#i know i usually leave em on some sort of cliffhanger

[thetomorrowshow]

what to throw away

Masterlist - Previous

yes that's correct!! two trust au updates in one month! we love to see it <3

cw: choking, light violence

~

This is almost a dream come true.

Jimmy is engaged to the love of his life. They share everything—quarters, meals, a bed. He lives with his fiance in a beautiful palace in the snowy mountains of Rivendell, overlooking a picturesque elven town. He spends every day with his fiance, working together and trading smiles that are literally only for each other.

Yet as sweet and wonderful and purely happy as that all sounds, Jimmy’s every moment is devastating.

His fiance will never love him the way he loves Scott. And none of this is real.

When Scott had suggested it, desperation lacing his voice, Jimmy had barely even had to think about it before accepting. Even if it wasn’t the only option to keep him safe, it was the only one that Jimmy wanted to consider. A chance to be engaged to Scott Smajor, despite the way he messed up their friendship by kissing him that one time? Please.

What he didn’t consider was the fact that even letting Scott sleep in his bed at night was already something that left him feeling empty inside—watching him sleep and knowing that they would never have anything that he truly wants. Surely he ought to have thought about how much worse being betrothed to him would be.

And now here they are, playing a game of catch with Jimmy’s heart, the odds of it hitting the ground and shattering becoming more and more likely with every passing moment.

It’s a terrible way to live, as thrilling as it is. But it’s keeping him safe.

Sausage and fWhip have been entirely silent on the issue of the Codfather head, not even mentioning that they might have it. With the diplomatic immunity that Jimmy currently possesses, he would be surprised if they even tried to interact with him at any point in the near future. Luckily, no such thing had happened so far. Scott’s plan was working.

Scott’s plan, however, includes some very . . . interesting stipulations, including some of the most interesting clothing Jimmy’s ever had to wear.

Every day, Jimmy dresses in a long elven robe, falling to his ankles despite that skin already being covered by his hose underneath. It’s similar to Scott’s everyday clothes, but with a longer hem and sleeves and higher neckline. Atop that is a veil that covers his head and face (this comes in several varieties, some veils trailing down to the ground and others cutting off neatly at his collarbone, and he thinks they have different purposes but Scott hasn’t explained that yet). The veil is fastened in place with a couple of pins and clasps and the robe with various ties, none of which Jimmy can successfully put together without making a mess of his clothes, then finished off with a pair of gloves pulled over the gold ring on his left hand and soft boots.

The only time he can skip out on the veil—and only the veil, unfortunately—is when he’s in their quarters, which is where he spends most of his time outside of tutoring. He’s not exactly allowed to roam around any farther than the palace gardens, and without permission to even dip his fins in the pool of freezing water, the gardens quickly lose their charm. No part of his skin can show outside of their quarters, and shown to no one but Scott. He’s actually not supposed to even see anyone but Scott.

Exceptions have been made, thankfully. Not only is he from a different culture, but he’s also royalty (as far as anyone knows), both of which have been taken into consideration by Scott’s various councils (he has an advisory council, then a historian council, then a culture council, all for the ordeal of just getting engaged). He’s allowed to video chat on his communicator with his advisors as necessary, and he’s managed to stretch that a little bit to include the Cod Alliance. At least he can see Lizzie and Joel on occasion, even if they can’t exactly see him.

The clothes aren’t all bad, of course. For the first time in as long as he can remember, Jimmy feels as if he has full autonomy over his body, even as he expects the clothing to cause the opposite feeling. Sure, the gloves and long skirts and veil cover any scars he has, but it’s not really that. He mentions it to Scott one night, and he’s surprised when Scott agrees.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? All this time as the king of Rivendell, it’s like my body has been constantly on display.”

“Constantly judged,” Jimmy adds. “Every time I passed by, people would just be gossiping about how I looked.”

Scott nods. “Exactly. And now nobody knows how I look, and there’ll be no tabloids about how it looks as though I’ve not brushed my hair in three weeks. I can just . . . do whatever. They aren’t even allowed to perceive me. This is excellent.”

While it isn’t exactly excellent, Jimmy completely understands. He’s never felt more like his body belonged to himself.

That night occurs maybe a week into their sham betrothal, and it’s a night when they stay up late talking, the lamps low and both of them in bed. Despite his positive feelings about the betrothal get-up, Jimmy’s relieved to be able to wear just shorts and a loose top to bed, even as Scott wears embroidered nightclothes.

(Jimmy had been measured for some when he first arrived, but they’re too slidey and silky on his scales and too fancy for his tastes. Scott looks impressively rich and handsome, but Jimmy just doesn’t think it’s right for him.)

“It’s an awful lot of fabric, though, isn’t it?” Jimmy continues, waving his arms for emphasis. “I feel as if I have a million different pins and clasps to do before I’m anywhere near right, and I always seem to get tied up in it wrong.”

Scott giggles. “There’s two clasps and two pins, Jimmy, it’s not that difficult. And the ties are a bit tricky at first, but you’ll figure it out soon. And then I’ll teach you how to style it!”

It’s strange that Scott knows all this stuff already. According to the councils, this is Scott’s first time being engaged, which makes it some sort of big deal. Maybe it’s just something that they teach in Rivendell schools? Maybe the ties on Scott’s usual robes are similar enough that there’s no real difference, even if Scott’s usual is a decent bit more form-fitting and skin-showing?

“How long have the robes and veil been a thing?” he asks thoughtfully, thinking over the past week’s worth of mind-numbing lessons with his tutor on Rivendell history. He doesn’t really remember anything from them.

“A while,” Scott shrugs. The moon has properly risen, now, and Scott wiggles until he’s under the covers, rather than sitting up to talk. “Many thousands of years, probably. They started out as just whatever household clothes you could throw together to cover your whole self in order to go to the market, if I’m recalling correctly. It was only within the last . . . five thousand years, maybe, that they became something that was marketable. I could be entirely wrong on that.”

“I’ll make sure to ask the tutor instead of you, yeah?” Jimmy suggests, to which Scott laughs.

Jimmy also readjusts, scooting under the covers to press as near to Scott as he dares. The conversation dwindles away and Scott blows out the lamp. They fall asleep like that, almost touching, and when Scott wakes in a panic in the middle of the night, he buries his face in Jimmy’s chest and clutches his arms around him.

Jimmy wakes the next morning in the warm embrace of a very clingy, sleeping Scott, the smell of their now-shared gingerbread shampoo strong in his nose, and he cries (just a little bit).

-

Lizzie had boasted that she knew the whole time. Joel had laughed and congratulated Jimmy. Jimmy had smiled through the anxiety that at any moment they could be found out to be lying, and surely what would happen then would be worse than if the Wither Rose Alliance went public with their possession of the Codfather head.

It’s been nearly a month, though, and nobody seems to suspect that he and Scott are anything but deeply in love with each other.

Maybe it’s the level of commitment that they’ve taken this to—neither of them have left Rivendell’s palace, neither have shown any skin since the engagement was announced. They’d had to do a press conference of sorts on the first official day of the first step of their commitment (‘first official day’ because Scott’s councils had known for several days already and had been getting them both fitted for the proper attire), where reporters from all of the empires were given the opportunity to ask a couple of questions before the total isolation began. They had an agreed-upon story (with as many embellishments as Scott could throw in on the spot)—in which they’d been courting since the beginning of their alliance, and had decided to bite the bullet and commit to strengthen their empires when the rumors of war began. Somehow (despite certain members of the Cod Alliance knowing otherwise), every one of the other rulers bought it, as well as the citizens of both their empires. Katherine in particular became much warmer to the both of them, extending her congratulations and arranging a personal meeting in order to work out a neutrality statement in the coming conflicts that wouldn’t harm their trades.

The first week had been a flurry of activity, but now things have settled down and Jimmy mostly finds himself bored.

His lessons are mindnumbing and confusing, but despite them feeling as if they drag on forever, they only last three hours and leave Jimmy with a pile of homework he can’t wrap his head around without Scott and nothing to do for the rest of the day.

There’s the gardens, of course, and he can visit the courtyard, as long as he puts in a request with the staff (by way of a note slipped through a slot in the door) to ensure it stays empty an hour before his arrival. He can only stay for two hours at a time, though, and is otherwise confined to within the palace walls, moving as a wraith through the halls.

It’s frustrating that the only place he can remove his veil is in their quarters, particularly because there’s not a lot of opportunities for exercise in their rooms. Two bedrooms, a sitting room, a washroom, two walk-in closets, and a half-kitchen. Not much room to run laps, do heavy lifting, and certainly not a place for swimming. He brings it up to Scott one morning, who frowns.

“Maybe we can get you a few hours per day at the public pool?”

“You have a public pool?”

Scott shrugs. “Of course. It used to be a bathhouse, I believe, but it was too cold. Nobody wanted to bathe in it. Instead of tearing it down, we remodeled.”

Jimmy’s never been so excited at the idea of going to a public pool, but there’s not much to get excited about in this incredibly dangerous false arrangement. It would set his heart racing with excitement just to see a tree that isn’t one of the two in the gardens.

They bring it up to all three councils the very next day. At first, none of the elves seem to approve of the idea, but Scott (rather forcefully, Jimmy thinks, blushing under his veil) reminds them that Jimmy’s a cod hybrid and has a biological need to swim. A begrudging amendment is made, and Jimmy is allotted three hours every morning to travel in a covered carriage to the pool (new hours of service established so that the general public are not swimming with him), swim, and travel back, all in solitude.

It’s better than nothing, he supposes. The pool is deep enough on one end for him to dive into, and large enough that he can swim laps at a moderate speed without crashing into the wall. There’s also a slide on one side, reminiscent of the children’s mudslides into ponds back home, and after one ride Jimmy decides that he’s going to be installing slides at every dock he can.

Scott smiles every time Jimmy mentions the slide (because there’s not much to tell of Jimmy’s every day, the slide is a recurring character), and one night he mutters, “If we were getting real-married, I’d make you all the slides you want.”

And that one hits like a punch to the gut.

Every day is more of the same. They wake up and get ready for the day together, then Scott leaves for his private library and Jimmy leaves for the pool. Jimmy gets back and eats a midday meal alone, attends his lessons, then has a conference call with his advisors (it usually only lasts a couple of minutes, the empire is fine and all is quiet). Scott’s often in meetings and war preparations until supper, which they eat together—and which Jimmy has recently taken upon himself to cook, as bored out of his mind as he tends to be, and as safe as he knows it makes Scott feel.

Over supper they chat, then they throw themselves in random places around the sitting room or Scott’s bedroom, and study and read and have generally heartbreaking conversations.

Jimmy’s never borne a heavier secret, and yet it’s still the most prized secret he’s ever been privileged enough to keep.

The only people in on the secret are Lizzie and Joel—well, they think that the love is real, and that the betrothal will remain beyond the threat, but they are aware of the disappearance of the Codfather head. They’ve been sending recon groups into Mythland and the Grimlands, searching for anything suspicious, spying on the emperors. They haven’t found anything yet.

Jimmy both hopes they do soon and hopes they won’t.

The worst thing, he thinks, is that Scott is incredibly sweet about all this. Not only does he keep up pretenses in front of the councils to a fault (holding Jimmy’s hand, keeping his arms protectively around Jimmy’s shoulders, using pet names and rubbing his back and so on in such painful ways), but when alone, he’s apologetic, closer than ever, lightheartedly joking and doing his best to make the situation bearable for Jimmy. He never blames him for their predicament, never asks him to take any of the blame for losing his own claim to the throne. Scott shows Jimmy nothing less than utter compassion and care, and Jimmy falls in love with him a bit more every day.

Tonight, he lays on his stomach on their—on Scott’s bed, trying to unobtrusively watch Scott flip through his notes and compare to whatever he’s reading.

He knows he must look embarrassingly cliche—his feet in the air behind him, chin propped up on his hands—but he can’t help it. Scott’s quite absorbed in his work and won’t notice, and if he does, he can write it off as practice for being in love. Cod knows he needs it—every time Scott so much as mentions his name, he gets all tongue-tied and can barely look at him.

He’s got it bad, hasn’t he?

“Lizzie said she caught some salmon sneaking around the east border, right?” Scott says absently, and Jimmy jolts, quickly turning his eyes down to the history book he’s meant to be studying.

“Uh,” he says after a moment, faking concentration. “Maybe? I think so, yeah.”

Scott sighs, bonks his head against his desk. “That just doesn’t make sense. If they’re looking for the End portal, they’re nowhere near it. It’s been nearly two months—how have they not gotten close yet?”

“Maybe Lizzie’s misdirecting is working,” Jimmy suggests.

“If it wasn’t fWhip, I would believe it,” groans Scott, lifting his head and stretching. “Were it just Sausage? I’d hardly worry about it. But fWhip. . . .”

He trails off, and Jimmy doesn’t offer any other solution. He’s willing to believe that Lizzie’s plan is just working, but if Scott’s right, then why on earth would they be at the east border? Is there something else there that fWhip wants?

“I’ll call Lizzie about it tomorrow,” Scott waves off. He pushes back his chair, stands. “You’d think that requiring total isolation would mean I would deal with less people, but I seem to have a new meeting every day. What about a one-year betrothal period do these elves not understand?”

Jimmy doesn’t answer that either, just shoots him a sympathetic smile. He checks the incense clock—the stick’s burned halfway down. He hadn’t realized just how late it was.

Scott seems to notice, too, ducking into his walk-in closet to change. Jimmy checks under the bed, finds his shirt and shorts. He pulls the robes off over his head and changes quickly, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor.

Scott barely even pauses his stride to scoop them up and throw them in the hamper on his way to the bed, blowing out his desk lamp before climbing in under the blankets. Jimmy scoots under them as well, pulls them up to his chest. He settles in, swiveling his ear fins a few times contentedly. There are ups and downs to this, sure. But at least tonight, he can pretend that all the pain doesn’t exist and just sleep next to Scott.

That’s just going to make it worse in the morning, he knows. It always does.

Scott quickly looks away when Jimmy glances at him, any color draining from his cheeks. “Um. Bed?” Scott says weakly, despite them both already being in bed.

Jimmy nods, so Scott reaches over to his bedside table and lowers the lamp shade, allowing just the tiniest bit of light to peek through, offering some definition to the shadowy shapes around the room. He fluffs his pillow, then lays back beside Jimmy.

It always takes Scott a little while to fall asleep, and Jimmy always makes an effort to not fall asleep before him, so he rolls onto his side to face away from Scott, staring instead at the curtains through the crack of which he can see the tiniest sliver of the night sky.

It’s beautiful, moreso here in Rivendell (at Scott’s side) than anywhere else Jimmy’s ever been. Maybe it’s the height of the mountains, reaching closer to the heavens than any other empire. Maybe it’s the clarity of the crisp air. Something about Rivendell makes the sky mesmerizing in a way he’s never found it.

“Scott?” he finds himself whispering.

“Hm?”

“What’s your favorite constellation?”

A moment. “Probably the Clash of the Stags. Basic, I know.”

Jimmy shrugs. “I don’t know it. Has it got a good story?”

“You don’t know it?”

“I’m sort of new here, remember?” Jimmy’s not sure if he means new to Rivendell, or new to the empires as a whole. Scott hums thoughtfully.

“Well, I can’t do it justice right now. We can go out tomorrow night to stargaze, and I’ll point it out. Sound good?”

That sounds terribly romantic, actually, and Jimmy already is both excitedly anticipating the event and entirely dreading it. “Yeah,” he says eventually, ignoring the roiling emotions in his stomach, then adds, “I’ll bring something to eat, how about.” Scott yawns. “Perfect. Tomorrow night, okay?”

“Tomorrow night,” Jimmy agrees, and with that, they fall silent. Jimmy listens as Scott’s breathing slowly evens out, his body losing all of the tension that it’s been holding.

It’s nice, lying next to Scott as he falls asleep.

Jimmy just wishes there was more to it than that.

He’s about to fall asleep himself when his communicator beeps. He fumbles to grab it off the bedside table, meaning to see who’s messaging him at this time of night and mute it, like he usually does before bed. He can’t have it waking up Scott, and he’s holding down the volume button to mute it when it buzzes again, messages coming into focus as he blinks the bleariness away from his eyes.

Had he muted it earlier, had it not disturbed him just as he was about to fall asleep, perhaps all that transpired next could have been avoided. Perhaps the message sent wouldn’t have been seen until morning, when Scott was awake, when they were both levelheaded enough to handle the situation as a team.

But that isn’t what happens.

fWhip: If you want the cod head back, meet us at the end portal in one hour

fWhip: Come alone. Tell no one. Or else

Jimmy’s blood freezes in his veins.

They have the Codfather head. They’ve found the portal. And while he doesn’t know what would happen were he to ignore the requests given, he knows fWhip’s style. It would involve a lot of pain.

He can’t wake Scott. He can’t tell him about any of this.

It’s terrifying to know that he’s about to go face his tormentors without even the option for backup, so terrifying that he can’t even think straight. He just knows he has to obey fWhip’s demands.

And maybe—just maybe—he can hold them off from going into the End long enough that someone finds them.

It’s not much of a plan, but Jimmy can’t take the time to think any longer. He has to go.

He slides out of bed, careful not to disturb the covers. Tiny things can wake Scott up, and he’s actually spent hours teaching himself which floorboards are safe to step on so that if he needs to get up in the middle of the night, Scott will still be able to rest (the first week here, Jimmy had gotten up for some water and woken Scott, fuelling a panic attack and setting them both up for several more hours of wakefulness).

Those practiced skills have never come more in handy than now. He sneaks across the chilly floor, into the sitting room, then through there into his own (almost unused) bedroom. He shuts the door near silently, then rushes to get ready.

One of the Rivendellian robes won’t do, not with his elytra. The only other clothes he has are his travel clothes that he’d worn here weeks ago, so those will have to do. Brown leggings, green-and-grey mottled tunic, a brown leather jacket. He laces up his boots over it, then adds a pair of his day gloves, the warm ones—though they’re long enough to go up to his elbows, a bit excessive. The veil’s tricky, but if someone catches him sneaking out without the veil on, he’ll be accused of infidelity and the whole betrothal will be off. He pins it around his head, tucking the longer ends into his tunic.

It takes about ten minutes to get dressed, which leaves him only fifty to get to the End Portal. It’s not a terribly far flight—it can’t be more than half an hour, twenty minutes with good winds—but he’s anxious to get going anyway. fWhip gave him a one hour time slot. He can’t mess this up.

He doesn’t think to grab anything else—he barely remembers to slip his communicator into the inside pocket of his jacket. He just has to leave, has to take care of this and get back before Scott wakes up.

Maybe soon, he’ll have the head back. Then they can cancel this silly betrothal once and for all.

He’s not sure if he wants it back quite yet.

Still, though, Jimmy straps on his elytra, and with a final glance at his closed door, pries open his window and leaps out.

-

He arrives at the portal alone, swooping down through the tunnel into the dimly-lit portal room.

Jimmy’s been here once before, but the portal is still the novelty it had been the first time, drawing his eye as soon as he enters.

It doesn’t fit in with the rest of the room, rough stone bricks and crumbling patches of clay. The portal must be the feat of some great craftsman, carved out of some material he doesn’t recognize, shimmering words in a language he can’t read pulsing and melding together. The Eyes set into the holes in every finely-carved brick glow softly, glassy green and shiny.

The most foreign aspect of the portal is, however, the void.

As opposed to the swirling purples of a Nether portal, the End portal lacks . . . anything at its center. To look into it is to see nothing forever, an enveloping blankness that makes Jimmy dizzy to take in. Perhaps there are flecks of color if he looks closer, but he’s too afraid of losing his balance and falling inside.

It thrums softly, filling the room with an ominous presence. Jimmy tears his eyes away.

It’s only two minutes later that the fluttering of elytra alert him to the presence of others. He spins around to face the entrance; Sausage flies in first, stumbling on the floor, followed by fWhip, landing gracefully.

These are the men who hurt him for so long. These are the men who tortured Scott for a week straight.

Somehow, Jimmy can’t find a single spark of anger. He only feels cold fear.

Jimmy does his best to seem imposing, standing straighter and holding his head high, but fWhip only laughs.

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Are you ever going to learn?”

Jimmy glances between him and Sausage. What’s that supposed to mean?

Even with the veil hiding his face, fWhip seems to pick up on his confusion. “I mean, I do have to thank you. Best ally I’ve had in a while—after all, you led us straight to the portal!”

Oh no. Oh no.

Oh no.

Jimmy’s heart sinks.

How could he have been such an idiot? Of course they didn’t know where the portal was, of course he shouldn’t have come, of course he should’ve woken Scott and discussed with him. The panic had seized him and all thoughts had left his brain.

“I’ve held up my end of the bargain,” Jimmy blusters, pure will keeping his suddenly-dry throat from cracking. Maybe he hasn’t ruined everything. Maybe he can salvage something from this. “Give me the Codfather head.”

It’s Sausage’s turn to laugh. “Not so fast, little fishie! We never offered it!”

And they hadn’t, had they? They’d just told him to be here if he wanted it back.

They tricked him, and he was stupid enough to fall for it, and now his stupidity has likely brought about the invasion of a demon.

“Aw, maybe we’ll give it to you anyways, right?” fWhip sticks out his bottom lip, mocking a pout. “That way, you won’t have to wear this old thing.” He bats at the veil; Jimmy pulls away, hands shooting up protectively.

It’s clear they know his betrothal is a sham, and Jimmy isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse. For an instant, fWhip’s mask of joviality slips to show irritation, then is back up as he clucks his tongue.

“C’mon, what Scott doesn’t know won’t hurt him! After all, his feelings for you aren’t your responsibility. You can take that off, it’s just us!”

Jimmy would’ve worded it the other way around, but he stands firm. He promised Scott. He’s already ended any shot at friendship he could ever have with him, let alone a relationship (Scott will never forgive him for this, he’s freed the demon and Scott’s going to hate him as will everyone else), but he can at least keep this last promise. He can at least follow the rules laid out for their short-lived betrothal until its termination.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance, as someone swoops in behind and knocks him to his knees, tearing off the veil. Jimmy winces as it rips along the pins, coming entirely off his face. He ducks his head, hit with the stale, cool air of the portal room, the musty smell suddenly that much stronger. He feels uncomfortably naked without it, because for almost two months no one’s seen his face but Scott and they aren’t supposed to see him—

Joey Graceffa appears before him and stomps on the veil—unnecessarily brutal, and now the shame is melting into anger, it may have been fake but that veil had come to represent an important part of his life—but before he can do more than turn toward Joey with his fists up, Sausage is shoving him to the ground.

His elbow knocks against a wall, hitting his funny bone, but he ignores the tingling up and down his arm and rolls up—

He’s hit again in the stomach, hard enough that his vision instantly blurs with tears and he can’t see who did it as he doubles over, and he doesn’t get any time to recover as he’s kicked onto his back.

“Stop,” Jimmy gasps out. “I need—give me—”

“Look, Codboy,” fWhip sneers, shoving his boot under Jimmy’s chin to tilt his head up (and it’s just like old days, isn’t it, it’s just like it always was, how could he ever believe he’d escaped), “you’ve always been the funniest guy to mess with. But you just had to go get Scott involved—which I’m not mad about, by the way!”

fWhip’s boot presses into his throat and Jimmy chokes, his gills flap open for a split second but he’s not in water, his fins flare in defense—

“Because as it turns out, Scott’s very fun to play with as well,” fWhip continues, as if Jimmy’s windpipe isn’t being crushed under him. “And you, Jimmy. Well . . . you’ve become quite the issue.”

The pressure releases and Jimmy gulps in the air, rolling to his side. This is the worst—he hasn’t been so humiliated in ages, and here fWhip is, in control like he always was, Sausage and Joey laughing and jeering in the background.

Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s really changed, and he’s once again on his own because of his own stupid decisions.

fWhip claps his hands together, startling Jimmy so badly he almost loses his tenuous hold on his gag reflex, bile leaping up his throat. “Well, Jimmy,” he says, voice dripping with grandiose. “How would you like to go to the End?”

[handelplayssims]

Oye. How many more days left with these vampires? 4 it seems. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Well, let’s look at Roxana’s whims. Prank and be mean to someone. As usual. Welp, pranking is easily done. Hey, Omar! Here’s this hand buzzer trick! Next is Omar who wants to have child, or get disliked by someone. Mm. They already dislike each other though. I’m going to refresh those whims and then have him focus on Harrison. ...the whims were to leave a note on the family bulliten board and become enemies with the person he disliked. -shrug- Emilie is up and at em and needs food, and it’s an hour until work and school. Let’s just wait out the time until we head back into work with Omar.

And here we go! Perhaps today, we might get that final surgery requirement. ...if I was mean, I would perform surgery on a patient that might not need it...but eh, let’s try to be a good doctor. WOAH, there we go! We got a guy who collapsed right at the front door. And he needs emergency surgery! There we go! And hey, the patient we’ve been working on also needed surgery. Nice! Finally! He’s got that promotion! And is now a specialist! Good for Omar.

Oooh, Roxana, while I did manage to queue and get her the plasma fruit salad she needed, she also just ran out and drank from a passing sim. Hee. Now she’s super-tense about drinking from others.  MAN. I keep forgetting about Emilie and the making-friends-at-school thing! Now it’s 8PM and I bet there would only be teens at the park at this time. Doing their teen hangout thing. Ah well, both parents have whims regarding kids so, I decided to have both of them lecture their kids about manners. They’re neat sims, they’d care about this sort of thing. And now the kids are asleep. I decide to have the parents chat about the struggles of parenting...and the struggles of being a vampire. But thankfully Omar has a very high logic and can logic away the stress of drinking from a random sim. And she has low fun so uh, let’s have a woohoo in the shower.

Harrison wants to meet someone new so lets see if any teens are hanging around the park at the moment. But if not, we’ll bring someone along because he needs to drink! Hmm. The Alluring Visage means he’s low on vampire energy now. Meaning he needs to sleep. But we just got here! But I guess we can go right back home.. because it’s pretty much time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Devan Geiger in the Geiger household has died. No cliffhanger here; Devan slipped when rock climbing.

Hold on, let me check something…yep. This was the guy who just moved into a home. RIP!

Mack Newman in the Newman hosuehold has died. Mack tried to make cereal but it burst into flames.

Let’s see, it’s early in the morning, nothing much to do. The kids sleep schedule is all kinds of messed up but alas. Let’s make sure I actually remember to set Emile to make friends at school. Omar’s got work at 9 until 7pm. So that leaves Roxana alone to do her work. And we got a biography about a dude who very much wants someone to write about him. That’ll do. Huh, and evidently she’s excited about the project at least. So a drink break and then we head back to work. Annnd she’s sick. Stuffed up nose, it seems. Well, what is the recommendations, internet? Taking a steamy shower! Annd hey, it worked! Back to writing she goes! Kids are back from school and boy, are they tired! But Roxana wants them to volunteer with her and so what she wants, she gets!

Let’s see. Omar does want a promotion, again. Could think about just having him visit a library for a late-night study instead. Since hey, that does also work, in theory, for a doctor. You gotta research your medical stuff! Oh hey, we actually met a scientist, since we’re at Strangerville. There would be a scientist/doctor solidarity, wouldn’t there? Let’s play a game of chess, get the know the guy a little and then head home.

Home again, and Omar wants to eat some popcorn. It’ll go poorly but we can attempt to have some. Meanwhile Harrison wants another promotion. Which, fine and all but I guess let’s work on your charisma skill. Selena’s hungry and Emile, oof! Bladder failure! ...and Roxana’s whim didn’t clear because we left in the middle of it. Fair enough, I suppose! Also I am trying to have Omar mend his relationship with Selena but alas! She just thinks he’s creepy with that weird hissing all the time! Ah well. Anyway it’s time for-

Neighborhood Watch! Mizuki Maeda in the Maeda household has died. Mizuki was victim to a vicious chicken attack.

Ah man. She was one of my longest lived townies. Riiiiiip!

Akira Kibo in the Kibo household has died. Akira fell for a cowplant’s cake bait. He could not have his cake and eat it too.

Ha. I had a feeling this was going to happen to him sooner or later. RIP!

[t-o-m-hollands]

Chapter eight

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and female reader.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, one hit to the head. Smut. I mean, it’s a mob!AU so generally just a lot of talking of murder, fighting and violence. THIS IS A +18 STORY. 

Word count: 5k. Sorry, but this is an eventful chapter so got a bit long. I didn’t want it to end in a cliffhanger so I sort of had to go on a bit

An absolute massive thank you to @plantlungs​ for being an amazing editor and for having the patient of a saint and correct all my misplaced commas and confused word choices. 

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

Recap of the story so far: Tom is part of and working himself up in the Firm; the feared London gang. Its leader is a certain Fabien Towner. After an attack on Harrison it’s clear that they have a traitor in their midst who is also working for the rival gang created by a man called Jack Flanagan. While Tom is trying to bring the attacker in for questioning he meets you; his old school love (and unfortunately for him, the daughter of the home secretary who has spent most of his career trying to put an end to organized crime).  After an interesting night where you end up as a witness for a murder Tom essentially has to kidnap you until he knows what to do with you. Ending up deciding to let you live, and in doing so risking his own life, he lies to Fabien about there being no witness to the crime.  

Some time later you and Tom meet again at the club Romantique, as Tom has gone there to negotiate with Jack Flanagan. You go home with Tom that night and the two of you begin an affair. Fabien, finding out about the affair and of who your father is, is delighted, thinking that he can use you as leverage to the home secretary.  

Not many days later Tom is attacked by Flanagan’s gang, and he flees to your house where you patch him up. He tells you of Fabien’s plan, and asks you to work with him in order to bring the traitor in – the only thing that can possibly distract the Firm’s leader from you. You agree to help him.  

***

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

arsonist's lullaby - hozier

***

You wake with a kiss to your forehead. Opening your heavy eyelids, you’re met with a smile, and a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

“Morning” Tom says quietly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day in his usual suit, hair fixed and the outlining of a gun showing underneath his suit jacket. 

“Good morning,” you respond, voice soft and full of sleep. Sitting up in the soft bed and pulling the sheets around you, you lean closer towards him. Gently you place your hand on his cheek, stroking his skin you feel the faint trace of stubble. He smells of his lemon and cedar soap and faintly of cigarettes. Pressing your lips softly against his other cheek, and then on his jawline,  you whisper against his skin, “Do you really have to go?”

You can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, and as you lean back his dark eyes, glossed over and pupils dilated, are focused on your lips. His own mouth is slightly opened, and he’s leaning in towards you. Just as he’s about to press his lips against yours he murmurs, “Afraid so, darling.” He leans back and winks at you, a devilish smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give you everything you want soon enough.”He stands up and moves towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, just doing some collecting today; shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll come back and we’ll have lunch, yeah?”

He’s leaned against the doorway, hands in suit pockets, the stolen Rolex on his wrist glistening in the early morning light coming in through the window. He’s all wicked smiles and dimples and his eyes are gleaming as he looks at you; sitting in the middle of the bed, white sheets pulled around you and hair loose, your skin kissed by the sun streaming in.

You smile back at him and letting go of the sheets you let them fall around you. Leaning back against your elbows you slowly spread your bent legs; looking at him all the while. He’s got his dark eyes fixated on where your spread legs meet. Slowly walking towards you, like a hunter approaching its prey. Reaching the bed he leans over it, grabs hold of your thighs, and pulls you towards him until he’s pressed up against your naked crotch. Leaning over you, hands resting on either side of your face, he whispers in a low voice against your lips, “Such a devious little temptress, aren’t you?”

He leans back and falls down on his knees. Kissing the soft inside of your thigh he bites the sensitive skin, leaving a wet and burning spot, he blows cold air on it and you shiver. He looks up at you, wicked smile in place and eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You could tempt a saint you know?” he says, voice thick with bewildered wonder as he presses his soft lips against your cunt, before licking up your slit, eagerly. “How’s a poor devil like me supposed to stand a chance?” 

***  

There’s a flickering light above your head and the hallway smells of something rotten. The dark medallion wallpaper and crimson-coloured carpet make it feel like the room is spinning slightly around you. 

You’re just about to carefully lock the door to Tom’s apartment, having decided to go home and change before lunch, when you hear a creaking on the floor behind you. Something like alarm bells go off in your head, and you turn around only to be hit with something heavy and sharp right by your mouth.   

A ringing in your ear, and the whole room seems to change perspective, turn on its side somehow. It takes you a second to realize that it isn’t the room that has fallen; it is you. Something above you moves, but you can’t see clearly, just the outlines of a blurred shadow coming closer and closer and a smell you can’t place but is stronger than the rotten smell of the hallway. And then a wet cloth covers your mouth.

Memories of when you were a child, swimming in the municipal pool, flash before your eyes and you can’t understand why.

Only, just before everything turns dark, does it hit you.  

Chloroform. 

*** 

The first thing your mind registers as you wake is a sore neck. A sore neck and a stinging nose and a back that feels uncomfortably stiff. You try to open your eyes but find the world just as dark as when you had them closed. Trying to move your hands you realize that they have been tied behind the uncomfortable chair you’ve been placed in.  

Panic rises like bile in your throat and you want to scream, but the sound refuses to leave your lips, as if the panic itself is blocking it from leaving. Trying to kick your legs you realize that they too have been bound.  

“She’s awake,” someone mutters behind you and you freeze, heart beating so hard in your chest that it’s hard to hear anything but the blood rushing through your system. “Go tell Jack,” the voice orders, and a pair of heavy footsteps move across the floor and soon a door opens and shuts.  

Laying all your focus on your breathing, trying not to hyperventilate, you try to keep in control of yourself, though you can feel sweat begin to form on your forehead. You feel hyper- aware of your own body, of the rope digging into the fragile skin of your wrists, of the hard chair underneath you, of your own mortality and the dangerous situation you are in. You had been in a situation like this before, in a now very familiar apartment in Mile’s End. But even though you had been frightened then, it is nothing compared to the terror that grips hold of you now.

Soon a door opens, and footsteps move across the floor again.  

“Now boys, is this the way you treat a lady?” A deep voice roars in an Irish brogue. “Have I taught you no manners?” The footsteps move closer and closer until they’re standing behind you.  

“You big lads so scared of a girl you need to tie her up?” You hear how the man fiddles with something, only to realise that he’s untying the rope around your legs. Soon you feel the rope loose; but you are too frightened to even try to move them out of their uncomfortable position.   

“Now unless you think this tied- up wench will overpower me, I suggest you get a fucking move on, yeah?”  the man continues, as he frees your wrists as well.  

No verbal answer follows, just the sound of a dozen of boots moving across the floor until eventually, the door shuts; leaving the room in silence apart from your ragged breaths and rabbit heart; pounding so hard in your chest you’re sure it’s clear for anyone to hear.   

Then there’s a sudden movement by your head and then – you can see again.   

Disoriented you blink into the light. The man, Jack you presume, pulls a chair across the floor, the scraping noise almost alarmingly loud to your panicked senses, and he sits down opposite you. Carefully you move your stiff hands from their position behind your back, slowly moving them to your front and placing them on your knees. 

“There we go,” Jack says in a low, gruff voice that tells of years of smoking.  

 He’s probably in his early fifties, with blond hair that has begun to turn white and a neatly trimmed beard. A long scar is etched across his cheek. Wearing a rather worn grey suit he’s leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and comfortable; the very opposite to how you are feeling. There’s something both harmless and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying about him. He’s almost disarming in his lack of threats, his slow, low way of talking and the patient, curious way he’s looking at you. You can’t get a read of the man, and that frightens you.  

The room you’re in doesn’t help to make you feel more comfortable. It looks like an abandoned old apartment, wallpapers half torn down and a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s dark outside the dirty window, and you wonder for how long you’ve been unconscious. An entire day must have passed since this morning.  

“Now girl, you and I are gonna have a little chat about an old friend of mine,” he starts. 

You don’t respond, waiting for him to reveal his hand before you make up your mind about how to play your cards with this unknown man. 

“Now, child,” he continues, “what do you know of Fabien Towner?” 

You’re taken aback at that. Somehow, subconsciously, you must have assumed that this kidnapping by this evident gangster had something to do with your father and his work as home secretary. That you had been picked out to provide information about a man you had never as much as laid eyes on had not occurred to you.  

“All I know is what’s written in the newspapers.” You answer, only somewhat truthfully, since Tom has told you a few things about the feared London mobster as well.  

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound, “do I look like the sort of man who reads the papers?” He’s smiling at you, though it seems malignant. You are reminded of a cat, playing with its food before it eats it. “I know better than to believe a word that's written in them,” he adds and grins, “after all, they write that I’m a bad man.”

“But alright then, let’s play that game,” he snaps, and the sudden change from almost playful to deadly serious has your heart faltering in your chest. “What do you know of a young mister Tom Holland, hm?” 

If your heart was faltering in your chest before, it positively stops beating now. Your first instinct is to deny your knowledge of Tom’s existence. To say you’ve never heard that name. But you must keep your head cold, be calm and clever. This man knows very well that you know who Tom is, you were after all attacked when leaving his apartment.  

“Not much,” you say, and your voice is frailer than you’d hoped. “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing”.  

Jack’s hard, blue eyes are fixed on yours. He observes you for a while before saying, “You seemed very cozy with him at Romantique. I’m the owner of that club, I damn well know who frequents it, and what they get up to in it.”

It hits you then, and you want to groan at how slow you’ve been. This is Jack, the Jack Flanagan, the owner of club Romantique and Fabien’s sworn enemy, who has infiltrated the Firm with a traitor. 

“Yes, I met Tom there, but I don’t know anything about Fabien Towner.”  

Jack keeps his intense eyes fixed on you, as if he’s trying to read any slight change in your face. He scratches the roughened skin of his scarred cheek almost absentmindedly. “Come on now, I know how young men work when they’re trying to impress a pretty girl. They boast about how big and bad and ballsy they are. He’s told you about his,” and there’s a slight pause and a wicked grin before he continues, “profession, I presume?”

“All I know is he’s part of the Firm,” you say and sniff, “do you think he’d tell me anything? I’m just some girl he fucks. I don’t think he cares at all about me.” Your voice breaks as you speak, and two tears fall down your cheeks as you lie. They aren’t hard to fabricate in your current state of mind. You need to make him believe that Tom would never spill any secrets to you, because if this man in front of you,; his entire aura shouting of danger, finds any hint of the secrets stuck in your throat he’s bound to beat them out of you. 

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Jack says in a low voice, and a smile spreads over his lips. “How would you like some revenge?” 

Fear holds such a hard grip on your heart then that you are sure it’s bound to stop beating altogether. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to hide your terror.  

Jack smiles even wider, and something like a shiver moves up your spine. “You see,” he starts in his broad brogue, “old Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. He’s a, well, I guess you can say a friend of mine. I know him well. I know what makes him tick.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his widespread legs, his intense eyes still fixed on yours. “Now I want him to stop ticking.”

Trying to swallow down the panic you answer in a cool voice, “and how could I possibly help with that?” 

“Like I said, Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. But he’s got a blind spot when it comes to that lad. I’ve heard the rumours; the Devil’s Boy, that’s what they call him, and that’s the way Fabien sees him. I’ve met Tom, on the night you danced with him in my nightclub in fact. And he's brought up by the devil alright,” he pauses, a grim smile on his face. “In order to get to Fabien, I need to get to the boy. And that’s where you come in, miss. See, Tom is Fabien’s weakness, so I’m gonna need you to become Tom’s weakness.” 

“And how do you expect me to achieve that?” you ask, voice shaking slightly despite all your efforts to keep it under control. You feel like you’re trembling all over, like your very soul is rattling inside of you. Nothing seems real, nothing in this nightmarish scenario or in this strange room; nothing except for those bleak, intense eyes looking at you, and that low, gruff voice speaking of betrayal of the worst kind.  

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Like a little bird. I’m sure you could convince him to stick around, to open up; to trust you. Then all this little bird needs to do is fly to me and sing her song, and I shall see to the rest, and you will have your revenge.” 

You feel ice-cold all over, as if the blood itself in your veins have frozen. “And what kind of song does the bird sing? What is it that you need to know from me?” 

“For now, I just need you to make him trust you. When the time is right, when everything is ready to be set in motion, I shall tell you the plan. What do you say?”  

You don’t know if he’s honestly offering you a choice or not, if he’d even let you live if you refused him, but slowly you nod your head, and the smile grows bigger on his face, and his cold, blue eyes sparkle.   

 “Good,” he says, and rises from his chair. “Now it’s time for this little bird to be set free.” 

*** 

Your legs feel unsteady and unsure underneath you as you make your way up the familiar steps to your house. You can hear the car that dropped you off drive away, but you don’t look back, you don’t ever want to look back again but it feels like you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder after this. You feel heavy all over, every limb slowly moving forward underneath the weight, burdened with a terrible secret.   

Letting yourself in, you quietly make your way through the hall, wanting to avoid seeing anyone since that would mean you’d have to explain your split lip and your sore wrists. The skin of your lip pulses uncomfortably. You must have attained the injury this morning as you got attacked outside of Tom’s apartment. 

With quiet feet you move up the stairs to your bedroom, needing only to change your clothes and leave a message for your father to let him know you will be sleeping at a friend’s house for a night or two. You jot the message down in spidery letters, so unlike your normally neat handwriting; your hands refusing to collaborate with you as they keep shaking. You leave the message on your desk, knowing that Mason will find it later and pass the information on to your father. 

You fill the bathtub with water and scented oil, needing to wash the reminders of today off of you before you are ready to face Tom. Quickly ridding yourself out of your dirty dress, you step into the lukewarm water and start the process of scrubbing your skin clean. After having washed up, you change into another dress, feeling great relief in feeling the freshly washed fabric against your skin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you cannot help but be taken aback at the sight. You have a split and swollen lip, your hair is a mess and your eyes seem bigger than normal; as if you are a frightened animal. Knowing there is nothing to do about the lip you try to smooth your hair, before giving up, deciding instead to pin it up into something a little more respectable.  

In your new dress and hair, you look a little more put together, though your eyes remain frightened.  

Packing a small bag with some essential clothes and hygiene products you creep out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Your father’s voice booms out from the library, as he’s speaking on the telephone with someone. Passing the door on your tiptoes, as not to make a sound, a name caught your attention.  

“Yes, Fabien’s boy.” 

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully as your father goes on. “He’s been causing uproar in all the underworld. He set fire to a pub in Camden this afternoon, one of Flanagan’s places, and he’s been involved in a dozen fights all over the East End.”

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to be quiet as your father keeps talking. “No, apparently he’s looking for some woman. A kidnapping they say.” Your father listens as the voice on the other side of the phone speaks before he keeps going. “Yes, of course, but if this means we have another gang war on our hands there needs to be readjustments. 

You walk away, as quickly and quietly as you can, and step back out into the night. Never have you been in such a hurry to find a taxi in your life.

*** 

After having paid the driver, you rush up to Tom’s apartment, all four stairs, never slowing for a moment. You’re not sure of what you’re about to meet in the apartment but as you push the door open and rush inside you are relieved to see the figure of a man standing there.

Only to soon realise that it is not Tom. 

The man is blond, and about the same age as Tom and dressed much the same in a dark suit. One of his arms is wrapped up in bandages. You recognize him as the man who came to pick Tom up the morning after you spent your first night at his place. A friend then, and not a foe. 

He stands up from the sofa when he sees you, and smiles, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, moving closer. Standing in front of you, impressive in his length and stature, he observes your wounded face with a frown. 

“Any other injuries?” He asks, voice collected but underneath his calm stature, you think you can sense a wave of anger. 

You shake your head, unsure of what to say. 

He nods, takes a gentle hand on your arm and leads your numb body to the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down. After you have done so he moves across the floor to the phone, his long legs taking wide strides. Dialing in a number he stands there, leaning against the wall, still observing you as he waits for the number to go through.

“Yeah, Harry? It’s Haz,” he says into the phone. “She’s here.”

There’s a loud voice on the other end of the line but you can’t make out what it is saying. “Yeah, yeah, well you need to let him know then, don’t you? Before he causes any more damage.” More silence as he listens to the other man. “No, apart from a split lip she’s unharmed,” and he looks over you again as he speaks, “she looks pretty fucking shaken though so get a fucking move on, yeah?” He hangs up. 

In your wild haze of suffocating numbness, it strikes you how unlike Tom this Haz is, despite your first confusion. His accent is polished and posh despite his attempts to hide it. His back is almost impossibly straight as he’s holding himself upright and his young face looks taut. You wonder how a young man like this ended up within the ranks of the Firm. 

He crouches down in front of you as you sit on the sofa, his knees bent until you are at eye level.  “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks in a soft voice that takes you with surprise. 

“No,” you mumble, only realizing now that it’s the case. But you’ve been so full of terror the entire day you’ve hardly even noticed. Haz has a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he scans you over. 

“Alright,” he sighs and gets up, moving across the room to the kitchen. You keep your eyes ahead, fixated on faded wallpaper in front of you, as you hear clattering and muttered swears coming from the kitchen. 

Some while later Haz is back, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. “Sorry,” he says, placing it down on the table in front of you, “fucker hasn’t got any milk.” 

You tell him you don’t mind, and thank him for his kindness, before tucking in. Only after having nearly devoured the first sandwich do you fully realize how hungry you’ve been. Haz sits down on the worn leather armchair, leaned forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in his lap. It is as if he’s ready to jump into action on the first sign of danger. He watches as you eat. 

“Hungry, ey?” He asks with a smile, as you swallow the last of your sandwich, reaching for the tea. 

“Famished,” you confess. 

For a few moments everything is silent in the darkened room, only lit up by the dim light coming from the kitchen. Outside you hear a car drive by. 

“How did he know of the abduction?” You ask in the end. 

Haz’s mouth tightens into a grimace, as if remembering something unpleasant. “The landlady saw as they carried you out to the car. She recognized you as Tom’s girl and let him know as soon as he came back.”

“How did he take it?” you ask, with reluctance. 

Haz looks away from you, avoids your eyes; the frown on his face growing deeper. “Let’s just say the boy’s got a talent for destruction when he puts his mind to it.”

“Where is he now?” 

“Well, last I heard he was,” he pauses, edits himself in the search for the right word, “he was interrogating someone in Hackney, trying to find a lead of where they took you,” he sighs. And then in a bitter tone, he adds, “I would have gone with him,” another sigh, “but out of combat, unfortunately. So I was put to stay here and wait to see if you’d return. Harry was placed in the pub, much to his indignation; ever the boy of action, while Fabien made Sam and a few others go after Tom. To try and reel him in a little.”

A bang, and then Tom comes crashing through the door. Harrison is on his feet, almost before you’ve registered the sound of the door slamming against the wall, gun in hand and aiming at the man in the hall. When he sees who it is he lowers the weapon and breathes out. 

Your eyes remain fixed on the man striding over to you. It’s like he’s unable to look away from you and as soon as you get within an arm's reach he pulls you towards him. With a hand carefully cupping your chin, he inspects your face, eyes glued to your split lip, a deep frown on his face. 

He turns to Harrison, who just nods at him; the taut frown relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, that’s me done for the night.”

“Harry’s sulking at the pub if you feel like cheering him up,” Tom tells him, still holding onto you. 

Harrison moves to the door, snorts loudly, and says in a voice that sounds done for, “You fucking Holland boys and your goddamn sulking.” And then he’s out, the door closing behind him.

Tom rests his forehead against yours, breathing slowly. “Hi,” he says, voice a quiet whisper. His fingers don’t stop stroking your cheek for a second. Then, “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” It’s a savage kind of remorse, real like a physical presence in the room. To think that on this very morning you had laid in bed, wordlessly tempting him into staying there with you for a while.

You should have stayed in that bed forever with him.  

“Is it not your fault,” you tell him, knowing that it’s useless, and true enough, he shakes his head at the idea. 

 A deep sigh escapes him, as if he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding for a long time. You breathe him in, the familiar lemon and cedar soap; the faint trace of smoke. 

“Tonight I’m going to take care of you,” he says, stroking your cheek with his long, ring- clad finger, “gonna make sure that you’re alright.” He presses his lips softly against your temple. “And tomorrow,” he continues, voice hardened steel now, “tomorrow I’m going to take care of him.”

 “No,” you say softly, looking at the floor.  

 Dead silence wills the room for several heartbeats. Then, voice bewildered, “What?”

 He’s leaning away from you, though his big hands are still covering your jawline, your throat. “You can’t go after him,” you say, taking a slow breath, staring at his shoes. Slowly you take in Tom’s appearance for the first time. When he had crashed into the apartment all your attention had been on his face, but now, now you see the state of him. The once white dress shirt he wore this morning is stained with blood and dirt and the sleeve on his jacket has a burn mark. 

Tom pushes your face up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly your eyes follow. “And why can’t I do that?” he asks slowly, through gritted teeth. 

“Because I’m working for him now,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. For a moment he goes completely still and before he can react you keep going. “He is going after Fabien, he wants to bring him down. He thinks you are Fabien’s weakness, so he’s hired me to become your weakness. He wants to use you against Fabien, and use me against you. I told him yes.” 

Tom lets go of you, takes a step away from you, looks at you with big, wounded eyes. “What have you done?” he asks, sounding almost defeated. 

“I could play this to our advantage, we could -” but he interrupts you with a roar.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? You don’t know these men! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. They’d enjoy murdering you if it comes to that. Jack Flanagan’s the sort of man that would kill over an insult, do you have any fucking idea how badly he’d take a betrayal?” 

“Don’t you understand?” I am working for him now, just as the traitor does. I can find out who it is and once we know, Fabian will kill the traitor and once he is gone he can go after Jack with full force. We can play them against each other, don’t you get it?”

Tom is stunned silent for a moment, thinking over what you’ve said with a horrified expression on his face. “Does he know, does Jack know who your father is?”

You are silent for a long time, biting your lip in worry. “I don’t know. But I think so. I didn’t have to leave my name or address and they still knew where to drop me off.”

Tom looks pale. His eyes big and glossy as he looks at you, shoulders tense as he’s holding himself together. “I see,” he says, trying to remain calm, “so the two most dangerous men in London are aware of your relation to your father and are both more than capable at using that as leverage if needed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whisper.

And he’s in front of you again, holding onto your face, his body pressed tightly against yours, and maybe it’s imagination, but you think you can feel the drumming of his heartbeat underneath his chest; can feel your heart drum back to the beat of his. He’s breathing hard, slowly in and out, and his strong body is rigid, every nerve tense. You know that he’s trying to calm himself down; trying to get a hold of himself and all his fear and anger. Can feel it radiating off his body in waves. 

“I can do this, I can play them against each other.” You don’t know why you are whispering, except that maybe you want to make something in this whole situation gentle, in any way you know how. 

“I don’t like this, angel,” he says, his voice also a whisper, as he breathes slowly through his nose. “I really fucking hate this.”

You know that the road you have begun walking is a dangerous one, no doubt full of menace and doom. But you have chosen your road. “I know,” you whisper back, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

You know, as you stroke his cheek, that you would do anything for him. Because it turns out that you are made up of the kind of never yielding devotion that is bound to end in tragedy, but as you look into his sad, brown eyes, tender as they look at you, you wonder if he isn’t made of the same. 

[nlights37]

12, 18 and 20 please!

@aenarsnow gets FIRSTIES which means I answer with extra love, of course:)

Let’s GET IT

12.  How do you deal with self-doubts?

Well, I get ‘em a lot, just like everyone else, your standard, run-of-the-mill ‘”This is shit, why am I wasting my time on this, it’s crap, I’ve used the same adjective like 15 times now and also how many ways can I actually describe eyes I should be doing productive things instead of writing fanfic people are gonna hate it anyway, half the people that used to read my shit ghost me at this point ughhhhh this fandom suuuuuucccckkkkkkssss and so do I!!!”

Inevitably, at that point, I email whatever I’m working on to @noordinarylines, who has explicitly good taste, and who I KNOW will be honest with me if she doesn’t like something or doesn’t quite thinking something is working.

Then she reads it an emails me back and tells me I killed her in a good way and how dare I leave her hanging there, where is the rest, hurry the fuck up because it’s crazy mean to cliffhang her like that.

That usually gets my head right.  :)  There are a handful of people that I interact with that are some real, genuine, ride or die people (mostly because I am horrible at things like chatting regularly, etc - like I will genuinely completely fuck up my IRL day if I allow myself to get sucked into things like chats because I get tunnel vision and forget everything else, my full blown inattentive-type adult ADD in full effect).  But there are some real ones out here, and they know who they are, and if I think an idea is maybe worth a shot but I wanna bounce it off someone, or I want another set of eyes on something because I’ve stared at it so long I genuinely cannot tell if it’s any good, I reach out to them, and they set me straight.

Once I post something, tbh, I just let it ride, because it’s out there, and the people whose opinion I care about the most have already told me what they think, so I’m pretty satisfied with that.  If other people don’t like it they can suck my ass at that point, because I ain’t changing SHIT hahahahaha.

18.   What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

Well, here’s the thing about me.  I write it as it comes, and a lot of time I can feel when I’m writing it if it just isn’t fucking working.  I will backtrack then and there and start over.  For me, if I’m in the groove and it’s really rocking along I go with it.  There’s a flow to it, and then suddenly it’s been 5 hours and you’re like ‘IT’S GOLD, JERRY!  GOLD!”

If it’s like pulling teeth to write it I stop and come back to it later.  With a husband, three kids, ‘virtual learning’ and quarantine, my time to write is limited, so I try to make the most of it.  I run scenes for fics in my head a LOT, while I’m in the shower, or doing dishes, or folding clothes, so that by the time I get a chance to write I’ve made my mind up on exactly how it will go and I don’t have to sit there and look at a blinking cursor.

I don’t typically use a beta, not because I don’t think I need one (my frantic spotting of every damn mistake I made AFTER I post can attest to that) but more because once I’m done with something, I’m done, and I wanna post it.  I just get too excited to wait, you know, like a damn puppy who pees in excitement when someone knocks at the door.  I just wanna SHARE IT!

So, the tldr:  I do a lot of revision in my head before I sit down to write.  I don’t usually rewrite because the minute something stops flowing I scrap it :)

20.  Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Here’s a sneak peek of what @noordinarylines and I have been cooking up for the second story in the Remember the Time universe:

There was something soothing, Daenerys had found, about the line where the sea met the sky, the view afforded from her council chamber one that seemed the best suited for calming her ever-frazzled nerves.

It had been five days since she had taken her tumble on the far end of the island, five days full of the most piercing grief she’d ever experienced, which was truly remarkable.  Her losses, ‘til now, had been great and agonizing, but she could not shake the forlorn mood that had fallen over her since she’d found herself ripped away from what she was now classifying as a sweet, indulgent fantasy, borne of the trauma of her injury, nothing more.

And yet…

Tucked up the sleeve of her coat, always with her, was a rolled scrap of parchment, upon which she’d documented every single aspect of that lovely hallucination that she could remember.  She knew she ought to squirrel it away somewhere safer, hide it from view, leave it behind so she might stop dwelling on these imaginary losses, but she could not.

It had become a talisman, of sorts, something that gave her comfort, just the scrape of it against her skin when she moved her arm as she walked.

She would be mortified, of course, if it were discovered.  She was half-terrified it would slip free, and be found by another, her deepest longings read aloud.  But for now, it eased the walk from her chambers to whatever task lay ahead, and so she kept it.  “Your Grace?”

Daenerys turned from the wide, carved windows in her council chamber, to find Tyrion lingering, watching her with marked curiosity.

Quirking a brow, she did not answer, merely waited.  Her Hand came closer, his fingers trailing down the Riverlands on the painted table as he approached.  “Are you certain you are well?”

“I’m faring well, Tyrion.”  She managed a tight smile, coming to stand at the head of the table, her eyes travelling over the surface rather than meeting the scrutiny in his.  “A few lingering headaches, that’s all.”

“Hmmm.”  Tyrion took another drink, then plucked a carved piece from the table, turning it over in his hands.  When she peeked up, however, he was still staring at her.  “As you say.  Perhaps there is something else that troubles you?”

Dany smoothed her suddenly damp palms down the front of her coat, and kissed her teeth.  “I think we shall all rest easier once we receive word from Casterly Rock, that your plan has succeeded.”  It was enough to shift his focus, and there was a measure of truth in it; Missandei had been beside herself with worry over Grey Worm, and she reminded herself to ask her dear friend just what, precisely, had occurred between them.

Tyrion affected a confident air, and tucked away his wineskin, clasping his hands behind his pace and beginning to pace.  “Yes, a victory is just what we need right now.  And I have every confidence that we will prevail.”  He kept moving, rounding the table, stopping by the depiction of the Northern Kingdom and plucking the wolf from the surface.  His eyes met hers, and she froze.  “How are things with our openly-rebellious friend?  Have relations,” he paused, smirking, “thawed, perhaps, now that you have given him access to the mines?”

She wondered, at the keen tone of his voice, what it was he was truly asking beneath the rather mundane question.  In truth, she had been avoiding Jon Snow, these past few days, at least as much as she could.  The daytime hours were no issue; he was busy down in the mines, and she had seen several carts of the dragonglass he’d been so desperate for, so it seemed his search had been successful.

It was harder once the sun had departed, for they had taken to dining in the main hall, all of Dragonstone’s occupants, and though she tried desperately not to look at him, there were several times at every meal that she couldn’t quite resist.  One night, in particular, he’d been seated beside her, had asked in his low, rumbling voice if her wound pained her, had inquired with a gentleness that had broken her heart anew.

When she’d told him she was well, and not to worry, that she had survived far worse, he had frowned fiercely, as though such a notion troubled him greatly, and it had taken all her strength not to kiss him then and there.

She had resisted the urge, and made cordial, cool conversation with him as necessary, but by the time she’d returned to her chambers she had thrown herself onto her bed and wept.  She was tired of this, tired of weeping, of missing a life that hadn’t even existed, had not been hers to begin with.

Thank you for the ask, good sir!!!

[seenashwrite]

Notes From Nash: Season 15, Episode 3

It's ep three, and was third try the charm? Well, we're still in that little town, which is infuriating. But don't lose hope, chickadees. There was some character arc action and some plot advancing, and just drama in general, and it moved at a decently quick clip, all of which is refreshing after last week's ass-disaster of an episode. 

If I were grading this ep, all things considered (including some damn fine acting moments that elevated the material), it's an A-. (Five points were docked immediately because we were still in the little town.) But seriously, this week's writer(s) had a LOT to make up for given the aforementioned last week as well as a largely lackluster premiere, so you know what? Props to them. 

We got a loose end from season past tied up, got rid of some dead weight, and then there was a thing that happened that I’m not entirely sure was necessary at this interval, but I get why it happened. Of course, we had our requisite random hamfisted “solution(s)” and still-unexplained bits that should’ve been clarified ages ago, can’t not have those, it seems. Regardless, this episode was actually fairly interesting to watch. I’m still wary about the state of the season after the first two, but this one had some spark.

Spoilers below the cut, you know the drill.  

This one's in order, I was jotting stuff down as I watched. Past ep breakdowns linked at the bottom. If you’re new, hello, welcome, etc., I don’t do meta shit or reading into the symbolism of the color of a blurry wallpaper just over someone’s shoulder, I look at writing and cohesiveness and structure and flow and all that jazz. I basically just call things as I see ‘em. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

More spooky-scary still seems to be pouring from the hellpit, but at least this crypt is pretty, and Harry Potter tent-esque because the square feet inside is seemingly bigger than the outside.  

Rowena appears to be outfitted in one of my grandmother's housedresses, or a coffin lining, or a 1980s prom dress, whichever you prefer, and none of them have been pressed. I'm trying to say I don't like it. They also continue to do Ruthie's makeup in such a manner that she perpetually looks approximately fifteen years older than she actually is, so in a way I'm thankful this is likely her last episode. On the other hand, I trust these writers and the people who assemble/green light the promos about as far as I can throw them, so we shall see. In any event, Ruthie is quite the good actor and I hope she gets a million gigs after all this is done.  

This Sam-Dean moment with Creased Brow Sam and Gruff Voice Dean is falling so flat, not because of them, but because we're hearing The Same Damn Thing We've Already Heard. Move the plot along, please----- Oh wait here comes Belphagor once again with a solution, this time a nice little plot rescue MacGuffin! Lilith's Crook. Just gotta blow it like a horn. 

Motherbitch, this is stupid.

I got a thought: make it Gabriel's horn, so it calls in all the angels who should've come back with the reverse-y switch-a-roo, and they deal with sealing the hole, but bonus! At end of ep last scene is that it's also called Gabriel back, too. I'd announce to the universe that this show needs to hire me, but, welp.

Oh look, Ketch is in a hospital gown. Oh look, I bet Ketch is about to die in that hospital gown, instead of a badass suit like it should be. It looked like DHJ accidentally spoiled via a tweet that I happened to see----- 

I dodge the promo images and articles and such so I can give a view of someone who doesn't know what is coming in these things. 

-----because he talked about coming back just to leave again, that it was a pleasure, whatever, and y'all will have to fill me in on that because I kinda can't believe he whiffed that hard. I'm not looking it up, is my point. Did he whiff? Actually, don't answer that, I don't care. I mean, don’t go to trouble looking into it on my account.  

Hmmm. Was Ketch’s death entirely necessary? At least, right now? I dunno. Maybe. I’m 50/50 whether this, or have him be double-crossy then get killed later. In any event, well-acted by DHJ. He's quite fantastic. He is wasted in all the Hallmark dreck he's been in, I really hope he gets some good work after this. That's that. Moving on. 

We're 1/4 in, and I'll give it this: we've gotten some action, some drama, but they've GOT to make up for the lack of plot progression in episode 2. Belphagor is shady as shit, which we knew, and this just got reinforced by that demon who has such a hard-on for Belphagor getting axed. 

I do not mind rando badass lady hunter having lines and playing a tangentially-important role in the ep, but this means if we ever see her again, she'll likely get killed, so I'm not getting attached. 

So hell is an angry vagina. SFX, are y'all okay? Is that prick whose tweets occasionally come across my feed still working there? Y'all need some hugs? I know y'all need some better budget, that all the DC shows got it, but oh well, that ship's sailed.  

Well done set dec, I dig the ghoulish statues in that hallway. And hey costume design, I like the ring that dude was wearing, I would wear that in real life. It would also look great as a wrist cuff. I digress. 

We know this demon is not going to succeed in killing Belphagor, so once more we have a pointless halftime cliffhanger. Also, have I mentioned I'm done with Cas being a weak puss? I'm telling you, if stuff got rewound, he should be incrementally getting his mojo back, that tracks logically. See Ep. 1 notes for what I thought should've happened for a legit "Whoa" moment. 

"Do you have any idea what he is?" --- he's a poop demon. Again, see the first episode of @youtotallymadethatup​    /shameless plug

[sighs]

Is this show gonna end with a Jack vs. Jack battle royale? Because fuck that noise. But! Writing-wise, it's okay that ol’ Belph may become the big bad. Nash, why would you say that, you ask. Easy.

IT WILL GET US THE FUCK OUT OF THIS LITTLE TOWN

A. Ny. Thing. to get us the fuck out of this little town. I am so goddamned bored.

Cas, this is a mistake. You should leave. What are you doing. Leave. Don't fall for that. Leave. Go now. Whoosh. Okay, or glow worm and barbeque the body. That was a nice little catch of emotion by Misha at the end. Except are the demons now gonna jump into his body? Better not, we've seen that season. 

Commercials! Cannot believe I've not been inundated with the adverts for the convention here in the spring, that's usually the jam. Imma go get some frozen yogurt. Highly rec strawberry with a little warmed-up Nutella. Try it, then tell me I'm crazy. I'm not. It's heavenly. 

Aaaaand, we're back!

Don't look so distressed Cas, y’all were gonna burn it anyway. But this takes Jack v. Jack off the table. Hopefully this means we'll be headed back to the Empty to get some progress on that hanging thread from last season sooner rather than later. Still, I'm glad we are down a character for awhile, this character in particular was starting to work my nerves and honestly, is just dead weight. I want it back to Sam and Dean for the most part this final season with sprinklings of Cas. Everyone else is secondary.

[claps] Very excellent Ruthie and Jared. One critique: Wish there could've been some sort of line from Rowena, re: "And perhaps I'll get to see my boy again", something of that ilk.

But I want to say this, and say it emphatically:

The nonsensical spells pulled from asses must stop

The soul-catcher thing is an example of a great move because it drew upon the past, then built upon for the present. This heart and angel blood and salt shit, and then this “Oh by the way it needs my dying breath” stuff is just obvious “um um um well how about bleh” writing stumbles, and it shows. The only reason that lameness worked? Ruthie and Jared’s performances. Period. Because y’all gave them absolute garbage to work with, and they made it shine.

Hey! There's the two convention promos with one short local ad in between, followed by the same local ad again! I was beginning to think they'd forgotten! 

WE ARE OUT OF THE LITTLE TOWN, I REPEAT, WE ARE OUT OF THE LITTLE TOWN 

DEAN IS IN A HENLEY, I REPEAT, DEAN IS IN A HENLEY 

Oof, Dean. I mean, I figured this convo would have to happen one day, it's been building, because even though his intentions are good, Cas has been involved in his fair share of shit taking left turns. Hopefully Cas is going to go seek out other angels. Also, re: Cas saying he's getting weaker - because, why? WHY. This has never been addressed in a definitive, satisfactory manner. 

Right, so, like we do each time, let's check in to see if we've had any character development and/or plot progression: 

Do Ketch and Rowena and Belphagor count, since they've progressed to being dead? Dunno, that's more of a finality to their overall arcs. Dean's being an asshole and Sam's being weepy and Cas is being an Eeyore, that's about par. Meh. Okay. So did the plot get advanced? 

YES THANK YOU FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER SWEET LORD YES. But, eh... a little weaksauce. Yes, that chapter of the initial onslaught is closed, yet we know it's not over. So I feel like the ep should've ended with, after the bunker door slams, a cut to a little scene that serves as a clue about what lies ahead. I mean, ahead-ahead, season-wise. Like, twenty second blip, not even, then hard cut to black screen, then on to promo which appears to be MotW. 

So that's it, really. More adept writers could've made the material of #1 and #2 into the premiere (minus several things, most specifically minus Kevin, should've saved Osric for something else down the line), then this should've been episode #2 instead of #3. Can't unring that bell, though. Let's hope we hit some speed before Buckleming comes along to run us into a ditch, then (fingers crossed) we have a few eps after that to rebound for the finale.

See you next week.

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Past posts, from newest to oldest (and I sometimes do addendums if a response warrants)

Episode 2

Episode 1

[jack-kellys]

thank u, next: finale part 1

hey everyone ;)

thank u, next is finally back and this thing I wrote is so long that it's TWO PARTS LONG!! isn't that EXCITING?? (it's only two parts because tumblr won't let it fit but it's fine)

all previous chapters are at the bottom of my masterlist—read for a refresher if ya need lmao it's been a while

here we go!

————

LAST TIME ON TU,N: al and race had their first date, al revealed some of his history, both boys admitted they loved each other (essentially), and race mentioned something about needing to stall....

words: 1527

warnings: cursing, death mention, cliffhanger?? :0

———

Five, Part One

“I think it’s ready.”

Race tilted his head to face his boyfriend as he said this, hands placed neatly over his stomach as he laid on the bed. Race’s quiet demeanor was misleading, as usual—a storm was roaring inside, a hurricane spinning and making his chest tighten in apprehension.

“What’s ready, Al?” Race asked.

Albert turned his head to the side as well, gazing at Race with a new light in his eyes. His smile was so wide and endearing that it nearly broke Race’s heart.

“The apartment, stupid,” Al scoffed. “We fixed it up, cleaned it, I got all the papers ready, my stuff’s all ready…” Al grinned. “I’m ready to move into it.”

And then Race’s heart did break.

Al looked so, so happy. Race knew that for Albert, getting his own place was a bigger milestone than it already would be for the average person. It meant something more than just a second floor apartment—it was a freedom Al had longed for since he was twelve, he'd said. A freedom that would rip whatever freedom Albert currently had away from him.

“You sure, baby?” Race whispered, trying not to let his voice break. “Everything’s done? There’s nothing left to prepare, nothing left to pack up?”

“Nope!” Al shook his head, eyes glinting as he leaned over to Race. “It’s done. Everything’s done. It’s gonna be mine, Antonio. All mine. Just like you.”

He pressed his lips hard onto Race’s, Race eagerly tangling his fingers into Albert’s red hair. Al’s hand was warm against his cheek, his thumb rubbing softly against him despite the intensity of the kiss. Race lost himself in Albert more than usual, hyper-focused on every detail—every freckle, every hair out of place, the feel of his hands on him, the taste of his lips and tongue, every small sound he made. Ironic how Al called him perfect, since the opposite was true.

After a while, Race was tracing his fingers over Albert’s stomach as the man rambled about how he wanted to set up the place, Race nodding every so often.

How Race’s heart shattered for him—this most undeserving man who had been nothing but endlessly interesting and funny and warm to him. Yes, Albert’s infatuation was mostly false, but Race could feel the deep friendly affection Albert harbored for him as well, one Race harbored right back. Only once before had Race let himself do that—in 1905, a boy named Sean Conlon walked into that same apartment door with a skeptical glance and narrowed eyes, and to Race’s dismay, they were friendly as well as intimate. It had broke him then, and it was breaking him now.

Through the rest of the week, it would continue to break him. Race helped Albert move into the place, not allowed to let Al get any suspicions as to why Race might have seemed gloomy. Moving in was tragically fun, the two of them laughing as they dropped boxes, picking up their contents and talking about nothing and everything. Race was surprised at his ability to keep the lump in his throat down enough to even talk to Al. Lucky, too—Albert was rather smart at figuring when something was wrong.

“I think that's everything,” Albert huffed, smiling and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I can't believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Race laughed, shaking his head. “Fast, huh?”

“Yeah, thank God. I thought that was gonna take so much longer. I'd assumed the worst,”

Al shrugged. Then he grinned, doing a small spin with his arms out in the center of the room. “But this is so great! It's all mine, and I'm responsible for it, and I make the rules—well, technically not, but still…”

Albert’s rambling faded away slightly as Race felt something in his chest. A sort of tug, like something was trying to get out of him

His heart stopped. That was so soon. Surely he had a little more time? An hour at least? He still had to tell him everything.

His change in demeanor must have been noticeable. Al was practically scanning him, analyzing anything that could be wrong.

“Babe, you oka—”

“I lied to you,” Race interrupted.

Albert went silent. His head was cocked slightly, that skeptical frown of his making Race’s heart skip a beat, that frown that meant Al wasn't just some pawn in Race’s wretched game.

“About what?” Albert asked slowly, eyes narrowed. A pang of guilt jabbed Race through the ribs as he remembered Al’s shitty past with relationships. This would be one for the books, Race supposed.

“About me. About who I—well, not about who I am. I lied about what I'm here for,” Race confessed.

“About why your mom left you here,” Al concluded. “What you're saying is that you ain't here to protect the people who buy this apartment, like you’d said to me.”

Race couldn't help but be slightly impressed. Albert’s expression remained rather neutral, his actual anger probably fighting with his infatuation with Race. Al was doing a good job at not letting either side win.

“No, I'm not here for that,” Race sighed. He had to get this over with. Maybe it'd hurt less that way. “When my family first moved to New York, my mom was at a loss as to where to go. Not many people just welcomed immigrants like that, y’know? And then we found this apartment. The landlord charmed my ma’s pants off—he was the first nice person to us in the city. But then he changed.

“He stopped caring about us. He didn't get anyone to fix anything when things were broken, no one cleaned anything. He took advantage of the people in this building, knowing no one could go anywhere else. He just took our money and kept the place in shambles. And so I died from the conditions—that part’s true.

“As I was dying—stay with me here, Albie, we don't have much time—my mother cursed me with haunting this apartment, and….making anyone who walks into the door with intentions to buy...instantly fall in love with me. It keeps me alive—the more people, the longer I get to live.”

Race hugged himself, willing the feeling in his chest to wait. Albert looked paralyzed, with fear or confusion or anger Race couldn't tell.

“So...so none of this was real? I-I don't...I don't love you right now?” Al questioned, eyebrows knit together.

“It's real to an extent,” Race explained, his heart cracking as Albert’s face dropped further. “I just...I gave you the initial infatuation, and then amplified the feelings you caught for me.”

“The feelings I caught?” Al scoffed. “Like you don't have them.” Then Albert froze. “You don't have ‘em, do you. You never did. That was just my stupid head telling me that you did, wasn't it.”

Race shook his head wildly. This was going worse than he thought it would. “No! No, Al, I promise you I do. I fell for you, I didn't mean to, but I—”

“Didn't mean to?” Albert seethed. If he was this worked up, time must really be up soon, Race noted sadly.

“It hurts less that way,” Race decided to admit. “I've been doing this for centuries now. My Ma wants revenge for eternity and I'm the pawn she needs to play it out.”

“This is fucked up,” Al said, tone decisive and expression stiff. “You're fucked up. Get the fuck outta my apartment, right now, you lying sonofa—”

“I’m afraid I can't do that,” Race said, the words coming out of him rather than him actually saying them. He was starting to feel a little distant, but he had to hold on. Just a little longer.

Albert’s eyes narrowed. “You're not physically attached to the place. Your words, not mine. Get out.”

“Can't leave this time,” Race shook his head solemnly.

“Then fuck you. I'll leave,” Albert bit out. Approaching the door, he scoffed, “if I didn't fuck a ghost, then you must be a goddamn demon, fucking prick.”

Race didn't say anything—couldn't, rather, as Al tried to open the door. He jiggled the knob a few times, then looked at Race.

“I didn't lock this,” Al stated. His eyes were wide. “Did you?”

“Not exactly,” Race murmured, looking at his feet. “I can't leave, which means you can't leave, either.”

“Race?” Albert breathed, back flush against the door as fear flashed in his eyes. “What are you saying.”

“I’m running out of time,” Race said instead. “I just...I need you to know that I've loved you. I'm in love with you, I swear on my mother’s soul I am. And I'm sorry you have to pay for it. I'm so, so sorry…” He felt tears slide down his cheeks.

“Race, for what?” Albert demanded. “What's- what’s going to happen?”

“I'm not part of what comes next, okay? I don't want this, I don't...want this…please…”

The tugging was too strong. He'd pushed it off for too long; he was out of time. Race felt his mind slip away from him, and then he was gone, torn away from Albert and leaving him to go through what was next alone.

———

haha what the fuck does THAT mean? read part two to find out!

TAG LIST

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[boku-no-hell-academia]

Truth or Dare or........ Oh, Fuck We Messed Up

Midoriya Izuku POV

Midoriya Izuku doesn't know how he got into this situation. In principle Nedzu's office, standing in front of his desk with Bakugou Katsuki, Uraraka Ochako, Kirishima Eijirou, Tsuyu Ausui, Kaminari Denki, Ashido Mina, Iida Tenya, Sero Hanta and Todoroki Shouto by his side.

He remembers waking up that morning to Sero and Mina standing at the foot of his bed with grins plastered on their faces. He remembers being rushed out of bed by the aforementioned duo. He remembers running down to the common room with Kacchan chasing him. He remembers literally falling into Todoroki’s arms. He remembers feeling confused as to what was going on, but being more preoccupied with the memory of Todoroki's rough skin against his, when he fell into his arms. He remembers being literally pushed off campus and onto a van driven by Kirishima headed to god knows where.

The rest is a blur. A bright, obnoxious, loud blur. That he has little to no memory of.

"Sir" Izuku looks to his right to see Iida with his hand in the air "If I may ask, what are we doing here? Are we in some sort of trouble? As far as I know, we have broken no law or rule of any kind." Idaho stated lowering his hand.

The principle turned away from the window "Oh dear, no," he said in his usual high-pitched voice "you are in no trouble. I apologize if that's how I made it seem." A sigh of relief swept through the room "In fact quite the opposite really. You are here because I have a favor to ask of all of you. Sometime. in the next few days, there will be a new student arriving in your class. She is a transfer student from the hero academy in America. She, of course, can speak Japanese but not fluently." He explained "But before I continue, might I ask, what on earth were you doing that made you look so disheveled?" The principle asked with the slightest hint of a smirk on his face. Izuku looked down at his clothes. He was wearing a pair of comfortable jeans, a plain, green shirt, his usual grey sneakers and a fluffy grey zip-up hoodie. He might have actually looked slightly attractive if it weren't for the fact that his sneakers were covered in mud, his jeans were tattered and torn, his shirt was soaked with a variety of liquids (rain water, sweat, soda Etc. Etc.), his hoodie was sticky and stained, his face was coated in sweat, dirt and maybe  even a little blood and his hair was drenched in soda. To be frank, he looked like a homeless teenager on drugs. They all did.

He glanced to his right, where Todoroki was looking himself up and down, to see quite a similar display. Even in this state he's gorgeous Izuku found himself thinking. Izuku knows he has feelings for Todoroki Shouto, and not just friendly feelings, he'd be a fucking idiot if he thought otherwise. But now snot the time to be thinking like that. He turned his head away to look back at the principle. If he hadn't looked away, if he'd continued 'looking' he would have noticed Todoroki quickly glance at him through the corner of his eye.

"Well, you see sir, we were at Denny's and these villains-" Kaminari started only to be cute off.

"Oh, please. Save the lies for a teacher who isn't twice as intelligent as a normal human." Nedzu said "So spill. We don't have all day now."

They all glanced at Kaminari then back at Nedzu then each other than back at Nedzu. It was Uraraka who ended up breaking the silence. "Um... well I guess I'll get the ball rolling if no one else is willing to." She stated looking around pleadingly at her friends "It started off with me Sero, Mina, Kaminari and Kirishima wanting to do something to help Todoroki, Bakugou, Tsuyu, Iida and Deku loosen up a bit considering they've been really tense after what happened with stain...cause...well..." she trailed off. An awkward silence passed through the room.

"Um... anyway... so ever since the incident they've been super tense. And we, being Mina, Kaminari, Sero, Uraraka and myself, thought it would be a good idea to go to Six Flags" Kirishima said "And so we went and...um...we...um-"

"To put it bluntly," Tsuyu interjected "we made a mess of things. As far as we know we didn't do anything against any known law or school policy, we just...went overboard... literally." Tsukuba stated.

"Hm," Nedzu hummed "how so?"

They glanced at each other once again. This time it was Mina who spoke up "Well, sir, you see, when we arrived at Six Flags, we made a list of the rides that we wanted to go on, and that list..." she said pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket and handing it to Nedzu "included some...well...over-the-top rides." She continued.

Rides to go on: 1. Bahamas Bob Slide  2. The cliffhanger  3. Tornado 4. Dragon's Tale  5. Black River Falls  6. El Toro 7. Kingda Ka 8. Nitro 9. Conga Rapids 10. Bizzaro 11. Sky Screamer 12. All Might - Relive the epic fight

“We went on the first 3 rides, then decided we should have lunch. That’s when thing started to go downhill. We finished having lunch and I suggested we play truth or dare. At the time, I thought it would be a good idea, it would help the others relax a bit and it would give our food time to digest. But some of us got a little too competitive.” She said with a slight glance towards Bakugou, which did not go unnoticed by the Principle.

Todoroki Shouto POV- 8:58am-Previous Morning

Shouto woke up to two excruciatingly bright grins staring at him. Those grins, to his dismay, belonged to Kaminari and Uraraka (note I say, ‘to his dismay’, because whenever those two are together it never means any good, especially for Shouto).

“Good morning Todo!” Uraraka said in her usual cheery tone “Did you sleep well?”  Shouto pushed himself up so that he was sitting, rubbed his eyes, yawned ad stretched his arms before muttering “What are you guys doing in my room and how did you get in here?”

“Wow, way to be blunt Todoroki.” Kaminari said with a snarky yet ‘wounded’ put on his face “No ‘Good morning Uraraka, Kaminari. I slept well, thank you for asking how’re you?’ “He said in a poorly executed imitation of Shouto “How rud- “he was cut off by the sound of Bakugou’s explosions and yelling and, what was most likely, Karishma’s psychopathic laughter coming from down the hall.

Kaminari and Uraraka exchanged glances and sighed in exasperation.

“Come on Todo. Get dressed. Pack a bag with a swimsuit, towel, sunscreen, goggles if you need em, money too, bout 50$ at most, and..um…am I missing anything? Oh yeah! Your phone and charger!” Uraraka said as she and Kaminari hoisted him out of bed.

“You didn’t answer my questions.” Shouto said.

“No time for questions Todo. We gotta go help Kiri. Just…get a bag ready with the stuff we told you and meet us in the common room in 10 minutes max.” Kaminari yelled as he and Uraraka ran out of Shouto’s room and towards the source of the commotion.

Shouto got ready and not more than 6 minutes later, he walked down to the common room, in which he found Mina, Kirishima, Kaminari, Uraraka and Sero sitting in a circle on the common room floor talking in hushed voices.

It was Kirishima who noticed who noticed him first “Oh! Hey Todoroki! How’re you doing?” He said in a tone Shouto found peculiar.

“Um…fine…but-um…what are you guys doing?” Shouto replied in a slightly curious tone.

“Oh, wow Todo! So, you answer Kirishima but you leave me and Urara hanging!” Kaminari intervened “You know I’m starting to think you don’t like us very muc- “

“Fucking Deku!” Kaminari was, once again, interrupted by Bakugou’s maniacal screams “Just who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Bakugou yelled.

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

Let me know what you think! And if you have any complaints please tell me what you didn’t like about it and if i should or shouldn’t continue!

[misssophiachase]

So, I've decided to pair this next chapter of my story with an inspired prompt by the awesome @supremeuppityone. "Witches are much more dry - they pair best with a crisp Chardonnay." It actually fit so well with my already written content, so thanks, luv!

Thanks talented Paula for the amazeballs cover @howeverlongs 

Part 9: Superstition

"Very superstitious, writings on the wall."

The Old Absinthe House, Bourbon St French Quarter - Friday PM

"I think I can guess whose face you're imagining on that target," Enzo whistled. Caroline regarded her sixth straight bullseye proudly before turning to face him.

"I asked if I could attach a picture for better accuracy but, given his King of New Orleans status, that sort of activity is frowned upon around here apparently," she growled, taking a shot of absinthe from the bar. Caroline felt a little woozy but wasn't surprised given she'd lost count of her alcohol intake.

"He's always had this annoying way of taking the fun out of everything," Enzo said knowingly, gesturing the barman for a drink. "Want to talk about it, gorgeous?"

"Not really," she muttered, taking a seat next to him at the bar. "I have no intention of making the same mistake as I did the first time we met."

"Oh, you mean when you bad mouthed Niklaus not knowing my identity? I don't know what you're talking about, I enjoyed myself immensely."

"I could tell," she drawled. "It doesn't matter anyway, I have no intention of wasting my time or energy on that arrogant, manipulative ass that seems to think honesty is beneath him."

"To be fair he was terrorised as a child," Enzo said, his somewhat serious tone telling her he was only half joking. "And most probably dropped on his head a few dozen times. Plus he did have to go through life with Kol, Elijah and Rebekah as siblings."

"You do realise she's your girlfriend, right?"

"We have a love hate relationship," he admitted. "Plus, it makes the sex so much more intense."

"I think I'm going to need another drink," she groaned.

"Stop changing the subject."

"I really don't want to discuss your sex life," she shot back, knocking back her drink in one go.

"As much as I'd love to boast about my sexual prowess, you know what I'm talking about, darling," he chided. "You might as well talk about it because, between you and me, all the absinthe in the world isn't going to make it go away."

"Yeah, if you believe Klaus unfortunately I'm stuck with him, forever."

Caroline was pissed, in fact she'd been pretty unbearable since escaping Celeste's clutches a fortnight ago and it wasn't just because she hated that evil cow. Klaus had lied to her, not once but twice. First, being under some love spell and now about the whole mates' bombshell. She'd gone through a gambit of emotions beginning with denial, then onto shock and back to denial. It hadn't helped matters when Bonnie and Katherine had mentioned how distressed he'd been upon finding out she was missing and that it was his mental flashes that had brought him to her rescue.

"The mating bond isn't quite so black and white." Caroline looked at him curiously. As much as she wanted to hide away from all things mate themed, she also needed to know how it worked. Caroline decided to blame that on her ignorance too because she might have been a little confused feelings wise. "You can choose to reject the bond, it isn't a compulsory attachment."

"You mean?"

"Just because Klaus has accepted it doesn't mean you have to, Caroline." Rather than be buoyed by Enzo's statement and the fact she had an exit strategy, she was far too distracted by his confirmation that Klaus had embraced their bond.

"You must be mistaken," she said dismissively, thinking the absinthe was messing with her head. "Klaus doesn't feel that way, I mean he pretended to be under a love spell..."

"He may of been acting then but that didn't mean his feelings weren't real," Enzo shared. "I'll admit, Klaus is a grumpy, impulsive bastard a lot of the time most recently while you were missing but he cares for his family and as much as you don't believe it, he cares for you too. Maybe more than you'll ever know." Caroline was silent, she wasn't sure how long for but she needed to let his words sink in properly. He loved her? He wanted to be her mate? It was all too much to comprehend, especially after so many drinks.

"He deceived me," she managed to finally bite out. "He's lied and manipulated this whole situation to his benefit at my expense. I know what kind of man he is Enzo and nothing, not even a mating bond, will ever erase that fact. We are nothing alike. He kills and schemes and makes people suffer. I can't love someone like that, I'd never let myself."

"Maybe if you spoke to him then you'd..."

"What? So he can feed me more lies?" She baulked, standing up abruptly. "I may be blonde but I'm not stupid, Enzo."

"Trust me Klaus isn't that bad a liar," he countered before realising what he'd implied. "I didn't mean you..." Caroline didn't respond, just held up a spare dart and aimed it squarely at his face. "No need to be so unfriendly, gorgeous, I was only trying to help." She threw the dart, missing his face by mere inches and watching as it sailed through the air and landed on the bullseye.

"And here I thought your witchy powers weren't quite in sync yet," he complimented her perfect aim.

"Oh, that's just me, no witchcraft required," she confirmed, puffing her chest out proudly.

"Care to teach me, darling? This could be a really neat party trick."

"Maybe another time," she answered. "I have a date with an Original Hybrid."

"Why doesn't it sound like a warm, fuzzy kind of date?"

"If he's lucky I'll bring that white oak stake..."

"Caroline."

"I'm not stupid Enzo," she growled. "I know that's the only reason you came here. Wouldn't want me killing Rebekah's brother, right? I imagine it would make things pretty awkward relationship wise."

"Believe it or not, I was telling the truth." Caroline groaned sarcastically by way of response. "Klaus is a big boy and I'm pretty sure he can take care of himself but if not just know that it will be his weakness that may well kill him."

"Weakness?"

"His mate..." She felt a sharp stabbing pain in her chest and Caroline knew she needed to leave before she betrayed any emotions. If Enzo continued she wouldn't have heard it she was gone that fast. Why did that world have to mess with her so much? All Caroline knew was that Klaus was going to pay.

Spellbound, French Quarter, Saturday AM

"So, you just kiss and leave? You're many things Bonnie Bennett but I didn't think kiss 'em and leave 'em was your style, darling," Kol chided, carefully reading the potion labels stacked neatly on the shelf. Why he couldn't just buy something instead of persusing the merchandise she'd never understand.

"I was under duress."

"Most people cry or freak out not assault the nearest warm body."

"Assault?" She baulked, unable to keep her composure from his smug ass. Inventory was well and truly on the back burner for now. "You certainly weren't complaining from memory, Mikaelson."

"I was in shock," he scoffed, rifling through the incense and picking up selected sticks to smell. The dimples he was flashing slyly in her direction were telling Bonnie the last state he was in was shock.

"I'm going to have to start an incense tab if you insist on stealing it every time," she growled. "Now, does this little visit have a purpose?"

"I'm worried about the witch."

"You're going to have to be more specific, after all there are a few of us in these parts."

"Your little friend Caroline," he huffed impatiently. "I'm concerned about her state of mind and given certain complications..."

"That's an interesting way to describe a white oak stake," Bonnie chuckled.

"So you know about it?"

"I'm not at all interested in playing this game."

"Sounds familiar," he drawled, dropping the incense.

"I'm so sick of the Mikaelson family using manipulation to further their causes at the expense of everyone else. Quite frankly it's getting old Kol and I have no intention of playing anymore. To be honest, I'm just too exhausted."

"That's rich," he accused. "You played games the moment you abandoned me because I was a Mikaelson and wasn't good enough." Bonnie inhaled sharply, doing all she could to keep her composure, even if her frazzled insides were telling another story.

"You have a funny rendition of history. And given the way you're acting right now it was probably the best decision I've ever made." It was cruel yes, she noticed him wince slightly before maintaining his usual steeley composure.

"And you are a bad liar."

"Excuse me?"

"Your heart betrays you everytime Bonnie."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I can hear you," he murmured, his brown eyes searching hers. She didn't respond immediately, too worked up and confused by his comment. He moved closer, his gaze never faltering. "I can hear everything." Before she could question him further, he placed his hand on her racing heart gently. She was fairly certain that the world stopped at that very moment. She loved the evil bastard and there was nothing she could do about it.

"We have an emergency."

"You always did have impeccable timing big brother," Kol growled, moving his hand away awkwardly.

"I specifically said wait for the right moment," Katherine chided, giving Elijah an annoyed eyeroll for extra effect. "That right there is cliffhanger territory and now I'm going to have to wait for the next episode."

"I'm sorry if we have more pressing issues right now, Miss Pierce," Elijah scowled. "If your friend succeeds in her revenge, that white oak stake could wipe out a whole blood line of vampires. The repercussions will be immense."

"And like I said that effects us how exactly?" Katherine baulked.

"Ms Bennett might like to explain the logistics further..." Katherine's gaze flew to Bonnie, so too Kol. She'd never imagined the truth would come out like this but knowing what Bonnie knew she needed to stop her friend from something they would all regret for different reasons.

Couturie Forrest, New Orleans - Saturday PM

"I'm actually surprised you agreed to see me after what transpired..."

"Oh you mean after you lied for the second time." Caroline cut him off tersely, pulling out the variety of foods she'd prepared in a flurry of nerves, denial and shock from the picnic basket, the white oak stake hidden safely in the corner.

"I was wrong," he conceded, his blue eyes pleading with hers silently. "I may have walked this earth for over a thousand years but still don't have the ability to deal with unexpected emotions."

"Like being mates?"

"Exactly like that.."

"I assumed you knew all along," Caroline murmured.

"I'll admit, it wasn't until we kissed at the cemetery that it all fell into place," he promised. "I'd been drawn to you for a while before that though.."

"Was that during your whole stalking phase?"

"I don't blame you for being hostile, this was a shock to me at the time and I'll admit I haven't handled things in the best possible way but I'm willing to address these matters now."

"Wine?" She mumbled, shoving the glass bottle into his chest before he could continue. Caroline had no intention of entertaining any unexpected and unwanted emotions. Klaus Mikaelson had already done enough damage. He didn't respond immediately, just poured the golden liquid equally into the two glasses.

"I didn't take you for the chardonnay type, love."

"Witches are much more dry, they pair best with a crisp Chardonnay."

"Now it all makes perfect sense," he teased, holding up his glass and clinking it with hers. "Do you think that's a rightful toast?" Caroline was struggling to concentrate, his blue eyes were boring into hers, his spicy scent was infiltrating her nostrils unwelcomingly and the walls she'd built were close to crashing into a million pieces. She decided then and there that the mating bond was pure evil.

"How about we drink to honesty," she offered, noticing his eyes downcast. Someone was obviously feeling a little guilty.

"You want honesty?" He asked, placing his glass on the ground. Caroline silently cursed his actions given they interfered with her ultimate plan. "I don't know much about love and I was an idiot and went about this the wrong way but it's only because I.."

"Cheers," Caroline intervened, clinking her glass with his, the L word would have well and truly thrown her off course and that was the last thing she needed. "I'll drink to that." He didn't respond at first just regarded her dubiously then lifted the glass and took a sip.

"I had that vision of us being in Couturie Forest when you were missing and then you suggested this outing today so I knew we were on the same wavelength."

"What?" Caroline squeaked, suddenly annoyed he'd fallen into her trap so swiftly. "You saw us here?"

"We were having a picnic but I don't recall the chardonnay, hence my surprise," he chuckled. She wanted to steal his glass and continue with the conversation but given the truth serum she'd used and its potency, Caroline knew it would soon be too late. What had she gotten herself into?

xxxx

"If I'd known we were going cross country, I would have worn more appropriate footwear," Katherine whined.

"And I would have gone to the gym a few more times," Kol complained. "What the hell are we doing in the middle of nowhere?"

"You invited her," Bonnie accused at the same time Elijah chimed into the conversation.

"You invited him and given your history I assumed you'd know his physical limitations." Bonnie was tempted to react defensively but it was obvious the Mikaelson family gossip had gone full circle and she figured this was extra ammunition to torture the unfortunately loveable idiot senseless afterwards.

xxxx

"I love you," he murmured, squeezing her hand affectionately, his blue eyes staring earnestly into hers. She'd asked him multiple questions hoping that she was right and he would be the heartless bastard she expected. At least then she could move on freely.

"You what?" Caroline squeaked, pulling her hand away shakily. It was one thing when he was pretending to be in love with her but now the truth serum she'd secretly administered in revenge had well and truly set in, the results were more frightening than she'd ever imagined.

"You're my mate..."

"And that's why you love me?"

"No," he insisted. "I loved you before I even knew you were my mate."

"Why?"

"I related to your life experiences," he began. "You felt like an outcast, so did I, every day of my life. My father killed my pet horse on my birthday without an apology and you may have been scared of the dark but it was the light that taunted me as a young boy."

"I..." she was paralysed with something resembling shock and fear. The way he was swaying slightly, his words beginning to slur, Caroline knew she'd gone too far in pursuit of the truth.

"When the world seems to shine like you've had to much wine..." he sang loudly, breaking into a loud chuckle before he could finish the lyrics. Obviously truth serum plus alcohol was a pretty potent combination unbeknownst to the young and inexperienced witch. Caroline was madly trying to fix the situation when a familiar voice interrupted.

"You spiked the wine!" Elijah drawled. "You sneaky..."

"Witch?" Kol finished.

"Not helping."

"Well, between you and me I'm rather enjoying this little display," Kol offered. "Niklaus is always so bloody highly strung."

"I am fun with a capital F," he interrupted drunkenly, sending a wink in his sibling's direction. "Now, can someone please pass me more wine?"

"I think you've had enough," Elijah shot back, rolling his eyes as she did it.

"You're no fun, dad," he teased, attempting to reach for the bottle but failing clumsily.

"Yeah Elijah, let him have more wine. I for one am enjoying this immensely," Kol teased. "I'm just waiting for him to start dancing badly so I can take incriminating pictures for blackmailing purposes."

"Has anyone suggested some serious family therapy?" Katherine interrupted. "Because from what I can see there's ample cause for it."

"Sweet Caroline," Klaus sang, badly off key. "Good times never seemed so good..."

"This isn't finished Ms Forbes," Elijah grunted, his arm linking with his brothers and guiding him away, Kol at his side. Bonnie and Katherine held her hands comfortingly but at that moment she was far too confused. One because of what she'd done and two because her whole body ached now Klaus was gone.

On FF HERE

[punkscowardschampions]

Jimmy & Janis

Jimmy: How's it going, mate? Jimmy: Lost the will yet or nah Janis: Honestly Janis: Ain't even got that much shit but everyone's being dead dramatic about it Janis: Obviously I don't want my finger paintings, Ma, fucking hell Janis: how 'bout you? Jimmy: Cute 💕 Jimmy: Reckon I've got less but spending half my time separating my shit from Cass and Bob's Jimmy: How the fuck have they taken over my room? Jimmy: Theirs are bigger like Janis: Such a soft touch, lad Janis: Lucky we're sharing or best believe I'd be bagsying the shit out of the bigger room too 😉 Jimmy: 🎻 Jimmy: You can lay claim to all the drawers, mate Jimmy: Leave me somewhere to hang my hat though Janis: You forgotten which twin you moving in with? Janis: I'll tell Grace to grab her coat, like Janis: Get in, babe Jimmy: Funny Jimmy: I've seen how many pairs of kicks you have, I've made that mental note Jimmy: I've got nowt that needs to be worried about, proper floordrobe in my box room Janis: Awwh, when bae notices things Janis: such a #keeper Janis: Better be sorting that, I'll ask for hangers for a housewarming gift...now that's peak #adulting Jimmy: #goals every day of my life 💕 Jimmy: 😎 Jimmy: Can't we ask for another dog, that'd be peak adulting for you Jimmy: Uping your training game Janis: Trying to break Twix's poor little doggy heart 💔 Janis: You monster, you Jimmy: She's capable of breaking her own Jimmy: Either pining for us or Cass wherever she decides she's gonna sleep Jimmy: 🎻 Janis: Drama 👑 Janis: Takes after you, I reckon Jimmy: I blame her training. Or should I say lack of Janis: 😨 Janis: Friggin' cheek Janis: and you want a puppy? When we've already fucked up our first child? Janis: shocking Jimmy: Only thinking of you, needing that 2nd chance Jimmy: Prove you've still got it, training wise Janis: If I can get you to do your own laundry, we'll call it a victory for me, yeah? 😜 Jimmy: That victory's already mine, proper domesticated me Jimmy: There's something to be said for raising yourself Janis: You'll have to teach me then Janis: Spoilt brat, like Jimmy: Alright 👑 Jimmy: See where Twix gets it from now Janis: Soz we know our worth, babe 💅 Jimmy: I'm not Jimmy: Not looking to be the dickhead that chains you to the sink or owt Janis: Kinky Janis: and good luck, Twix ain't got the dexterity, broken plates all over the shop Janis: and I'd be aiming for your head, like 🏆 Jimmy: Tell it to Mr Lucas before he loses interest now you're 👵 Jimmy: 💪 Bring it on Janis: Being dying to chain me up since day 1 Janis: what do you think the detentions were all about, pervert Jimmy: I wasn't reckoning on him trying to get to me via you for the perfect latte recipe Jimmy: But who can say Jimmy: Got the breath of a bean addict like Janis: 😂 not your usual stalker but think about it Janis: pretty good candidate for the flat whites Jimmy: They do need to make up numbers Jimmy: And he don't seem like a trifler with the application Jimmy: Very committed to hanging around young girls Janis: Yeah, you're devvo your fanbase is dwindling Janis: Certainly one way to get back on everyone's minds and lips, babe Jimmy: Having a cry wank while I pack up me socks Jimmy: Rumbled me Janis: Nasty Janis: leave that one behind, like Janis: nice reminder of you for your Da Jimmy: If you find an odd it isn't your crap laundry skills, mate Janis: Good to know Janis: Can't knock out another one before you go? Janis: Lightweight Jimmy: For you I will Jimmy: You're welcome Janis: 😍 Janis: The romance Jimmy: #goals is my thing so Jimmy: 💐 Janis: Be putting that on the 'gram later then Janis: green with envy or 🤢 Jimmy: Everyone knows your snap is where the good shit goes 😏 Jimmy: Get a story going in every room once we're in, naturally Janis: Shut up 😳 Janis: s'one way to christen it, like Janis: the fans will approve Jimmy: I wouldn't disapprove meself Jimmy: But I'll be #buzzing not to trip over your brother constantly to be honest Jimmy: And not to have Bobby in and out of my bed Jimmy: Privacy like, how and what even is that? 😂 Janis: You clearly loved it Janis: Or he did Janis: either way, get a room 😉 Janis: Its gonna be pure luxury Jimmy: I see you, trying to dump me so you don't have to share the bed Jimmy: Gonna have to get more creative than fobbing me off on your brother, sorry Janis: Nah, you're a pretty good bed mate, to be fair Janis: Snuggly 😘 Jimmy: Only pretty good? Jimmy: Challenge accepted there then Janis: I mean, not saying I've had better Janis: but my last mans was a real 🐻 you know? Jimmy: No need to spur me on to 🏆mate Jimmy: Not with my winning streak Jimmy: 😎💪 Janis: 😏 We'll see Janis: Not leaving your competition at home, Gracie's heart would break, like Jimmy: Thought she'd be used to what a heartbreaker I am by now Janis: Who but me could ever keep up with your games, yeah? 🤷 Jimmy: Running rings round me, you Janis: Huh, a compliment? Janis: Not going to help you with your heavy shit up the stairs like just 'cos you're a 🍭talker Jimmy: I'm not asking. Got your nan coming round in a bit like 😏 Janis: 😂 feeling better with her on side now? Janis: brave, like, having her as your landlady Jimmy: I got no pianos or anvils I'm packing Jimmy: Should be alright Janis: just the 🎻right? Jimmy: Naturally Jimmy: Can't go far without that Janis: Not gotta sing for your supper, like Janis: not promising better than the chipper though Jimmy: Mate in this house that's fancy shit Jimmy: Can take me outta here but Janis: are Cass and Bob gonna come help? Janis: use the term loosely for Bobs but I'm sure I can convince my Da that Cass needs sustenance for all her 💪 Jimmy: They wanna Jimmy: I said they'd be more of a hindrance, especially if they drag Twix along but what can I say, most poorly trained of the lot, they are Janis: I'll whip 'em into shape Janis: Managed you, like Janis: If they got bored they can always go down and play pool and get crisps Jimmy: I give Cass half an hour before she's taking you up on that Jimmy: Over everything she is Jimmy: Fuck knows where she gets that from 😂 Janis: 😏 Right mystery that Janis: Ah to be 15 and have it all figured out, like Jimmy: I don't reckon she does, lad I see her hanging about with Jimmy: Right dickhead he looks Jimmy: Just mates, been there, said that, kid Janis: 👴 Janis: Maybe she's avoided your flair for the dramatic Janis: We can only hope or you're gonna have to be all up on her feed 👀 Jimmy: 🖕 Jimmy: Have a word, will ya Jimmy: Might go in more than one ear you saying it Janis: This what we become already? Janis: Not even in the front door like Janis: Don't let on, the field day the fans would have Jimmy: Dream team, we are Jimmy: On me own I'm just that dickhead Jimmy: Not news to Cass or the fans Janis: You're my dickhead 💞 Jimmy: You're cute 💕 Janis: What can I say? Janis: Prospect of finally getting outta this place and having our own space got me feeling a type of way Jimmy: Cheers to that 🍻 Jimmy: The barn and my car both have their own charms like but Janis: Good times Jimmy: You might be needing them back desperate when it hits what living with me is gonna be like Jimmy: Sure you got me that well trained? Janis: Definitely don't get rid, like Janis: Never know when you'll need to drive off dramatically into the night Jimmy: Or sleep in the backseat when you get mardy enough to kick me out Janis: You know Janis: Living above a pub, may as well act like we're in Eastenders Jimmy: Plot twist, it was Twix framing me all along Jimmy: That bitch Janis: Duff duff duff duff duff Janis: What a cliffhanger Jimmy: Predictable, but we know she is Janis: 😎 Shade Janis: Can't help how irresistible I am Janis: slept with half the square by the end of the month Jimmy: Who am I squaring up to this week 🥊 tune in to find out, lads Janis: Poor babe Janis: When you find out you shoulda been with lovely Lil Mo all along Jimmy: 😂 Jimmy: You come home and I've moved Tam in Jimmy: Thank god for them high ceilings Jimmy: Love story years in the making Janis: 😣 and I'm still gonna hit it 'cos double standards and nah, bitch Janis: take my man, not my flat, how dare you Jimmy: And your 🐶 too Jimmy: Out of order Janis: She's gonna turn up squashed in a car compactor next ep Jimmy: Funny Jimmy: 4 x 4 and she still struggling for that head room Janis: You know that's your type Janis: Typical sketchy photographer, you Jimmy: Shut up Jimmy: Not my fault your sibling rivalry with Gracie included being taller Janis: Likely story Janis: Going some to up your portfolio game tho, lad Jimmy: Go tall or go home Janis: Know I never mastered the artsy fringe but Janis: tah for sticking around still, like Jimmy: You're welcome Janis: Generous to a fault Janis: When you take charity fake dating too far, ladies and gents Jimmy: Fake yeah, Charity nah, babe Janis: Love you Jimmy: If you don't reckon you're beautiful by now I'm gonna have to take more pictures Jimmy: Good thing we've got a blank canvas for a bit Janis: Always wanted to live in a shrine to myself, obvs Janis: I'll have to amateur hour it so peeps know you live here too, like Jimmy: Done Jimmy: Can you? Got that pro status, mate Janis: 👌 I picked up a few tips Janis: you're not totally useless, like Jimmy: Thanks Jimmy: Love you too, like Janis: 💞 Jimmy: Reckon I'm done here Jimmy: Do you want me to come and get you or are we gonna need two trips for the boxes? Janis: Mental you ever unpacked that much tbh Janis: I reckon we can squeeze, no doubt my parents wanna follow like the creepers they are if there's too much anyway Jimmy: Fair Jimmy: and I'm gonna have to go back for Cass and Bob at some point anyway Jimmy: Don't need to be back and forth enough to make my dad think I'll miss the place Janis: Don't reckon even he can pull off that level of purposefully oblivious, like Janis: and don't reckon he wants me to come 'round to say farewell either, not that I EVER set a foot inside, like, nah 😉 Jimmy: Good times Janis: Don't be getting emotional on me now Janis: Look how far we made it, like Janis: 🎻 Jimmy: 😂 Jimmy: I'll be #buzzing if I make it up the stairs with this shit Jimmy: 🚭 lads, who knew it was so bad for you Janis: the ban and the warning labels just flew right over you, like Janis: know you're not that tall but 😏 Jimmy: 😎 Jimmy: Least your warnings worked 😏 Jimmy: Healthy as a 🐎 now like Jimmy: Never seen a horse do stairs is all Janis: is it them you can take up but they won't come down? Janis: or cows, maybe Janis: look, all I'm saying is, don't invite Mia 'round or we'll never be rid Jimmy: Fucked if I know Jimmy: You're the country girl Jimmy: We only have glue up north Jimmy: And burgers Jimmy: No cows Janis: 🙄 Janis: Am not, dickhead Jimmy: Tell it to the veg patch, mate Jimmy: You can move out but there's no leaving all that lot behind Janis: Don't say that Janis: that's the whole fucking point! 😂 Jimmy: You collect all the keys they've got and then we won't give any more out Jimmy: Done Janis: 😍 Janis: now you're talking my language Jimmy: Gotta get you back on side before I'm trapped in a car with you Jimmy: Surrounded by heavy objects Janis: Sensible boy Jimmy: Well trained Jimmy: I'm coming over now Jimmy: 💪 too if you need a hand Janis: Just the one? Janis: Shame 😈 Jimmy: Now you're talking my language Janis: Quicker we unpack the faster they'll all leave Jimmy: Why do you think I'm not bringing much 😏 Janis: Always thinking, my boy Jimmy: Not just a pretty face Janis: Nah Janis: have missed it tho Janis: and not just 'cos I've been staring at boxes for the past few hours Jimmy: Awh 💕 Jimmy: You'll be sick of it soon enough like Janis: Threat or a promise? Jimmy: We'll see Janis: Tease Jimmy: First time you've ever complained though Jimmy: Bit late Janis: Fickle like that Janis: but you knew that too so Jimmy: Nobody can say I didn't know what I was getting into Jimmy: Couldn't even play fake nice, you Janis: You loved it Jimmy: Yep Janis: Thank fuck Janis: Plan B where I had to join the flat whites woulda been rough stuff, like Jimmy: You'd have loved it Janis: Clearly, all I ever want from life is spending more time with my sister Jimmy: 😂 Jimmy: Gonna move her in instead of me then? Jimmy: I'll turn this car around Janis: Hell no Janis: not been able to share a room for years Janis: nevermind a bed, as much as the pervs would love that Jimmy: Think of the 'gram Jimmy: Have I taught you nowt Janis: Don't even fucking suggest it Janis: the idea of that makes likes would defs go to her head Jimmy: I'm here now so feel free to shut me up Janis: 💪 Janis: Coming

[addicted-to-ragehappy]

A Panacea [for the absent soul.] [AH OT6] [Chapter 2]

Title: A Panacea [for the absent soul.]

Pairing: AH OT5 [eventual OT6]

Rating: T [for abuse and neglect]

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Words: 1385

Prompt/Summary: [by @amberfret] Hi! If you’re doing requests, AH OT6: five guys are in an established relationship and they really like Jeremy who’s been working with them for over a year but who’s already in a relationship. They find out J’s partner is an asshole and help him leave relationship, but he’s been in such a shitty relationship for so long the other guys have to show him how he should be treated.

A/N: Gave you a cliffhanger so y’all could look forward to one last part. I won’t drag this on much longer, I swear. I hope you enjoy it! ~No One

–

The fact that the entire apartment was dark when Jeremy got home should have been the first sign.

Initially, upon pulling into the driveway, he had guessed that Travis had left for a while. But the other male’s car was still parked in the driveway, and there was nowhere super close to their shared abode that Travis would bother walking to.

The silence as he warily opened the front door should have been the second.

Even as Jeremy turned the lights on, everything was strangely in order. Nothing was out of place, everything was quiet… Perhaps Travis had gone to bed, or had seen how ridiculous he was being earlier.

Getting even slightly relaxed had been his biggest mistake.

“Jeremy, what the fuck took you so long?”

Jeremy’s heart nearly burst from his chest as Travis entered the room. Immediately, he noticed that Travis’ eyes were bloodshot, hair disheveled, and his speech was slightly slurred, indicating that he’d been drinking. “T-Trav, I was work-”

“I was working,” Travis mocked. “Nice excuse, but that won’t fly with me.” With a few angry strides, the taller male was stood in front of Jeremy. “What were you really doing?”

“I really was just working, I swear.” Jeremy wanted to move, but he felt frozen. “Trav, why would I lie-”

“You were fucking around with the rest of those Achievement Hunter sluts, weren’t you?!” Travis grabbed a fistful of Jeremy’s hair and forced him to look up at him. “Can’t keep your hands off ‘em, can you?!”

Jeremy tried to shake his head, but Travis’ hold kept him firmly in place. “I-I would n-never d-do that t-t-to you!”

With an angry yell, Travis threw Jeremy into the coffee table, his body twisting as a barely audible crack filled the air. “I see the way you look at them, Jeremy! I see you lusting over them!” He knelt to the floor as Jeremy rolled off the table, gasping for breath. “Why do you make me do this, Jeremy? I’ve done nothing but love you!”

“I haven’t fucking done-” Jeremy gasped in pain as Travis kicked him in the stomach, effectively interrupting him.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak to me that way, you piece of shit!”

Winded, Jeremy mustered his strength to get into a sitting position. “G-go to hell.”

“And what would you do without me, Jeremy?” Travis grabbed the front of Jeremy’s shirt and lifted him off the ground. “No one else could fucking love you. You’re nothing without me, Jeremy. Nothing!”

The short male went to retort, but was silenced with a punch to the face. It took all his willpower not to tear up. Not in front of Travis.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, you filthy whore. You’re lucky I don’t kill you for what you’ve done to me.” Travis dropped Jeremy from his hold, the smaller of the two landing on the floor with a dull thud. “Sleep out here tonight. I don’t want to be seen with you.”

Jeremy laid where he landed, his body throbbing in pain. He listened as Travis’ footsteps got quieter, until he heard the door to the bedroom close forcefully. Only when silence once again filled the apartment did he allow the tears he’d fought to hold back flow loose.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

Did I do something wrong?

I must’ve done something wrong.

I’m worthless.

The thoughts swirled around in his head, torturing his soul. He let out a choked sob and curled into a ball, ignoring the sharp pain radiating through his ribcage. Travis was right. I am a piece of shit… Jeremy didn’t bother moving from the floor, and let his eyes slip closed. I deserved this… I’m so sorry, Travis… For whatever I’ve done. Soon enough, his thoughts finally dissipated, and he finally settled into an uneasy sleep.

--

“Don’t let them see that bruise on your face.” Travis’ stare was emotionless. “Cover it up.”

“I-I can’t…”

Slap! “Find a way, Jeremy!”

Jeremy nursed his already-injured cheek. “I’ll just… tell them I fell down the stairs or something.”

“You’d better.” The taller male turned and walked towards the door. “I expect you home on time tonight, understand?”

“…yes.”

“Good.” Without another word, Travis shut the front door.

Once he heard Travis’ car pull away, Jeremy slowly made his way into the bathroom. After removing his shirt, he gasped at the deep purple that had begun to form on his abdomen and ribcage. Though it would be hard to hide the pain from the guys, at least he could cover those. But the bruise on his cheek was angry and near swollen, and that one would be harder to explain. He shook his head; the guys could not know what happened. Even if he had deserved it.

Getting ready had proved difficult, as moving a certain way caused his pain to skyrocket, but soon enough, he was dressed and on his way to the Achievement Hunter office. Jeremy rehearsed a few excuses in his head, finally deciding on one, as he entered the building. Luckily, only a few people were there, and they hadn’t noticed them.

Jeremy had only been in the office for a few minutes before he heard Michael and Lindsay come in. He flopped his hood up and turned away, hoping that he wouldn’t be noticed right away.

“Morning, Lil’ J,” came Michael’s tired voice only moments later.

“Mornin’.” The exchange ended there, and Jeremy only hoped he would get as lucky as the others arrived.

His luck stayed until Geoff walked in.

“Hey Jer- What the fuck happened to your face?”

The slightly harsher tone Geoff’s voice had taken caused him to wince, which luckily went unnoticed by Geoff. “Oh, I just pulled a Gavin. Tripped on my way in last night and smashed my face on the door.”

Geoff raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but unsure of how to proceed. “Uh huh. Well, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jeremy feigned a smile. “It hurt a bit last night, but it’s not too bad today. I hardly even notice it.”

When Jeremy lowered his hood, he heard a hiss from Michael. “Dude, that looks bad. Do you need some ice or something?”

“No, I said I’m good.” Jeremy tried to keep himself from sounding irate; he knew they were only worried about him. But he deserved what he got, and they didn’t need to get involved.

“Just… let me know if I can help you with anything.” With a pat to his shoulder, Geoff walked over to his desk.

The short male nodded. “Will do, Geoff.”

--

Most of the day had passed without further mention of the anomaly on his face, though he knew Geoff was still suspicious. He hadn’t lied when he said his face wasn’t bothering him anymore, but the dull throbbing of his ribcage had become constant, and it was getting harder to keep from showing it.

Somehow, he managed to keep his increased level of pain from the guys, laughing along at jokes and jerking around as he usually did. But by three PM, he knew he had to do something, or he’d be found out.

“Hey, Geoff?” he inquired.

The tattooed male didn’t even look up from his computer screen. “What’s up?”

“We have any Tylenol? Headache.”

Geoff nodded. “I know Lindsay carries some. You should ask her.” He glanced up at Jeremy. “You sure that’s all?”

“Yeah, Geoff. I’m sure.” To avoid more questioning, Jeremy rose quickly, and instantly regretted his decision. His pain escalated from a seven to a solid ten, and he let out an involuntary gasp.

“Jeremy?” The older male rose, slowly walking near his employee. “What’s wrong?”

Jeremy only let out a whine as he tried to straighten himself out. He didn’t count on a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, and he let out a yell as he collapsed to the floor.

He could see all sorts of activity around him now, but he heard nothing. All he could hear were his rapid heartbeats and rough, jagged breaths. He felt a hand on his shoulder that was accompanied by muffled yelling. The pain was too much for Jeremy to continue to bear, and he let his eyes slip closed.

Suddenly, the pain was gone.