his hands, shaking them profusely. Mary suddenly points over at you, and the woman waves and motions you over.

“Oh my god, look at you!” she squeals. She turns back to Mary. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—she looks just like you.”

“I liked your patriarchal allegory,” you say.

Mary twists his mouth at you, but the woman just presses her hands to her chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m testing it out here as a protest piece. A bunch of us are going to travel to different cities and perform outside of big corporations.” She grabs Mary’s wrist. “Your boyfriend is wonderful. His song about—”

“—my band’s song—”

“—the nature of performative gender roles is one of my favs.”

You have no idea which song she’s talking about, but Mary looks pleased. So you’re pleased. You wrap your arm around his waist.

“He is pretty great.”

She lifts her veil to chug the glass of water Nazgul hands her.

“It was so nice to meet you person to person, Mary. I’m going to find the ladies before my next performance.”

“Love your work, Lizzy. I’ll put you on the list for our shows. Show up anytime!”

She bows and shuffles backwards as Mary leads you away.

“You have no idea what song she’s talking about do you?”

“I—” you sputter. “Uh. Dead Things?”

Mary looks at you indulgently.

“I’ll let you think about it.”

It turns out that the 5th floor is off limits to party goers, so Mary—back in his Jack O’Lantern—and you wander down to ground level to acquire more beer and to join the crowd of dancers. At some point the two of you take a break to pee, then hydrate as you add your own dialogue to the film on loop above you.

Back on the dance floor, there’s some skanking, some goth writhing, and some line dancing as the DJ spins his own set and sprinkles in some crowd requests. At this point in the night, most of the attendees have already made passes through the upper floors and are now all on the dance floor. Mary does some goth stomping (his pumpkin abandoned and now being passed around), and you do a silly skank until you slip on a slick spot and fall on your ass. After that, Mary pulls you close and grinds against you, his thigh between yours, both of you buzzed from multiple trips to the bar.

“Do you wanna find a corner?” he whispers into your ear.

In any other situation you’d probably say no … but—for all the crowd is packed—this is clearly a private party, one whose hosts don’t frown upon a little bit of lechery. You guess he wasn’t kidding about the orgy, after all.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

It takes a little investigation, but Mary and you find a room that seems to have been either designated or usurped as the makeout room. There’s a writhing mass in one corner, and the bed is covered in rolling bodies. There’re some breathy invitations—and a hand or two lightly caresses your calf as you walk by—but no one insists on participation further than that. 

Mary yanks a pillow from the bed and tosses it to the floor. He pulls you down so that you’re both on your knees, his mouth capturing yours and his hands alighting everywhere. A hand of his sneaks down your skirt, and yours slithers down his jeans—the roving fingers of you each more a prelude than anything, stoking you both up to what’s next.

“Can I fuck you?” huffs Mary.

“Kinda drunk,” you say.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—just not gonna be very useful,” you giggle.

Because you wore the fishnets you’re not wearing underwear, so all Mary has to do is rip a hole in the crotch area—they’re not even good fishnets, so it’s not like there’s a liner to contend with. He grunts at your wetness.

“You sure?”

“Fuck me, Mary.”

He fumbles with his dick, finally managing to sink it into you. It’s a very awkward fuck—you’re lolling all about the place, and Mary isn’t being particularly steady.

At one point a light turns on only for a Sorry! to squeal out as it turns off again.

You try to swallow your laugh, but your jiggling belly can’t hide your reaction, and soon Mary is laughing too.

“Fuck … shut up … fuck,” he giggles. “I’m trying to get off here.”

You’re just catapulted into further fits, and before long Mary’s soft cock is slipping out of you as he joins you in snickering.

“Crap. I might be too drunk for this too.”

The two of you lay like that for a bit, a feedback loop of laughter, until your belly muscles ache.

“Fuck. Take me home, Suey.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say. 

After some readjusting, you both stumble out of the room. The crowd has thinned, but that’s not to say the dance party isn’t still going strong.

“We should get a cab,” you say.

“Cash?” Mary asks as you guys shuffle out of the building.

“App,” you say as you hold up your phone to poke at your cab app. “My card s’on file.”

“Fancy.”

“S’for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “Like staying too late at a factory party.”

There’s a comedy of errors when the cab can’t find you and cancels, and you have to rebook—only to have the same cab automatically cancel your order again. Mary calls the number for dispatch, and they direct you out to a main street. The cab that picks you up is the same cab that voided your reservation twice, and he yells at you for giving him the wrong address.

You let Mary argue with him (content to doze on his shoulder)—the conclusion seeming to be that while you put in the correct address, the app didn’t like it and spit out a close, but different, pickup address.

By the end of the trip, however, the cabbie and Mary seem to be old friends. He lingers even after the driver validates your card, talking with the guy about where he’s from, until you tug on his arm.

“Sleepy,” you grumble into him.

The cab driver laughs.

“We are beholden to our women, yes?”

“Happily,” says Mary as he wraps an arm around you.

“Have a good night,” says the cabbie, and Mary just raps on the car, waving as it pulls away.

 “What a cool dude,” he says as the two of you shuffle toward your building.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“Jesus, you’re useless when you’re drunk.”

There’s a lot of fumbling and stumbling, but you both finally make it into your apartment. Somehow Mary gets you into the shower, which you don’t even realize until it turns on, and you shriek when the cold water smacks you in the face before it has the chance to warm up.

“Why am I still in my clothes?!” you whine.

Mary pokes his head in.

“You fucking serious? You almost bit off my fingers when I tried to undress you!”

“I’m more than just sex!” you yell.

“Just fucking wash your face.”

“Kay.”

You fall asleep sitting in the shower, waking only when the water turns cold. It seems to have had a sobering effect, because you definitely feel more clear headed than when you entered—it’s not as funny to be slightly sober and peeling off your cold, wet clothes. Usually you give your teeth the full experience, but tonight (this morning?), you just give them a quick brush.

For all he seemed soberer of you two, Mary doesn’t seem to have fared much better. He managed to get his shirt off, but he’s lying on your bedroom floor—curled in a ball—still in his unbuckled jeans. It would be amusing—and maybe after sleep it will be—if you weren’t so wrecked. It’s a struggle tugging off his jeans, and he semi-wakes halfway through and starts to shiver.

“Wha—?”

He looks at you blearily.

“Help me get your pants off, Mare bear.”

He blinks down at his legs, then sort of squirms his legs to help you wiggle him out of the black denim. Luckily—disorientated as he is—he’s able to assist you in getting him into your bed; he conks out again the minute you trundle him under the covers. The night outside is lightening, and you know there’s no way you can work tomorrow. Today.

Whatever.

You shuffle into your living room and start up your laptop, blinking rapidly as it boots up. When it finally loads, you send off a missive to your supervisor about potential food poisoning you’ve contracted, but how you’ll check your email later this afternoon. You preemptively down some ibuprofen and sneak some of Mary’s Pedialyte.

Mary seems dead to the world when you climb into your bed, but he’s rolling over and wrapped around you as soon as you’re settled, huffing into your neck.

“Took the morning off,” you mumble.

He hums.

You’re in a good doze when he speaks, jarring you back awake.

“Had fun?”

“Yeah, Mare. Now, shh.”

He mumbles something into your neck, but it’s too incoherent and you’re too knackered to decipher it. You just relax into his koala embrace and let sleep take you.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

[olympianpandback]

April 12 - 15

We got out of Roswell fairly early and headed to White Sands National Park near Holloman Air Force base. We decided to see if they had a spot at the RV park on base. They did but we had to register with the public health officer on base to verify that we had gotten our COVID 19 shots. The Tech sergeant that worked with us was very helpful and we got the paperwork completed on the phone which he forwarded to the visitor center where we had to pick up our pass. We got to the base visitor center and it was a seamless process. It turns out we are both in the Air Force computer system. It’s scary that we are, but makes getting on Air Force bases much easier. Let’s see what happens in California!  I'm good to get on base anytime with my ID card and Elizabeth has to get daily or a certain number of days Pass. The campground was very nice with very clean bathrooms and a free laundromat because they are planning an upgrade to larger machines, yea.  We checked in and went back to the White Sands National Park to look around. It is an absolutely beautiful place. It’s the largest gypsum area in the world over 200000 acres (275 sq. miles). We took a one-mile walk that has descriptors of the wildlife and how they survive. The definitions and descriptions were very detailed and interesting how animal and insect life survives and thrives in a desert environment. It was difficult to walk certain parts but if you knew to get all the beaten track and walk on the hardpacked sand that the wind had blown flat, it was easier.  It was pretty warm and of course dry but we hydrated before we left and had a relatively easy walk. The signs weren’t clear about which direction start so we ended up going backwards. I've always been a contrarian by nature and that didn't bother me at all. We met people coming in the opposite direction, just smiled and kept going. There was a different 600' boardwalk further on with easy walking with more descriptions of how the white sand developed. It turns out that there is moisture only 3' deep according to the signs. We kept driving into the park for a couple of miles until we came to the end of the pavement and turned around because the RV doesn't do well on washboard roads even though the sand was well compacted. We decided turn around and head back to camp. We had an uneventful evening with really good sleeping weather in the high forties to mid-fifties and dry, so dry. During our walk in the morning around the campground we bumped into a woman who had a German accent. I asked her where she was from and she said Illinois. I said where were you born. She said Berlin. We had a nice 30 minute conversation in German, mostl,y so I could practice my German. Marion is a very nice lady and we promised to give her some information about the windows in our house. She may want to upgrade her windows because it is so hard to clean them. That’s what we like about traveling, you meet some of the most interesting people.

April 14

Before we left the Air Force base in the morning and we went to buy some military T-shirts for Nunzio. We decided to go to the commissary to look around. Much to our surprise, we found real German bread from a bakery in El Paso. They had 2 of my favorites, farmers bread and Roggen brot (Rye bread). We snagged a loaf of each and now are trying to figure out how to preserve them for a couple of weeks. We were able to freeze most of the farmers bread and we will be eating ham and cheese on German bread for a couple of days for sure. The refrigerator is starting to get cleared out because we are using what we had there when we left home. On our way to Silver City, we saw something called Dripping Springs National Monument. We decided to take a side trip to look around and ended up taking a 1.5 mile hike up the mountain to see the Dripping Springs area. In the past there had been a hotel and Sanitorium there. It was a pretty strenuous hike but we made it along with couple of other crazy people to see water dripping out of a rock in some abandoned buildings. You will see the pictures below this narrative. We then headed towards Silver City knowing we wouldn’t get there until dinner time so we called ahead and booked two nights at an RV park near downtown. It is a very nice campground and we got a place right across from the bathhouse. We don’t always use full hookups because is too much trouble for 1 or 2 nights especially when we have to disconnect to go sightseeing.

April 15, 2021 we left the campground about 10 o’clock to drive the Cliff dwellings along the trail of the ancients byway. It took us an hour and a half to drive 45 miles because the road was very curvy and crossed the continental divide at 6900 feet. Along the way we ran into the couple we met in Albuquerque again for the third time and had a small chat as they were leaving the pictograph site. We asked if they were staying at the passport America campground and they were not. They ask if we thought the passport America pass was worth it. We said we paid for our annual fee in the first 4 camp sites. We agreed to sponsor them so they can get 6 more months on a regular subscription we will get 6 more months on our current stupid gin plus a $10 rebate. The walk up to the Cliff dwellings was fairly easy except for the 185 feet stairway section which was like climbing an 18 story building. We could not enter the Cliff dwellings, allegedly because of spring break which created spike in COVID 19 cases in New Mexico. I think it was a cop out to keep people out. The brochure says there are 42 rooms that YOU can walk through and investigate in normal times. Oh well, you have to adapt and adjust in this time frame. Before we started our trip to the cliff dwellings, we met a couple who had shipped RV over from Stuttgart to Argentina to start a world tour, probably more a South American in North American tour. They drove along the coast and west of South America all way up to Costa Rica until COVID hit. They were stuck for 5 months in Costa Rica. They shipped their RV to Florida’s east coast and began a journey around America before heading to Alaska via Canada, oops COVID.  The RV can stay in America for a year, but they have to leave after 180 days. They cannot get a waiver and there is no other country they can go to for one day. Ironically, they got one of the lottery passes to the wave rock formation in Arizona last year. We know people who have been trying for 10 years to get a pass to walk up to the Wave formation in Arizona. When we get closer, we may try to win the lottery using the formula that they used by registering for Saturday Sunday and Monday where they had 3 lottery drawings. Hey only 1% of people get to go there and we’d like to be in that group. We drove down from the mountain and did the rest of the loop trail of the ancients past Lake Roberts where we stopped for coffee and back to our campground before cocktail hour. That’s all folks through April the 15th.

[cruzrogue]

I know...Kinda don’t...U know...

Another story hit me! I’m putting the idea on tumblr because that is where I place my story ideas. Don’t know if this will continue or die. I have plenty of stories to juggle. But in-between writing them these ideas won’t let me go...

It starts off with Cisco Ramon from the flash and Felicity Smoak from Arrow getting to know each other in non-platonic circumstances. They like each other. It becomes an olicity story because I’m a Oliver and Felicity fan. Haha. Those two are just it for me. I can read or write them in similar situations and not get tired of it. I actually love that! 

Thanks beforehand for reading especially if you got this far.

Cisco Ramon & Felicity Smoak, OliverQueen/FelicitySmoak

My idea is to make 2 versions of any chapter that I might have smut. (Clean/Smutty) AKA (1A/1B...2A...etc) That is if I continue... Well here goes!

(Untitled story)

Cisco Ramon not one that is usually popular with the girls. Especially when alone and not with his college friends. Friends that brought him along to this year’s spring break trek across a few cities before getting back to his own university.

Wanting to go to a nerd hangout. Scope the world of mechanical wonderment with a side of technological flair at this exhibit. No way that the possibility of missing such mind-blowing thought-provoking display would not fall on his roaster of things to do in Las Vegas. His boys bailed at the idea of spending an ounce of time in the land of boredom. Their words not his. He’d meet up with them at that party venue some guy told them about last night.

Like always he’s enjoyed his alone time and now is ready to adventure to the wild side. Hanging with rich kids has brought a level of craziness. Things these guys do are beyond some of the frat boy lifestyles he’s seen in movies. Just a factor of wow and unbelievable.

The bouncer takes one good look at him and double checks his ID. Cisco just makes a cheesy grin as he tells the guy its 100% him.

The music is low. Not much going on. He is the early bird. Checking his watch early by two hours. Probably should have gone to the hotel. Leaving with the gang. They bring the party. Oh well. He is here now. Maybe he can see if they serve some grub.

Movement catches his attention. Long black hair being pushed to the side. He notices she’s trying to read while hitting her pencil against the table to the beat of a song playing. The closer he gets to the counter the view of the hottie only gets better. Better meaning the anticipation of getting a mildly improved glance. Taking in those sexy low-cut boots. Following her limbs upward. Stopping mid length on her upper thighs as she must be wearing a short skirt. Her long hair covering the view to her face. He wonders how pretty she must be.

“If you keep staring, you’ll burn a hole in my head.”

That gets him to suddenly apologize. He didn’t think she’d notice him. Finally, she sits up straighter moving the hair that is obstructing a clear picture of her face. He suddenly sucks in air. She’s breathtaking.

Her index finger shoots up to the mirror off to the side. A mirror he didn’t catch until now.

“The mirror has failed your gawking ways.” Her lips are pressed to a thin line but there is mirth in her eyes. She knows he won’t be able to tell she’s amused.

“Sorry.” He mutters now totally embarrassed. Serves him right for ogling.

“The club isn’t really open for dancing yet. What brings you in? Not the stale pretzels I hope.”

“I’m super early. I just came from the conservatory of Mechanical Engineering exhibit that was hosted this week and well I couldn’t say no to…”

“Being that guy that drools over numbers.”

A part of him deflates. This hot chick thinks he’s a loser, “Yea. I’m that geek.”

“Well then. It’s a safe bet to get the tenders, onion rings, and maybe apple crisp if you have a sweet tooth.”

“So no on the pretzels?” He smiles because just maybe he has a shot with this beauty. “What about the nut selection?”

“Both are probably salty. You know. It gets you to drink more. Though if you want to handle any certain number of nuts that they serve. I won’t be able to enjoy talking to you further.”

“Oh! You don’t like them? Or do you have some food intolerance to pine nuts?”

She gives him a sly smile, “Seems like the only nuts I can’t handle.”

His mind is quick and it makes him have a goldfish moment. They aren’t even arguing except his mind is screaming. Opening and closing his mouth to only leave it open in surprise. She’s flirting. She is flirting with the nerd him. “I’ll be right back.” He thumbs the food counter.

Felicity goes back to reading. Keeping from sparing a look back at the interesting nerd who seems to like her goth appearance. She knows what she wants tonight. She went out. Instead of studying in her room at her mom’s place. Where she’d be bored out of her mind. It’ll be nice to enjoy a night with a guy that seems to be intellectually sound.

He gets back placing the double portions of the food choices she mentioned while joining her. Just that alone gives him some secret points he has no idea about. They have a blast talking. Actually, chit chatting about science and math related situations that would bore the likes of most other people. Those that can’t fathom how awesome existence is with the mix of these two subjects. Pushing creations to make human lives better.

It leads to them to pulling out their identification’s cards. Both checking the emblem on each other’s license.

“Francisco Baracus Ramon.”

“Yep, a mouthful.” He pops a broken piece of an onion ring into his mouth before looking at her name, “Felicity Meghanne Kloak.” He has no idea that the ID is fake. That isn’t her real name or age. Her mother gave her a fake id as a parting gift as she left to M.I.T. “Oh shit, you’re just eighteen. I’ve been serving a minor alcohol.” She doesn’t correct him further to say that she’s actually sixteen. “I turned twenty-one just like a friend of mine a few weeks back.”

“Happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel any different.”

“You don’t? You’ve had a few strong drinks.” She says with laughter.

“I’m not sloshed. Hey why aren’t you a little tipsy? You’ve been drinking by myside this whole time.”

She outright laughs, “Your twenty-one. Jimmy would lose a gasket if a minor had alcohol in the open like we are.”

“Whose Jimmy?”

“The owner.”

“Oh!” Cisco says with a frown.

“Cheer up. Isn’t the point to have fun? Enjoy life? Us nerds are already so stuffy.”

“Says a literal goddess. You are so beautiful.” He sees that she about to burst out laughing at how he is becoming so corny. “Come on its not just the alcohol talking. You are just so amazing.”

That has Felicity be a lot more assertive as her hand moves up his arm showing an attraction. Somewhere during the hour and a half of being together they’ve moved to be sitting by each other. Able to talk easier as the sound check started to interfere with hearing the other.

That is until Cisco feels that he may have overdo it with the drinking and heads to the bathroom. Leaving Felicity to not see him again tonight.

----------sp@ce--------------

Cisco meets the gorgeous goth girl named Felicity. Instead of dancing he’s having a session with the round porcelain latrine. He’s a little out of it but his friends meet up with him. Thank goodness his friends arrive. At least the two who needed to pee. Escorting him to a VIP lounge. He’ll rest there. So much for the sweet perfect dream of a girl he met earlier.

Oliver and Clive go check out the club as the rest of the party is escorted to the VIP lounges.

It doesn’t take long until Felicity catches Oliver’s eye. She’s isn’t alone per se as she listening to some guy and her lips are strung in a line of just being polite. He makes his move as Clive tells him he doesn’t get the appeal. Oliver just shakes his head telling his friend ‘variety is the spice of life’.

The guy by the goth’s side trying to sound smooth as he drawls out, “You sure you don’t want something better? I can just call…”

Oliver hears the guy’s line and rolls his eyes. He’d let it play out if the girl was willing to take the drink but with this Goth chick saying adamantly, she is good with what she has. The guy doesn’t get the hint she doesn’t want another drink. As the man calls for the bartender. Oliver steps into the game.

“She has impeccable taste.” Oliver says contemplating the guy who is being let down nicely but is willing to make her uncomfortable. He holds the cocky signature look he is known to have as the other guy is sizing him up. Adding, “It doesn’t stop with just drinking choices.” Catching her stare. He winks.

Taking the moment to dip on his chances as the other guy becomes a third wheel. The odds rising in his favor as her body converges towards his own.

The bartender taking the other man’s order first. A certain venom seeping from his voice as he gets a drink for himself only. Concluding a dark stare towards the couple as the pensive man conflicts with himself if he should just walk away.

“And for the lady?”

Felicity noticed a recognition between the man behind the counter and what she supposes is her knight in shining armor or in her case fitted suit jacket. She’s kept from gawking at the newest intruder. Her eyes falling back onto her drink. Being put on the spot she just tells the bartender to give him his usual. She doesn’t know if they know each other. It doesn’t really matter because the other guy leaves. It’s a huge weight off her back. He was just to persistent for her tastes.

As the bartender hands off the new stranger’s drink. Felicity gets a nickname she presumes as the man dubbed Ollie says ‘thank you’ shelling out a handsome bill for a simple drink.

Oliver doesn’t move to take a seat. Keeping his focus now on his own drink as he sips slowly and placing the drink not far from hers. “It’s actually Oliver.”

“Thanks for the save. Oliver” She finally lets herself look at him again. He is gorgeous. Long locks that probably are way overdue to get cut. Taking him in. She rather digs that his hair accentuates his baby face. Though those blue eyes are mesmerizing. She could get lost in them. That is dangerous. It doesn’t seem to help that he notices her staring. “It’s Felicity.”

Her name falls from his lips and it brings a smile to his face. She gets to notice he has dimples. Oh boy she is in trouble.

“It’s a pretty name.”

Her hand goes for her drink. Controlling her temptation to reach out and touch his cheekbone. That’d be weird.

“Thanks. Do you know the bartender?”

“Met him yesterday. Told us about this club.”

“Us?”

“Spring break. Me and a few friends.”

“I’m on break too.”

“Really? What school?”

“M.I.T.”

“Cool, small world.” He can’t but smile. “My new school is in Boston too.”

“You’re a transfer?”

“You can say that. So, why Vegas?”

“Guilt trip.” Seeing the question form she continues, “I’m a freshman. I took a work study program plus a load of classes this summer. Money’s tight but she’s… she’s my mother.”

“She misses her baby girl. I think that is so sweet.” As she gives him a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t take it back. To him parents that care. They are the best.

“Same question? I doubt being in Vegas while under twenty-one is a big drawl.”

“It’s a pit stop. We are heading to New Orleans next.” He doesn’t mention Miami before heading back to Boston. “What gives my age away?” He waits for her to say his baby face.

“You weren’t asked for an ID. Out in the open. Even with him knowing you. You’d have been asked if you were going to consume alcohol. Just in case of narcs. I’m guessing that drink doesn’t contain alcohol.”

“Did you watch him make the drink?”

“No. But that camera over there.” She doesn’t point. “Jimmy would never allow that in his establishment. Now private rooms where there might be a few minors he’d let that slide.”

“You know the owner.”

“If you mean know as in… He dated my mom than yes I know him.”

“Past tense. Guess it ended amicable or you wouldn’t be here.”

She nods taking another sip of her drink, “He’s got a smiling sun tattoo on his butt cheek.”

“What?”

“Things you wish to never see but my momma doesn’t know how to have signals that she’s busy entertaining.”

“Ew. I couldn’t imagine catching my parents.”

“At least you know they did the deed once to get you.”

“I have a sister.”

“Okay.” She laughs, “Pardon me, twice at least.”

He likes her laughter. Among the list of other things. He’s about to say something else when a buddy of his is trying to get his attention. Felicity shifts to follow Oliver’s line of sight and she sees another good-looking guy using hand signals to converse with the tall college student she’s been getting to know. Trying not to eavesdrop she repositions back to the original posse before him.

“Need to leave?”

Oliver responds with a firm no. As his eyes trail back to hers. She can see whatever the other guy said has made him go red in the face.

“Are you alright? You’re red-faced.”

He shakes his head. Letting out a self-deprecating moan.

“What’s the deal?”

Oliver’s bites his lip as she can tell he’s radically thinking. She can pinpoint it in his eyes when a decision is made and wow those blue eyes are so distracting.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“What about your friends?”

“They can live without me for some time. I’d like to get to know you. We’re in Vegas. Let’s paint this town red.”

“Or you can let a native show you to some hidden gems.”

“Hmm. I’d like that even better.”

She slides off her chair and Oliver gulps as his eyes travel down her backside. She’s already leading them towards the exit.

“Do you need to say goodbye.”

“Nah, they’ll get the message if they don’t see me.” He walks a little quicker to get the exit door opened  for her to leave first.

“Then you’re with the death witch. Getting the ride of your life.” Felicity could make some of his friend’s words. Her goth chicness being too much for the boy. “Something in those lines if I’m correct.”

“Yet, no one tried to save me.”

“You need new friends then.”

“Definitely. That is if they didn’t also think your hot.”

“Thanks, I guess. I turned away from your conversation around once he did the age-old sign for… um… coupling.”

“He sure did.” They find themselves in the dessert heat. Oliver waiting for her instruction but adds, “Felicity?” As he gets her undivided attention, “I don’t expect anything down those lines. It would be insulting and…”

“Oliver, I wouldn’t come outside if I didn’t want to get to know you better.” She winks well sort of winks and it makes him chuckle slightly.

[gayfrenchfry]

damn I just realized now that I've kinda started coming out to my friends being gay is just the new personality trait I fully embody to stop then from knowing anything about me. Like in middle school I was like the kinda mean one who like pushes her friends as a joke and I really hated it and wanted to not do that anymore but I was stuck because that was how everyone knew me and I was so scared of letting them know actual me and it makes me kinda thankful for social distancing and not seeing them in almost a year and most of them I haven't even talked to past a happy birthday text in the group chat especially since I went to a trade highschool instead of the regular hs in my town so since it's been so long I finally have a chance to reinvent myself as who I want to be but like thinking back to about a month ago when I was with two of my friends, one I'm pretty close with, one not so much, and id already come out to the first one but I wasn't sure about coming out to the other, but then the whole afternoon there were great moments that totally set up a good gay joke so Id mumble it when my back was turned but I eventually stopped mumbling and just said them out loud and those two straight friends probably didn't get most of them but it was fine the other one figured it out so I didn't have to awkwardly come out and then the rest of the time I was just being the gay friend but it felt wrong -especially when we started talking more about lgbt stuff and I thought I wanted to talk about it since I havent been able to but it was just the same conversation as Id had with her before, about her gay cousins and what not super homophobic but not exactly cool thing her mom said when there was a gay couple on tv, and the other one had to mention that she would date a girl, but girls are just too dramatic (literally everyone is chill but this one fucking girl is a drama fucking queen and I guess she thinks every other girl is too when the only people I have seen that come anywhere close to matching her level of drama is my old robotics team that had only boys on it)(also you don't have to give me a reason why you're not gay I don't give a fuck you can just be straight its fine)-since I was still kinda hiding just behind something new and at my new school it's great, when I get to actually go into school I'm in a new class each week bc we get to try out all the different shops and I can pretty much just sit next to the other obviously queer kids in class and we share a couple jokes, trade instagrams, and we're just instant friends and it's half of the reason I wanted to go to another school bc I wanted to meet other queer people and have more friends who get me a bit more. And everything is fun and cool there but with my friends I feel like I either gotta straighten up bc none of them (except my closeted gf) get any gay jokes or I gotta be outrageously gay and flamboyant or shit and both just feel wrong.

Anyways thats my rant, back to bottling everything up until the next time I just empty it out into the void called tumblr

[jake-marshall]

Creamsicle Comicon AU

Alrighty so I’ve seen a couple posts flying around about how Larry would encourage and adore Freddy’s fanboy nerdiness, which!  Yes!  Absolutely! and even the idea of them going to a Con together which is equal parts adorable and hysterical (especially if there were cameos by the other Dogs). But my brain’s gone an entirely different direction and it’s been the only thing I’ve been thinking about all damn day.    So what if it wasn’t Creamsicle going to the Con but meeting at the Con. All under the cut bc it got long

Freddy is, of course, himself.  A cop, yeah, but moreso a big fcking geek and so he goes to all 4 days of this con (I’m basing it off of SDCC even tho I’ve never been and my only experiences with cons are those of the sports variety but anyway).  So, he’s not undercover, or anything.  He’s just there, as one would be. As for Larry, even though I’m under the impression that Joe’s jobs involved robbery of objects versus cold hard cash, I could probably spin it either way for this.    There’s a silent auction on the last day of the Con and this’ll be a haul if (when) they pull it off.  Huge.  Or, again, I could go with the idea that they steal the items but I’d have to think about it more. Now, to get into the Con, Joe has Larry and, either Eddie or Brown as his partner.  I’m leaning towards Eddie bc I want Vic to show up in the fic at some point as a cameo, and also Eddie would be more suspicious/heated about Freddy and the eventual revelation that he’s a cop, imo.  Although I don’t believe Joe would put Eddie on a job that would directly put him in danger, Eddie would be at the con to be an extra set of eyes and ears, and because I think he (or Brown) is most believable as knowing a thing or two about comics/sci-fi/the characters. So, that’s important because.  Larry is there basically with the stolen identity of a big name collector/seller of [insert x comic here].  This guy - tentatively I’m naming him Al White, in reference to Larry’s canon aliases (and therefore making Larry “Mr. White” in this, lol) - is from states and states away (maybe Wisconsin, like Larry is?) and has no family, and is a notorious recluse - no one even knows what he looks like, he just mail orders all his collectibles.  The catch with Larry needing to be the one to pose as this dude is because of his age -  someone as young as the other Dogs (well, except Blue but this is a creamsicle fic so naturally I go with Larry) would not be the logical choice as an imposter. So this guy, this Mr. White, this is going to be the first time he shows his face at a public sort of function.  He’s looking to sell a ton of his items and in doing so is going to appear at SDCC (or LACC I guess whatever).   But, you ask, how would Larry and Eddie obtain these items and also do so without alerting him to what they’re doing?  Simple.  Kill him (or maybe Joe hires someone else to kill him so Larry’s not there when it happens, than have the stuff shipped to the LACC directly, which would make sense if this guy was a recluse, for him to have as little interaction as possible).  Ditch the body.  Make up fake IDs/steal his identity. No one will be any the wiser. As for Larry and Freddy meeting, it’d be the Preview Night, when those who attend all 4 days get the opportunity to check out the exhibit hall to see what would be available.  Larry is still setting up and intends to lay low for most of it anyway, so as not to draw attention or raise suspicion due to the fact he doesn’t know jack shit about this kinda stuff.  Eddie’s given him a crash course on what he should definitely know but he’s just like praying for this thing to end so he can get the loot and be done with this job. Freddy would obviously be drawn to this stand, with tons of other people.  He’d be, not star struck, but just like, in awe and in his element and would strike up conversation with other people there about the items.  Larry is there and since no one knows what Mr. White looks like (and maybe his ID lanyard is hidden or turned around that anyone can’t see it), none of the other con-goers realize that this is The Guy - they just think he’s there helping set up or whatever.  But he listens closely to Freddy and tries to pick up some of this info of the comic shit that he should file away if he wants to keep the front up, and of course  he thinks this kid is a trip and a half, but in a good way.  Maybe for all his enthusiasm, gives him a little freebie from the collection and Freddy is like hell yeah, whoa... wait a minute, you can’t do that, what will Mr. White think if you give away this shit for free?    And Larry would introduce himself as this Mr. White.  Freddy would just be like wow whoa the man the myth the legend... didn’t think he’d look like you /smirk/ Larry like, in good humor, what in the fuck is that supposed to mean? Freddy tries to play it off like, haha nothin just ah ya know you’re not how I pictured him - look pretty good for a shut-in hermit, I guess. ANYWAYYYYY that’s most of what I got except for over the next few days leading up to the heist they get to know each other lol except for Larry finding out Freddy is a cop. That doesn’t happen bc Freddy is not gonna just like, divulge that kind of info, so he just says he “works for the city” (Larry surprised he even has a job at all, lol). Also them going out to a bar the night before the heist is to go down (so they meet on a Wednesday, this night out is a Saturday, and they’ve hung out several times already).  And finally shit goes down and they make out like teenagers in the men’s room or something equally unsavory - but then it’s interrupted by something going on in the bar.  A fight, altercation of some sort (I could probably put Mr. Pink in here as a cameo, getting his ass beat for running his mouth - maybe by a waitress LOL nah jk) and it turns really loud and violent.  Both Larry and Freddy would try to break it up?  Larry gets hurt and Freddy announces himself as an officer and is able to descalate the situation and call for backup to have the guy arrested but ofc Larry’s hurt and he’s like oh shit dude you’re hurt we gotta get you some medical attention (another movie ~homage~) but all Larry can say in response is, “You’re a cop?” And Freddy, like, “Yeah... I’m a cop...”

I have no idea what I want to do after this.  I want a happy ending for the boys and the best thing I can think of is if Vic does show up later as a replacement to Larry (because Eddie’s aware of Larry hanging out with Freddy and if he finds out he’s a cop, well... Larry would be in deep shit and Joe would absolutely take him off the job, but then I think Larry would feel he needs to hurt/kill Freddy so like...idk).  And if Vic actually does attempt the heist but also threatens  civilians in the process, then (almost) like the movie, White would take him out? (lol but I want vic and eddie to be “happy” in this too in the background so idfk i’m just literally rambling into the void). BUT YEAH THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT ALL DAY.  suggestions welcome!

[ajokeformur-ray]

🌹Hey! I don’t know if your Joker requests are open for this but could you please ship me with Arthur and Joker? So I’m a girl and I like men. I’m in my mid 20s but yesterday was asked to show my ID and prove that I’m over 16 (when trying to watch Joker for the second time). But I’m not very proud with my looks so I’ll skip talking about them. I’d like to think I’m intelligent, I just love learning new things and often imagine myself as a university lecturer. I’m trying hard to overcome my

🌹 natural shyness and social awkwardness and am getting better and better at talking in front of an audience. I’m a very practical and caring girl, I’m always there for my friends but I hate asking for help, I’m a really independent person. I also don’t like sharing negativity so I always appear positive in front of people. Loyal, kind, nerd. Love to analyse every little detail which often leads me to overthinking. Can get sarcastic but only when I’m comfortable with you. Very organised and

🌹Network went down and deleted my last part :( Anyway, I’m a great cynic when it comes to true love as I don’t believe much in it. I hate to be told what to do (unless it’s a work related advice) and like to keep my private life private. Books are my greatest love. I’m a bit claustrophobic and don’t like reptiles. I’d like to think of myself as the villain but my friends say I’m one of the kindest people and need to learn to say no. Thank you! 

Arthur // wc: 955.

There’s an age gap of ten (ish) years between yourself and Arthur, so he’d be quite hesitant to even talk to you let alone initiate anything else; eventually, though, with your innate curiosity and your intelligence, he’s just so drawn to you that he can’t deny it. He would be very supportive of your dreams and he would nothing but the very best for you. Arthur would definitely worry that he’s holding you back, holding you down somehow, but that’s just because he’s so, so proud of you even if all you get done in a given day is simply wake up, and he would worry, but he wouldn’t dare question what the two of you have together. He would probably tease you by calling you “my lecturer” or “so how’s my lecturer doing today?”, just because he’s practically bursting with love and pride for you. Arthur would do anything for you - anything. He cares so little for himself but for you, why, he’d give the world and then some. 

You’re both socially awkward and shy, though Arthur does have a bit more confidence when you’re out together in public. He can’t and won’t speak up for himself, but if you need something or you’re too shy to go and ask for something, then he’s up and out of his seat and back to your side quicker than you can say ‘no’. He’s kind of like the mum friend in your relationship where your own anxiety is concerned, even if he’s choking on a laughing it you can bet that he’ll do anything for you! You’re practical and caring, and Arthur is just so drawn to you for that, initially, but then when you start caring about him? Oh, honey, he’s gone. Both of you are there for everyone else but neither of you will do anything for yourselves; so you look after each other so that your own selves are taken care of. It’s quite a healthy dynamic, though the first time you did something unprompted for Arthur, he was beside himself and questioned his own reality at that moment. Unlike all the times before, though, he had you to reassure him. Arthur would know when you’re appearing rather than actually feeling positive; so well does he know you and so emotionally intelligent is he. When he sees you doing it when it’s just the two of you, he takes your hand in his and tells you “You don’t have to hide when you’re with me” and whenever he asks you if you’re okay, his green oceans linger on your face as he assesses your body language for himself; he’ll either nod in satisfaction, pleased that you gave him a genuine answer, or his lips will quirk downwards and his brows will knit together in concern. He doesn’t push unless it’s an emergency, though; he figures you’ll tell him when you’re ready to and not before, even if his heart is breaking on the inside for you. He hates seeing anything less than a smile on your face.  

Your kindness and your loyalty are truly invaluable to Arthur and indeed, it seems as though the two of you are a ride or die couple, for he is also doubtlessly loyal to those who are nice to him; it’s so rare for him to find a good soul in Gotham, so when he found you, he was ready to cling there and then. Arthur finds your sarcasm to be a strange kind of compliment, for it means that you are comfortable around him. He was startled at first but when you explained what it means to him, his face melted into the brightest, most genuine smile and he felt no qualms in being sarcastic back to you. You’re super organised and so is Arthur so even if the two of you are bone-tired at the end of a long day, there’s never any rush to get things ready for the next day. And if there is? You might find that Arthur was up all night sorting yours and his things out. You scold him because you care, and well if you’re a little more affectionate with him that day? He’s not complaining. He’s just so in love with you that he can’t even physically contain it within his fragile human vessel most days. He hopes that he’s your exception to your cynicism towards true love; though he’d never ask. He’s wise enough to know that he shouldn’t ask questions he isn’t ready to hear the answers for; and besides, he doesn’t need to ask. He knows.

You’re a bibliophile and Arthur would visit the library in the very early days of knowing you so that he can take out your most favourite books; even if he can’t understand the ink stains contained within the worn pages which hundreds of people have touched before, it makes him feel just a little bit closer to you. He might bring it up while he’s on a date with you because he wants to see the way your eyes light up in passion when you’re talking about the things you love. Arthur would hate for you to be taken advantage of because of your kindness and if he ever caught wind or sight of it then he’d werewolf and go wild on the people who dared to hurt his Y/N. Sometimes he’d wonder if he’s one of those people, but he knows it’s just his own anxieties and isn’t a reflection of you. He just loves you so much and he only wants the very, very best of states of happiness and peace for you. He’d be your biggest supporter and he’d always, always be in your corner.

Joker // wc: 840.

Whereas he used to be reserved about dating you because of the age difference, now he doesn’t care all that much - you’re both over the age of consent and you’re both fully-fledged adults so for Joker, there’s no issue at all. Your curiosity is such that Joker would likely go out of his way to find new things to bring home to you - films, books, pebbles that he found on the pavement which made him think of you… Anything and everything which would spark that look in your eyes that after years of being together, Joker knows to mean that you’re curious and want to learn something new. If you ever put serious thought into being a university lecturer, then Joker would be reminded of all the times he asked how his lecturer was doing and he would start grinning smugly - look at you go!!! He’d be so, so proud of you no matter what you do with your life and he would always be your biggest, most genuine supporter. That’s one thing that didn’t change with his mental break; his love, admiration and respect for you.

Joker finds your natural shyness adorable and I hope you’re prepared to be teased lightly for it - “awwh, that’s an interesting shade of red on you. Where have I seen it before? *tugs on his blazer pointedly*”. When you’re out in public together, he’s definitely keeping the closest eye on you. If you’re uncomfortable, his hand already clasping yours tightens and he murmurs a quick question to check in on you - if you want to go, just say the word and he’s got it covered. You’re super independent and that gives Joker one less thing to worry about, though he still keeps attention paid on you so when you have things that still need to be done, you’ll wake up to find that it’s already been done for you. Joker would want for you to be your most authentic self, just as he is with you, but he would understand if it’s somewhat filtered because you don’t like to share negativity - he gets it. He, too, spent years putting on a happy face.

You’re loyal and you’re kind and Joker doesn’t know if you’re still with him because of that or because you really, genuinely love him, even still, but he won’t question it. He can’t. I have a feeling he would propose to you if you loved him still, with who he is. Sure, marriage is a lot of money and a piece of paper, but there would be heaps of unspoken insecurities lacing his question. He knows you’re a cynic, he does, he gets it because, for years, decades, he didn’t believe in love, either, not even the most basic of loves, but he would hope. He would hope and those glistening tears in his green eyes only belie his casual tone. He’s gonna choke on laughter, but still, he would ask. He would. Joker would love your sarcasm and he would always send a quip back your way, tossing his head back in laughter, but he observes fine lines and boundaries with you only. His comedy is based on the darkest and blackest of humour, but he’s careful with you. When you get to overthinking, Joker listens carefully to everything you say, everything which comes pouring out of you, and he’ll “mm-hm” and nod with his hands on his pockets. When you get to the nitty-gritty bits though, like worrying you won’t be able to do this thing even though logically there’s no way you won’t, Joker starts grinning, he won’t even hide his amusement. There’s a genuine need to help you, though, and with careful questions, deliberate smiles and gentle hands, that’s exactly what he does. Anything for you. Anything. 

You like to keep your private life private, and that’s super important when it comes to dating Joker. The police are always on his tail and they would spot Joker instantly in his eccentric three-piece suit and brightly painted visage. But plain ol’ Arthur Fleck goes unseen, and this is where your need and respect for privacy hugely come in handy. You can expect him to frequently come home with a new book or three for you stashed away in his suit somewhere. Don’t ask too many questions, just take it and enjoy it and show Joker that you love him the way you both want to. He wouldn’t want for you to be taken advantage of because of your kindness, and if he even heard of it, then the people who did that to you or even tried to would find themselves face to face with a pissed off Joker and that is a truly fatal thing to encounter - unless it’s you in which case *shrugs* he can calm down super quickly, though he’d make it known to you. He’s your biggest and loudest supporter, he always has been and he always will be. He just loves you so, so much.

[iffeelscouldkill]

Adjusting [Part 3: Campbell]

A/N: It liiiives! Here is a long overdue Chapter 3. As compensation for the wait, this chapter is longer than the other two chapters put together :D

I originally drafted this chapter some time ago, but then once I started serialising the fic on AO3, decided that I wanted to rework the middle part. I wound up redrafting most of it over the past few months, and it was a bit of a slog at times, but I'm much, much happier with the final result. A big big thank you once again goes to my wonderfully encouraging beta @dragonsthough101, and to @whelvenwings for writing with me and listening to my Fic Woe and helping me fix That One Section that I was struggling with!

A heads up that this chapter contains some quite heavy conversations about wartime under an oppressive regime, loss and regret. There are no graphic descriptions of violence, just a lot of fairly grim introspection. It probably goes without saying, but I'm not a military veteran myself, so I based all of this on the podcast canon and my own imagination.

Please take care of yourselves, and I hope you all enjoy 💜

---

Summary: It turns out that there isn’t a blueprint for quitting your job, turning your back on the organisation that you’d built your life around, committing treason and abandoning your friends and family to go travel across the galaxy with a band of wanted criminals. Fortunately, RJ now knows some people who have been there.

Or: Five times that RJ McCabe shares a late-night drink with someone on the Iris 2.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Read on AO3

---

About three weeks on from the Iris’ flight from New Jupiter, Sana calls a crew meeting. It isn’t their first by any means, but until now, crew meetings have either been about the division of chores or about pooling information to convey to the resistance movement. This one is different.

“We’re making another stop-off,” she tells the crew once they’re all assembled, Arkady looking half-asleep and disgruntled at the earliness of the hour. “I’ve arranged to meet a… long-time contact of ours. I know that we need to be careful about who we trust outside of the crew on this ship and confirmed members of the anti-IGR resistance, but… he’s a friend. An old friend.”

RJ raises their hand. “Is it Ignatius Campbell?” they ask, feeling like they’re on a quiz show.

Arkady revives slightly and snorts. “Got it in one, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” RJ shoots back automatically. This is old, well-worn banter between them at this point.

Sana blushes slightly. “Right. I forgot that of course… you and Park know exactly who Campbell is.” She gives them a sidelong look, and RJ suspects that she’s remembering her fractious exchange with Campbell after Elion, and thinking about exactly what they would have heard.

“If it’s any consolation, we’ve been trying to forget about the recordings, too,” Park offers, slightly abashed, as he always is when this subject comes up.

RJ finds it awkward, too, but doesn’t see any point in pretending that they weren’t at one point on very different sides. Or that listening to the recordings from the Rumor wasn’t literally their job. But Park is right – they have been doing their best to forget about those long days and nights spent cooped up in their tiny office, replaying audio over and over. Know thy enemy had practically been RJ’s motto back in those days, but the Rumor crew aren’t their enemies any more. And RJ wants to move on from the person they were back then.

“I’ve spoken to Campbell a couple of times since… Well, since Elion,” Sana continues. “Trying to smooth things over since we-”

“Accused him of backstabbing us?” Arkady volunteers drily.

“To be fair, we really didn’t have any other good theories about what was going on,” Brian puts in. “None of us would have ever jumped to ‘an invisible robot nanoswarm’ as the source of our leak.”

Sana nods. “I know, and Campbell understands that, too. That’s why he’s willing to meet with us, and help us out – with supplies, and with information about the situation on Telemachus as well as some of the other Regime planets.”

“What about payment?” Violet asks. “We’re pretty light on funds at the moment, and we don’t have any cargo to trade either.”

“Campbell has agreed to effectively give us the goods on credit, with the understanding that we’ll pay at a later date,” Sana replies. “We’re also trading a little information in exchange for what he knows. Nothing top-secret, just a bit about the Regime’s movements, to help him keep two steps ahead.”

“And did you ‘barter’ with him to get him to agree to that deal?” Arkady asks, raising her eyebrows in a significant way.

Sana reddens a little, but says with dignity, “I don’t know what you’re implying. But yes, we did haggle for a bit.”

“Nice to hear that you two are back on ‘bartering’ terms,” says Arkady with a smirk.

Krejjh, looking between Arkady and Sana, grins as if Ferin has come early.

Ignoring this, Sana continues, “It’s obviously too dangerous for us to land on any of the IGR planets, so I’ve arranged to meet Campbell on Halton Station, in the Neutral Zone.”

Brian instantly perks up. “Dude! We’re going to Neuzo? Wait, isn’t Halton Station-”

“Where Thasia and Emily Craddock grew up,” Krejjh finishes eagerly.

“Yeah. To be honest, I picked it half because I knew the name, but it happens to be in a particularly convenient location for us, too,” says Sana. “It’s also not that populated, so there’s less chance of us attracting unwanted attention.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to go outside?” Krejjh asks, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, for the gentle caress of the wind! The touch of the ground beneath my feet!”

“I don’t see why not,” Sana says with a smile. “Just try to keep things, uh… low-key?”

Arkady snorts eloquently.

Later on, RJ is on joint kitchen cleaning duty with Violet, who is chatting aimlessly about the rendezvous with Campbell.

“…it’s just going to be Sana, Krejjh and Arkady going out to meet Campbell on Halton Station,” she says. “It’s still not safe for Brian to set foot on Neuzo, and having a huge group would definitely attract unwanted attention. So, I guess we won’t get a chance to meet Campbell this time, unless he comes back to the ship.”

“Is that likely?” asks RJ.

“If things go well between Sana and Campbell, I guess,” Violet says with a small smile. “At least, that’s what Arkady thinks.”

“So, are Sana and Campbell… a couple?” RJ clarifies. Violet laughs a little, moving a dishrag in slow circles over the countertop.

“Not that I know of? My impression from Arkady is that they’ve always been close, but never actually, uh… been romantically involved,” says Violet. “Then, after Elion… well. We didn’t really know who we could trust, and… Campbell was one of the only people who knew about our destination and had our new IDs. Or at least, so we thought.”

“Mmm,” RJ responds, which seems safer than ‘Sorry for being part of the evil government eavesdropping operation that made you paranoid and destroyed your friendships’.

“But now it seems they’re patching things up, so maybe…” Violet smiles brightly. “It would be great if they could make it work.”

“That’s true,” says RJ with as much enthusiasm as they can muster. Romance has never held much of an appeal for RJ – it’s nice for other people, but RJ realised some years ago that they just don’t feel the thing that people have devoted endless poems and novels and movies to, and trying to get invested in other people’s romances feels similarly awkward. But RJ likes Sana, and she deserves to be happy.

Violet, who is sensitive to that sort of thing, seems to pick up on RJ’s train of thought. “Sorry, I realise we might seem a bit… romance-obsessed on this ship sometimes,” she says with an embarrassed smile. “If it gets to be too much… feel free to tell us to knock it off any time, really.”

RJ thinks about working under the IGR, and the way that no-one ever felt safe being themselves. They’ve already started to take this new freedom for granted – but that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten the way things used to be.

“It’s fine,” they say.

 ---

This time, it’s not unsettling dreams or racing thoughts that are keeping RJ awake. It’s just energy. It’s midnight, but they feel as tense and jittery as though they’ve just downed four mugs of that overbrewed sludge the IGR used to serve employees in the breakroom.

A lot happened during the day. A huge amount of planning went into the rendezvous with Campbell on Halton Station, and even though RJ wasn’t part of the group who went out to meet him, they were involved in every other part of the endeavour.

Halton Station might be in the Neutral Zone, but they’d already established that the IGR was willing to cross huge lines and even violate the Treaty in order to get what it wanted, and the crew of the Iris is wanted on every IGR planet. It’s impossible to be too careful. Park and RJ had advised Sana to the best of their knowledge on steps that the IGR might take to try and survey the area, on the resources that they might try to use.

Meanwhile, Brian and Krejjh – both over the moon at being back on Neuzo, where they first met – had taken it in turns to tell stories about Ryedell Station, where Brian once worked as a bartender alongside his friend Alvy Connors.

Inside the Republic, the Neutral Zone was referenced only sparingly, and always characterised as a den of vice and iniquity. RJ had hardly ever thought about it except to be glad that they’ve never had the misfortune to set foot on any of its stations. But hearing stories about a place where humans and Dwarnians co-existed alongside each other, talking, trading, bartering… It’s made RJ realise just how narrow their world was until recently. And it’s sobering.

Sure, they’ve been watching Dwarnian soap operas, which deal with a completely alien (literally) species and set of cultures – but those are overblown and feel removed from RJ’s day-to-day reality. This doesn't.

So, RJ processes by pottering around the kitchen, making a late-night cup of tea. The light in the kitchen is kind of busted and it only emits a very dim glow – Sana has been swearing that she’ll tackle it once they’ve got the supplies from Campbell, but RJ finds it soothing, particularly at this hour.

It does make them jump, however, when the door suddenly slides open to admit a tall, dark shape.

“Apologies,” says the man, in a rough voice accented with a slight drawl. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ignatius Campbell,” says RJ in realisation. His voice, though RJ has only ever heard it over comms (and recorded comms at that), is pretty distinctive. Also, process of elimination dictates that there’s only one person this could be.

“The very same,” says Campbell, inclining his head forward. The door slides shut behind him. “And you must be RJ McCabe? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

RJ would like to say something witty like ‘The one and only’, but doesn’t really think they could pull it off. Instead, after a few dumb moments of deliberation, they manage, “You can call me RJ.”

Okay, so maybe they’re more tired than they realised.

Campbell raises his eyebrows a little. “Well, then, you can call me Ignatius.”

RJ doesn’t think so. Even Sana still calls him ‘Campbell’ – well, at least as far as RJ knows. Does his presence on the ship mean that the rendezvous has “gone well” like Violet and Arkady hoped?

The water comes to a boil, and RJ busies themself with pouring it out. “Would you, uh, like some tea?” they ask, mostly out of politeness – Campbell doesn’t really look like the tea type.

“Actually, I was planning on drinking something a bit stronger, if you don’t mind of course,” Campbell says, pulling out a battered metal flask from the pocket of his heavy brown coat. “It’s not moonshine,” he adds, at RJ’s slightly sceptical expression. “Just whiskey. You’re welcome to some, if you want.”

The opening notes of ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ immediately start up in RJ’s head, and they inwardly curse Violet, who has a habit of humming it when she’s nervous. And when she’s happy. And when she’s been spending time with Arkady.

“I’ll pass, but thanks,” says RJ, taking their tea and sitting down with it at the table. Campbell manages to locate a mug and pours his whiskey into it, but stays standing, drinking it slowly and staring into the middle distance. It puts RJ a little on edge, but they force themself to relax and remember that Campbell isn’t a threat.

It’s harder to resist the impulse to run through the collective intelligence that the Intergalactic Republic had on the man known as Ignatius Campbell. Known contact and long-time associate of the crew of the Rumor; expert forger; suspected aliases include Alexander Cole and Jonathan Johnson. Based in Telemachus, but with an extensive network of affiliates and possible connections across multiple galaxies.

As if picking up on their thoughts, Campbell suddenly asks, “You used to work for the IGR, right?”

RJ tenses. “Emphasis on ‘used to’,” they reply.

Campbell waves a hand. “Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to accuse you of anything. God knows everyone on this ship has stuff in their past they’d rather not go back to – me included,” he says, a little darkly. “No, I was just wondering what kind of intel they might have on me up there. Any good rumours?”

“Most of it was inconclusive,” RJ tells him, but thinks back anyway. It already feels unnatural trying to access the headspace and knowledge that they had while working for the IGR, after going to such pains to put it behind them. “W- They suspected you might have links to the notorious pirate Kim Hoff and her Bald-Cat gang, potentially as a supplier of intel or documentation, but nothing was proven.”

Campbell gives a low chuckle of amusement. “Believe it or not, I’m not the one on this ship with links to Hoff,” he says. “Though I can’t say we’ve never crossed paths.”

In response to RJ’s look of confusion, he elaborates: “She was Brian Jeeter’s thesis advisor.”

“You’re kidding,” says RJ in disbelief.

Campbell lays a hand on his heart. “I swear – you can ask him about it. For all that he might seem mild-mannered and harmless, Brian Jeeter has some interesting connections.”

“I’ve heard about his run-ins with the Dwarnian mafia,” says RJ, partly to show that they aren’t completely uninformed.

“Yeah, that’s another good example,” says Campbell. “There’s a reason why I’ve kept doing business with the Rumor crew all these years: they have some damn good stories to tell.”

RJ snorts in acknowledgement. If it weren’t for the fact that they’ve listened to some of the Rumor crew’s insane exploits (and been present for one or two of them) they wouldn’t have believed half of the stories that they’ve heard since they came aboard the Iris.

Neither of them says anything for a while, and RJ contemplates taking their tea back to their room so that they can carry on thinking. But the prospect is dull and a little claustrophobic, and part of them wants to take this opportunity to find out more about this person who is obviously so important to their crewmates.

“So…” says RJ, and Campbell’s gaze flicks over to them from where he’d been contemplating the cupboards. “What’s got you up so late, drinking whiskey in the kitchen with a total stranger?”

One corner of Campbell’s mouth quirks up. “You’re not a total stranger,” he points out. RJ just raises an eyebrow, and Campbell relents.

“Not sure, really – Sana and I were talking, but then she wanted to crash, and I wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. Got a bit too much going round in my head.”

RJ nods; in other words, a very similar reason to their own. “So I take it you’re staying the night?”

This immediately makes Campbell flustered, and RJ can’t make out his face very well but they imagine that he’s probably gone red. “I – I mean I am, but I promise that there’s nothing improper- It’s just for the one night. And we’re bunking in separate rooms,” he says in a rush.

RJ snorts and manages to keep from rolling their eyes – just about. “Calm down. I wasn’t trying to imply anything,” they tell Campbell. “I only asked because I’m on breakfast duty tomorrow morning, so I wanted to know how many people I’d be cooking for.”

“Oh.”

“Also, ‘improper’? What millennium is this, again?”

Campbell coughs, and says with the air of someone trying to pull the conversation back on track, “So – what about you? What has you up in the kitchen past midnight?”

RJ sips their tea, stalling for time as they try to decide how much to say about what has been keeping them awake. They settle on,

“I guess I’m… learning a lot about the universe that I never had the chance to before. Working for the… for the IGR, you’re told that only you have access to the real facts about everything – Dwarnians, the war, the upper limits of science and space exploration – and that anyone who tells you differently is lying or trying to confuse you. I prided myself,” they stress, bitterly, “on the thoroughness of my research. On having all the information. Now I realise just how little I really knew.”

Campbell nods, slowly. “All repressive governments control their people’s access to information,” he says. “The better to make sure that no-one gets any ideas of their own.”

“Yeah, I know,” says RJ, a little wearily. “I’m not under any illusions about what the IGR really is. Not anymore.”

“But you were,” Campbell points out. “Sure, maybe there were things you could’ve questioned and didn’t. There are also folks up at the top of the whole operation who have access to all the information and make a very different choice with it. At the end of the day, you still thought for yourself when it counted. You got out.”

RJ eyes Campbell warily. “I’m not fishing for reassurance here,” they tell him. “You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Campbell holds up his hands in apology. “I know,” he says. “It just sounded to me like maybe you were being a little harsh on yourself.”

RJ shakes their head and searches for the right words. “When I joined up with the Rumor crew on New Jupiter, it wasn’t some heroic stand,” they say eventually, quietly. “It was a strategic decision I made to survive. If I’d stayed where I was, I would have been killed on sight.”

“The crew of this ship knows a thing or two about survival,” Campbell tells them. “They’re not all on some grand moral crusade.”

RJ knows that Arkady worked as a guard for the IGR, that Violet used to be a government scientist, that Krejjh fought in the war on the Dwarnian side. But on nights like these, the gap between their experiences still feels vast.

The others, they all have this bond, a camaraderie forged from venturing out into the deepest parts of space, from facing near-death experiences and defying the Regime side by side. RJ might have tagged along at the end, but they don’t have that history. They haven’t earned that bond, yet.

RJ realises that Campbell is still watching them – considering, almost. Their first instinct is to break eye contact and look away, but instead they meet his gaze, raising their chin slightly. RJ thinks they see Campbell’s mouth twitch into a small smile.

“You know that I served in the military,” he says suddenly. It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” RJ replies cautiously.

“Do you want to know why I left?”

“Uh…”

RJ is well aware that Campbell fought in the war. They vividly recall the argument with Sana where Campbell angrily spoke about losing ninety percent of his first unit. RJ remembers listening to that exchange in their cramped office with Park, and looking over at him, wanting to ask for more information. But Park’s brow had been furrowed, his expression dark as he stared down at the wood of the desk, and the question died on RJ’s lips.

Park had fought in the war, too.

RJ doesn’t feel like they have a right to Campbell’s story any more than Park’s, but apparently, he's offering. “If you’re… okay with telling me,” they say uncertainly, pressing their mug between their palms until it’s a little painful. “I’m… sure it was nothing good.”

Campbell gives a short nod, his expression grim.

“I enlisted in the military in 2178, two years before the coup,” he says. “My first unit, they were… a really good group of people. Some of the best I’ve known. When the coup took place in 2180, we were excited. The old government had left the military drastically under-funded and over-stretched. The Regime promised better funding, better resources, more troops – of course, they accomplished that via the Mandate, but they made that seem like a great thing. A stable career path; an opportunity for everyone who was able to “serve the human race”. As they put it.”

RJ nods slowly. “I know. They’re pretty big on teaching that as part of the history of the Republic,” they say. “‘How the Intergalactic Republic transformed our military’.”

“Yeah, well, I experienced it first-hand. And for about a year, everything was as promised. But then my unit got word that we were being redeployed to the Dwarnian stronghold of Nreech-shlegga.”

RJ frowns. “As in… the Battle of Nreech-shlegga?”

“The very same,” Campbell confirmed. “But this was years before that battle. We were told that it was a small outpost, largely unmanned – an opportunity to score an early victory over the Dwarnians and make an incursion into their territory.”

RJ feels a sick sinking feeling, and unconsciously grips the edge of the table with one hand. “What happened?” they almost whisper, although they know the answer.

“On the basis of the briefing we were given, we stormed the stronghold,” Campbell says, and RJ suspects that he might not really have heard their question, lost in the memory. He’s not looking at them anymore, staring down at his mug, but he doesn’t drink from it. “Of course, Nreech-slegga was the exact opposite of what we'd been led to believe – it was an extremely well-defended military stronghold. My entire unit, barring myself and six others, was wiped out in less than an hour.”

Campbell is silent. RJ breathes out quietly, trying not to interrupt his thoughts by drawing attention to themself. Their throat is dry, but they’ve drunk all of their tea and daren’t move to make some more.

Several long minutes later, Campbell shakes himself a little, seeming to come back into the present. “Sorry,” he apologises gruffly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Don’t apologise,” RJ says quickly, and then clamps their mouth shut, in case they sounded overly familiar. But Campbell nods, and they think they see his lips quirk upward slightly.

“What did you do… after?” RJ ventures, after another long moment of silence. They hate to pry, but they’re still not clear on why Campbell decided to tell them this in the first place. Maybe he’s not sure anymore either.

Campbell nods again, once, as if agreeing to something inside his head. He meets RJ’s eyes again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I defected from the military?”

“Of course,” RJ says immediately. “After what they did to your unit? Your superiors must have known the reality of the situation, but they withheld crucial intel. It cost the lives of dozens of good soldiers.”

“I notice you haven’t considered for a moment that the IGR might have had a good reason for giving those orders,” Campbell points out. He sounds amused.

“I—” RJ falters. “I mean. How could they have?”

People died needlessly, they want to say. But they know that while they were on the IGR’s payroll, they came across all kinds of evidence of similar incidents and found ways to rationalise them, to explain away the devastating loss of human life. Like the planet where the inhabitants were left to starve without aid after their food supply was consumed by ants – because of “improper paperwork” and “budgetary concerns”. Or the fate of the original Iris, in which an entire crew had been murdered in order to silence one man.

Why had it taken RJ so long to see the Regime for what it really was?

Because it’s easy to make excuses, to explain things away, when it’s not your life on the line, RJ’s brain supplies. When you’re not the one they’re coming for.

“If you see any of the Rumor crew, or Agents McCabe or Park, shoot to kill.”

Until you are.

“You’re right,” Campbell says, and RJ stares at him for a few seconds, having lost the thread of their conversation. Their head feels heavy and over-full, their mind whirling. “My superiors had perfect intel on the situation in Nreech-slegga and knew the full extent of its defences, but they lied to us because they wanted to test the Dwarnians’ response times on their own territory. We were just cannon fodder to them.”

The phrase rings a bell in RJ’s mind – they remember him using the same words to Sana in ‘Report 6: Parallel’. They nod mutely.

“But in the wake of The Nreech-Slegga Disaster, as it became known – though only among the troops, as official reports of the incident were largely suppressed – they told us that they’d been fed false intel by double agents working for the Dwarnian Federation. They even used it as an excuse to purge a few members of the rank and file who’d fallen out of favour.

“I could tell something was off about it all – if the Dwarnian counter-intelligence efforts were so effective, why tip their hand so obviously? Why waste them on eliminating a single ground unit? But at the time, I couldn’t envision a life for myself outside of the military. And I was afraid to follow that train of logic any further, for fear of where it might lead me. So I stayed enlisted – for three more years.”

“Three… years?” RJ echoes in shock. “But…”

“Why would I stay?” Campbell finishes for them. “It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you’re on, to leave behind everything you know. I didn’t have them, then.” He stares off into the middle distance, mug held loosely in one hand. “A lot of people who fought in the war didn’t really believe in the Regime’s cause. They had their own reasons, and I told myself I had mine.”

Campbell raises his mug to drink from it again, and then – evidently finding it empty – picks up his flask and drinks directly from there instead. “But I spent a hell of a lot of time regretting those three years.” His voice is a low, bitter growl, almost too low to hear.

A more profound silence descends this time, and RJ isn’t sure how to break it. Their instinctive response to hearing how Campbell lost his first unit had been to assume that he would have left the military and refused to serve under the regime that caused the deaths of his comrades – just as many people would question why RJ had stayed and continued to work for the IGR after Park was taken away. 

Like Campbell said, at the time, they thought they had their reasons. It's only in hindsight that those reasons become a lot harder to justify.

It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you're on, Campbell had said. RJ can't find it in them yet to think of their decision to turn against the IGR as something that took "guts". 

But no matter how adrift they've been feeling since then, they also haven't regretted it for a moment.

“Apologies,” says Campbell abruptly, and RJ looks up from toying with their mug, surprised. “I probably shouldn’t have dropped all of this on you at once. It’s just been… on my mind, what with the renewed crackdowns from the Regime, and skirmishes breaking out everywhere…”

RJ’s stomach turns over. They knew that there were protests on Telemachus, and a couple of the other large planets as well, the ones that were harder to control. But they hadn’t realised it had broken out into all-out fighting.

They realise that Campbell is still looking at them, and try to force their mind back to the subject at hand. “No, it’s fine – it actually helped. Uh, it’s nice to hear…” They trail off, not sure if it would be presumptuous to say, ‘a story similar to mine’. RJ isn’t a war veteran. It’s not the same thing at all. “That is, I uh, really appreciate you… trusting me with this.” There.

Campbell gives them a slight smile, and then ventures, “I’m not sure how well it’ll go with the aftertaste of whiskey, but… can I take you up on that tea?”

“Oh! Sure!” RJ jumps to their feet so quickly they almost upset their chair. They do their best to cover it up by holding the box of tea out to Campbell, who raises his eyebrows. “What kind would you like?”

“Uh… Why don’t you choose,” Campbell suggests.

“Oh, if you’re sure…” RJ looks down at the tea, wondering what kind would be appropriate to give a former-soldier-turned-forger after a heavy conversation about serving under an oppressive regime. They decide to go for vanilla and honey.

As RJ is busy boiling the water again, making another cup for themself at the same time, they realise that Campbell never actually told them how he came to leave the military. They wonder if it would be pushing it to ask him, or whether it would be best to leave the topic alone.

They procrastinate by pouring out the water, then finding a spoon to stir the tea with. “You can leave it in for as long as you want to – three minutes is usually a good amount of time,” they tell him, handing over the mug and the spoon.

“Thanks,” says Campbell appreciatively. “It smells good.”

“You’re welcome.” RJ goes back to pour out their second cup of jasmine green tea. Campbell gives a little chuckle to himself, and RJ looks over, curious.

“Oh, it’s just – I realised that after all that, I never finished my story,” Campbell explains. “But uh, I’m sure you’re sick of hearing-”

“Actually, I was wondering-” RJ begins, and then stops awkwardly. “Uh. That is. I’d like to hear the last part?”

“All right then,” says Campbell. His manner is a little more relaxed than before, and RJ senses that this part of the story is easier for Campbell to tell. 

“I served in the military for three more years,” he says, “after the Nreech-Slegga Disaster. I rose up the ranks a little bit – but not that much. I wasn’t great at taking my superiors’ orders without question, especially when they were irrational, stupid orders. A lot of soldiers who started out below me on the pecking order quickly got promoted ahead. But that was fine – I never wanted to be in command. I knew there was all sorts of corruption in the upper ranks of the force – bribery, dirty deals, a comfortable life lived on military funds.

“But the breaking point really came when I was put into a situation that reminded me vividly of the Nreech-Slegga Disaster – a campaign where we were given almost no information about the situation on the ground, and were ordered to go in, guns blazing, and mount an attack. I refused to lead my men in blind – I demanded more information from the officers in command. And when they ordered me to go ahead with the offensive regardless… I left. I couldn’t watch it happen again.”

“Where did you go?” RJ asks.

“I disappeared,” Campbell says simply. “I had an old friend I’d never completely severed ties with who had links to the criminal underworld. Not, uh, Sana,” he adds quickly. “We met later. I went underground with a new identity, and set about methodically erasing every trace of my former life. Officially, I’m listed as Killed in Action during the offensive that I refused to participate in. I honed my skills as a forger at the same time.”

“Did you have, uh…” RJ realises partway through asking the question that it might be an uncomfortable subject – well, another uncomfortable subject. “…family? You don’t have to answer that,” they add awkwardly, but Campbell is nodding.

“My parents had passed away, but I had a brother I’m close to. I wasn’t able to make contact for several years. But now I… see him, occasionally. And his kids, my nephews.” He says the last part softly.

“That must be nice,” RJ says without thinking, and then flushes when Campbell looks at them quizzically. “Um, that is…”

At that moment, the door slides open and a voice says, “Hey, I woke up and I wasn’t sure where you’d – oh! RJ, sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Sana stands framed in the doorway, wearing loose sleeping clothes, her hair twisted into a side braid. Because she’s Sana, rather than being embarrassed or discomfited, she immediately shifts into Concern Mode. “Is everything all right?” She looks between the two of them, obviously curious as to how they came to be talking in the kitchen.

“Hey, Sana. Everything’s fine, we were… just having tea,” RJ says.

“I think mine’s vanilla and honey,” Campbell adds, lifting his mug. Sana seems tickled by this, grinning broadly.

“All right, well I’ll leave you both to it, if you’d prefer – I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay–” RJ says, at the same time as Campbell begins, “Actually, I’d be happy to come back to–”

They both stop, and RJ presses their lips together in amusement and then stands. “I’m gonna head back to my room. It was… really nice talking to you, Mr. Campbell.”

Campbell gives an exasperated huff at being called ‘Mister’, which makes RJ smile. “Likewise,” he says.

“Goodnight, then, RJ,” says Sana, standing to one side so that RJ can get past her. “Don’t be afraid to come and knock if you still can’t sleep.”

RJ nods, though they have no intention of doing anything of the sort. “I will. Oh, and Campbell?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like eggs?”

This throws Campbell for a loop. “Do I… like eggs?”

“For breakfast tomorrow. Sana said there would be some eggs in the supplies we were getting, so I figured I’d make eggs.”

Campbell laughs a little with surprise. “Sure. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

“Great.” RJ looks back at Campbell. “See you at breakfast.”

What they really mean is:

Thank you.