#i would often do this on the bus and stare off to space | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

babybluebex · 3 months

Text

venus pt.2 | angus tully x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and angus pilfer from the chapel on your first night alone together at barton, and, after angus gets hurts and drags you into his lie, you're reminded of the worst moment of your life. not to worry, though; angus manages to soothe your sorrows, while simultaneously confusing the hell out of you. PART 2 OF ? (14k words) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: angus tully (the holdovers, 2023) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: canon compliance (this is a complete rewrite of the film, just with the added reader insert), lots of swearing, 70s ideals about feminism (which YES is a warning), mentions of grief/loss, drug use and drinking, graphic descriptions of injuries, a tiny little morsel of fake dating yum yum, is anyone else familiar with the spider game grumps bit? spider punch! spider kick! spider...? 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: icymi, i'm splitting this fic up into several smaller parts, just bc i'm not sure tumblr will actually let me post one big chunk of text the way i wanted to (it might exceed the character limit eesh) ((also i didn't wanna make yall wait forever for another part of this hehe)) if i missed any warnings/tags, pls dm me and let me know if you think i should add something! other than that, thank u for ur patience and enjoy!

The first evening of just you and Angus alone felt like an extended stint in hell. He was still cold and bitter, hardly speaking at all at dinner, and it made your skin crawl. You hated the silence, the feeling like you had done something wrong, even though you knew that you hadn’t, and, after dinner, in the television room, you sat next to Mary as Angus sat away from everyone else, trying to pretend like he was reading. You knew better than that, though; every time you chanced a look at him, his eyes weren’t following the lines on the page and he looked… Tired. Staring off into space, obviously lost in thought.

He only spoke when Hunham mentioned something about writing a monograph, inquiring why Hunham didn’t just write a full book, and Hunham laughed at him. “I’m not sure I have a whole book in me,” Hunham chuckled, and Mary gave you a forlorn look, reading your mind.

“You can’t even dream a whole dream, can you?” Mary mumbled, and Hunham fixed his jaw firmly but said nothing in return.

The room at night was cold and lonely. You put on a sweater and two pairs of sweatpants before you slid into bed, looking out the window at the inky black night. Every so often, you would hear the wind howl outside and see fat snowflakes pass by the window, and eventually your eyes slipped closed, and you drifted off into an uneasy, blank sleep.

It felt like moments later that you heard a whispering shuffle, and a sudden hiss of your name roused you. You winced at the light that streamed through the ajar door from the hallway, and you squinted to see Angus’s silhouette. “What d’ya want?” you mumbled groggily.

“Come on,” Angus said, jerking his head towards the hallway. His hair was messy, wearing his winter coat, and your sight drifted down to his hands to see him carrying a large, silver flashlight, and—

“Are those— Why do you have Hunham’s keys?” you groaned.

“Just come on!” Angus huffed.

You reached over to the little table beside your bed and snatched up your wristwatch, and you squeezed the button on the side to turn the little light on to see the time. “Fuck, Angus, it’s like four in the morning!” you groaned. “Fuck off!”

“C’mon, you won’t regret it,” Angus told you. “Put on your coat and shoes, let’s go.”

For some reason, you did as he told you, lacing up your sneakers and shrugging on your jacket, and you followed Angus as he led you out of the infirmary, sneaking past Hunham’s open door. You heard his snoring from inside, but you didn’t stop, catching up with Angus’s long-legged stride. He shined the flashlight down the dark hallways of the school, not speaking a word to you as he led you to the kitchen. It was pitch-black in there, even with the flashlight, but Angus moved with certainty, taking you to the big freezer towards the back of the room. You almost wanted to question him, ask exactly what the fuck he thought he was doing, but you stayed quiet as he wrenched the freezer door open.

“Go grab a spoon,” he told you as he winced in the fluorescent lights inside the freezer.

“What for?” you asked.

“You remember that ice cream they gave us at the start of the semester?” Angus asked. You nodded slowly, remembering how dinner on the first day of classes had included individual scoops of vanilla ice cream; it was unusual and special, but you remembered not having eaten it and turning it over to Teddy. You followed Angus’s gaze into the freezer, and you spotted the cardboard tub of vanilla ice cream, sitting and waiting.

You furrowed your eyebrows, but you slinked back into the kitchen and used the light of the freezer to find a single spoon, an oversized serving spoon. “Won’t we get in trouble?” you asked, passing the spoon to Angus, and he pulled the tub of ice cream into his grip and wrestled the lid off. The carton itself was frosted over, freezer-burnt to all hell, but Angus still attacked the mound of ice cream with the spoon. He scooped it into his mouth, and he wrinkled his nose as he shook his head.

“I doubt it,” he replied. “How will they ever know? And by the time they figured out someone’s eaten out of here, they’ll never be able to trace it back to us.”

“Woah, us?” you repeated. “What ‘us’? You’re the one going to town on that right now.”

Angus looked at you with those almond-shaped dark eyes of his, and you scoffed at the little white splotches of ice cream on the corner of his lips. “We can change that,” Angus said, offering you the spoon.

You shook your head. “I don’t eat ice cream,” you told him.

“So, that’s what your fuckin’ problem is,” Angus chuckled. “You’re not judgmental or anything like that; you’re just low on joy.”

“Fuck off,” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon,” Angus said. “Blood oath or whatever… Except it’s vanilla ice cream.”

Your chest roiled. It felt like a petty thing, not to eat ice cream anymore, but you couldn’t help it. It just felt too bad. The memories were too hard, and even the experience of eating what you had been in that dreadful moment was too much. You remembered it like it was yesterday; your dad had taken you to Dairy Queen, which wasn’t unusual in itself, but the fact that your sisters weren’t with you was odd. After all, you supposed with hindsight, he wasn’t their dad; just yours. He had his typical ice cream sandwich while you had a cone, and he had walked on eggshells as he explained to you what the word “draft” meant. It was hardly two years ago, you were old enough to know what it meant. You chose not to remember the rest of that night, but you stayed steadfast— you hadn’t eaten ice cream since.

“What sorta blood oath?” you asked warily.

Angus shrugged. “If you don’t kill me over the next two weeks, I won’t kill you,” he said.

You quirked your mouth for a moment, trying to convey to him that you were considering it. “I told you, I don’t eat ice cream,” you said as you crossed your arms.

“Is this some kinda girl thing I don’t get?” Angus asked. “Depriving yourself of dessert or whatever?”

“I’m lactose intolerant, you dick,” you fibbed quickly. “Sorry if I don’t want an upset stomach at four in the morning.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, going back for another bite. “It’s really mediocre.” That got a laugh out of you, and Angus smiled.

He gave up on the ice cream soon after that, putting it back and washing off the spoon (“Getting rid of the evidence”, he said), and you dug your hands into the pocket of your coat. “Is that it?” you asked, and Angus laughed.

“No, man,” he said. “I got more.”

“Jesus,” you groaned, but, for some reason, you followed him out to the hall and down the corridors. It was still dark outside, and Angus fumbled with the keys and flashlight as you approached the door to the chapel. “Alright, whatever you’re planning to do in here, I’m nearly certain I don’t wanna be a part of it.”

“You know they’ve got wine in here?” Angus asked, passing off the flashlight to you so he could find the correct key.

“Duh,” you said. “Catholics really buzz off wine in communion.”

“Didn’t your old church use wine?” Angus asked. He tried a key on the door, then frowned when it didn’t fit, and moved onto the next option.

“No,” you said. “We didn’t go to church. Only when we visited my dad’s mom, which wasn’t often, but her church used Fanta Grape.”

“What sorta church did your grandma go to?” Angus scoffed. “Church of the High Fructose Corn Syrup?”

“It was mostly flat by the time it got to us, anyway,” you said. “Dad and I usually sat in the back, so he could slip out and smoke mid-service.”

“Smart man,” Angus said. He tried another key, succeeding this time, and the heavy door swung open. It was dark inside the small room, a sort of storage room for the chapel, and the beam of the flashlight hit various pieces of junk scattered around, boxes or whatnot, before it landed on a small credenza pressed against the wall. There was some sort of ceremonial tapestry on the surface, a large ornate goblet on top with a dusty bottle of wine sitting next to it. “Bingo,” Angus mumbled, and he went to the lightswitch on the wall, flicking it on so he could turn off the flashlight. The overhead light crackled and buzzed as it came on, and Angus ushered you inside before shutting the door again.

He was quick to fill the goblet partways with the wine, and he offered it to you silently. At first you hesitated— did you really feel like drinking wine with Angus?— and you quickly grabbed the goblet from his hand and took a sip. You held your face stony, not offering a reaction, and you passed it back to him. “Well?” he asked, and you shrugged.

“It’s fine,” you replied. “Are there any of those Body of Christ crackers in here?”

Angus gestured towards the heavy furniture against the wall, a sorta “Look for yourself” movement, and he went for the wine as you started through the cabinet. He gave a little shudder at the bitter sourness, then shrugged for himself and took another sip. “Not bad,” he mumbled. You quickly found the tub of little round wafers, and you worked the lid off as you sat down on the floor. You offered him one, which he shook his head at, and he took another sip of wine as he sat down next to you. He leaned up against the side of the credenza while you settled against the wall, and you put a wafer in your mouth, letting it melt a little against your tongue. “What would your body and blood be?” you asked.

“Huh?” Angus grunted.

“Like, Jesus’s body are these rice paper crackers, and his blood is cheap wine,” you explained. “So what would yours be?”

Angus furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. “Well, blood is easy,” he said. “A beer.” You scoffed, and Angus quickly said, “No, no, listen, hear me out. You’ve had a beer before, right?”

“Of course,” you replied.

“Well then, you understand,” Angus sighed. “A nice beer on a hot day… The glass of the bottle is all cold and everything and it’s sweating a little and the weird foam label is tearing from the condensation… Isn’t that, like, a godly experience?”

“Sure,” you giggled. “So, beer for the blood. And the body?”

Angus screwed up his mouth as he considered it, and he finally said, “How about, like, a cheeseburger?”

“Really?” you asked, popping another cracker in your mouth. “Why?”

“It works good with the beer,” Angus said. He reached over to you and stole a cracker, and he chewed on it as he said, “Beer and a burger? What’s better than that? Brings you closer to God and shit like that, right?”

“I mean…” you mumbled. “Yeah, that makes sense. So, taking communion, you do a shot of beer and… What? Take a bite of a burger?”

“Sure,” Angus snickered. “Or a slider, like at a barbeque.”

You laughed, and you reached out to grab at the glass of wine in Angus’s hands. He passed it to you, and you took a sip of it as Angus exchanged for another cracker. “What about you?” he asked. “What’s your body and blood?”

“Hmm,” you murmured. Your body shuddered at the warm bitterness of the wine, and you coughed a little. “A hot coffee.”

“Ew,” Angus sneered. “You drink coffee?”

“Not always,” you said. “Only when I need to warm up. It’s too bitter. But, like, the way your beer is relieving to you, a hot coffee is relieving to me. The same, but different, y’know?”

“Oh, yeah,” Angus said. “Like, coming in from playing in the snow and your fingers are all stiff and cold or whatever… My mom always made us hot chocolate that was pretty much just heavy cream and cocoa powder and some sugar. We’d dip graham crackers in it and sit by the fire and listen to Christmas records…” He trailed off then, and you caught onto his train of thought— used to. Not this year.

“Us?” you asked. “You got a sister or something?”

“No,” Angus said. “My, um… My dad.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Right. Sorry”

“What do you mean ‘sorry’?” Angus said.

“Well, a few days ago, when everyone left,” you started in confusion. “You said your dad died.”

The room was quiet for a beat, and Angus shifted as he sat, pulling one of his legs underneath himself. “No,” he said carefully. “No, um… Dad’s still hanging out, but he’s… He’s in the hospital. For, like, the past four years. He’s as good as dead.”

“Shit,” you mumbled. “What happened?”

Angus shrugged, quirking his mouth. “He got sick,” he said simply. “And Mom thought it would be better to have professionals take care of him instead of us…”

“M’sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to pry or anything.”

“You’re fine,” Angus said. “So, your dad…?”

You nodded solemnly. “His number came up,” you said softly. “He… Had something to prove, I guess, and no reason to try to get out of it. Told me he was gonna go and make me proud of him…” Your throat got thick then, and you trailed off for a moment. “January’s gonna be one year since…”

“Jesus Christ,” Angus said under his breath. “Sorry.”

You quickly wiped at an escaped tear, trying to get rid of it before Angus could see it, and you choked down a cracker. “It’s whatever,” you said. “These things happen, y’know?”

“Yeah, they happen,” Angus said. “But that doesn’t make them any less sad.”

“I don’t care about sad,” you said. “Been too sad lately. All I want is to stop feeling sad.”

Angus tilted his head at you, watching for a moment, and he started to dig into the pocket of his coat. Quietly, he extracted something, a sort-of crushed up cigarette that looked like it had fallen out of the pack and had been jostled in his pocket for months, and he held it out to you. You clocked it immediately, though— the paper too thin, the contents too packed in. You scoffed with a watery voice, twisting at a loose thread on your jacket. “Wow, you really are a Barton boy, huh?” you said. “Getting high and drinking holy wine in the chapel.”

“If it makes you feel better, it’s not mine,” Angus said.

“Whose is it, then?” you asked. “And how did you come to have it?”

“Ah, well,” Angus shrugged. “Kountze the Cunt’s always had it coming for him. I steal his cigarettes, he steals my picture, I steal his last joint out of his bag before he leaves to go ski. What’s that called? Quid pro quo?”

“That’s not really what quid pro quo is,” you laughed. “But I don’t have a lighter. And, furthermore, I don’t smoke weed. Especially not Kountze’s shit.”

“I’ve got the lighter situation covered,” Angus said. He went back into his pocket and extracted a small matchbook, and he added, “And, yeah, you don’t smoke weed, but I’m not even sure this is weed. Knowing Kountze, it’s probably oregano or tea leaves or something. So, smoking this isn’t smoking weed, because there’s a fair chance it’s not weed.”

You pursed your lips as you considered Angus’s offer, and you looked at the ornate goblet in your hands, still a little full. “Fine,” you decided. “But not here. We’re not gonna hotbox the chapel storage room.”

“Aw, we’re not?” Angus whined jokingly. “I really think that’ll give us God points.”

“Yeah, sure,” you chuckled. “Get enough of them, and you can redeem them for a free large soda at the check-out counter.”

You helped each other drain the last of the wine out of the cup, and you pocketed a handful of crackers as you exited the room. Angus did well to lock up behind him, to make sure nothing seemed awry or unusual on the off-chance that Hunham checked the grounds, and Angus led you through the school to the main interior entrance to the chapel. It was as cold in there as it was outside, and still just as dark, and your eyes adjusted to the low light as Angus took a running leap at the raised stage, hopping up there with ease. You followed suit, though not as quickly or gracefully as Angus, and you settled on the piano bench next to him. His long, thin fingers worked to strike one of the matches on the edge of the matchbox, and he brought the flame to the joint nestled between his lips.

You had never really noticed before (because when would you have ever noticed it before?) but Angus had a tiny scar on his upper lip, not really that raised or any different color than the rest of his lip, but it shifted as he puckered his lips around the joint. Come to think of it, Angus’s lips looked… Good? Wrapped around the joint, his lips looked plush and soft, just a hint pinker and darker than the golden-olive tones of his face. And the middle of his top lip poked out a little bit, a bit more pronounced because of his scar. Angus pulled at the joint for a moment before removing it from between his lips, and he offered it to you, and you fixed your expression from focusing on his lips to looking him in the eyes. “Well?” you asked. “Is it marijuana?”

“No,” Angus said. “Well, yes, but it’s Kountze’s ditch weed. So, technically yes, but you’d need to smoke a lot of it to get high.”

“Lemme see,” you said quickly, reaching out for the joint, and he passed it to you. You had only ever smoked once before, back when you went to Central, and you had gotten dizzy and sick, but, as you pulled a toke on this joint, you felt nothing of the sort. Sure, there was that weird herby taste in the back of your throat that made it unmistakingly weed, and you cringed as you blew out the smoke. “Oh, this is shitty,” you chuckled. “Like, super shitty. God, Teddy, where’d you buy this?”

“He only has it to sell to eighth-graders,” Angus shrugged. “Make a quick buck to buy Playboys with.”

“Ew,” you snickered.

“What?” Angus said. “Not a fan of Playboy? Are you more of a Penthouse fan?”

“No,” you said. “I mean, like, no, just… Thinking of Kountze doing that is… Just gross.”

Angus took a drag on the joint, and he said “I guess you’ve kissed a guy before, huh?”

“Excuse me?” you sputtered.

“I mean, there’s not an elegant way to ask if you’ve had sex before,” Angus started quickly. “So, like, gotta build up to it, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fucking hell,” you mumbled as Angus quickly muttered out a “Sorry, forget I said anything”, and you slowly added, “No. If that answers your wildly-invasive question.”

“‘No’, you’ve never had sex before?” Angus asked. “Or ‘no’, you’ve never kissed a guy before? Or a girl? Are you gay? I don’t really care if you are, but like—”

“Shut up,” you huffed. “Both.”

“Oh,” Angus said. “Not even at your old school?”

“Not even at my old school,” you echoed mirthlessly. “Guys just never really cared about me. There was always some girl who was prettier or funnier, smarter, richer, whatever. I’m nothin’ special.”

“Hm,” Angus grunted.

“What about you?” you asked, taking the joint and pulling at it.

“Oh, I get it regularly,” Angus said. “Yeah, my girlfriend’s a Playboy model. I sneak her into the dorm once a week and— Be serious, of course not.” You laughed as Angus smiled at his own joke. “I’m the same. When I wasn’t going to all-boys schools, girls just never liked me. I’ve always been a weirdo.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “I thought you’ve always gone to Barton?” you asked.

“No,” Angus said. “I’ve been kicked out of a ton of schools. S’why I’m still a junior and I’m about to turn 18, I’ve been moved around so much that I ended up falling behind.”

“Why?” you asked.

Angus shrugged. “I’m what they call a ‘troubled youth’,” he said, reciting the title like he didn’t believe it but had been told it too often. “I cheat and steal and get in fights. In fact, Stanley says if I get kicked out of Barton, I’ll be going to Fork Union.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You knew Fork Union; you hadn’t ever been or knew anyone who went there, but its reputation preceded itself. Whoever Stanley was really had it out for Angus. “Fuck,” you hissed. “That’s… Intense.”

“Yeah,” Angus nodded in agreement. “So I gotta be on my best behavior.”

“And smoking weed in the chapel is what you consider good behavior?” you asked.

“Of course not,” Angus scoffed. “But it’s fun, and that’s what I care about.”

You nodded slowly, and Angus pulled at the joint again before pressing down on one of the keys of the piano with his outstretched pinky finger, hearing a single little chime sound. He seemed to drift off then, going off in thought in silence as he absently passed you the joint. After a few moments, his eyes slid off to the side, and you followed his gaze over to see a small table set up just in front of the stage with a single picture frame on it. You knew the picture: Curtis Lamb. It was something that you and Mary could commiserate on, and you held the utmost respect for her and for the late Curtis.

You declined the joint and got up to go sit in front of the picture. You had never chosen to sit in the front row of the chapel, always trying to be as close to the back door as possible, just like with your dad, and you had never seen that picture of Curtis that close up before. He was handsome, his uniform spotless without a wrinkle, the skin on his face smooth and shiny. He was young— 19.

Angus slowly joined you on the pew, pressing his back against the arm and pulling his legs up to his chest, and he let out a gentle sigh as he too examined the picture of Curtis. “That’s why you like Mary so much,” Angus whispered eventually after a long and heavy bout of silence. “‘Cause you both…”

You nodded. “You can say it,” you mumbled. “S’not the Boogeyman or anything. Saying it doesn’t make it more powerful.”

“I know,” Angus murmured. “But thinking about it… Dying, being killed…” He shook his head, trailing off. “I used to think about it a lot. Back when Dad first got sick.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked gently.

Angus hummed. “Then Dr. Gertler put me on some pills… They help a little, but sometimes I still… I dunno.”

“Gertler?” you repeated. “That’s your psychologist or whatever it’s called?”

“Yeah,” Angus said. “He used to be my dad’s doctor too, but then Dad went to the hospital, and they’re better for him there. Not that The Gert isn’t good, he is, just… Not what Dad needed.”

You fell into silence then. The purples and blues of the morning began to bleed in through the chapel windows as you and Angus sat still, looking at the picture of Curtis but not seeing it. You were each lost in your own heads, and you found yourself sinking down to the thin, threadbare carpet and settling on your ass, and your head leaned back just so to touch Angus’s hip. You didn’t know him too well— you were clueless about what his favorite color was, but you knew the surface level of his worst trauma— and you wanted to comfort him, but something like holding his hand or hugging him seemed like a bridge too far. So, the slightest contact, a sort-of “I’m right here” seemed like the way to go.

At long last, you heard the heavy creak of the chapel doors opening, and Angus turned to look. You couldn’t see from your vantage point, and the person nor Angus said anything, but you heard the groan of the old wooden pew in the very back row as someone sat down, and, based on the silence and the fact that Hunham was a staunchly non-Christian man, you could deduce that it was Curtis’s mother back there, coming in for her morning prayers.

You all sat quietly, ruminating on your own thoughts, and finally you heard Mary’s smooth and smoky voice, not a yell but not a whisper: “You two better get back in your beds before Mr. Hunham decides to wake up.”

You passed through the aisle towards the front doors of the chapel, and you and Mary locked eyes for a brief moment as you walked by. She gave you a small nod, then closed her eyes and went back to her prayers.

Angus wasn’t a chatty guy to begin with, but the silence as you made your way back to the main building and the infirmary felt suffocating. It was cold as hell, somehow feeling even more biting than the 4AM chill you had felt before, and you nudged away a few slushy snowflakes as you walked up the steps to the doors. “Thanks,” you said finally. “That was, umm…”

Angus shrugged, tugging the key ring out of his pocket carefully to keep the keys from jingling together. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “And now we know where they keep the good wine.”

You managed a halfway-decent smile, and you dug into your jacket pocket and handed Angus a few Christ crackers. “Not a cheeseburger,” you said. “But it’s something.”

You were sleepy throughout the entire day. Even though your excursion only lasted a few hours and didn’t give you any less sleep than a typical bout of insomnia did, you kept yawning throughout your library time and jog around the campus. Angus seemed to be in better shape than you were, his usual sullen self but not in any way looking tired, and you envied him.

The day only brightened by a bit at lunch. You sat next to Angus as you quietly ate, chancing glances at him every so often, and he seemed… Normal. Drinking his Coke, looking past Mary and out the window to the snowy expanse outside. Not attempting any conversation or showing that you had shared a moment just a few hours earlier. Of course, you didn’t expect him to really do that, but the point held true that it was infuriating. When your eyes met, he could have at least smiled instead of averting his eyes like you were Medusa or something.

The brightening came in the form of Hunham setting a large ceramic plate in front of him, covered by a napkin. “I have a surprise,” he announced. “These were a gift to me, and I would like to share them with all of you.”

Quickly, Hunham tugged off the napkin, and you saw a plate of cookies. Sugar, with hard, shiny frosting decorating the different shapes with vibrant Christmas colors. “Look at them,” Hunham added. “Look at the… Festive shapes. Snowflakes… Gingerbread men… A tree… Oh, a little mitten!” He picked up the pastel blue mitten and bit off the thumb, and he contemplated the taste for a moment before looking back up at you and Angus. “And they’ve got frosting!”

Angus’s eyes slid to you, unimpressed, then back at Hunham. “May I go to the bathroom, sir?” he said flatly, already getting out of his chair as Hunham excused him, less of a request and more of a “I’m leaving, here’s my sorry excuse as for a reason why”. You watched Angus stalk out of the dining room, his hands bouncing limply at his sides, and Mary sighed, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Well, I’m trying,” Hunham mumbled half-heartedly, and Mary scoffed out a laugh. Obviously, this was a continuation of a conversation that you had not been privy to, and you kept your thoughts to yourself as you stuck a green bean in your mouth.

The three of you sat in silence for a few moments, long enough for the tick of the second hand on your watch to bore under your skin, and Hunham looked back at the door, as if expecting Angus to come back in. “Where the hell is he…?” Hunham mumbled, and he scooted out his chair noisly.

His shoes clicked across the polished hardwood, and you nudged a few French fries around with your fork. “You’re not eating,” Mary said as the door closed behind Hunham, and you tore your eyes up from your plate to look at her. Her cigarette clutched between her manicured nails, her dark mug of coffee in her palm, she looked every bit of a mother as she should, especially with the soft, sad look in her eyes. She wasn’t admonishing you; she was worried.

You shrugged.

“Do you not want this?” Mary asked. “I’m sure I can find something else back there for you.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I-I’m fine, Mary. Just… Tired, I guess.”

“Mm-hm,” Mary hummed. “Which has nothing to do with your little excursion with that boy earlier, right?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes. “That wasn’t…” you started. “We were just…” But you stopped yourself before you could tell her why. Why had Angus dragged you out of bed to galavant around the school? From what you could tell, he didn’t particularly like you. “Huh. Weird.”

Mary ashed her cigarette. “All I’ll say is, I’m not your mom. Whatever you and him get up to isn’t my business and I don’t want it to be, but… Don’t let him do too much to ya.”

“God, Mary, we don’t…” you started softly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Mary said coldly. “I meant, don’t let that boy into your head too much. He’s a boy. And boys are, for the most part, dumb assholes. So, whatever he does, don’t let it affect you too much. After all, he’s just trying to—”

The hallway outside the dining room suddenly echoed with a cacophonous “Son of a bitch! That’s another detention!” and a sudden metallic crashing, and you nearly snapped your neck with the speed at which you turned to the door. Before you could even think not to, you got up out of your seat and made your way out the door, just in time to watch Hunham disappear down the corridor. Angus was already on the far side of the hall, the metal trash can tipped over with the lid rolling beside it, and you spotted Hunham’s pink detention pad sitting next to the payphone. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened, and you trailed after Hunham and Angus at a quick walk, staying a few steps behind Hunham.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Mr. Tully, but you are courting disaster!” Hunham called after Angus, and you watched Angus hook a corner, but peek back out at Hunham.

“Without sufficient exercise, the body devours itself,” he said with a cheeky smile, and his gaze landed on you. The smile dropped from his face for just a moment before he disappeared around the corner once more, and Hunham turned to see you. He wasted little time with you, though, going back to his huffing-puffing pursuit of Angus.

“You are careening towards suspension!” Hunham shouted, and you sped up your steps to overtake Hunham, but there was no way you could keep pace with Angus. He was standing in the middle of the doorway, waiting for Hunham to catch up, and you breathed heavily.

“Angus!” you shouted after him, but he picked up the chase once more, allowing you to get within grabbing distance of him before he sped off. “Ang— What the fuck? You— Fork Union!” You couldn’t process your thoughts efficiently, let alone in a good enough way to express what you needed to, and you hoped that the mere mention of the military school would make Angus rethink his decision.

But it didn’t. In fact, he seemed to pick up speed as he ran from you, and you skidded into the trophy room to watch Angus pull off a clumsy cartwheel. The fucker was enjoying himself. Your chest burned with agitation as Angus came to a stop at the open doorway, and an acid bile rose in your throat. The gym.

Before he had fucked off to Haystack, Jason had mentioned how Senator Osgood had paid for a brand-new gym to allow his son Jordan to graduate from Barton, and that apparently Hunham was the one who had failed him and forced the gym to happen. You knew nothing of Jordan Osgood and even less about his right-wing Republican father, but you (along with everyone in Senator Osgood’s district) knew that they had money. And the money seemed to have gone a long way, a basketball court with bleach-white nets hanging from the goals, straight and even hardwood floors with the Barton lion mascot expertly painted on them, tall and high windows that let in a blinding amount of sunlight. But the gym was obviously unfinished, only half of the floor shiny and waxy with lacquer.

You saw what Angus did, and you huffed out a breath. “Angus, please,” you said through labored breaths. “Don’t— You can’t—”

Before you could say more, Hunham came up behind you, in a similar winded state as you. You watched Angus’s back straighten, and Hunham held out a warning finger to him. “Don’t even think about it, Mr. Tully,” he said. “You are a hair’s breadth from suspension. I’ll wash my hands of you. You hear me? Wash my hands!”

Angus took half a step forward, the toe of his shoe touching the gym floor, and Hunham said, “Stop right there. You know the gym is strictly off limits. This is your Rubicon. Do not cross the Rubicon!”

Angus slowly turned to look at you and Hunham, a coy smile on his scarred lips. He gave a light, taunting shrug, then flicked his eyebrows, and said something in Latin. If you had been in a better mindset, you could have translated it in the moment, but you weren’t, and you watched Angus wink at you, then charge across the floor into the gym, towards that fucking gymnastics vault.

You had never watched someone get seriously hurt before. You hated the idea of it— even watching a scary movie was a little too extreme. But time seemed to slow down as you watched Angus bounce off the springboard and go ass-over-head over the vault, landing with a thundering thud and a sickly sound of flesh against the thin mat. Not a snap, but definitely the sound of an injury. The air was still and stagnant for a long second, a second that felt like a lifetime, before a shrill scream cut through the air.

“Oh, fuck! Mr. Hunham!”

The next few minutes felt like a blur. You ran into the gym and helped Angus to his feet, holding down vomit at his limp left arm— not that it would have mattered; Angus had already taken care of that for you. You pawned him off to Hunham, then somehow, you mechanically went back to the infirmary and gathered your coat, Angus’s coat, and Hunham’s coat and keys. You felt numb, out of your body, listening to Hunham and Angus bicker back and forth the whole car ride to the nearest hospital. You were quiet, letting Angus lean into you and sniffle and cry at the pain, and you saw his eyes all red and glassy as he choked back his tears. He was scared. You grabbed his hand— the good one, not the one he had raised and trembling with the effort— and his sniffles quieted down to pathetic whimpers.

“This is the end,” Hunham said, and you snapped back into your head in an instant. You don’t remember having gotten to the hospital, let alone maneuvering Angus inside and to the emergency room, but somehow you were there, Angus wedged between you and your teacher on the bench, his hand still clasped in yours. “They’ll inform the school, who’ll inform your parents, and then it’s curtains. You are gonna get me fired. You!”

Angus sniffled. “I’m the one who might lose an arm, and all you can think about is yourself.”

You sighed. “That’s dramatic, Angus,” you mumbled.

“When I get my arm chopped off, will you help me carry my books to class?” Angus asked.

“I’m not helping you with shit,” you snapped.

Before Angus could snark back at you, a nurse came, dressed in white, and she handed a clipboard and a plastic ballpoint pen to Hunham. Her eyes glazed you, then Angus, and she said, “If you could just fill this out, please. Admissions and insurance.”

Insurance. Fuck. You hadn’t even thought about that. Hunham’s face went sour and pale, and he slowly started to fill out the first box, putting A-N-G in block letters, but Angus spoke in a clipped voice. “Excuse me,” he said, and the nurse turned back to him. “Is there any way we could skip this whole insurance thing?”

The nurse sighed. You recognized that sigh; your mother did the same one with her customers at the diner. The ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’. “It’s just standard procedure,” she said.

“I understand. But look…” Angus started. He chewed his lip at Hunham, then looked at you, then turned back to her with a breath. “We were over at Squantz Pond playing hockey… And I slipped on the ice.”

“Angus,” Hunham said in a hushed tone. “What’re you doing?”

“My mom told him not to take me, but I made him,” Angus continued, and Hunham looked past Angus to you, seeing if you had any idea what stunt Angus was pulling now. You were just as lost as him, though, and you watched Angus with a curious enrapturement as he spun his yarn. “My folks are divorced, and we don’t get to see each other very often. She’ll be mad as a hornet if she finds out.”

“Okay, that’s your business,” the nurse said, sighing again. “But we just have certain protocols.”

“Y-Yeah, protocols,” Hunham protested weakly, but Angus bulldozed right over him with more lies.

“Please,” Angus said, his eyes going all glassy again. “I never get to see my dad, a-and I just wanted him to meet my girlfriend.” A hot shock ran down your skin, blazing in your cheeks, as you understood that you were the supposed girlfriend. God, you were going to strangle Angus Tully when this was all done. “It was my fault, all mine. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” He gave Hunham a pathetic little glance, his bottom lip wobbling, and his voice was all broken as he added, “I don’t want her dragging you to court again.” He sniffled and squeezed your hand, and you pulled his hand into your lap, stroking his soft skin with your thumb. “Can we skip the whole insurance thing? We can pay cash. Right, Dad?”

Angus didn’t drop your hand the entire time. He held onto you as the three of you were led to an exam room, and he shied away from the nurse (she never told you her name) as she tried to take off his sweater. He mumbled something about his shoulder, how he couldn’t move it right, and you carefully nudged in front of where he sat on the exam table, flexing your hand to get him to let go. Quietly, you tugged Angus’s maroon sweater up as far as it would go before he groaned in pain, and you swallowed thickly. “I know, Ang,” you said gently. “It’s alright, baby.”

His eyes got all big at you as you played the role he had assigned to you, and with gentle encouragement from his beloved “girlfriend”, you managed to get the sweater off his right arm and have it slide off his left arm. Next came his robin’s-egg-blue buttoned shirt, and you sighed as you focused on the small plastic buttons, not able to look Angus in the eye. As calm as you seemed on the surface, you were screaming and cursing and spitting like a possessed woman inside. You were so angry at him, for everything— for disobeying Hunham, for getting himself hurt, for roping you into his kinda-sorta insurance fraud. If you could have slapped him across the face, you would have. But you couldn’t, so you settled for a sweet kiss on his cheek and a whispered “There you go” as his shirt came off. That left him in his thin white undershirt, and you balked at his pale skin, but particularly the way his shoulder stuck out grotesquely. You could tell from a glance— dislocated. “Jesus…” you whispered, and the nurse moved you aside.

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes the things you see here are a little sickening. But you’ve been more than enough help; thank you, sweetie.”

“Guess you’re not going to nursing school, huh?” Angus chuckled, trying to lighten the heavy mood, and you folded his sweater and shirt over your arms.

“You know how I get with blood, Ang,” you said softly. “Nursing school was never gonna be for me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Angus hummed, as if he knew anything about you and was just being reminded of this fact. “Hey, remember back in August, at the football game against Choate, when Jason got flattened by that linebacker?”

You had never gone to a single Barton football game, but obviously Angus had a point to why he brought this up, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you said carefully. “Umm, i-isn’t that the same day Kountze invited us to that bonfire?”

“Yeah,” Angus nodded along with your addition. “I think you were somewhere else, bathroom or something, but Jason just got pummeled by this dude that was twice his size—”

“I was with his girlfriend when that happened,” you said. “She was hysterical.”

“But he got up and went back to the sideline, and I went down to talk to him,” Angus said, wincing as the nurse worked his undershirt over his head. “And his mouth was all full of blood, but he was laughing ‘cause he said Jenny was gonna be doting all over him for the next week.”

You nodded. “And she did,” you said. “That was… Kinda gross to watch, actually.”

Angus shrugged, but immediately regretted it, hissing in pain at the involuntary action. “That’ll be us,” he said in a tight voice. “I’m all injured and everything, and you get to take care of me.”

“Get to?” you repeated. “You make that sound like a privilege.”

“I took care of you when you got your wisdom teeth taken out last year,” Angus said, and your hand went lightly to your jaw. How in the fuck did he know you didn’t have your wisdom teeth? Had he seen it? When? “Now it’s your turn.”

“I didn’t sign up for that,” you chuckled.

“Sure you did,” Angus said. “That was in the fine print when I asked you to go steady.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think the pain’s making you delirious,” you said.

“We’ll get him some pain medication soon,” the nurse said. “First, we’re gonna have to X-ray your shoulder. Your dad and girlfriend are gonna be right here, we’re just going down the hall.”

The silence in the exam room once Angus left was deafening, and Hunham stood opposite you. Every so often, he looked like he wanted to say something, then would change his mind, and he finally settled on “I can hold Mr. Tully’s things.”

“I-I’ve got it,” you said softly. You held his clothes a little closer to your chest and chewed your lip nervously, and you mumbled, “I guess we’re lucky… It could be worse.”

“We don’t know how bad it is yet,” Hunham said, and you shrugged.

“At least he’s not, like… Dead,” you offered. “His arm’s just a little messed up.”

Hunham sighed but said nothing else, seemingly agreeing with you. You let yourself shift your weight as you waited, and your fingers itched in Angus’s sweater. It was soft, and still a little warm from his body, and you buried your cold hands in it.

Angus returned soon after, and the air was prickly with silence until a doctor walked in. Dressed in a white lab coat, he carried a thin piece of plastic, and he smiled thinly at Hunham before he threw the plastic sheet onto the lightbox on the wall and flipped it on. There, as clear as day, was an X-ray of Angus’s fucked-up shoulder, the ball-and-socket joint clearly not ball-and-socket anymore. “The good news is nothing’s broken,” the doctor told you, and Hunham audibly sighed.

“Thank God,” he said.

“But you did dislocate your shoulder pretty badly,” the doctor added, eyeing Angus down. “That was quite a tumble you took, kid. What happened?”

You saw Angus look at the nurse out of the corner of his eye, and, knowing that he had to stay with the fib he told, you chimed in quickly. “We were playing hockey,” you said. “Or, rather, Angus was playing hockey, and me and… His dad were watching. The ice was slippery, and Ang just… I don’t know, one second he was up, the next he was down.”

“Was trying to impress you,” Angus mumbled, and you lovingly brushed down his messy curls.

“I know,” you said. “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”

“I take it you’re the girlfriend, then,” the doctor said.

“It would seem that way,” you said lightheartedly, but you gave a secret, harsh tug to the bottom of Angus’s hair as retribution. He winced and sucked in a tight breath, and the doctor nodded a bit.

“What’s that mean?” Angus asked. “Like, I know what dislocating is, but what does that mean for me?”

“That means your arm has popped out of the socket,” the doctor said. He moved away from the X-ray and went to join the nurse at the side of Angus’s exam bed, and they wordlessly began to move him onto his back. “And we just have to pop it back in.”

“Is it gonna hurt?” Angus asked, and you watched panic fill his eyes as the nurse’s hand brushed the skin of his upper arm, and he winced in pain.

“Not if you relax,” the doctor told him. He turned around to the small counter behind him, where the nurse had laid a bundled-up bedsheet, and he started to shake it out and loop it around Angus’s torso as he added, “The key is to relax. Deep breaths.”

You watched the doctor and the nurse expertly wind the bedsheet around Angus, and you furrowed your eyebrows at it. “What’re you doing?” you asked.

“We are making a sort-of slipknot,” the doctor told you. “We’re going to pop his arm back in, and then he’ll be right as rain, with only a little discomfort afterwards, but the Percodan we’ll give him will take care of all of that.”

Angus said your name, his voice a little shaky, and, even though you had never heard him talk like that before, you knew that he was scared. You stepped forward just a touch, close but not too close, but, as the medical professionals began to gently pull his arm back, readying it, Angus’s free hand shot out like lightning and gripped your fingers. His eyes were squeezed shut, holding his breath, his neck and ears red, and you looked at the doctor for a moment before you said, “Ang, baby, it’ll be okay. Just one second where it hurts really bad, then it’ll be over. Can you do it for one second?”

“...Think I’m gonna puke again…” Angus mumbled.

“That’s okay,” you said soothingly.

“Don’t wanna puke on you,” Angus added, and you frowned.

“I’ll just throw everything in the washer when we get back,” you said with a shrug. The doctor made eye contact with you from behind Angus, and he flicked his eyebrows at you in a way that told you to keep talking. Distract Angus, so he can’t see it coming. “How about, when we get back, we can watch TV?” you started, trying to find anything to blabber about for long enough. “I think a new episode of Bonanza comes on tonight. But, God, I missed the last few weeks, I have no idea what’s going on anymore. Is Hoss still courting that fancy lady? I thought maybe that was done, but I heard something about it on the radio the other day, so who knows—”

At that moment, the doctor and the nurse yanked the bedsheet in opposite directions, and Angus writhed and wormed as he let out a guttural gurgle and hiss, then a pathetic yelping scream as his shoulder went back right with a wet pop that made your neck hair stand on end. You heard Hunham behind you give a scoff of “Jesus!”, and then the ordeal was over.

Angus moved his left arm slowly as the doctor rattled about the medication he was prescribing, something where Angus couldn’t drive while on it or drink alcohol or mix with other medication, and you nodded along as you listened. Angus worked himself into his undershirt and threw his buttoned shirt on, and you took over doing up his buttons. He frowned at the sight of his sweater, though, and you knew that lifting his arm to get it into the sleeve was maybe asking too much, so you held onto it as they fixed a sling around his neck and looped his left arm in it.

“Take care, young man,” the doctor said. “And keep her around. Hard to find someone who cares about people like that nowadays.”

The first significant thing Hunham said since arriving at the hospital was spoken as the three of you approached the pharmacy counter, prescription in hand. “Barton men don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Angus asked.

“Barton men don’t lie,” Hunham clarified.

“Yeah, well,” Angus sighed. “I had momentum.”

Hunham passed the paper prescription across the counter to the pharmacist, and he mumbled, “Hello, we have this, uh…”

The pharmacist looked over his glasses at the paper, then up to Angus, then Hunham, and finally you. “Percodan, huh? Gimme a few minutes.”

He went off in search of the requested medication, and Hunham paused for a moment before adding, “You too, Miss, you’re included in this.”

“What, was I supposed to refute all of that?” you asked. “We were already committing insurance fraud, might as well play along as best we can.”

“And you said that if Woodrup finds out, you’re screwed,” Angus interjected. “So now he won’t find out.”

“What happens if your parents inquire?” Hunham asked, and Angus’s face darkened for a moment as he scoffed flatly.

“Never gonna happen,” he said. “Trust me.”

Hunham looked obviously confused at the certainty of Angus’s words, but nevertheless said “Okay, then. This all remains entre nous. Got it? You know what entre nous means?”

“Oui, monsieur,” Angus said, screwing up his face mockingly. Then, a coy smile crossed his lips, and he said, “Now you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Hunham repeated, glaring at Angus. “Oh no, do not try to leverage me, Mr. Tully.”

“All I’m looking for is a little thank you that I did something nice for you,” Angus said. “That’s all.” After a moment, he flashed Hunham a cheeky smile.

You swallowed thickly. “You look real stupid with your hand dangling out of the sling like that,” you said quickly. You don’t know what possessed you to say that, and Angus scoffed.

“God, you’re mean,” Angus said. “What happened to the little kisses and the ‘baby’s and shit?”

“You think I enjoyed doing that?” you asked. “Fuck, Angus, grow up. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You didn’t wait for a reply before you turned heel and made your way to the nearby bathroom, adorned with a silver plaque with a little stick woman on it, leaving the boys in a confused dust behind you.

Lucky for you, it was a single stall situation, a big room able to accommodate a wheelchair or walker, and, once inside, you quickly flipped the lock on the door and sighed. Your heart was racing, your cheeks hot— in honesty, you did enjoy all of that. Something about it felt almost cathartic, pretending to have a healthy and loving relationship with someone, like you were acting out your greatest fantasy. Whether or not Angus was a part of that fantasy or just a placeholder until David Cassidy paid Barton a visit, you weren’t sure, but your heart ached and cried. You didn’t want to pretend— you wanted the real thing. And the fact that you’d never get the real thing, at least not anytime soon, made your eyes burn with tears. Just more evidence to the fact that your life was doomed from the start— nobody wanted you, plain and simple.

You slammed at the tap, turning it on to run cold water over your hands, and you pressed your hands to your burning cheeks, trying to calm down. You took a deep breath, then another, and you shucked off your jacket and tugged Angus’s red sweater over your head. It smelled like him, clean but also a little sharp from the sheer boyishness of it all, and you slid your jacket back on.

By the time you left the bathroom, Angus had worked himself partially into his coat, a small paper baggie in hand that rattled with pills against the glass bottle. “We’re getting dinner,” Hunham told you, his tone indicating to you that he and Angus had had a battle while you were absent and he was the loser. His eyes swept your frame, obviously catching Angus’s sweater on your body, but he said nothing about that.“There’s a small place in town.”

“I-I didn’t bring my pocketbook,” you started to protest, but Angus dug into the pocket of his corduroy pants and produced his own wallet.

“I’ve got it,” he said simply, and gave you the same smile he had given Hunham.

The chosen dinner spot, a small pub called the Winning Ticket, was surprisingly bustling with activity. Music played from the bar portion of the place, competing against Nixon on the television and the dinging of pinball machines, and the air felt warm but not thick, the way some restaurants could feel. You slid into the booth first, then Angus settled himself next to you, nudging your arm with his slinged elbow (he had shifted his arm backwards after your comment about his hand, so now only his fingers spilled over the edge), and Hunham sat across from you.

“I think I’ll start with a beer,” Angus said, and Hunham scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Tully,” Hunham told him.

“We’ve had a hard day,” Angus continued. “We deserve to loosen up a little.”

“You’ve had ten milligrams of Percodan,” Hunham said. “You’re plenty loose already.”

He was right. Angus had swallowed down two of the pills in the backseat of Hunham’s Nova on the drive over, and already he was acting differently, just a little lighter and less reserved. It wasn’t a dramatic change, and you might not have noticed it, but Percodan Angus almost reminded you of Holy Wine and Joint Angus.

“They’ve got Miller High Life!” Angus said, looking down at the laminated menu that lay waiting on the table. “‘The Champagne of Beers’!”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked. “You and what identification, Mr. Seventeen Years Old?”

“Hey, if you could have a beer, you would,” Angus told you.

“Oh, I can,” you told him. “If the bartender’s a guy, I just gotta flutter my eyelashes at him, and I’ll get whatever I want.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you became very aware of your teacher’s presence across the table from you, and you cleared your throat. “O-Or so I’ve heard.”

Before anything else could be said, a waitress approached, and your face lit up. Dyed ginger hair, fun earrings, a soft face and kind eyes.

“Miss Crane!” Hunham beat you to the punch, and your Secretarial Studies teacher glowed. “As I live and breathe! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, guys!” Miss Crane laughed. “And our sweet Barton girl, how’re you, darling? Uh, yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

Hunham took a moment to respond, still smiling at Miss Crane, and he stammered out, “Oh, this is Mr. Tully—”

“Oh, sure, I know you,” Miss Crane said, and Angus gave her a smile.

“Angus Tully,” he introduced himself. “We met outside Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet.”

Miss Crane gave you an amused smile, and you shared a laugh. “I didn’t know about the ‘wrongly’ part,” she said.

“And, of course, Miss Y/N,” Hunham added.

“It’s good to see you,” Miss Crane cooed. “I was worried I wasn’t going to see you before you moved back to Boston. Barton sure is gonna miss you.”

“Oh, I’m…” you started. The real story was far too long and messy to get into right at that moment, so you swallowed down the truth in exchange for a grin. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“Yes, well,” Hunham started. “He’ll have a cheeseburger.”

“And a Miller High Life, please,” Angus butted in as Miss Crane began to write the order down, and Hunham grunted.

“No, you will not.”

“Where do you stand on Miller High Life, Miss Crane? Quality-wise, I mean,” Angus asked, and you groaned.

“Christ, give it up,” you said. “He’s on pain meds, Miss Crane, don’t—”

“Well, like they say,” Miss Crane started with a scrunch of her nose. “It’s the champagne of beers.”

“And she’s a professional!” Angus said, looking at Hunham as he gestured to her, and Hunham rolled his eyes, unamused.

“Okay, one cheeseburger,” Miss Crane started, and Angus sighed.

“And a Coke,” he added reluctantly.

“Umm, same for me,” you told her. “But, umm, if you can have them do no pickles, please?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Miss Crane said softly.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger as well,” Hunham told her.

“Three cheeseburgers,” Miss Crane recited. “Hold the pickles on one—”

“And a Jim Beam,” Hunham added, and Angus gaped in awe, the audacity of Hunham to say no to a beer but yes to a drink for himself washing over him. “On the rocks. Please.”

Miss Crane smiled and left the table, and you watched as Hunham watched her leave. You looked over at Angus with a smile of disbelief, and Angus grinned— Did Hunham have game after all?

“Ouch,” Angus laughed, shaking his hand like he had gotten burned. “You two have chemistry.”

“That’s the Percodan talking,” Hunham grumbled.

“No shit, Mr. H,” you giggled. “That was something. Who knew you were such a Casanova?”

“I don’t know, seeing her like this,” Angus started. “I think she’s pretty attractive.”

You snorted so loud with a laugh that you almost missed Hunham saying “Listen, you hormonal vulgarians” as he leaned into the table. “That woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculations.”

Angus looked at you with a smile, and you tamped down more laughter. “May I at least go to the bathroom?” he asked. “Sir?”

“You mean the payphone?” Hunham asked, and Angus’s face fell stony. You watched the staredown, seeing who would break first, and eventually Hunham bested Angus, because the younger peeled away from the tufted booth seat, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” you groaned, and you got up just as Miss Crane was coming back, her tray ladened with your drinks and Mr. Hunham’s Jim Beam. You tailed Angus towards the bathrooms, but paused at the corner of the bar, watching him disappear into the mens’ room. You stayed behind, looking around at the televisions mounted on the walls, and your mouth went sour at footage of the war being shown on the news. You looked away before you could even properly read the headline, and your fingers nervously went to fiddle with your necklace.

The bartender gave you a look from down the way, expecting an order out of you, and you shook your head. He (of course it was a male bartender) tilted his head with a smile, a sorta “You know you wanna” look, and you pushed a small laugh out of your nose. Driving, you mouthed simply, making a little steering-wheel motion with your hands, and he nodded and smiled, then turned back to his marginal work.

The door to the mens’ room swung open, and you watched Angus slink out. He didn’t look at you, or back in the direction of the table— he looked around the bar, and found his focus being pulled in by one of the pinball machines. You watched him approach and dig in his pocket for a moment, and he watched the guy play his game as he set his dime down on the edge of the machine.

You foolishly almost thought that the night would pass without any more incident. You’d eat your dinner, get back to Barton, and go in your room and ignore everyone and everything until the sun crested the snow in a few hours. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. If you were back home, your mom would let you and Rachel and Anna open one present from underneath the tree, which was always a pair of pajamas that somehow coordinated with everyone else’s but never matched, then you’d fall asleep on the couch while your mom listened to her favorite Nat King Cole Christmas record. Well, that’s what had happened every year up until now. Up until Richard and his daughter (you still didn’t know her name). You wondered what their traditions were. You wondered how they were changing the fabric of your family. You wondered if your mom had bothered to keep up the picture of your dad that hung in the hallway, or if it had come down when Rich moved in.

Yet, incident came. Over the din of the bar, you heard Angus’s whiny little voice say “‘Cause I don’t wanna shoot the other fuckin’ machine.” You looked over at him, and recognized his body language, tall and looming, as the guy playing pinball stepped back with a huff.

“Thanks for fuckin’ up my mojo,” he said to Angus, and you started forward as he called, “Kenny! You’re up!”

“Bullshit,” Angus said as you came up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I put my dime down, so I’m up next.”

“Angus, let it go,” you told him firmly, but a voice stopped either of you from splitting the scene.

“What was that?”

You turned to look at who spoke, presumably Kenny, he of the next round of pinball, and your heart sank. Young— older than you, but still young as hell— wearing a heavy jacke with jeans and a chain dogtag, and your throat closed up. A hook at the end of his right hand. There was no mistaking where he lost it, and a flash of fear and dread washed over you. It was too much— first the news, now this. You felt sick.

“Ang, c’mon, let’s just go,” you mumbled, but Angus was too busy staring down the hook that swung at Kenny’s side.

“Hey, sport,” Kenny said, his voice low. “My eyes are up here.”

“Look at this kid,” the pinball wizard chortled. “Spoiled little fuckin’ Barton boy. And his bitch too, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s a fancy little prick, isn’t he?” Kenny said, and he looked at you. “Why the long face, honey? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I-It’s fine,” Angus stammered, and his arm snaked around to you, pushing you back just a touch behind him. Something in your chest tightened, thinking that Angus thought he needed to protect you, but there was also a warmth— Angus was protecting you.“You can take my dime.”

“Take it?” Kenny repeated. “You want me to take your dime? Like it’s charity?”

“N-No,” Angus breathed. “What I meant is we can play together.” He lightly jostled his left arm in the sling, and he added, “You can be my left arm.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Kenny asked, taking a step forward, nearly nose to nose with Angus, and you felt Angus freeze up.

“Hey,” the pinball wizard started. “You. Prom Queen over here. You gonna let your little boyfriend talk like that?”

Your eyes darted from him to Kenny, then to Angus, then back to Pinball Wizard. You stammered for a moment, trying to find anything to say, and the only thing that came out of your mouth was “I-I—”

“No wonder he’s got a big mouth,” Kenny chuckled. “She doesn’t have one at all.”

You felt dizzy, and you tugged on Angus’s sleeve to leave as you examined Kenny for anything you recognized— a patch on his jacket, a logo on his t-shirt, anything would suffice to ground you. Finally, you saw it: a little appliqué of a purple ribbon with a heart at the end, looking just like the real thing that, last you knew of it, was stashed in the back of your mom’s closet. “My dad’s got one of those…” you mumbled. You couldn’t even think about self-preservation anymore; you were fixated on it now, saying everything you could about it to anchor you in your head and not the stratosphere. “...Got it during Green River…”

“Oh, yeah?” Kenny asked. “And why hasn’t he knocked some fuckin’ respect into your boy here?”

Your mouth felt stuffed with cotton. “He-He didn’t…” you started, and stared at Angus. “He’s an asshole… Socially inept or whatever. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

You couldn’t add in anything more before Angus was peeling away from you, hot-stepping it back to the table, and Pinball Wizard and Kenny made chase as you took up the rear. “Angus!” you shouted, and Hunham and Miss Crane both looked in your direction as Angus walked up to the table.

“Mr. Hunham, can we go, please?” Angus asked urgently.

“Why?” Hunham asked, looking back at the two men and you.

“I’ve just been called a fancy little prick,” Angus said as Kenny called after him. “We should go,” Angus added, and you passed Pinball Wizard and Kenny to get to the booth, once again taking up your assigned place behind Angus.

“Why’d you run off?” Kenny asked with a fake smile. “We were just talking to you. Don’t they teach you manners at that school?” Kenny closed in on Angus, and he brought his hook up to his chest, poking Angus in the sternum with it, and Miss Crane jumped as Hunham jostled in his seat.

“No, no, no, Kenneth!” Miss Crane pleaded. “Leave him alone, they just came in for some food!”

Kenny seethed at Angus, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You could tell that mayhem was a moment away, but then Hunham began to speak.

“Kenneth! Is that right?” he started, holding up his hands placatingly. “I don’t doubt that he did something to offend you, it’s his specialty. Perhaps I could purchase you gentleman something to imbibe, and we could let whatever this unfortunate incident is go the way of the dodo.”

“The what?” Pinball Wizard sneered.

“The dodo, it’s an extinct bird,” Angus grumbled, and Kenny put force behind his hook again, causing Miss Crane to butt in once more.

“What he’s saying is he wants to buy you guys a beer!” She exclaimed, hoping that her explanation would ease the situation as quickly as possible.

Kenny stared Angus down, then looked at you, cowering and scared. Maybe he took pity on you, the poor little Purple Heart’s daughter, or maybe he realized that what you had said about Angus’s social ineptitude was right, because he finally stepped back, lowering his hook. “Yeah, okay,” he nodded.

“Same here,” Pinball Wizard said. “I’ll have a Miller.”

It’s almost like he couldn’t help himself: “Champagne of beers!” Angus chuckled, and your arm shot out, smacking him across the stomach. You glared at him, and the smile fell off of his face.

You couldn’t even enjoy your food. Not that you were worried about Kenny or Pinball Wizard coming back for round two, but you couldn’t keep your mind off of your dad. Seeing everything had affected you for some reason, and you kept your mouth shut the whole time as you ruminated on it; the images of the newscast swirled in your head, and your least favorite but most common nightmare stayed in your mind— the Army claimed they couldn’t locate enough of your father’s remains to even send back a body, and you could only see remnants of your father in some field. Mostly, you saw his tattoo, big on his chest, the same one he had had since you were a baby, needled in as an homage to you— your father always called you his miracle, and he had a starburst right over his heart. You could only envision the starburst, charred and detached, laying in the grass somewhere in Vietnam, never to return home to you.

You saw Hunham looking at you every so often, maybe checking if you were alright, but nobody said anything until you were gone and out the door. The energy had turned prickly and stiff, and even Angus’s voice cutting through was enough to make you jump.

“Why’d you buy those guys beer?” Angus asked. “They’re assholes.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Hunham grumbled, digging in his pocket for his car keys. “Here— catch.” He tossed his keys over to Angus, and his right hand raised and caught them deftly, almost reflexively. “How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off?” He paused to give Angus a moment to respond, despite it being obvious that there was no answer, and he continued, “No, Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam! They go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb,” Angus mumbled.

“Except for Curtis Lamb!” Hunham exclaimed. It wasn’t hard to figure out the implication, and Angus swallowed thickly at you.

“Were you ever in the military?” He asked Hunham, obviously looking to somehow change the subject.

“I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected,” Hunham began, pointing at his eye, then tugging at his door handle, consequently mumbling something about “I have to get in over there”.

“They made me an air raid warden,” Hunham continued, breezing by you and Angus to slide into the passenger side door of the Nova, and both you and Angus wrinkled your noses at the sour smell that followed Hunham. “Gave me a whistle and everything… Helmet, arm band…” Hunham slid into the car, scooting over to his seat, and Angus sorta shook his head.

“Before we get going, can I be candid with you?” Angus asked, leaning down to peer at Hunham through the open car door. You settled into the backseat, slightly thankful that you wouldn’t have to share space with Angus again (not that you minded on the ride up here), and Hunham grunted out an affirmative. “You smell.”

“Angus,” you frowned admonishingly. You were struck by the sheer and blatant rudeness, and you saw Hunham’s face fall sadly in the rearview mirror.

“Like fish,” Angus continued, getting in his own seat and shutting the car door. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but you never would have outright said anything like that. “And it’s really noticeable towards the end of the day; I can even smell it on your coat… Mind if I crack the window?”

Hunham sighed as Angus worked to turn the window crank, and Hunham said, “Trimethylaminuria.”

“Huh?” Angus grunted.

“Trimethylaminuria,” Hunham repeated himself. “Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell…” He paused for a moment to uncomfortably wipe his nose, and he added, “And, uh, yes, more towards the end of the day.”

“Wow…” Angus said. “Your whole life?” Hunham nodded, and Angus perked up for just a moment. “No wonder you’re afraid of women!”

“I am not…!” Hunham began, shaking his head. “Afraid of women!”

“Sorry,” Angus mumbled as Hunham continued with an under-the-breath, “Jesus H. Christ.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Angus added. “Dr. Gertler says I don’t always give consideration to my audience.”

“Ah,” Hunham began. “And who is Dr. Gertler?”

Angus looked back at you silently for just a moment, the tiniest acknowledgement of the fact that you were privy to this information, and he snapped at Hunham, “My shrink.”

“Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a good, swift kick in the ass?” Hunham asked, and you couldn’t help the scoffing giggle that left your mouth.

“Okay, all right,” Angus chuckled mirthlessly. “Now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?” Hunham asked in fake-shock.

“Sure,” Angus shrugged. “Just one thing.”

Hunham rolled his eyes. “Just one?” He paused for a moment, thinking about his answer, and he turned to look at you. “Anything to add, Miss?”

You kept your mouth shut and shook your head quickly. “Nothing nice, anyway,” you said softly.

“I concur,” Hunham said, and he cranked up the Nova.

The rest of the ride back to Barton was quiet, listening to the wind whistling through the open window as nothing was said, and words were only finally exchanged as you and Angus parted at the doorway to your separate infirmary rooms. Hunham’s room was off down an adjacent hallway, and you had already heard the door shut by the time you spoke.

“Oh,” you started, tugging at the bottom of the maroon sweater. “Here, sorry, I forgot—”

“S’fine,” Angus said. “Don’t worry about it.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll run it through the wash and get it back to you,” you said, and Angus shook his head.

“Keep it,” he said. “Looks better on you than it does on me.”

“O-Oh,” you stuttered. “I mean, i-it looks pretty, um, expensive, are you sure you don’t—”

“I’m sure,” Angus nodded. He looked down at his feet for a moment, and he softly added, “Thanks for taking care of me today.”

You shrugged. “No big,” you said.

“Big to me,” Angus mumbled. “I’ve never had a girl— or anyone, really— um… Make me feel like that.”

“Like what?” you asked.

“Cared for,” Angus said. “Cared about. I was, umm, so nervous in there that I thought I was gonna shit and die. But you… You were so gentle, and so nice, it really helped me.”

“S’what I’m here for,” you said. “See you tomorrow, Ang.”

“Wait!” Angus said quickly as you put your hand on the doorknob to your room. “Can I, umm… Can I give you a hug?”

You wrinkled your eyebrows in confusion but nodded all the same, and you stepped closer to him. His good arm wrapped around your middle, a little slow and stiff, like he had never even touched a girl before, let alone hugged one, and your arms went around his neck, holding him tight. He took a deep breath and settled his cheek against your temple, letting himself enjoy it, and your heartbeat picked up.

You weren’t sure why, but you had a sneaky feeling that Angus had motives behind the embrace. Was he going to try to kiss you? A kiss was just a kiss, it didn’t mean that much in the grand scheme of things, but it would be your first kiss ever. Did you want Angus to be that for you? For the rest of your life, your first kiss would be with Angus Tully, some kid you went to boarding school with who was an asshole ninety-eight percent of the time and a genuine sweetheart the other two percent. Was two percent nice and caring enough, though?

“Ang,” you whispered, stepping just a touch away from him to see his face. The lights in the hallway were half-turned off, only every other fluorescent bulb lit, and it left you and Angus in a slightly darker alcove of the hallway, and the dim light made shadows play on Angus’s thin face. His eyes looked half-lidded, like he was sleepy, but you could feel his heartbeat and heavy pulse— he was wide awake. “How’d you get that scar?” you asked softly, letting your fingers go to his lips and lightly trace his scarred and puffy upper lip.

“Got beat up a few years ago,” Angus told you. “Busted my lip.”

“Ang,” you sighed in a hushed tone. “You’ve gotta stop giving people reasons to beat your ass.”

Angus chuckled. “I can’t really help it…” he said, and trailed off for a moment, then added, “B-Babe.”

“Are you nervous?” you whispered. “There’s no reason to be.”

“V’just…” Angus started. “I’ve never…”

“Me neither,” you reminded him. “But I want it to be you.”

Silently, Angus shifted forwards, pressing his body fully against yours again, his arm going tight around your waist, and he helped you rise up on your toes to fully reach him. Then, before you could even think about what you were doing, you leaned into him and, your eyes slipping closed, touched your lips to his. His lips were warm and soft, and his fingers itched in the back of your shirt. You really had no idea what you were doing, but it felt right, and you tilted your head a bit as Angus put force behind his kiss and held you even tighter.

You felt lightheaded as you slowly pulled out of the kiss, touching your forehead against Angus’s and sighing. A smile slowly slipped across your lips, and a laugh escaped while your fingers tangled in the curls at the very bottom of his neck. “Um, thanks,” you whispered.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day… Since this morning, y’know…” Angus admitted. “I just, um, didn’t wanna do it in front of Hunham.”

“I understand,” you told him. “Thanks, Ang.”

“Are you okay, by the way?” Angus asked. “You got really… I don’t know. Upset. Back with those guys.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Y-Yeah, just, um… That guy was in Nam, and after the stress of the rest of the day, kinda just seeing that and remembering was…”

“Fuck,” Angus sighed. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve stood up for you.”

You shook your head. “That’s not your job,” you told him.

“Well, yeah, it’s not,” Angus started. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t stop it.”

You bit your bottom lip as you thought, and you mumbled, “Sure. Alright. Umm, I’ll see you in the morning, Ang.”

“One more for the road?” Angus asked, and you rolled your eyes at his little cocky smile.

“I’m not even ten feet away from you for the rest of the night,” you chuckled. “Some road there.”

“But there’s a wall,” Angus whined softly. “I’m also trying to act cool here, and ask for another kiss without asking—”

You leaned up and gave him one more kiss, quicker and less emotional than the first time, but Angus still locked eyes with you and badly contained a smile when you parted, just like before. “I’m trying to not, umm…” he started, looking back down at your feet. “Not get ahead of myself here, but um… No, we can-we can talk about that tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?” you asked, but Angus shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “We’ll... Tomorrow. Get some sleep, okay?”

Even though you were confused by his trepidation, you agreed anyway. “You too,” you told him. “If your shoulder starts to hurt, just… Let me know. I’ll see if I can help.”

“Sure,” Angus nodded. He hesitated to step away into his own room for a moment, and he leaned in and kissed your forehead before scurrying away, like he was afraid of the consequences.

You went into your own room and closed the door, taking a deep breath. You had kissed Angus. You weren’t sure if you were more excited about it being Angus or just the kiss itself happening, but you felt giddy and you bit your cheek as you smiled. Carefully, you went about undressing from the day, slipping into pajama pants and doubling up on socks, and your fingers brushed down the front of the sweater. It was soft, wool, and the stitching on the cuffs and around the bottom and neck proved it to be more expensive than anything you could ever dream of.

Angus told you to keep it. Were you like those girls who wore their boyfriend’s jackets now? The girls at Central wore their boyfriends’ varsity jackets when it got cold, the ones with their names across the backs, showing everyone who they were dating. You had never really cared too much about the varsity jackets, but, then again, there had never really been anyone that you would have considered even trying to wear their jacket. First, you’d have to figure out if Angus was even your boyfriend before you started to get all giddy about having one.

Was that what he wanted to ask, but held off for tomorrow? Did he want to ask you to be his girlfriend? It was exciting, but you understood why he had chickened out of asking you then and there. You would be his first girlfriend, and that was intimidating. Maybe he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, and just wanted to be able to hug you and kiss you whenever he wanted.

Your mind began to race. Angus wanted to kiss you, but what else did he want? Did he want to have sex? Did he even care about that? Had he even thought that far out yet? Certainly, he had. He was a boy after all— boys’ brains are made up of 50% sex and 50% violence. Maybe you were just overthinking it. It was entirely possible that Angus didn’t even want to be your boyfriend, and just got caught up in the moment and kissed you.

Your head hurt from being too analytical, and you slipped into bed and pulled the blankets to your chest. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, you and Angus could talk about everything you wanted. Maybe, you thought with a sleepy smile. Your Christmas present would be a boyfriend.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers

198 notes · View notes

puracatt · 2 months

Text

!! MDNI !! 18+ ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR CONSUMING.

tw // stalking, creepy, mention of masturbation, breaking and entering,, i love twisted and evil gaz

stalker!gaz x stressed reader

thinking of stalker!gaz who you're friends with, but don't see very often. sometimes when you hang out with your best friend, she'll bring gaz with her.

you don't think much of him. you're far too busy putting numbers into spreadsheets and fighting with your boss about needing more hours to think of him.

but, he thinks of you. he thinks of you all the time.

he thinks of your furrowed brow and the slight pout to your lip while you're spaced out at hangouts, worrying about work and bills. and he thinks of how tears catch the light of your bedside lamp as you cry at night, unaware of his watchful stare.

he thinks of your hands and the soft touch of your fingertips when you brushed a crumb off his face at a diner because he just couldn't find it. his fist consoled his swollen dick that night, pre-cum dribbling down his hand as he bucked into his hot palm. when gaz shut his eyes and imagined you languidly stroking him, it was easy to spurt cum over the curves and dips of his knuckles.

gaz knows all about you. he knows you have a dead-end cubicle job, can hardly afford to pay the bus driver, and like cats. he knows that you like your underwear to be patterned, but for your socks to have flat colors.

one night, he has enough of just watching and waiting and thinking. he's tired of watching you cry without a helping hand to soothe your fried nerves.

so, he acts. he pries your unlocked bedroom window open, just like he does when you're busy at work. he slips into the room, careful not to step on the boards that he knows will creak and wake you up.

you're so close. his fingers clutch the space in the sheets beside you, feeling how the mattress dips beneath your weight. he keeps his breathing low and steady like he's out on the field and waiting for the enemy.

there's a dark lining at the corners of your eyes from all the crying you've been doing. the tear streaks drying into your cheeks only confirm his theory. you've lived a troublesome life with nobody to reach out to without feeling like a burden.

he reaches out like you're a quivering animal and strokes your back. the ball of his palm drags slow circles into the muscle where your shoulder and back join, hoping to soothe the tension there.

he could just talk to you about how he feels, about how he craves you. but he doesn't know how to say it without fumbling over his words. why would he want to anyway? this is the most control over something he's had in ages; he can choose the outcome of this. for now, he'll settle for breaking and entering and a little bit of stalking. it's only because you need his help!

#cod drabble #cod fic #cod x reader #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #kyle gaz smut #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cw stalking #cw smut #cw dark content #cw dark themes #tf 141

81 notes · View notes

arcaneacolyte · 8 months

Text

Not me furiously writing this idea dump/ficlet on my phone at the kitchen table to get the idea down and then running here to post it 🤣 CW: Phantom (Aeon) Pillow Humping, Voyeurism, Unresolved and Resolved Sexual Tension, Polyghouls ⛧——————⛧ Thinking about Phantom coming into his Earthly sexual awakening while on his first tour. Everything leading up to the tour was so busy and chaotic and filled with him learning how to be the rhythm guitarist for the band that he didn't really have much time to look into or even really think about sex beyond a quick hand or a pillow hump when he gets too pent up.

But then he's in a tour bus with 8 other Ghouls, all whom have high libidos, and suddenly his body decides to really start waking up and making literally everything about his packmates attractive. There's not one of them that he isn't wildly attracted to, and it starts to become a problem because he's going to be spending extended time with them in enclosed spaces for the next six months.

This is where I think his humping tendencies come from. He's so dizzily attracted to them all, but he feels like he doesn't want to mess things up, move too fast or commit a social faux pas and then end up stuck in an eternally awkward situation for the rest of the tour. He'd honestly almost rather be sent back to the Pit than have to deal with his pack hating him for any reason.

So at night, he almost always rubs one out by laying on his stomach and either humping the mattress of his little bunk, or taking his pillow and shoving it up under his hips, almost biting through his lip to hold in his little whimpers and squeaks and moans. He tries to hold it in, but after a while he just can't help it, accidentally teasing himself to the point where he's so desperate that his hips just start moving without thinking about it.

Of course the others know. Yes he might be able to stay relatively quiet for the most part, but that has nothing to do with the smell of him. He reeks of pent up Ghoul more often than not, and the only reason why no one has pounced on him yet is that they see his hesitation, and also don't want him to feel pressured. It's a silly miscommunication thing, but eventually, I think someone has to stop Phantom from stinking up the bus and staring longingly at the rest of them with those big little puppy bat eyes.

I imagine either Dew or Swiss would finally think enough is enough, and hatch a plan. A way to show Phantom that the desire is mutual without having to confront him about it because the little Quint will just deny till he's purple (more purple) in the face.

Late night on the bus and all the pack is asleep for the most part, but the telltale desperation leaks from Phantom's bunk, and either Swiss or Dew's bunk is right across the isle. A little curtain on both bunks is the only thing visually separating them, and either Dew or Swiss start jerking off, being a little louder and perhaps a little more showy, letting the curtain on their side be open just enough that you wouldn't directly see what they were doing, but it'd be obvious by the movement of their arm and the soft moans from their lips.

Phantoms heard sex on the bus plenty of times, and bites on a whimper as he starts to grind a little against the mattress. But what's different is that after a moment he hears his name on a sigh and he freezes, eyes bulging open, thinking he's been caught. But no, there's no other movement besides soft 'schlicking' sounds. Telltale that someone is getting themselves off.

Phantom's body flashes with heat so strong he gets dizzy, his cock blurting wetly into his underwear, and he actually almost bites through his lip to keep his noises down.

He has to see if he can see, he just has to at this point. As carefully as he can, he scoots close to the curtain, and edges it open just enough so he can peek his eye out and look.

And there's just enough light of passing freeway lights that Phantom can see the profile of either Swiss or Dew; chin to chest and panting softly, gentle moans slipping past their lips every once in a while and of course poor little Phantom can't stop his hips now, not when met with such a vision. As much as his eyes want to slip closed he keeps them open, enraptured with the beauty of the Ghoul across from him.

After what could be seconds or hours—Phantom's mind cant focus on the passage of time of all things with this vision in front of him—the utterance of his name once more catches his attention, and this time he gasps when he sees the other Ghoul tilting their head to look towards his bunk, their eyebrows pinched in desire and longing. Phantom can't help it, he cums right then, an obvious keen slipping past his lips as the force of his orgasm causes him to curl in on himself. He empties cum all over the inside of his briefs, it soaking through and pushed into his sheets by his still humping hips.

Unfortunately he doesn't see the other Ghoul's orgasm, but finally comes back up to Earth after another period of time he can't account for. His bunk curtain pulls back suddenly, and he almost shrieks, but he watches at the other Ghoul leans back in his bunk, a satisfied look on his face.

Phantom watches, hardly breathing and petrified at being caught, but either Swiss or Dew just settles back down, a flush of pleasure and exertion still touching their cheeks. They scoot to the edge of the mattress on their side before reaching a lazy hand over the gap of the isle.

The small Quint Ghoul stares from hand to face and back again for several long moments, before the Ghoul across from him offers a fond little smile, and wiggles their fingers in invitation.

Tentatively scooting to the edge of his own bunk, Phantom reaches out with a shaking limb, just far enough to hook fingers with the other Ghoul. He gets a little squeeze and maybe a wink in return, plus a hushed little "we want you" with enough conviction that makes Phantom's heart pound and his face flush up a pretty violet.

Content with his message, the Ghoul across the isle smiles fondly again, and offers a small little peck to the air, and it takes Phantom a moment to realize it's for him. Before he can offer his own in return, the other Ghoul releases his fingers with one more squeeze, and settles down to go to sleep.

Phantom pulls his fingers back and pulls them to his lips, the pads of them still tingling from the contact.

They want him?? They want him.

The giddy little breathless giggle that comes out of his mouth makes the other Ghoul smile.

There, problem solved.

Afterwards Phantom becomes so much more comfortable. Not only does his pack want him physically, but he realizes that they actually do want him there on the tour, in their pack, part of their lives. It gets so much easier after that.

Not to say that doesn't stop Phantom's humping habits of course.

#ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #aeon ghoul #polyghouls #cw: voyeurism #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #nsft #ghost fanfic #ghost ficlet #my writing #he's just a lil guy who needs a little encouragement and all bets are off #I am obsessed with humpy Phantom #like a dumb lil puppy who needs permission

56 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 2 years

Note

Terms Of Endearment is one of the best series I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. I can’t wait for the next update.

I hammered through this last night. It just came out of me. And that’s from your support and concepts and interactions. So thank you.

A little bit of a filler chapter but a necessary chapter. As always, here the Terms Of Endearment Masterlist.

Warnings: Jaidyn….just anything to do with Jaidyn at this point.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“It's nice to finally meet you.” Bradley couldn't help but to beam at you from across the booth he’d slid into across from you. “I mean, other than the time you told me to fuck off.” The Hard Deck was the first place Jake had brought you when he was finally able to get you out of the house. He thought the social interaction would be good for you. What he wasn't banking on though was that his wingman would gravitate to you instantly. Like a moth drawn to a fucking flame. Honestly, he should have expected it.

“I've been meaning to apologise for that.” You smiled as softly as you could back at the moustache clag man sitting across from you and your daughter. “I wasn't in a good place.”

“No need to explain.” Rooster took a sip of his beer as he watched you feed your little girl, she was too busy smiling up at him to register that you were holding up some mashed potato to her lips. “Just promise that I'll get a chance to see you around more often?” You couldn't help but to laugh. “And hear that laugh.” You just nodded in response. Feeling the heat righting in your cheeks the longer you sat in the booth in the corner of the Hard Deck with Bradley.

“Apparently Jake set me up with a job, so I think I'll be sticking around for a while if I'm being honest.” Bradleys lips twitched up into a shit eating smirk that's so pure, there's just something about you that has him so intrigued. He's got his sights set on you.

“You Navy?” He asks just to keep you talking, wanting to know everything about you but he’d settle for what you were willing to tell him.

“Indeed, not an Aviator like you bunch though, I’m just the engineer that makes sure your million dollar toys don't fall apart mid flight.” Again, you smiled, reaching across to stick your hand out to shake Bradley Bradshaw's hand for the first time. Ever. You were sure there was a spark there when his fingers grazed yours. “Fix it Felix at your service.”

Bradley could have swore he felt his heart skip a beat when your hand slid into his for the first time. He couldn't speak, he just sat there and stared until you were clearing your throat. “Are you still there?”

“uh – yeah! Yeah I'm just–” Rooster didn't know how to explain it but it felt like he'd been hit by a bus. So he settled for something super easy to manage. “Felix, its an honour to meet you, I’m Rooster–”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Okay, okay, okay—“ Sometimes Amilia felt as if she strived for a life of apathy, she’d partake in callous deeds and other mindless acts of greed. There wasn’t jack for free these days, she even thought if given the chance they'd try and tax you just for breathing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ It's like she fought day to day just to remind herself that she bled like everyone else. Mortal and unsure of her own significance in the world. She took flight in the night from lack of sleep because peace of minds the only time that she felt free. Her own insecurities had a hold on her, but she chased that feeling well into the morning if given the chance to.

“Don’t think about it, just do it—“ Amilia Fisher was abundantly aware that she was just a grain of sand getting washed from God's hands, nothing but a lamb in the great expanse. She caught herself constantly staring into space, feeling so damn insignificant. Primal on the vinyl she felt cro-magnificent. But she was far that. She was important and she was significant and she was all the things she thought she wasn’t. She was just programmed differently.

Amilia had scattered the content of her sister's survival kit across the boot of her car. Looking for something, anything she could use to stall this guy who she knew nothing about. But Jake seemed to be serious enough that whoever this guy was couldn’t leave with that little girl. And Amilia would be condemned to hell for eternity before she let some innocent little girl get swept up in whatever extenuating circumstances were currently going on.

As Jaidyn waited in the lobby of SunnySide daycare, Amilia, as calmly and as cautiously as ever—made her way over to Jaidyns car. She sussed it out for a few seconds before taking a deep breath in. Holding, then exhaling—letting out a small huff as she stabbed the fishing knife her sister kept in her kit into the rubber of Jaidyns back left tire.

“Oh my god, fuck yes.” To be completely honest, this wasn’t the first time Amilia Fisher had stabbed a tire. But she’d learnt from her previous mistakes and although most cars carry a spare which is easily swapped out, they can’t go over eighty kilometres an hour. She wasn’t sure what that worked out to be in miles and she wasn’t sure if Jaidyn even had one.

But what she did know as she stalked around to the right side of Jaidyn Dolans Toyota Corolla, is that you don’t carry two spare tires. Letting out another gruff, she stabbed the knife into the rubber. Pulling it out as she admired her handy work. Watching as the tiers she’d stabbed holes into deflated enough to have the car sinking into the gravel. It made her feel so alive.

“I better not get arrested for that.” She groaned, for a split second regret crept across her face, Amilia was stunned at her own stupidity, knowing that if she was even detained for a split second she could be deported in an instant. Her working visa only allowed her to do just that, work and travel. There was no clause for arrest.

All her regret was instantly washed away when she heard the painful screams and gut wrenching cry’s of a little girl. A little girl being carried out of her daycare by who she only assumed was her father. But it just didn’t sit right—the way Odette pushed at his face, cried her little heart out and just wanted to jump from Jaidyns grip.

“Okay, no—you did the right thing.” Amilia shook her head softly to clear her mind, throwing the knife into the boot as she closed it before making her way into the daycare to collect her nephew. “Hurry the fuck up Hangman—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Rhett Abbott had a lot on his plate. He was focusing on a national title when his phone rang out in his back pocket. Watching from the sidelines of the pit as his competitors were either demolished or held on just long enough to cling to a slither of a chance at success. He was gonna claim the title though, this was his rodeo, his domain.

“Whoever’s on the other side of that call doesn’t know how important today is for you.” Rhett heard his old brother Perry mumble out of the corner of his lips beside him. Perry hadnt taken his eyes off the guy holding onto Mickey Bull long enough to even turn his head Rhett’s way–but regardless, his point had been heard loud and clear. When Rhett fished his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and saw none other than the calling ID displaying ‘Rob’ he knew he was in some sort of trouble.

Bob Floyd didn’t call his family for anything unless he was dead or had already died of death. So when Rhett caught himself staring at the caller ID until it left his screen, the call having rung out in his hand, a million scenarios played out in his mind that could have happened to have his eight minute younger brother calling. When the call dropped out with no message left, Rhett was calling back in a millisecond.

Bob’s phone hadn’t buzzed twice in his hand before he was swiping the pad of his thumb across his screen. Sitting in the passenger’s seat of Penny Benjamin’s car that Jake had claimed as his own. He hadnt spoken to his brother in a year, so the impromptu call really had been one that put the fear of God in Rhett Abbott. He was expecting some he didn't know to answer–Rhett expected someone on the other end of the line to tell him that Rob had died in some sort of work accident, because it wasn't Royal or Ceclilia Abbott down as Bob's next of kin. It was Rhett.

“I know you have nationals—“ Bob made sure to let Rhett know he still kept up to date on what his brother was up to. He always had and always would, even if he didn't reach out often to say that he was rooting for him on the sideline.

“Are you alright?” Rhett asked first and foremost. His mind was running a million miles an hour. “Rob?”

“And I know you’re probably in between rides.” Again, Bob knew. He always knew. He ignored Rhett's question because no, he wasn't. None of this was alright. Nothing about this situation was alright. But this wasn't about him, even if he wanted to just crawl into a hole in the wall and forget he ever got involved. “But I’ve got a situation here.” He didn’t know how to say it without sounding stupid or over the top. But regardless Bob had to get it out. “My friend’s girlfriend–” He started, choking back tears of his own because he really did miss his brother and hated the fact it took this to get him to just pick up the damn phone and call. “Her ex had been abusing her, for a while she was good but he’s in town and he’s abusing her again and I smacked him in the fact with chocks but—“

“Rob, Rob—“ Rhett sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped away from the roar of the crowd and the sound of the announcer blaring through the speakers. “Slow down man I can’t keep up, you're going a hundred miles an hour”.

“I need you to come out to San Diego for a while.” That’s what Bob was trying to get at to begin with. “I need you to come out to San Diego because there’s a little girl who needs help and her mothers missing and this guy’s literally crazy and I can't do anything of any significance to help.” Jake frowned to himself at Bob's words. That was so far from the truth. If it weren't for Bob there was a major chance you could have ended up beaten half to death.

“I can't come out to San Diego.” It's the answer Bob knew he would be met with, but it was still worth a shot to ask because Bob knew what was at stake here. “You made your bed man, sleep in it and I'll sleep in mine, here.”

“Rhett, please–” Bob choked out. Jake could hear in Bob's voice that it was hard to say. Oh, he’d been there before. “I'm not asking for me, I'm asking because these girls man, they don't deserve to be put through what they're going through.” Rhett doesn't reply, he could hear his name being called over the loudspeaker. He could see Perry waiting for him, gesturing for him to hurry up. Now just wasn't a good time, but when had Bob ever been good at timing? “Please man, I wouldn't be asking if I had any other cards.” Again, Rhett doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say because there's a part of him that's considering it. “Rhett?”

“Don’t you work for good old Uncle Sam?” Rhett smirked to himself as he kicked his boot in the dirt, holding his phone up tight to his ear. He couldn't do this, not now, not today, not this week. “I’m sure there’s someone in your immediate vicinity that could help you out man—I got my own shit to deal with.” He didn’t mean to sound so unwilling to listen or help. He just didn’t have the time.

“Yeah—“ Bob signed, he let his head hit the back of the headrest as Jake looked over. “Yeah No, no you’re right.” Closing his eyes, Bob knew he’d regret this call. Asking for help. He knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut. It would have been less painful to be turned away from flesh and blood. “Don’t even worry about it, we’ll figure it out.” There's so much tension between Rhett and Bob Jake could cut through it with a knife just by the one sided conversation he was listening in on. Their sibling relationship was clearly strained, to what extent though, Jake wasn't sure.

Before Rhett could answer, Bobs already hung up, frustrated in himself for asking for help when he knew deep down what the answer was always going to be.

No way no how.

“Rob?” Rhett’s asking as he hears nothing but silence. “Hello?” As Rhett pulled his phone away from his ear to see that Bob had hung up, it dawned on him. Bob was pretty self sufficient, he never asks for help from anyone. Especially not him, not if he could go to anyone but Rhett first.

And the one time he did Rhett turned him down.

“Dammit—“ Rhett sighed as he jogged on over to Perry who'd been trying to coax him over for the duration of the call. He was looking all kinds of unimpressed when Rhett finally made it over. “That was Rob–” is all Rhett mumbled out, he’s gritting his teeth because he hates that he's even considering dropping everything as soon as Bob's calling. “Said he needs help.”

“He seems like a real team player.” Jake tuts, he’s got his hands gripped tight around the steering while his foot is pressed to the floor. Road rules be damned. Dot needs him. “Listen, for what it’s worth, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but while we’re on the subject–I don’t remember you ever mentioning having a brother?”

“Twin—“ Bob replied “Twin brother–” He still has his eyes closed. “Got an older brother too, Perry.” Bob lulled his head Jake's way, he didnt wanna dive too deep into his family history. There were more important things going on than the complicated relationship that was the Abbott-Floyd family. Besides, it didn’t matter anyway—Rhett wasn’t coming. “You never told us about Felix and Dot?”

“Guess there was always a part of me that was scared to lose them.” Jake admitted to the weapons system office sitting in his passenger seat. “Thought If I spoke about them, no one would think they were as important as they are.” Jake had kidnapped Bob right after Rooster and Jake had decided on different paths on how to go about the whole situation. He’d marched out of the hanger on a warpath and Bob just so happened to be in his path. “So I kept her and Dot to myself—“ It probably wasn’t the best idea to keep you a secret for so long, but regardless if that ended up on his regret list or not, Jake couldn’t take it back. “Kinda backfired on me though.”

“How so?” Bob asked as Jake turned into the carpark of SunnySide Daycare, catching a glimpse of Amilia standing over Jaidyn with two very familiar children on her hips. Odette Dolan and Chase Fitch.

“Seems that everyone’s willing to put their lives on the line for her.” Jake spoke with enough conviction that even he had himself believing it. “Makes me feel sick to my stomach that I didn't step in sooner.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Shut-up!” Jaidyn was high strung, he wasn't prepared for the major hiccup that was not one, but two flat tires. He couldn't deal with the incessant screaming Odette was doing as she wiggled in his grasp either. “Would you just shut the hell up?” He snarled in her face, gripping her forearm a little too tight as she screamed out at an octave that could have broken glass. “God, just like your fucking mother, always fucking crying.”

“Hi!” Amilia cooed. She’d come running up behind Jaidyn as he paced back and forth in the car pack with Odette on his hip. “Hey! I uh, I couldn't help but notice your girl’s a little upset?”

“Someone fucked with my car–” Is all Jaidyn replied with, he barely even acknowledged the worry in Amilias voice when it came to the safety and security of his daughter. “She won't be quiet.”

“Well when people yell at me I tend to wanna cry as well–” It wasn't a lie, moreso a fact Jaidyn didn't wanna know. He scoffed at the way Dot cried a little harder when he turned away from Amilia. Still pacing. “You got a flat or something mate?” Amilia was a grade A shit stirrer, it was one of her favourite past times.

“Would you believe it if I said I've got two?” Jaidyn snarled, still trying to process how he’d ended up with two fucking flat tiers. Amilia just bit her bottom lip for a second before she spoke.

“Damn, win some you lose some I guess.” The chuckle she let escape momentarily went unnoticed as Jaidyn kept pacing back and forth. “I could uh, hold her while you call a tow? I've got nowhere to be and Chase here's pretty content if we kick around for a little while.” It's an offer that Jaidyn nearly passes up, but as he turns to his car, really susses out the damage done, he knows he isn't going anywhere without calling a damn tow truck. Dot’s still crying in his arms, she's in hysterics and all Amilia is focused on is getting her hands on that little girl. “Honest, it's no drama.”

“Uh–yeah, yeah sure here.” Jaidyn is handing over Dot to Amilia who's already holding Chase on her hip. Immediately as if Dot knows she's safe in Amilias arms, she begins to settle. “Far out, you got the magic touch or something have you?”

Unbeknownst to Jaidyn, while Amilia had been in at reception picking up her nephew—she’d asked the woman sitting behind the counter to call the cops. It didn't look good that they’d been asked to call the police on the same guy in the span of one day. What also didn’t look good for the day care the Penny had recommended and had been so fucking good to you and Dot up until this point, is that they’d not once stepped in to help in the situation. Dot was basically in the early stages of being kidnapped by her biological dad. That shit doesn’t look good on paper.

Amilia watched as Jaidyn walked away, leaving Odette in her care. Bouncing her up and down softly to soothe her sobs, growing quieter and quieter with every step Jaidyn took towards his car and away from Odette.

“Guess kids are just super intuitive when it comes to knowing when they’re in safe hands.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

There's some time that passes before Admiral Simpson is returning to the scene unfolding in the janitor's closet. He has the most senior ranking nurse available to him on sight in toe. Lila Adams. Bradley had just been sitting on the ground amongst all the buckets and the chemicals and the rags that had fallen down in the time Jaidyn took to beat you half to death. Holding you in his arms as he rocked gently side to side and sung to you under his breath as you just laid there. Silently sobbing in his warm, comforting arms.

“An ambulance is on the way, shouldn't be too far off now.” Lila crouches down to get a better look at you. Your face was so swollen that you could barely see her. “Lieutenant Bradshaw, she's in pretty bad condition, do you think when the medics arrive you'd be able to step aside and let them get her on a stretcher? Or will I need to call security and have them escort you off base?” It was a threat Rooster took seriously as the order looking woman looked him dead in the eyes, waiting for his answer without so much as twitching.

“I’ll only let her go if you promise me I'll get to hold her again.” Lila knows it's not a question but a demand that escapes Bradley Bradshaw's mouth. He's distort, there's no amount of words that could comfort him right now. In the background Bradley can hear Admiral Simpson on the phone in the hall talking to someone about shutting down training for the next few days, but he doesn't care. All he cares about at the moment is you. “I need to stay with her, please.” Lila nods silently.

“As soon as she's stable and loaded up, I'm sure you'll be able to ride with her to the hospital. I can arrange for someone to contact whoever you need me to contact on her behalf.”

“I'll do that.” Rooster knows the minute Jake finds out about this all hell will break loose. He doesn't want anyone getting caught up in this that doesn't need to be, he didn't want some poor nurse just doing her job to have to deal with the fallout of jake Seresin coming to the realisation that although they tried, Him nor Bradley had followed through with their promise to protect you.

“Alright then, just wait there till the medics arrive and I'll let you know when they need you to move.” Lila coos. “Just keep her still for me, the less she moves around the better.” Bradley nods silently in response, his hands are wrapped in yours as you keep them close to your chest. There's blood everywhere, all over his hands and uniform. He doesn't know where it's coming from exactly.

“Bradley—“ You sound like you're crying when your voice rips through the smog clouding Roosters mind. “You there?”

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere darlin.” It's hard to mask the way Bradleys voice quivers when he speaks. Looking down at your head that lays heavy and lulled in his lap against his thigh. “Hi beautiful girl.”

“I’d really like to think in the end it’s us.” At first, Bradley thought you were just mumbling incoherently from the pain. But as he leaned over to listen in slightly, his heart broke for what felt like the thousandth time. “But I can’t help myself from wondering if you’re just another lesson.”

“Oh god Y/n no—no baby no lessons to be learnt here.”

“Another person to teach me something.” It's like you weren't listening to Bradley when he spoke to you. “Someone I don’t get to keep.” You were slipping, fast. Barely holding yourself together as unconsciousness threatened to take a hold of you again.

“Hey, listen to me gorgeous.” Bradley can’t help the tears that are streaming down his cheeks. “You have me forever you hear me? You have me for as long as you’ll have me for and long after you decide you don’t want me, because you are so far out of my league it’s a joke.” The way Bradley leans in to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles as he guides your hand up to his mouth has you grinning gently. “You’ve had me since you first told me to fuck off and you’ll have me even after you don’t want me anymore, because you’re it for me.” It's the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “I love you with all my heart.”

“Roo it’s not doubt.” You could barely talk, but you’d fight the pain of your jaw aching with every word you spoke to tell Bradley how you truly felt. “And I’m not second guessing what we have, I’m just really scared to lose it.” That's about as much as you could stammer out before you were falling limp in Bradleys gasp. He broke out into a full blown sob when he relished you were gone again, he pressed two fingers into your neck to make sure there was still a pulse. There was. But it still didn't make it any easier.

“I'm gonna marry you one day, show you everyday how you were always meant to be loved.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Who's holding Dott and Chase?” Bob asked Jake as he pulled up into the carpark of Sunnyside daycare. It makes Jake question to himself how the fuck Amilia knew Payback, because thats Paybacks son on her hip and thats Jaidyn on the ground looking as his back tier.

“That's the love of my life–” Jakes smiling to himself, he's kidding, being over dramatic and overzealous, but there's just a hint of truth in his outspoken declaration. “That's Amilia.”

“Chelsea has a sister named Amilia.” Bob adds a piece to the puzzle as he unclips his seatbelt, watching as Jaidyn stands to turn to Amilia. “Is Amilia Reubens wifes sister?”

“Holy shit–” Is all Jake can say as he steps out of Penny's car. He slams the door hard enough that it has Jaidyn craning his head in the direction of the thud. Jake points at the guy he wishes was six feet under, he's gritting his teeth harder with every stride he takes and soon enough his blood has reached a boiling point. “Amilia, give Odette to Bob, now.” Without so much as a second of hesitation, Amilia is walking towards Bob who she's never met before and handing the glasses clad Weapons System Officer the little girl who instantly clings to the familiar face. She's safe. “You're a dead man, you know that right?”

“Mama?” Dot’s sobbing in Bobs arms. Her tears soak into his flight-suit.

“You fucking whore you’re with him?” Jaidyn scowls at Amilia as she places Chase down on his two little feet beside Bob, he's holding Dot on his hip and Chase's hand as he stands beside him. Amilia just squares her shoulders.

“Well who the fuck else slashed your tires mate?” She says it in an isn't it obvious way.

“You Bitch!” Jaidyn doesn't slow down for anything as he lunges at Amilia. He slaps her so hard it rings in her ears.

“HEY!” That's all it takes for Jake Seresin to spring into action. He grips onto Jaidyns shoulder, swings him back before he’s balling his fist and landing a major right hook against his cheek. “YOU DON'T TOUCH HER! EVER!”

“Oh–!” Bob flinches at the sound, he shuts his eyes and turns himself and the kiddos around as Jaidyn falls to the ground in a heap, he's unconscious. One hit was all it took this time as Jake shakes his hand out with a growl.

“Oh my god what a fucking rush!” Amilia squeals, Jakes turning to her with shock in his eyes and a slack jaw. In seconds he's on her, cupping her cheeks and rubbing the pad of his thumb across the mark that's forming from the slap she took like a champion.

“You alright?” Amilia feels her heart skip a beat at Jake's touch. She's so caught up in his stunning emerald green eyes that she doesn't notice that his gaze has trailed down to her lips and back. “Amilia–” Jake doesn't know what hit him when Amilias lips were suddenly on his. There's police sirens heading their way but Jake cant do anything but kiss this amazing woman back. She’d saved his niece's life all because she was in the right place at the right time. She’d saved his ass from incarceration for being in the right place at the right time.

But Amilia Fisher never felt like she was in the right place at the right time.

Although Alimlia started the unexpected but cherished kiss, Jake was the one who broke it. Only doing so because he felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest. He’s never believed in love at first sight, but Amilia was making him question his beliefs.

“Who are you Jake, Jake Seresin and what have you gotten me into?” Amili smiled, biting her bottom lip as the police car finally pulled up to SunnySide Daycare centre for the second time that day. Jake simply smiled. His niece was safe with him, one problem down, one more to go. Now all that was left was to find out where you’d disappeared to.

“I work with your brother in law.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

There's not much Bradley can do while he's in the ambulance with you, he just sits there watching as paramedics do their thing to stabilise you enough to wheel you up and out of the ambulance into the emergency department.

Everything moved in slow motion around him, as Bradley stood in the middle of the waiting room at the Miramar Base Hospital. He's been given a sheet to fill out on your behalf but as it turns out he only knows half the information they need him to fill out. He needs to call Jake.

With a heavy sigh and after having been standing there for ten entire minutes looking at the stupid icon of Jake's caller ID on Bradleys phone, he takes a seat and presses call–holding his phone up to his ear as it rings and rings and rings and rings. Until–”

“Rooster, I got her.” Jake's answering, he's strapping Dot into her booster seat in Pennys car all the while Bob chats with Amilia and Chase. Jaidyn’s in cuffs over the hood of the police car in the carpark screaming his lungs out. It's a whole scene, but nothing could bring Jake's mood down now, he'd won. That ass hat was done for, finally. “Sorry I kicked up at you before, you were right, someone had to–”

“Jake, I'm at the hospital.” Jake can tell by the tone in Roosters voice alone that he’d been crying. “I need you to meet me here because the nurses just handed me papers I can’t fill out because I don’t know Y/ns blood type and I don't know if she's allergic to any medication.”

“What happened?” Jake can feel his chest tightening as he stares down at Odette. She was tired, already falling asleep against her booster seat headrest. “What did that fuck ass do?”

“Cyclone found her.” Bradley explained as he looked down at his hands, your blood was all over them. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. “It's bad bro, can you just get here?”

“Rooster, what did he do?”

“Almost killed her man, exactly like he said he was gonna do.” That was Bradleys breaking point, he sobbed into the phone as he slouched in the world's most uncomfortable hospital chair ever. “She was tied up in the janitor's closet–” Jake's heart sank into his stomach as his knees buckled. “She was there the whole time we were looking for her.”

“Oh god–” Jake could feel himself letting go of the grasp he had on reality as his legs felt weak. “Fuck–”

“Jake?” Bob's voice broke through the haze. “Hey you alright?” He wasn't alright, not in the slightest bit.

“SHE FUCKING DESEVED EVERY SECOND OF IT SERESIN!” Jaidyn shouted as the cops cuffed his hands behind his back and led him into the back of the police car. “SHE'S A WHORE!!! SHE HAS IT COMING FUCKER!”

“Hangman, you want me to drive?” Bob asked as he watched whatever colour Jake had in his face drain. He was spiralling and spiralling fast. “What happened?”

“Jake, I need you to get here.” Everyone needed him. Odette needed him, you needed him, Bradley needed him. Jake couldn't take it, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think. Before he knew what was going on Bob had his phone and Amilia was leaning over him. Cupping his face, she was speaking but there was no sound. When did Jake end up on the ground? Had he passed out? The answer was yes, yes he had.

“Hangman?” You alright?” Amilia frowned as she felt Jake's forehead. “Fucking hell mate you went down like a sack of shit.”

“What happened?” Jake's groaning, reaching for his head as he sits up. “Holy shit I gotta get to the hospital, Y/n.”

“Woah, woah, easy easy– You hit your head pretty hard when you hit the deck.” Amilia explained as she helped Jake to his feet. “I'll take you over to the hospital, Bobs gonna take Odette and Chase back to my sister's house. She doesn't need to see her mum right now if she's not in a good way.”

“Yeah, yeah no that's probably a good call.” Jake mumbled as he rubbed the back of his head, letting Amilia lead him over to her car. “I'll call you later Bob, thanks man.” All Bob does is wave. He's got a back seat full of kids and a headache bigger than ever. It's been a long day.

There's an unanswered message on Bob's lock screen that had gone unnoticed while Bob and Jake were at the daycare centre. Bob just sighs in relief when he finally reads it, letting his forehead rest against the steering wheel as he turns the key inside the ignition.

Rhett: “I’ll be on the next flight out, don't say I never do nothing for you.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014 @blindedbythelightt @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @feltonswifesworld87 @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde @americaarse @avaleineandafryingpan @phoenix1388 @xoxabs88xox @je-suis-prest-rachel @pono-pura-vida @rosiahills22 @starset21 @anarchyrising @caidi-paris @starkleila @criticalroleobssedperson @enchantingdreamergothprune @flrboyd @emma8895eb

#terms of endearment// bradley bradshaw #terms of endearment// jake seresin #bradley bradshaw x female reader #jake seresin fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradleybradshaw #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x f!reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley x reader

286 notes · View notes

whumpzone · 1 year

Text

Linden & Colton - Guard Dog AU #2

(masterpost)

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation

The walk to the bus stop was nicely cool. The trees were turning crisp and orange, whispering to one another every time the wind blew through them. Linden had his thin coat on, a chequered brown which reached his upper thighs, and every time he pulled it out from its long summer retirement he found some long-forgotten memento in its pockets; a piece of seaglass, or a train ticket, or a business card for a taxi company on the other side of the country. Col’s shoulders didn’t fit into any of Linden’s coats, so he was instead in a cable knit jumper and a scarf.

“It’ll just be a quick trip into town, but I think it’ll be good to get out. I’m going to get you some weights so you can work out at home.”

Col’s serious expression faltered a little with surprise. “Really, Sir, that’s not necessary. I can train with anything.”

“Think of it as a nice treat, then.”

“Yes, Sir, thank you. How can I pay you back?”

Linden gave him a smile. “By carrying them instead of me.”

They stopped and waited at the bus stop, the only two people there. Linden knew that Col hadn’t walked very far recently, and he didn’t want to put too much strain on his legs; they were streaked with scar tissue which sometimes caught the light and shone against the rest of his skin, which was in some places puffy and red, and in other places crossed with thin cuts which had turned a pale lilac.

Col nodded. He always did so very quickly, often before Linden had even finished speaking. He had a strong suspicion that Col would get into terrible trouble if his old owner thought he wasn’t paying attention, and with the way he’d occasionally seen Col stare into nothingness, perhaps this had happened a lot.

“It’s always busy, though, so we might need to sit separately. Is that okay with you, Col?”

He was relieved when Col paused, seeming to genuinely consider this. “Yes, Sir. That’s fine.”

“If we do, you can take the seat further to the back. That way you can still see me. You’ll know that I’m alright, and you’ll be able to see when to get off.”

Linden cringed at sounding so self-important, but he knew it would be the first thing on Col’s mind. If this had reassured him at all, it didn’t show on his face.

. . .

It’s not like I have a choice, thought Col. Other guard dogs, ones that were bigger and better and more trusted, would bark at someone to move, to let him sit by his Master. My place is at my Master’s side, he repeated in his head without fully thinking about it. The mantra was so old it came naturally now. But Col wasn’t good enough. Not even close.

The bus rolled to a stop (after Col had flinched when Master put his arm out to hail it) and it was clear they would indeed have to split up. He found a seat towards the back as he’d hoped, and watched as Master flashed him a smile from up ahead.

They made more stops than he’d anticipated, the geography of the bus changing each time, taking on parents pushing prams and letting off elderly women with dogs, until Col’s neighbour had motioned for him to let them get past and he had stood, ducking his head, watching them leave to make sure they didn’t do anything alarming near his Master. He moved to take the window seat.

This left Col with a space beside him, and his instincts told him to have his Master fill that space. But how? Col, who was still a new purchase and needed to prove himself, suddenly sagged under his self-doubt. He’d have to call out for him, or get up and go over, both of which would cause a scene. He’d be telling him what to do. He’d be assuming that Master even wanted to be sat next to him – maybe it was a welcome break, and Col was expected to keep him safe from this distance. Maybe trying to close the gap between them would seem weak.

It still mystified him that humans hurt one another when pets existed, but it wasn’t for him to question. He wasn’t so naïve as to have forgotten about revenge, old grudges, power trips, terrorism, self-defence. And no one cared if their pet was killed. A lover or a friend would need to be sacrificed to really cause some grief.

He realised, stomach suddenly dropping, that if Master’s brother came to any harm, Col would have failed in his duties, would have failed to protect his owner. How could I guard Vik, too? he wondered. He’d have to find out where Vik lived, and familiarise himself with his entire neighbourhood, but he could hardly drag his owner along for this, so where would he get the opportunity? How would he ever be trusted after he had attacked him, anyway? Col felt stupid for even considering it. Master would probably judge that the biggest threat to Vik right now was his own pet.

He hadn’t realised how deeply he was considering this until a voice from the real world brought him back to the surface.

“Am I alright to sit here?” asked a young woman stood above him, and Col allowed himself just one second to realise that she meant the seat beside him, and more, that she was speaking to him directly.

I asked you a question, his old owner said, so clear and commanding he could have been just behind him, and if you’re not gagged then I expect an answer.

Except he wasn’t collared, or leashed, or gagged, and he wasn’t with his Master, and she wasn’t asking him to perform any of his normal duties as a pet. She didn’t know what he was, Col realised, giddy and scared at the same time.

He nodded, not meeting her eye, and forced himself to speak. “Y-Yes, of course.”

“Thanks,” she replied pleasantly, and sat, pulling her satchel flat onto her lap. Col tried not to stare as she opened it and slid a laptop out. He pulled his gaze away, but a sudden movement caught his eyes yet again and he couldn’t help but look. His lifetime of training meant he had to look.

Her laptop had a presentation on it, and with each slide the woman was gesturing, mouthing words silently. She was practising, Col realised. He suddenly felt himself so intrigued by this stranger’s life, just for a few seconds. This stranger who had spoken to him like a person. Was she a student? He didn’t dare read the words, he wouldn’t stare that brazenly, but he could see the unmistakeable shapes that only graphs made. A few rows in front of them both, Col’s Master sat safely, undisturbed. It was fine. Col hadn’t messed up by looking.

This woman was going somewhere, with her normal human life, and it was as if a light switch had been flicked, the way Col became unbearably aware that every single person around him had a normal life of their own, too. Where were they all going? What were they thinking about? The bus was rattling down widening suburban streets. Each house would have an occupant, maybe even a whole family, or a couple. Were they happy? How many pets were there?

His fingers curled involuntarily as his training kicked in – any stretch of being lost in thought inevitably ended badly. Col blinked, again, again, as he heard his old owner screaming at him.

You will LISTEN when you are spoken to, you slave, you useless piece of junk, you fucking dog. Pets do not have ‘thoughts’. You do not think unless it’s to follow orders. Do you fucking hear me this time?

Yes, Master, Col thought, stamping out any more daydreaming. He fixed his eyes on the back of his current Master’s head and kept them there.

Eventually, Master stood up, turning to Col just briefly to catch his eye, and the two stepped off.

“Was that alright, Col?” Master asked when they were both standing on the pavement, watching the bus rejoin the flow of traffic.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, thinking of nothing but his Master’s face before him.

. . .

As the pair walked through town, Linden noticed the space between them shrinking, until Col was almost pressed against his left shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, softly, and Col’s eyes darted to his. Nothing else changed, and Linden found it somewhat unnerving. Like a ventriloquist’s dummy. “Did you used to go out, much?”

“No, Sir. The pub, or the racecourse, sometimes. I usually stayed in my cage.”

“But I thought you were a guard dog,” Linden said, his heart sinking when he saw the look on Col’s face. Okay, shouldn’t have said that.

“I am, Sir, I am. You can- you can trust me. I swear I’ll keep you safe. My old owner just… just had to get me trained, first. But I am trained, now.”

“Of course you are,” he said, feeling gross. “I know you’ll keep me safe.”

“Anything, Sir. I’ll do anything.”

“I know,” he said, trying to sound decisive. “I’m not going to get rid of you, I hope you can understand that.”

Col just nodded, but Linden felt like he had to ask this now, rather than let it fester.

“You were caged?”

Funnily enough, this didn’t seem to upset Col in the way he’d feared it might. Linden could almost describe the look Col gave him as quizzical.

“Yes, Sir. I’m just a dog. But-! But I’m so grateful, so grateful for my- the bed, and the room. It’s very generous, Sir.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t own a cage and I’m not going to buy one. There’s no chance of that in my house.”

It wasn’t too busy in town, which was ideal. Their bus was always rammed, running through the main arteries of the district, but the hospital and the train station was where it spat out most of its cargo. It was term time, midweek, midday. Linden watched two cyclists wave to one another as they passed by. Turning to Col, he saw him looking at pigeons on a fence, one pruning the other.

“Aw,” Linden said, making Col flinch.

“S-Sorry, Sir. I’m paying attention.”

“I know. You can look. Oh, here, do you see that dog? He always sits in the window up there.”

Linden pointed past Colton’s face to a brindle whippet, which was curled up on a strategically placed dog bed, keeping an eye on the passers-by. “People call him Nosy Nigel.”

Linden wasn’t expecting a reply and he didn’t get one. Col nodded, then turned back to face the road.

The curve of the hill had flattened during their ride, and this too would be easier for Col’s legs.

“If walking becomes painful, you need to tell me,” Linden instructed him. “So we can go back home.”

“I won’t let you down like that, Sir,” Col replied, keeping his voice neutral.

“It wouldn’t let me down,” he said, a little firmer. “I don’t want you to be in pain. Can you promise?”

“Yes, Sir. I promise.”

Now it was Linden’s turn to be quiet, and as they walked on, he thought he saw Col glancing at him, his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

Fifteen minutes later they were heading through the centre of town and Col had the boxed dumbbells held fast under one arm. Linden had made Col wait by the door to the sports shop when he paid, so Col wouldn’t be able to hear the price. They were hardly expensive, but he didn’t want Col to have it hanging over him. As they left, Linden didn’t think he’d been thanked so many times in his life.

“We could get a coffee, if you fancy it,” Linden said, knowing they were about to pass his favourite cafe in town.

“Yes, Sir, you should get whatever you like.”

“Would you like one?”

“I should keep one arm free, Sir, if that’s okay.”

Linden hummed an acknowledgement. That was good, he told himself. Col had told him what would make him most comfortable. He wondered what threats, if any, Col was picking out from their unremarkable walk around town. The cafe faced a small town square, in the centre of which was a once-grand statue of a general or soldier of some sort, with a traffic cone balanced on his head. Beyond him was a bakery, a newsagents, a chippy, a Polish grocer’s, in a neat row with houses on their second floors. It was normal - it was home.

Their pace had slowed since they started out, and Linden decided to call it a day - he was well aware that Col would never admit if his legs were hurting. They’d done well - he got what he came for and Col hadn’t lashed out or scared anyone.

“You know what… let’s head on home. We’ll both be able to have a hot drink in peace. Yeah?”

“Yes, Sir.”

. . .

Col grit his teeth, feeling his jaw pulse, forcing himself to ignore the ache steadily growing in his feet. The pain shot up his legs with each step. It felt like there were screws in his ankles, driven in good and deep, and even the smallest movement made them reverberate off his bones like a church bell. How could he stay alert? How could he be ready for anything, any threat, checking every angle and street and person they walked past? His head was spinning with the responsibility.

His foot came down hard. It took everything not to gasp in pain; he was aware he was slowing down, and the clock was ticking before Master noticed what a defective nothing he’d accidentally bought.

I told you to admit it when your legs hurt, Colton heard Master say, his soft voice finally cracking in frustration. You thought you could hide it? That you’d carry on like this, trying to fool me, forever?

Hurry the fuck up. I’ll decide what to do with you at home.

Col saw possibilities playing in his mind like the young woman’s presentation. Each new slide carried a new, and equally likely, outcome once Master got fed up with him. The cage, the darkness, the whip, being thrown out entirely. The worst scenarios always ended with him alone and scared.

He came back to reality with his heart pounding. What had made him resurface? He looked over at his Master and saw that they��d come to a stop. Master was staring at something just behind Col’s head, squinting.

“Oi, oi!” Col heard a familiar voice shout.

“I knew it was you!” Master replied, patting Col on the shoulder gently and indicating for him to turn around.

Vik stopped his car in front of them, leaning out of his window with a smile. “Hey, guys. You alright? Done a tour of the town?”

“Yeah, just bought some weights,” Master replied, returning Vik’s casual wave. Col was frozen by his side, trying to find a neutral spot to cast his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do with aggravate Vik.

“Oh, great stuff! I assume they’re for you, Col?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” Col stammered, not expecting to be addressed directly. Wouldn’t Vik be sick at the sight of him?

“We’re just heading to get the bus back,” Master explained. Vik scoffed.

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Col, you sit in the back, it’s cleaner back there.”

Col could see that the front passenger seat was host to a lanyard, an empty crisp packet, a phone charger and an unopened packet of socks. Master was already pulling open the door and laughing at the mess, which Vik breezily said he could push into the footwell. Col opened the back door and slid inside.

“You’re going to lose all this stuff. It’ll go under the seat and you’ll never find it again.”

“I won’t, I’ve got a very complex system of storage going here. You wouldn’t understand it.”

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“Just the gym. Sounds like you’re gonna have a home gym set up pretty soon.”

“Oh yeah, premium spot. Hundred quid a month. I’ll be your personal trainer.”

“Ha! You’d be the worst personal trainer ever. You’d probably lie down on the bench and fall asleep.”

“You look like you’ve been sleeping in the gym, look at those flimsy arms. For shame.”

Vik laughed, hard, and Master laughed back. It was a sound Col didn’t hear very much, and he let himself enjoy it.

The drive back to Master’s house really was incredibly short - Col reflected on the fact that Master probably only made them take the bus for Col’s sake, and cringed at the pure hatred he had for himself - and soon they were back inside, being welcomed in by Jaffa.

“Go and sit on the stairs to take your shoes off, Col, it’s easier.”

Col couldn’t disobey, and as much as he wanted to protest his strength, his legs were still in pain. He accepted the mercy with thanks. The day had been… fine. Col was okay. Master didn’t seem angry at him yet, and Vik had kindly ignored him, and Col was still owned. Maybe I can do this, he thought to himself foolishly. Just for a bit longer. Then when this all ends, I’ll be ready.

taglist part 1:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captain-seconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonwardsworld @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @the-monarch-whumperfly @penny-for-your-whump @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass @downrivergirl914

#linden and colton #pet whump #wahooooooooooooooooo

146 notes · View notes

wonopia · 2 months

Text

THE PHOTOBOOTH | 014. I WANT TO GO HOME

[WC] . 2600 [WARNINGS] . implied drinking, cursing. prev ! mlist ! next

the group stayed at sunghoon's house for the time being, keeping him company. although sunghoon didn't talk about his feelings, he let them cheer him up by making him laugh and sharing funny memories.

the door creaked open, his mother peeking in to see all 6 boys on the bed laughing.

"can i talk to hoon please?"

he excused himself and followed her downstairs to the living room. his sisters nowhere to be seen.

"where is sara and yeji?" he asked, sitting down.

"they went to the convenience store to get snacks for movie night," she responded, relaxing beside him.

he stared off, not bothered by the silence between them, taking in the quiet environment.

"hoon," she said, his sulking gaze locking with her caring eyes, "what happened with you and misaki? i thought everything was going good?"

he could feel his palms grow sweaty, unsure of what to say, "um.. i.. i don't really know. she.. she broke up with me, mom."

his lip trembled at the memory of that day.

"she broke it off without any context. she had this.. this look in her eye. everytime i replay that day in my head.. i.. i feel like she didn't want to end it, and deep down i know i'm just overthinking it."

"that's not always entirely true, sweetie. maybe you should talk it out with her.." she started.

"no.. no i mean she won't even talk to me," he mumbled, sighing with frustration, "she doesn't even bother to read my texts. i should give her space."

she smiled sadly at him, "hoon, do you really believe that?"

as much as he wanted to say yes, he couldn't. the feeling of his heart aching, misaki's voice running through his head, taking a deep breath in before glancing up to hold back tears.

"n.. no," he mumbled although it came out as a whisper, "she.. she looked like she wanted me to hug her," he cried, "it looked like she wanted me to stay.. but i didn't. i just let her end it," he stuttered, his voice cracking.

"sunghoon, sweetie," she fretted, wrapping her arms around her baby boy.

he hugged her back, his tears melting into her shirt.

"i really liked her mom," he sobbed, his hands frantically grabbing at her shoulders as if in need for comfort, "i.. i don't know what i did wrong."

"nothing," she said, "you did nothing wrong, my sweet boy."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

it'd been a couple of days since he cried most of it out. although it didn't stop him from crying when he was by himself, he was able to feel more relieved to know people around him were on his side.

he felt better knowing people were there to comfort him when he needed it. due to all of the thoughts flooding his head, he was seen on the ice more often, practicing.

nevertheless, he felt like he was improving. he hasn't competed because there weren't any anytime soon, so he occupied himself with choreo's he improvised.

imagining a song in his head as he skated gracefully along the ice. since it was summer now, the rink was much more watery unlike winter when it would be ice cold solid.

"park sunghoon," a voice called, his head turning their direction, "off the ice, practice has been long over. i've been letting you stay longer recently but.. you can't keep extending the extra time."

he skated over, sighing whilst nodding, "i understand, thank you for letting me stay extra though."

"of course, now quickly get changed so i can lock up."

he obeyed, hurriedly changing and packing up his skates before leaving the arena. his feet pressed against the sidewalk beside the road.

he opened his texts with his friends. once again, jungwon was asking to hang out. he smacked his lips out of habit, typing that he'll come over.

he changed his route and decided to bus it to his house. although it would probably be a bad idea to hang out with jungwon, he decided to do it anyway. if you're wondering, why would it be a bad thing?

jungwon had recently found a friend to talk to. to sunghoon, it seems like the boy is falling in love. he would text about her in the group chat just like sunghoon did; and to see one of his best friends falling in love right after he got broken up with, isn't too good of a feeling.

about 30 minutes later, he was finally at jungwon's house with the company of sunoo. the two guests playing on the console as if they live there, unbothered by the odd behavior of jungwon.

"what's up with jungwon?" sunghoon questioned, eyes locked on the tv screen in front of him followed by aggressive tapping on his controller.

"he's in love," the boy beside him said, nonchalantly.

his tongue poking out of his mouth, focusing on the racing game. attempting to keep his go kart on the track.

as sunghoon get's swerved off the road, he let out a groan of frustration, "ugh are you kidding me!" he yelled for the millionth time that night.

"sunghoon hyung, lock in! we're about to beat this level," sunoo screamed, not missing the chance to side eye him, "gosh you're horrible at these games."

"if i'm so bad, tell jungwon to take over," he told him, moving with his controller.

sunoo ignored the boy, locking into the game about to beat the level they've been stuck on. eyes growing bigger as he stared into the screen.

"hey won, you wanna play with us?" he called out, sighing at the sight of about 3 bots passing him, "jungwon?"

sunghoon didn't hear a response, instead he could hear jungwon laughing from his gut.

“jungwon!” sunoo turned around to slap him with his hand, “stop laughing and listen to us," sunghoon averted his eyes from the tv to his two friends, becoming nosy about what's happening.\

“oh sorry guys, what’d you say?”

“that's the first time you put your phone down since we’ve got here,” sunoo sighed, adjusting the way his legs crossed.

“what's keeping you on your phone, huh won?” sunghoon questioned, although he already knew the answer.

“nothing,” he mumbled, “hand me a remote.”

sunghoon reluctantly handed him his, too frustrated to continue playing with sunoo.

not even a full round had past when the judgemental boy spoke again, "finally someone good is playing with me."

sunghoon scoffed at his comment. he is so full of himself, he thought.

about an hour and a half later, the three boys got told to keep it down resulting in getting ready for bed. it was around midnight when sunoo and him finished setting up they're makeshift beds on jungwon's floor.

hoon was the second one to brush his teeth, immediately laying in the comforters. finding it somewhat safe and warm. he has spent a bunch of nights at jungwon's so it was basically like a second home to him.

he shifted onto his side, feeling.. oddly sad. he was having a fun time with his friends, so why was it that he still feels like he's missing something. how does he make this feeling go away?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

the next day, he and his two best friends arrived at the beach. his phone read 1 o'clock and they were just now unpacking all of they're gear to set up for the bonfire.

heeseung and the other's said they would be coming a little later. it gave sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon enough time to start cooking the meat.

the dimply boy unboxing the rice and dividing half of it equally between them. sunghoon cooked the meat, letting it sizzle on the grill.

they were under the canopy they brought and were able to claim an empty bonfire pit. thankfully there weren't too many people at the beach yet, surprisingly.

it wasn't long for the meat to cook, "jungwon," sunghoon called out, putting the cooked pieces onto a plate.

“huh?” jungwon mumbled, turning to him.

“the foods done, eat up. jay and heeseung are about to head out here so eat before they steal it all.”

“thank you for cooking,” jungwon thanked, grabbing the plate before moving several pieces to his plate.

the quiet boy began to clean the grill, disliking the idea of it being dirty.

“and wonie?” sunoo began, sunghoon's ears perking up out of curiousity.

“yeah, whats up sunoo?”

“why have you been on your phone so much lately?” sunoo asked, sunghoon chuckled quietly to himself at the idea of jungwon getting flustered, “you looked really happy yesterday.”

“oh well..“

“remember sun? the girl, yujin or something along the lines of,” sunghoon reminded him, clearly teasing, sunoo gasped at the memory while nodding.

“oh yeah,” sunoo recalled, bombarding his best friend with questions, “so is she pretty? clearly seems funny, what's she like? do you like her?”

sunghoon couldn't help but smile, turning around to see jungwon's reactions.

“relax sunoo!” jungwon laughed, “first of all, yujin is not a girl. he’s a boy and second of all, we just met.”

sunghoon tilted his head at the new information. he was almost positive yujin was a girl's name. he shook his head, clicking off the grill.

“so he’s an option?” the blonde haired boy striked an eyebrow at him.

he could hear jungwon sigh, “no, eat up and stop talking to me about this.”

“yeah, enough about jungwon,” sunoo stated, “hey sunghoon-“ sunghoon groaned at the sound of him being brought up, “have you talked it out with misaki?”

“oh yeah, have you?”

the name was still something that triggered a part of him since the wound was still fresh.

“i don't know what you're talking about, i never said i was going to talk to her about it," and that was true, never once had he said he was going to confront her.

“right but i just thought that you'd come to your senses and.. i don't know. ask her why she decided to break it off?”

“i'll think about it,” sunghoon replied, sitting beside jungwon.

jungwon lightly elbowed the boy, “i know you don't want to lose her. so actually think about it, okay?”

sunghoon gulped at the thought of seeing her again. he genuinely wondered if he would cry in front of her, let misaki see that side of him. would she hate that about him?

he smacked his lips as he felt his friend's eyes on him, “o.. okay.. stick to your own girl problems, yeah?” he muttered, stuffing food in his mouth.

sunoo chuckled at his response before eating his beef. it wasn't long before the boys grew full and the rest of the group arrived, including a bunch of strangers.

half of which sunghoon recognized but no names labelled upon them. the sun had already set and his eyes were trailing along the different faces around this side of the beach, hoping he would see her here.

of course he didn't see her. in fact he saw none of her friends. he felt someone tap on his shoulder, looking around to see a girl.

"hey," she smiled, a red cup in her hand, "you're pretty, do you have a girlfriend?"

he blinked at the question, shaking his head before looking back off at the burning wood. the crackling fire enticed him, his eyes not wanting to leave and the warm feeling engulfing him although he was feet's away. oddly enough, he enjoyed the feeling.

"i'm glad," she continued, "i'm mi daeun, i go to hwajeong high."

"incheon academy," he responded, eyes locked on the glistening bright light in front of him. he could feel her eyes burning into him, and she continued to talk and talk and talk. it was suffocating.

"sorry," he interrupted, their eye's finally meeting, "s.. someone's waving me over, see you around?"

her mouth opened but quickly shut, nodding, "see you around."

he smiled awkwardly at her, walking off to the direction of a cooler. he felt bad but he really couldn't handle it, he didn't even know her.

when he reached the blue cooler, just as he was about to open it, someone began to talk.

"hey sunghoon!" he looked up to see a familiar face.

"oh.. um jaewon, right?" he asked, attempting to put on a fake smile, "didn't know you were coming."

"this is a sick party, dude," he nodded, sipping on a red cup just like the girl from before, "are you talking to her?"

"i'm sorry, who?" sunghoon asked. jaewon gestured to something behind him, it was the girl he was just talking to, "uh.. no."

"okay good," jaewon nodded, sunghoon examining his expressions, "cause she's hot and i want a chance," he laughed.

the music booming over him just the slightest, he dug up the courage to ask "hey, where'd you get the drink?"

"oh you want some?" he asked, waving around the cup like it was some treat, "this jug right here. do you even know what it is?"

"don't care, i'm just a dehydrated guy," sunghoon shrugged, honestly too depressed for partying right now.

jaewon nodded prior to pouring him a drink. he thanked him, walking away from the party to the sidewalk where the parked cars were. from here, the music was less irritating.

he sipped the drink, a sour feeling going down his throat, almost burning. sunghoon coughed at the bitter taste, somewhat surprised. he shook his head, downing it empty before tossing the cup into a black metal bin.

he blinked, feeling his heart begin to race. looking around in hopes to see misaki. groups of teenagers were getting dropped off, wearing half naked outfits. he sighed when there was still no sign of her.

he frustratedly ran a hand through his hair, thinking of what to do. he felt like crying, he just wanted to go home. should i just go home, take a cab and go?

sunghoon debated on telling his friends. instead he called an uber and just went on his way, not wanting to disturb his friend's fun. his uber dropped him off at his destined location, crawling out of the car.

"thank.. thank you," he slurred, shaking his head at the odd feeling. it was before he realized the car had already drove off, "oh.. bye."

he felt like he was somehow 10 seconds behind. how was it possible to be so delayed, everything seemed to be slowed down. he flayed his arms around, eyes trailing on the grey pavement below him as he followed it.

i feel so tired. i just want to go home, he thought.

he blinked and suddenly he was on grass, eyes blinking tiredly up to be met with a window. sunghoon scratched the side of his head in confusion, he knocked lightly as if it was a door.

it wasn't long before the curtain's on the other side were moved. his mouth fell open when he saw her through the window.

note: erm okay.. what do you guys think will happen next? please comment ideas below!

open TAGLIST. @coffeeprincejaehyun @hoonatic @i03jae @lilifiedeans

7 notes · View notes

the-fiction-witch · 10 months

Text

Girl P4

Media The Last Legion

Character Romulus Augustus (Age Up)

Couple Romulus X Reader

Rating Sweet

Requested: Too many too add here!

I changed for bed tonight I was supposed to wear my ... excuse for a nightie, a small dress that reached my main thigh made of sheer fabric but I threw it to the side choosing instead one of the loose summer shirts Romulus often wears sweet purple cotton with a little gold embroidery it hitting about had low as the nightie did. I pulled my hair into a braid wrapping it in my fingers absentmindedly after years of doing it at least once daily. I went to my little bed, a small mattress in the corner large enough for me to lay and not much else, but I took my pillow from it and instead moved to the large golden for-post bed with luxurious red curtains climbing into the covers and sitting my pillow behind me getting settled in for the night. It felt ever so nice to be laid here as often I was not laid here for long and much less to actually sleep.

Romulus arrived from his trip to the baths and stopped short as he saw me,

"What are you doing?!" He rushed over "This is the royal bed"

"Yes?"

"you know you're not allowed in it."

"I thought I was to be your empress?"

"You are." He softened his face slightly

"And the first step of your teaching is to learn to share your things Romulus."

"Even my bed?"

"Epesscaily Our bed."

"Alright" he sighed climbing in utterly naked as usual "Are- are you wearing my clothes!"

"I didn't feel my nightie was appropriate attire for an empress."

"Bu- But I like your nightie."

"And I like your clothes. See compromise" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss

"It's not compromise it's you getting what you want"

"the compromise is tomorrow I will wear my nightie."

"Alright" he sighed lying down and staring at the roof of the bed

"Good, we have a full day tomorrow and you're going to have lots of lessons on how to be a lovely Emporer" I smiled laying down with him "That sounds nice?"

"You'll really spend the whole day with me?"

"Of course."

"And I don't have to threaten you?"

"I'd really appreciate if you didn't" I giggled "it might take time romulus for these things to feel real and natural but I promise so long as you try I'm proud of you"

"You mean it?"

"I do." I smiled giving his nose a little kiss and laying my head on his chest he froze up a little but wrapped his arms around me slowly and gently letting out a long sigh

"Is this what being likes feels like?"

"This is what being loved feels like"

"I like it."

"Good, come on bed time or you'll be all sleepy tomorrow" I told him

“Yes my empress” he cooed into my hair

“Goodnight Romulus”

“Goodnight uhh…”

“Have you forgotten my name?’

“I've called you girl since you got here”

“Y/n.”

“Ohh right. Sorry. Goodnight y/n” he smiled

Soon enough I drifted off to sleep for the night.

I woke to the sweetest of feelings as I had turned during the night clearly my body wanting to use all the extra space in this bed I had turned away in the night and now laid on my side across the bed but Romulus had come up behind me and pulled me into his chest spooning me tighter then I had ever felt in my life almost like he was scared I would leave him if I was to ever leave his arms. I began to stir a little and pushed myself up

“Ummm good morning Romulus”

“Umm” he grumbled in his usual way not liking the mornings and avoiding them where possible

“Romulus” I smiled leaving his arms completely

“Noo.” He grumbled pulling the covers around himself and turning away

“Romulus you promised me” I warn him

“Umm I'm tried!” He whined

“Romulus, come on my little emperor” I giggled between little kisses up his arm and neck making him happily stir “Wakey wakey or well miss the scenete”

“But I'm tried”

“I know you are, would you wake up for a kiss?”

“Umm? What sort of kiss?”

“A very sweet one” I smiled giving his lips a soft kiss and he immediately melted into the kiss pulling me gently towards him before he pulled back his eyes tried but open as he smiled at me

“Will I get more of those if I get up?’

“Lots more”

“Alright” he groaned forcing himself to sit up rubbing his eyes and face to try and wake himself “how do you do this everyday?’ he yawned

#tbs smut #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #romulus imagine #romulus augustus #romulus smut #romulus pendragon

12 notes · View notes

roebeanstalk · 10 months

Text

tonight i went out to see the boy and the heron, the latest (last?) miyazaki film. the theatre i go to is this small, two or three screen theatre that's pretty chill. their tickets are cheap, their concessions are cheaper, and the theatres are pretty good. there's no stadium seating, but there is a slight incline so your views don't usually feel too blocked. there aren't a lot of automated light cues. something about this theatre always makes me feel like i'm really in a community. seeing movies in person makes me feel fucking good.

i go alone usually, and afterwards i walk around the path by the river for a while, looking at all of the buildings and lights and streets and people. i always try to take a picture with my phone, and no matter how many settings i tweak, i can't get it to look as nice as it feels. i walk my way back to the bus stop and wait for the bus.

tonight, it was nineteen minutes out. and i had to pee. i paced back and forth for a while, awkwardly positioning myself when someone would walk by so that i didn't appear to be a threat. then, moving again realizing that i probably now looked suspiciously like a threat. i was cold enough or walked it off enough that i could sit down without feeling like i was going to piss everywhere.

sitting there, i just was really aware of how often i'm afraid while i'm out and about. there is always this fear that someone is going to come at me, that i'm in danger. to calm the alarm, i look at every person i see and everything that moves in my peripheral vision and make sure that it's not a threat, that i neutralize it in my head. but i don't, it never goes away, and it usually gets worse with each breath i take and thought i have. i live with that fear a lot of the time, my heart racing and my mind trying to keep up with it, outrun it.

for some reason today (probably the combination of a soberingly beautiful ghibli film and a questionable vape), i was aware of all of that fear, but a lovely thing happened... i let myself just sit however i was and stare at the building across the street. the urge to make sure i was sitting the right way, the one that would have a commanding presence and make sure no one would try anything on me... but i'd try to just redirect. stare at the sign in the window. at the markings on the street. at my phone.

that's another one, the phone. i can never sit in public and look at my phone, because that is welcoming it getting stolen or signals to someone that i am distracted, and can be fucked with, harmed. so i always have to be vigilant, sturdy, prepared. always bracing, not for the hit, but as though i'm being hit perpetually and need to make it through.

when i'm inside my home, or small places i feel i can take up space in, just be in, not change myself in... i get comfortable, and i never want to leave. everything outside is a threat.

i walk out the door, and i have an hp bar above my head. and it's not full, it's low. blaring sound effects and flashing red, empty. one more hit and that's it. so i go back inside, i curl up in bed, and i hide.

it's safe in here. where nothing can happen to me and i can shield myself from the outside world. i can exist in my own bubble, where nothing can hurt or judge.

i want to walk around in the world and not be afraid of existing. of sitting on a bench, breathing. that's all i want to do. at this point, i don't even know what is an irrational fear in my head based on my anxiety and past trauma, and what is a real fear based on factual things that occur like queerphobic violence and harassment on the street driven by class wars and governmentally/socially enforced desperation.

a trans woman of color named savannah ryan williams was shot in minneapolis on november 29th. this is just one occurrence of too many. savannah was 38, just three and a half years older than me.

minnesota has been claimed as a trans refuge state. whenever i talk about my fears with being visibly trans and non-passing, i'm often met with people saying how i'm from minnesota at least, so it's not that bad.

about five months before covid lockdowns, i was heading to work at a hair salon. i worked the front desk, and i loved that job. i was opening, so i was on the bus pretty early. this was the first day i presented more feminine after figuring out my gender identity, or starting that journey anyway. i had some makeup on, had styled the length of hair i had in the cutest way i could, and i felt good. i remember feeling good, and then i remember feeling a really heavy impact hitting my glasses, smashing them into my brow, and releasing. i noticed the man who had just hit me in the face stumble back, and he seemed scared and apologized. i don't know if he punched me deliberately, or if he stumbled on the bus. i got to work, called someone and told them about it, got through work, and went home.

i spent the next five months in my house, for the most part. when trying to go back to the salon for my next shift, i couldn't get within thirty feet of my door. work let me go. i eventually got fed up with myself and force-applied for a million jobs, got one, and took it. covid happened, lockdown happened, and i had trauma flashbacks and panic attacks to the point of losing the new job months after starting. (the job also botched my workplace credentials, so everyone knew me by my deadname, and never met me in person) a year later, i tried another job, but after two days, had intense anxiety when i'd be in the parking lot and couldn't get myself to go in.

i finally got a job again this past week. i've had two shifts. this is the streak i have to break. i want nothing more than to ghost tomorrow. to not go. if i do that, i'll get fired most likely. and i'll lose the promise of stability that i've been waiting for. i'll lose the proudness of my mom and my sisters and my friends. and that makes it harder. that makes me want to fuck it up even more.

i'm not really taking this anywhere positive, or anywhere in particular...i just want to write it out. keep it. know how i felt in this moment, the eve of wanting to fuck it up. i'm almost already crying and mourning the job that i haven't destroyed yet. and the worst thing is, i feel right. and i feel wronged. i had my drive for life taken from me and i want it back.

"she is messy but she's kind she is lonely most of the time she is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie she is gone but she used to be mine"

sara bareilles - she used to be mine, from waitress

#tw mental health #tw transphobia #tw violence #tw death #tw trauma

7 notes · View notes

electrasev5nwrites · 1 year

Text

Jason/Tim soulmate au. Part 1/? AO3 is still down and I wanted to work on the update for this so I figured it might make sense to post here. We are all waiting for the site to come back up so maybe someone wants to read. This is multiple chapters condensed into one post, it didn't let me add the whole document but the fic stands at about 15,000 words rn.

Tim woke up in a cold sweat, panting and disoriented. He stared at the shadows moving on his wall for a moment to acclimate.

There had been nothing that night. No dreams. Tim had just laid down at night and woke up in the morning with a blank space stretching in between.

That was, he figured, a pretty good metaphor for his life in general.

That was the weirdest Sunday of his life. He wandered around his house in a daze. It felt like the color had been ironed out of his life. But at that point, he thought that something was wrong with him.

He didn't actually worry about his soulmate until the second night it had happened. His dreams were often hard to get a handle on. When he'd been little it had been hunger and pain and a demented carnival of ugly adult faces, dirty alleys and a brown sofa that meant safety. For a golden year, the dreams had been of free fall and neon lights, bleeding knuckles and French food and a library.

Tim splashed water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. His stomach twisted with a fear that he wouldn't think about. Dreams, he thought, were not the most practical soulmate connection. He wondered what he gave his soulmate back. He didn't think he was enough of an open book asking to be loved to be a name on a wrist, but he probably wasn't emotionally rich enough to be passing on dreams.

"Not that this life isn't worth seeing at night," Tim scoffed wryly. He slung his backpack over a shoulder and drank juice out of the container. He shoved a poptart in his pocket and stumbled out the door to catch his bus.

He ate the poptart on the bus, hunched over so that the driver wouldn't yell at him for leaving crumbs. They landed on his pants.

With a sigh he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The rocking of the bus lulled him back to sleep. Tim welcomed it. Maybe this would fix whatever had gone wrong in the connection, like turning a computer off and on again.

He woke up again without seeing anything.

By the time he got to school, he had worked himself into a panic. He chose to be late to first period in order to go to the library to find a reference about soulmate troubles. The teacher gave him a disapproving look when he slipped in, but let it pass without comment.

He was sneakily looking at the header "signs your unmet soulmate has died" when the morning loudspeaker announcement started.

"I have some sad news for you today," said the Principal.

Tim closed his book and looked up. The homeroom teacher was frowning slightly, looking around the classroom. He didn't seem to know where this was going.

"Over the weekend we've had a loss."

He felt his back tense.

"It is with the heaviest of regrets that I must inform you that 3rd year student Jason Todd-Wayne has passed away. The school counselors welcome anyone who would like to talk about this. I understand that…"

It became white noise to Tim. Students around him were reacting with gasps and whispers. He leaned forward and put his face into his hands, reeling.

This was a bad way to find out that Robin had been his soulmate. Too late to do anything about it, and with no way to prove it.

The next months were manic. Batman went off the rails. Tim did, too. He traveled to Bludhaven and begged the first Robin to come back. He stayed up for days on end and then he crashed and lost 20 hour stretches of time to the void of dreamless sleep. He was late to school and sleeping on the bus. He was confronting Batman and stealing a Robin costume and taking his soulmate's old role as the guiding light to Batman's self imposed darkness.

He didn't tell anyone about his connection to Jason. It felt like a lie even if it was true. It felt like something he would be saying to ingratiate himself and make them love the cuckoo in the nest.

Tim regretted that when the dreams came back 6 months later.

"Maybe they were in a coma?" Dick suggested, not without sympathy. He reached out to ruffle Tim's hair. Tim ducked unsuccessfully. "I would have thought they were dead, too, but the dead don't come back."

Tim fidgeted. There was a heaviness in Dick's voice that probably meant Jason.

That was awkward, since Tim had been sure that Jason had been his soulmate.

'I should have said that months ago.' Tim was kicking himself for that. 'It sounds so messed up now. I'll give Dick nightmares if I tell him I think Jason crawled out of his grave and then didn't even come here.'

Well. It was worth saying even if it wasn't about Jason.

"I hope this isn't too much information," Tim said, "but last week I dreamt about digging my way out of the ground. With a belt buckle."

Dick looked a little ill.

"That sounds like…" he trailed off, because it felt crazy to say. It sounded like his soulmate was a zombie? A zombie whose dreams had been of the suffocating dirt and bleeding fingers, and then beeping. Endless beeping and the harsh likes of fluorescent lights overhead.

It sounded like his soulmate was in the hospital, Tim had to admit. The grave thing was probably some kind of vivid nightmare.

"It sounds like a terrible dream," Dick sympathized. Tim let Dick pull him into a hug. "Have you tried reaching out? Maybe your mark on your soulmate is one of the more literal kinds."

"I can write on myself in marker and see what happens," Tim said. "But I don't think that's it."

Dick huffed against Tim's hair. "You're not that easily read, no," he agreed wryly. "And I guess it won't help you reach out if marks on you echo onto your soulmate."

Tim thought about it. "Not unless we can bruise me in a coherent message," he decided. "Technically it could work? Cutting a note would be easier but if it scarred that would be embarrassing. So, bruising. It would have to be something simple, though, and they might get mad about it-"

"We aren't bruising or cutting a message into you," Dick cut him off. He shook Tim lightly. "Precious baby bird. Delicate cargo."

"Bruises like banana," Tim offered practically. He was thirteen now, he was definitely old enough for the soulmate connection to go both ways.

Dick extended his arms to frown at Tim from a distance, tilted his head, and then picked Tim up to whole body toss him on the sofa and roll him into a protesting blanket burrito.

"Police brutality!" Tim hollered.

Someone opened a door. "Alfred, stop him!" Tim shouted. "Help." He wiggled and nearly fell off the couch. Dick caught him.

"Hey, Bruce," Dick said stiffly.

The door closed. Tim was a burrito until time for dinner.

Dick was gone on a doubtlessly tense patrol with Bruce and Tim was ready for bed by the time he realized he'd been deliberately distracted. He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Maybe he's right. It's probably… It's not a dead boy that came back."

He tried to sleep. He really did. The sick thought that maybe he was hallucinating the dreams because he wanted Jason to be back wouldn't leave him alone.

"I wouldn't want that for him." Tim tossed and turned to mumble directly into his pillow. "That would be terrifying. Waking up in his grave, alone. I don't want that for him," he insisted.

He felt guilty and generally bad. He got up, left Drake manor, and went to the Batcave to wait.

He didn't end up sleeping, so he should have just gone on patrol anyway, Tim groused internally. Bruce and Dick didn't agree when they got back, but he thought they were secretly relieved he was there to yell at instead of working out their irritation with each other.

He moved like a zombie through his morning routine and dredged up the smallest amount of energy for his semester finals.

Life stretched out that way. Tim avoided sleep as much as he could. When he did sleep, he never liked the dreams. The hospital turned to a nightmarish litany of blood and death and crying in the dark.

He eventually gaslit himself into believing he'd imagined his soulmate dying. Tim felt vaguely ashamed when he thought about it. He was a creep. He'd fixated on Robin so hard that he'd convinced himself his soulmate was the dead Robin.

'I hope I never meet my soulmate,' Tim thought on his 14th birthday. 'They deserve someone better.'

The dreams turned to busy urban streets, ticking bombs, guns, and a green haze. Tim was optimistic that this was better than the crying, but he was still concerned. He'd do a welfare check if he knew who they were.

'Maybe that's why I'm Robin,' he thought wistfully. 'Maybe I need to save them.'

Eventually, there was a new criminal in town, and he had Bruce and Dick at odds. At first they fought viciously over whether or not Red Hood's methods were effective. Later they fought over the same thing they always did: who was in control.

"I'm not saying I'm fine with the murder!" Dick threw his hands up in disgust. "I'm just saying that crime rates are down, the city is safer right now."

"Crime rates are down, except for all the people who've been murdered." Bruce didn't even look at Dick. "Murder remains a crime."

Tim did his level best to become smaller. Maybe if he didn't move at all, they would forget he was there.

"You know what I meant," Dick shot back. "It's not that black and white, Bruce. He's trying to get the crime under control. I think we should seriously consider whether or not the situation is more stable with him in it or not."

"He's a mass murderer," Bruce said. "I want both of you to stay away from him." It was an order.

Dick made a sound of disgust and stomped up the stairs. "Why would I seek him out?" He shouted over his shoulder. "I don't live here. I'm going home."

Batman looked at Robin.

Tim put his hands up. "I'll leave him alone," he agreed. It was easy. He didn't want to get near the Red Hood. He thought both of them were right: the city was safer now, and the Red Hood was a mass murderer. That was out of Robin's league.

Bruce grunted and turned back to the computer, apparently satisfied that at least someone was listening to him.

JASON I

"Cover that shit up." Dad looked at him with disgust. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm not." Jason muttered it, but Dad still heard and gave him a dangerous look. He put his hands up.

"Don't show your mother." The door slammed.

Jason was left alone to poke at the bruise.

It looked bad. It spread all over his left knee and mottled down his shin. It should hurt. It didn't, because it wasn't his bruise.

He smoothed a hand over it.

"I wonder what kind of person you are."

It probably didn't mean anything healthy if you were the type who only left your hurts on your soulmate, Jason decided. Probably meant you couldn't communicate your needs. It seemed like a particularly plaintive soulmark. Like it was silently asking for help.

He stripped off his shorts and tossed them on the chair. He dragged out a pair of jeans and pulled them on even though it was hot as hell out. It was easier to pretend they were his bruises. He didn't want to share anything from his soulmate with his Dad.

Over the years, he didn't actually get that many secondhand bruises. The first time he saw the gaping impression of a cut without any blood around it he felt vaguely ill, but it was only a scrape.

"Maybe she's a skater," Jason thought aloud. "It's always knees and elbows."

He liked that thought. He liked the simple, innocent marks he got. He hoped that he didn't leave the same type of soulmark. If he did, he'd be passing on black eyes and hangnails and blisters that popped and got infected on his feet from shoes that didn't fit. It made him feel dirty, diseased, like he'd taint his soulmate.

When he looked at the needle marks on his Mom, he had to push down a thought that was much uglier than even the shame.

Years later, his soulmate may as well have been a ghost. Jason poked at his arm in class with a mechanical pencil as if that could prompt his soulmate to give a sign of life.

'Probably quit skating,' Jason thought. He flicked his pencil back and forth.

Of course he wanted to know who it was. But it would happen eventually, right? And now that he was Robin he had something else to live for. He stopped checking for bruises and scrapes.

One day after peeling off the costume, he was surprised that the dirt he tried to scrub away from his upper arm was actually a soulmate bruise.

He'd actually forgotten. Jason stopped for a moment. He'd forgotten about his soulmate. What kind of person did that make him? Something strange churned in his gut.

Bruce eyed him. "What happened there?" He pointed.

"Nothing." Jason said too quickly and covered the bruise with his hand. It was private.

Bruce looked massively unimpressed. "Show me, Jason," he sighed. He loomed closer like the great honking bat he was.

Jason scowled at him. "It's nothing," He complained.

"Then why are you trying to hide it?" Bruce grabbed his arm and lifted it, squinting at the bruise. He paused. His expression and tone went painfully neutral. "This looks like a hand."

Jason blinked. "Huh." He twisted to look at it. "It does," he agreed, honestly surprised. It took a moment for the penny to drop. "It looks like an adult's hand." He reeled at that. His soulmate couldn't be much older than him, right? Who was dragging them around hard enough to bruise?

They were silent for a moment. He knew Bruce was thinking back through recent patrols, trying to figure out when Jason could have been manhandled.

"It's not my bruise," Jason said suddenly. This was private, but- he wanted his adult to know this. He felt- he didn't know how he felt, but it was a lot.

Bruce paused. "Ah."

The air felt heavy.

"Do you get a lot of those?" He was still using that careful tone. Jason hated it. It was too cautious, it was like he thought Jason needed special handling.

"I haven't noticed bruises for years." Jason yanked his arm away and huffed. He straightened his back and reported like a Robin ought to. "I don't remember anything that raises red flags. Scrapes and bruises on elbows and knees. I assumed they skate or something."

Bruce made a sound of acknowledgement. He let Jason pull back. Slowly he raised a hand and ruffled Jason's sweaty hair.

"Gross." He complained without any heat in it.

He made a note of it. He harbored the quiet ambition that he wanted to save his soulmate. He was Robin for a brief shining moment, and then he was choking on hot blood while a clock ticked and a clown laughed and it hurt, it all hurt-

Fin.

He woke up in oppressive silence after the end. He screamed and banged until his fingers bruised to the bone. He begged with gods he didn't believe in. He tore his belt buckle off, broke through the coffin (oh god, he was in a coffin, oh god, why had they left him here?) and he used the buckle to dig through dirt and he was suffocating on it, it was in his lungs and it hurt so bad, he was sobbing and praying and he burst out into the rain slimy and newborn, filthy and alone. Alone.

He lost time. He lost a lot of time.

He woke up again. He was bigger now, and he fought for every inch of freedom under Talia's fist. His body was alien to him now. It was huge and muscular, powerfully framed in a way that a boy who grew up hungry shouldn't end up. He felt like a hulking monster. He'd died a boy of 15 and he woke up somehow 18. Frankenstein's monster was cheated out of childhood.

The shadow injuries did not help with the way he felt about his body. The paint job on his ribs and limbs changed daily with ugly bruises and scrapes and gashes that didn't hurt him at all.

He learned to ignore them. He didn't think about them. He was too feral to remember what they meant, and when he did remember, he was too wild to care. His soulmate was having a worse time than he remembered but it wasn't his concern now. He'd never find them. He'd died. Surely they'd given up. Surely they were meant for the boy who had died and not the thing that had crawled out of his grave. He didn't get a soulmate.

Jason didn't take that part too hard.

He didn't get a lot of things. He didn't get to graduate high school. He didn't get to grow up. He didn't get to be loved.

But Batman didn't get to replace him. He didn't get to put someone else in the costume Jason died in, like none of it really mattered, like he wasn't Bruce's son once.

He went back to Gotham, the shithole that birthed him and spat him into the jaws of a monster, and he became honest in his own monstrosity. He put heads in a bag and bullets in faces and an ultimatum to Bruce and eventually, he put old pass codes into Titan Tower.

Part 2

JASON 2

Titan Tower was worse than he'd ever guessed. Cyborg and Beast Boy and Raven were easy to take out for the count. It was all kinds of fucked up that they were still there. He'd died and nothing had changed for them. He felt even further away from his body than usual.

A sick curiosity led him to the Hall of Heroes. He wished it hadn't. He wished he could burn out the knowledge that they really hadn't cared at all.

"There's no statue of the last Robin." His voice echoed. It sounded hollow to his own ears, but the voice modification in his helmet smoothed out the hurt.

The replacement blinked at him without comprehension. He snatched up his weapon. There was fear and confusion on his face, but not nearly enough. He didn't even know how unprepared he was.

'Isn't that how it fuckin goes,' he thought, not very sympathetic.

"They'll probably put one up for you." It was more bitter than Jason meant it to be.

The replacement's eyes widened at the threat.

God, it hurt. It was so unfair. He'd died and no one cared. He'd died Robin and they'd disliked him so much that they didn't even add him to the creepy hall where they honored dead kids in suits. And this little fucker in his uniform didn't even know that the real owner had come knocking.

Jason leaned into the sharp comfort of the Pit. It lapped up to wash away the rough edges of his emotions. It was the only way he got through with his plan. Without the Pit, he would have given up, gone home, and either drank himself to sleep or shot someone in the head. Possibly himself. But the green light kept him on track. He didn't hurt anymore.

He gave the replacement his chance. The little fucker ran, and tried to reason and weasel his way out of things. And then he screamed. Jason was too far away to hear his begging and feel pity. The green wrapped him in an icy blanket of clarity. It felt good, even.

He let the Replacement try to fight him and countered his attacks until the cuckoo got tired out. Jason was indomitable. He was tireless.

Couldn't say the same for spoiled little Timothy Drake.

When Replacement Robin got tired enough for the despair and hopelessness to set in, Jason ripped away the bo and bashed him in the face with it. The replacement tried to duck away and block. He only succeeded in catching part of the blow on a hand as well. Bones cracked.

Replacement Robin hit the floor with an agonized howl. He spat out blood but he got up fast.

Jason kicked him in the ribs. He fell down again. Jason grinned behind his helmet and brought the bo down in a savage line onto the ribcage again. Replacement didn't get up fast that time.

"You're not doing very well," Jason said, faux sympathetic, and stomped on Drake's shin. That netted him an agonized convulsion. Drake banged his own head into the wall.

Jason laughed and took a few steps backwards, checking the angle of the closest camera to see if Bruce would be able to see all of that.

He noted movement on the floor. He looked down idly to see the Replacement pulling himself along on one elbow and a hand.

"Why are you doing this?" It was barely a gasp. The replacement looked pitiful, dragging his broken leg behind him on the floor. Jason followed at a leisurely pace. The replacement was trying to get to an alarm system. Jason would let him get close enough for hope.

This was going to hurt Bruce so much more than the batmobile explosion would have, Jason mused. This was the correct choice. Bruce was going to watch this security footage on repeat and hope against hope that this time, little Timmy made it to the emergency alarm. And he never would.

Belatedly, he answered the doomed little bird. "Why does anyone do anything?" He asked rhetorically. Then he huffed out a dry laugh. "You're not as smart as you're supposed to be, replacement," he crooned. His tone went sickly sweet. He was copying Talia unconsciously.

"Why are you calling me that?" Not-Robin twisted to confront Jason dead on, face screwed up in pain and stubbornness.

'Come on. It's obvious. Haven't you ever heard of context clues before?'

He lost his patience. "Who am I?" He demanded. He itched with the impulse to unload a bullet in the little nitwit. One hand twitched towards his gun and settled on a knife instead.

"I don't know." The replacement was staring at Jason's empty hand like it was a revelation. A disbelieving smile crept across his face.

Aww. He'd cracked.

Jason kicked the little fucker in the ribs. The bastard curled up into a pathetic ball and choked.

"You should know," Jason seethed. "You stole everything from me. You should take off that suit right now."

The younger boy was writhing, but he was clearly trying to uncurl and look at Jason. He managed to look just as Jason unsnapped his helmet and pulled it off.

"Who am I?" Jason demanded, wild with impatience.

"Oh." It was small and wavered.

For a moment he luxuriated in how shaky and broken the other boy's voice was. Then he saw the way the replacement's eyes were tearing up. "Don't cry," Jason said, disgusted. He casually lashed out and broke the other boy's nose with his boot. Blood spurted out and there was a crunch as the nose went sideways. "Robins don't get to cry, Robins just get to die. Don't you know anything?"

The replacement didn't even react. He was still staring like he'd finally realized he was seeing a ghost. Jason blinked, a little discomfited. He had to fight to keep the comfortable green haze in place.

"It's you," Drake said. He sounded relieved somehow, which was a fucking head trip.

Something in Jason's brain stirred to life, trying to direct his attention away from his mission. He felt uneasy. He pressed it back down.

He followed the Replacement's line of eyesight from Jason's face to his hand. Again? This time, Jason tried to see what the fuss was about. Huh. It had a nasty shadow bruise on it, and the impression of a violent break around the index finger.

"That's not your business." He knelt in front of the downed bird and grabbed him by his hair. He ignored whatever the Robin was trying to say and the broken fingers pawing weakly at his hand and chest. "It's time to wrap this up," Jason decided. "Night night, baby bird."

The replacement flinched, eyes big and wounded.

Jason took his knife and gouged a slice into the replacement's throat. The replacement convulsed and keened through wet bubbles. "Shush," he scolded. He wrapped his hand around the wound to gather up enough blood to fingerprint his message on the walls. It only took a moment. He cracked his neck as he stood and caught sight of his own reflection in a window.

He died a second time in the moments that passed. His vision whited out. He knew the replacement was gasping for life on the floor, futilely trying to stopper what would be a slow death, but he didn't hear any of it.

"No." He denied. His voice cracked.

The replacement's panting was getting weaker.

The monster in the reflection had ghost bruises on his left eye. Blood from his nose. Along his jaw, he had an abrasion from a boot. And on his throat there was the exact slice that Jason had just opened up in Tim Drake's delicate neck. If he took off his shirt he'd probably be black and blue with wounds he'd personally inflicted.

'I was supposed to save you.'

He stared, struck immobile with horror.

This, he realized, was the worst moment of his lives. He felt violently human. He wasn't a monster after all. It would have been safer to be a monster. A monster would feel nothing when confronted with what it had done.

Tim had known. Jason realized that belatedly. Tim had known who his soulmate was and that was why he'd been happy to see the bruise on his hand. He'd been happy.

And he'd been- he'd been sharing Robin's injuries with Jason, Jason had never been separated from Robin, Drake had included the pathetic dead boy and this was how Jason had repaid him.

Robins, Robins, the soulmate phenomenon had connected Robins.

He didn't remember the details of giving first aid, after. He just knew that he'd done it. Drake wasn't out of the woods. He'd need fluids and actual medical attention.

Jason fully came back to himself in his third best safehouse as he finished up a phone call to a nurse practitioner he could trust. She'd be over within ten minutes. He let the phone fall to the table and paced near the limp body he'd brought back.

He'd fucked up. Jason knew that now. He'd fucked up.

It didn't occur to him just how much it would freak Bruce out to see that beating on video and then watch him carry Drake out of the tower. He wouldn't have appreciated it even if he had thought of it.

TIM 2

"I feel shit," Tim croaked, as soon as he was conscious. It was as good as a cry for help, coming from him.

He didn't know where he was, but he was tucked into a bed. Constriction from bandages pressed into pretty much every part of his body he was aware of. His left foot was heavy with a brace, which was going to suck.

He tried to raise a hand to rub sleep out of his eyes. He managed a garbled shriek instead. His hand was mangled. It fell back to the bed and that hurt too.

The sound must have summoned someone. A shadow fell over his face. Tim looked up, expecting Alfred or Bruce or Doctor Thomas or even another Teen Titan.

Jason Todd stood in the doorway with a pale face and wide eyes. He looked like he was seeing a ghost. He also looked like he'd gotten his ass handed to him, with a massive black eye among other injuries.

Tim stared. His heart jumped in his chest.

'Those are my injuries. He did that to me. Those are my injuries on him, he's my soulmate and he's alive!'

Jason swallowed. Tim could see his throat move. Because he was alive.

"Yes!" Tim shouted. Then he had to cough. "I was right," he tried to say. It was incomprehensible. He needed to tell Dick immediately.

Jason hovered, hands stretched out but not brave enough to touch. "Easy."

"You're alive!" He did his best to sit up. It wasn't good. He found that one of his arms was okay, but lifting it tugged on something horrible in his ribcage.

"Stop that!" Jason panicked. "Lie down!"

Tim flopped down, grinning. "You're alive," he garbled out, and then had to pause and wheeze. He wanted to say, "And you saved me, why did you save me?"

He was cut off long before he had the oxygen to try saying that.

"Your ribs." Jason swallowed again. He squeezed his hands into fists. "You've got three breaks. I'll just- do you need anything?"

'I'm going to stay as long as he lets me,' Tim decided wildly. He'd just finally got his soulmate back. He was going to hang on as well as he could with four (?) broken fingers. 'I just need to get comfortable and tell Bruce where I am so he doesn't worry. And I'm thirsty, actually.'

Tim eyed his host and opened his mouth slightly. Jason leaned in to hear. "Iced coffee and a computer," he rasped. It was barely audible even to Tim.

Jason's expression went flat.

"I'm gonna be here for a while," Tim said practically. He tried to sit up again to get a better look at Jason Todd, at Robin. Again, it did not go well.

Then there was a warm hand on his chest keeping him down. "Stop bashing your stupid bird brains against the window." The frustration in the voice was muffled. He heard it like it was underwater.

Tim stared at the hand. It was big, with broad, flat nails. It had scars on the knuckles and a ghost bruise along the back.

He remembered that hand, curled around his own bo.

Tim didn't say anything. He couldn't.

The hand pulled back. He couldn't stop looking at it.

'Does he have the boots on?' He suddenly needed to know. It was suddenly very important to know.

"...kid?" Jason's voice was raspy.

It felt like there was a massive weight on his chest. He couldn't breathe.

Oh. It was a panic attack. Tim tried to put a hand on his chest and convulsed with the resultant pain because fuck, his dominant hand was ruined. The combination of broken ribs and a panic attack was bad. His breathing was ragged and ugly. His eyes teared over until the room was a blur.

When he managed to escape the cycle of wheezing because of pain and being in pain because of wheezing, the room was empty.

That was probably for the best.

Tim laid there, still and cold. He was too tired to think straight. He welcomed the lack of thought and feeling.

He still wasn't feeling much when Jason knocked on his door and cracked it open. His face was red from crying, Tim noticed, and then wondered if it actually was. Those weren't his tears, were they? He blinked slowly. He'd raise a hand to check his face, but he was capable of learning.

"Got an IV in you, but you need to eat." Jason avoided eye contact. "If I hold a straw up for you, can you drink broth?"

It took a while to process that he needed to answer. "Yeah," Tim croaked out. His voice was so reedy. He grimaced at the way it sounded high and childish.

He drank until he had to cough. Jason pulled it away and hovered for a moment until he remembered himself and took a step back. "That ok?" He asked, gruff.

Tim winced and nodded. "Yeah," he rasped. "Just hate that stuff."

Jason looked at the broth. He looked a little offended.

Oh.

"...Did you actually cook that?" Tim wondered.

"It's fine." Jason took the broth back. "Not beef broth, then. How do you want your liquid calories?"

"Coffee."

The disbelieving look he got back was more humanizing than anything else he'd seen yet. Tim's hindbrain relaxed a bit. No one who would hurt him would give him the "how are you still alive" look.

"I can do a smoothie." Jason offered. It sounded a little sullen.

"I don't really like fruits. Or vegetables," Tim said, just to see how far he could push this.

Jason's face was twisted in confused outrage now. Then he noticed that Tim was smiling. "Ha ha," he said darkly. "Last chance. Any allergies that your school doesn't know about?"

Tim eyed him judgmentally.

"Of course I did recon," Jason said. It was defensive.

Tim said nothing.

"Shut up." Jason slammed the bedroom door on his way out.

'Oh. A bedroom.' Tim looked around, curious. 'Is this where he sleeps?' It was maybe 10 ft by 12 ft, with off white walls and no decorations. There was a bed and a table. That was it. Tim frowned. 'Does he not know about paint?'

Jason was back in a few minutes with a green smoothie. It was delicious.

"It's alright," Tim said in an unconvincing tone, because petty revenge was all he had at this point. Now that he was thinking again he was pent up with aggression that needed a safe outlet.

Jason wasn't going to hurt him anymore. He was pretty sure. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any point in giving him medical care. But Tim wasn't confident enough in that assessment to outright try to fight Jason again.

'When I can move again, I'm going to kick his enormous ass,' Tim thought, grim and serious. 'He won't even fit in the uniform anymore. Why'd he ask me to take mine off? Batman is going to have to make him a new uniform.'

"I'm glad it's fine," Jason said, and it seemed genuine enough that Tim almost felt bad. He put the empty glass on the bedside table when Tim was done. "I need to check your bandages. Do you want the bathroom first?"

Tim did need to pee. And there was no possibility that he was going to sit up and walk on his own.

"If you pick me up, I'm going to scream and throw up," he said, because it was true.

Jason took a step backwards.

"But I also need to go to the bathroom," he allowed. Jason was just gonna have to deal with whatever that meant.

Jason looked a little green. "Awesome," he muttered. "That's just fucking fine, isn't it." He ran a hand through the weird white patch in his hair.

Oh. Lazarus pit. Tim put that together extremely late. But that was not supposed to be able to bring the dead back, it was kind of a misnomer, really, so how was Jason here?

He had a sudden realization. He did his best to keep it off of his face.

'I already know that's not what happened. He woke up in the grave, alone. No one helped him.'

Tim really did feel nauseous now. Actually knowing it was a fact and not a horrible nightmare- the phantom sensation of dirt underneath his nails and worms against his hands, muscles burning and lungs on fire-

Okay, so that was panic attack number two. That was kind of embarrassing. He thought he'd make it longer. He dissolved into another round of panting hysteria.

It must have been shorter this time. Tim managed to focus on the world again and found that Jason was there with a white knuckled grip on the nightstand. His other hand was pressing down on Tim's head, stroking his hair. He sounded utterly broken but he was repeating the kind of soothing nonsense that everyone used- "it's alright, shush, just breathe-"

Tim leaned into the sensation like a cat. It was something to ground him that didn't hurt at all.

He felt comfortably foggy again. Maybe the panic attacks were the best way to get through this, he thought. If he could only keep them coming at a steady rate, he could spend time around his soulmate. He cleared his throat.

Jason stopped talking immediately.

"Hey, Jason?"

He could hear the older boy swallow. "Yeah?"

"Can you help me to the bathroom now?"

Once that was done, he was grateful to lie back down. "How bad is it?" Tim rasped. He had to know. He had seen dark purple bruising on his hip when he'd pulled his pants down.

"How bad," Jason echoed. He took in a controlled breath. "Three broken ribs, like I said. Lotta bruising. Your right hand is fucked- 3 breaks and a sprain. Minor concussion, we think. And uh." He looked at Tim's neck. He stopped talking.

Tim wanted to see it. He wanted to take off the bandage and see how bad it was. His pulse jumped. "Show me," he demanded.

Jason looked at him with wide eyes. "What?" He spluttered. "Are you- if we take off the bandages, you're gonna start to bleed out again."

Tim rolled his eyes. "It'll have clotted by now," he said. "But fine. Show me on you."

Jason looked ill.

Tim didn't back down.

Jason let out a long, shuddering breath, and then tugged his hoodie down. The fabric moved enough that Tim could see a smooth line. No, he realized, fascinated and horrified. If he looked closely enough he could see the slight indentations where stitches were pulling at it. That was his cut.

He was shaking. "How deep is it?" His head was spinning.

"Not deep," came the answer quickly. "I hadn't intended…"

The answer trailed off. Tim filled in "to let you die quickly." He felt sick again.

"Any more questions?" Jason was making a really good stab at a calm, level tone. Haha, a stab.

"The plan wasn't to take me here." Tim said it like a statement because he was pretty sure he was supposed to die in Teen Tower.

Jason confirmed anyway. "No, it wasn't."

Tim nodded as briskly as he could. "And you changed your mind because…" he trailed off. He couldn't say it. He couldn't choke out the words "you're my soulmate."

"Because you're my soulmate, and I'm sorry." Jason broke eye contact. He swallowed. "That… that was a mistake."

Tim eyed him judgmentally. A mistake was getting salt free butter. Breaking into someone's private space and kicking them to bits was a bit more than a mistake.

Jason must have read that off his face. He huffed out a laugh without any amusement in it at all. He abruptly turned to face the door and ran his hand through his hair again, pulling at it. "What a nightmare," he said. It was meant to be to himself but Tim felt he was uniquely qualified to insert himself on that topic and he also felt like being a massive bitch after his brutal murder was described as "a mistake."

"That'll be a treat for me," Tim said snidely. "Maybe take sleeping pills tonight."

Jason swung to look at him with a new, horrified comprehension.

Tim almost felt bad about it. But he was the one who was probably going to rehash his own murder attempt from the murderer's perspective and deal with whatever that fucked up in his brain, so he glared back.

"Fuck," Jason said, strangled, and then he fled.

Chapter 3

Whatever Jason did, it didn't result in the anticipated nightmare for Tim. He woke up in a better mood than he could have expected. The blinking clock on the bedside said it was 7:14. Morning or PM? Tim didn't know.

It was funny that he'd started a lifelong habit of avoiding sleep because of an aversion to dreamless nights, but now he was relieved for one. Daylight with his soulmate was bad enough. He didn't think he could handle the dreams.

"I still feel like roadkill," Tim announced to his empty room. He flexed his fingers speculatively. No? Still not good? He'd try again in a few hours.

Something clattered in the next room. It sounded like a mug hitting a wooden table in haste.

'What even is this place?' Tim wondered. 'Can I make him take me to the living room? He's gotta have a TV, right?'

There was a knock.

"Come in," Tim called, because Jason was gonna either way and this way he could pretend it was his call.

The door opened and Tim got his answer as to why he didn't have a nightmare.

Jason just hadn't slept. Tim opened his mouth to say "you look like shit." He stopped himself at the last moment and shut his mouth with a clack.

Jason eyed him like he knew what Tim had been thinking. He had his hood up again. It hid the ghoulish colors on his throat and most of his messy hair, but it couldn't do anything for the hollows under his eyes or the massive bruising on his face.

'It's the massive bruising on my face,' Tim corrected internally, working hard not to feel sympathetic to his intended murderer. He tried very hard not to wonder what would have happened with the colors on Jason's face if he had died. He had two theories that inspired different flavors of existential horror.

"Good morning." Jason took just a step into the room. The part of Tim that was always waiting for the next fight noted that his balance was off. He swayed too much. "Breakfast first or bathroom?"

"Bathroom," Tim said, "but could I get a crutch? Eventually?"

Jason nodded without comment. "You can use it by tomorrow, maybe." He stepped to Tim's side as meekly as possible. It still sent his heartrate up.

'I hate this.' Tim gritted his teeth and pretended to be unaffected as Jason helped him sit up. 'I'm so pathetic right now. I haven't even contacted anyone yet. The Tower is trashed… People are probably wondering what happened.'

The bathroom experience was better not thought about too much. It's hard to have your dick out in front of another human being who you need to keep you from falling over. It was a new low, which really said something considering the hysterical depths Tim was familiar with.

Tim tried to mentally be anywhere but at the sink with Jason pressed up against him from behind, holding him up with one arm looped around his chest and using the other to carefully soap up his hands. His breathing was harsh enough to hear over the running water. Tim tried not to notice the weirdly nice sensation of fingers carefully massaging his hands. He was close enough that when he breathed in he was hyper aware that Jason saved way too much money on his body soap. His nose crinkled.

In the mirror, he saw Jason glance from his hands to his face and then back just as quickly.

Unfortunately, that brought Tim's attention to the thing he'd been trying the most to avoid: confronting his own reflection.

The bruises looked even worse on him than they did on Jason. Tim stopped breathing for a moment and swallowed hard.

He wouldn't have recognized himself if he saw a picture of this. He looked pathetic. The fact that Jason's t-shirt hung off his shoulder didn't help matters. He looked like an absolute urchin.

'When Bruce sees this, it's gonna speed the transition back to the real Robin. He'd never want me in the field after seeing this.'

It- Robin wasn't his, not if Jason was here, but it still hurt.

"Let's go," Tim barked. He knocked his shoulder back against Jason's chest and ignored the confusing combination of stimuli. His shuddering hindbrain liked the weight of Jason's muscles behind him. It didn't know that strength was the reason for the pain in every inch of his body.

Jason turned off the tap without a word. He pulled open a drawer to yank out a soft towel, patted Tim's hands dry, and then steered him out.

"I want to leave the bedroom," Tim demanded before he could be put back in bed.

That got a moment's pause. "Sofa's fine," Jason said, and then took him out of the bedroom.

The rest of the apartment was a small open plan. There was a two seat couch facing a mostly empty bookshelf, a partially open closet with a black gym bag visible inside, and a bizarrely well-stocked kitchen.

He didn't expect much. But this was still disappointing.

"You have a cookie jar and a stand mixer but you don't have a TV?" Tim complained. His hero worship for his Robin took a critical hit.

Jason deposited him on the sofa without complaint and pulled out a leg rest. "Any more interior decorating advice for my safehouse?"

"Paint it," Tim said instantly. "This room is white, too."

Jason rolled his eyes. "You're such a little shit," he muttered, and pulled a pillow out of a storage unit to prop behind Tim.

"You slept out here?" Tim said, incredulous and forgetting that he was pretty sure Jason had stayed up all night. "No way you fit."

Jason flinched.

Tim blinked. He deliberately didn't narrow his eyes or otherwise react. That comment had hurt Jason. Why?

"I curled up like a pill bug," Jason snarked. "Let my knees hang off. That ok with you?"

He wanted to snark back but he refrained. If he hurt Jason, he wanted it to be on purpose. Accidental damage wasn't his style. "Sorry," Tim said, looking away to disengage. God, Jason looked fucked up. "You said breakfast was next?"

"Even though it's nearly noon." Jason seemed happier to kvetch as he moved into his kitchen space. "Think you can handle scrambled eggs?"

"You have cheddar cheese for them?" Tim asked, hopeful.

Jason nodded. "And vegetables."

Tim sighed.

"Alfred must have a ball with you," Jason muttered to himself. "Pick at least two: white mushrooms, onion, scallions, bell peppers."

Tim picked out onion and bell peppers and tried to get comfortable while Jason scrambled eggs. He fidgeted, looking at his own knees. They weren't engaging enough to keep him from looking over at the back of Jason's head.

He was just so… big. Tim curled his toes in his socks and frowned.

'He wasn't like that before. He was one of the smaller guys in his year. Now he's bigger than Dick.' Tim frowned at him. 'Way bigger than Dick. He's stupid buff.' he shifted uncomfortably. 'I feel like a shrimp.'

Jason ducked his head down further, like he knew he was being glared at. Tim hastily redirected his attention to the tabletop. It was wood, like Tim had guessed from the sound of Jason putting down a mug. He craned his neck to look inside the mostly-empty mug, idly curious about what Jason had been drinking. It was dark- "Coffee?" Tim asked hopefully.

The sounds of chopping stopped and then picked back up at a furious pace. "Jesus Christ," Jason muttered. A few seconds later, the sounds of vegetable mauling stopped. Plastic crinkled.

Tim lifted his head like a dog. He couldn't see what Jason had gotten down from the cupboard, but he could smell coffee beans.

"Unbelievable," Jason muttered, shaking the bag. There was a click and then the whirring of a coffee grinder started up.

Tim could have cried. "I get coffee?" He demanded, over the sounds of beans grinding.

Jason swung around to give him a disbelieving look. He shook his head. "Yes." He rolled the bag back up and put it back in the cupboard. Tim absently marked where exactly coffee beans lived in the kitchen. He definitely couldn't reach that and he wasn't exactly in optimal condition to be climbing on counters, but surely he'd manage.

"No," Jason said sharply, wheeling around to point the onion in his hand at Tim. "No, you will not climb on my counters."

Tim eyed him levelly. He didn't say anything. He tried to look like a person who wouldn't dig around in a murderer's cupboards to steal coffee.

"You're a biohazard," Jason said. He narrowed his eyes.

Tim pursed his lips. "...Not as long as you did a good job bandaging me up."

Jason closed his eyes. He very audibly counted to ten in Spanish, then Korean.

Tim rolled his eyes and leaned his head back to ignore Jason by looking for shapes in the shitty popcorn ceiling. He ignored Jason that way so well that he actually dozed off. He woke up to the soft clink of a plate being sat down in front of him.

There was a huff.

He didn't really register it. Tim smacked his lips and opened his eyes slowly. It took a moment to remember where he was.

Jason was back in the kitchen, facing away. He leaned forward to grab something from the back of the counter. The motion pulled his sweatpants flat against his stupidly juicy butt. That was not a standard Robin butt.

In his sleepy haze, Tim had to be forgiven for checking his soulmate assailant out. He froze as soon as he realized what he'd done.

'That's normal,' he tried to convince himself. 'It's nature. It would be weirder if I wasn't into him at all.' His heart thudded in his chest. 'He's never going to hurt me again. He knows who I am now. And honestly I think he needs help. His life has obviously been really bad.'

Oblivious, Jason bustled over brandishing a napkin and a glass of iced water. "Food with water, and then the coffee. Do you want sugar or … well, there's no cream."

"Black coffee, thank you," Tim said primly, and gingerly started to eat with his non-dominant hand. He wasn't particularly dextrous. A bit of egg fell off his fork and bounced down off the sofa.

Wow. He was really doing all his training proud.

"Don't worry about it."

Tim glanced down at the mess. He tensed his jaw. He didn't say anything. When he was almost done with his food, Jason went off to the kitchen to pour the coffee. He set it down in front of Tim just as Tim put the fork down.

Tim snatched up the cup of coffee and cradled it like it was holy. He breathed in the steam. The first sip was heaven. He drank way too much on the second go. He felt a spark of fear that Jason would limit him to one cup. He needed another one. He knew that it was in his head but he felt better already, like his thoughts were clearer and he was more awake.

"We need to talk." Jason fiddled with his empty mug.

'Oh no, are you breaking up with me?' Tim mentally snarked. He wasn't quite bold enough to say it out loud. He shot Jason a suspicious glance over the rim of his cup.

Jason didn't look up. "Have you thought about where to go? I- I don't want you going back to Batman." The words came out strained. "I don't trust him, there isn't-"

"Where to go?" Tim echoed, not thinking about the batman comment at all. "I'm staying here, aren't I?"

That finally got his full attention. "You can't stay here forever," Jason said blankly.

Tim frowned at him. "Are you putting me out on the street injured?"

A muscle twitched visibly on his neck. He looked away. "That's the problem, isn't it?" Jason managed a level tone. "You can't possibly feel safe here."

Tim blinked.

Jason furrowed his brow. He appeared to be done talking.

"I don't think it'll be better anywhere else," Tim pointed out delicately. "And it's not like we have many places in common. Where else are we going to spend time together?"

Jason choked on nothing. "Spend time-" He knocked his knee into the table. "What are you talking about?"

Tim realized, in one mortifying moment, that Jason didn't care that they had a soulmate bond. At least, he didn't think it was reason enough to stick around.

Tim bit his lip. "Are… I see." He cleared his throat. "You don't want to?" He channeled Janet Drake and made his tone brisk and businesslike.

Horribly, the expression on the other boy's face turned to a kind of gentle pity. Jason looked him over. "Timothy," he said slowly, "I broke three of your ribs, your leg, and your face. No one is going to recommend that we try to make some kind of relationship."

"That's not your opinion, though," Tim pushed, desperate. "Do you want to never see me again?"

He didn't get an answer. Jason looked totally lost and incongruously young. Tim's heart twisted with sympathy. He wanted to reach out and touch. Just for Jason's sake, of course, not his. He curled his unhurt hand into a fist to keep it from moving.

'He's not that much older than me. He- he was less than 3 years older, and then he lost half a year, and I don't think he's exactly had normal development since then. The things I've seen in his dreams are depressing. '

Tim tried to keep the gentleness he felt off his face. But he was mentally reclassifying Jason as a lot closer to 15 than 18.

"Give me a phone," Tim bargained. "If you don't want me to call Bruce, then let's talk to Dick. He knows me and he knows you."

Jason cursed under his breath and grabbed at his hair with a fist. He didn't seem to notice that he'd knocked his hood down. "They're going to put me in jail," he said flatly. "You know that, right? And I'm not going to let them. So that's going to be ugly."

"Dick thought that Bruce's stance on the Red Hood was too inflexible." Tim had already thought this through. "At worst, we go to Bludhaven until Bruce cools down and you can be Robin again."

The look that garnered him implied Jason thought he'd lost his damn mind.

Tim waited patiently.

"There's a lot to unpack there!" Jason's eyes were wide and his tone went a little high. He didn't seem to notice he started pacing. "First off, I'm not going to be Robin again. You get that, right? That was my whole beef with Bruce? No more Robins. Not that I'm a good child soldier anymore." He made a sweeping gesture at his body. "But also- they're not going to be pissed at me because I shot some mobsters," he stressed. "They're going to smack me down hard to keep you safe."

Tim furrowed his brow. "It's not that bad. You're not going to do it again. Anyway, we don't have to tell them everything."

The certainty in his voice took Jason's breath away. Tim pretended not to notice the controlled breathing he had to do. "Timothy," Jason said carefully. "They saw me hunt you down. Kick you. Slash your throat." His voice broke. "They're not going to want me back. And you deserve better than that. They'll agree."

Tim shot to a sitting position and ignored what that did to his protesting ribs. "They can't!" He disagreed. "You belong there, Jason. And-" he stopped mid phrase. "...You disabled all the security but you left the cameras running?" The realization knocked the breath out of his lungs.

That hadn't been just a sadistic assault. It had been a performance, and it hadn't been for Tim's benefit.

'What happened at the tower wasn't really about me.' There was something really depressing about that, but there was also relief. 'He wanted Bruce to suffer. Not me.'

Jason couldn't even look at him. "I wasn't in my right mind," he said. "But we can't know- Tim, I'm not a safe person. Not in general, and not for yo-"

"We definitely have to keep you away from Bruce for a while," Tim thought aloud. "That's - difficult, but okay." He ruffled his hair unconsciously. "The answer is still Dick."

"Why are you so fixated on Dickhead?" Jason buried his face in his hands.

Tim paused. "He's your brother. He loves you. He misses you so much. He'll help us."

"He's more your brother, I think." The words were muffled.

Tim snorted. "No, I'm not family," he denied. "I'm a neighbor, that's all."

Jason lifted his face just enough to side-eye. He gave Tim a weird look.

He shrugged. It was true.

He could see the moment that Jason gave up. "Whatever. We can come back to it, I gyess. I'm going out. I'll get your crutches, at least. Some groceries."

Tim nodded.

Jason edged past the sofa without getting too close. Tim wasn't sure he was doing it on purpose. "I'm gonna take a shower. If you think of something you need, let me know before I go."

Tim watched him go. "Don't you think Bruce is going to be looking for you out there?" He only had curiosity in his voice. "Since they don't know what you did with me. They're probably wondering."

"Wondering," Jason repeated, incredulous. He slammed the door shut.

It wasn't a very substantive answer to Tim's reasonable concern.

"Rude." Tim settled back into the sofa. He felt better now that he had some caffeine and fuel. He itched to move, but even he had to acknowledge that the less he stressed his injuries, the sooner he'd be back on his feet.

"I really need something to do," he said to himself. "I can't just trigger panic attacks to pass the time."

Shower water started in the next room.

"I need body wash, too," Tim thought aloud. He sniffed his underarm and grimaced. "I'd use his drugstore shit at this point."

Well. He wasn't in good condition, no. But if Jason was going to be gone for hours, surely Tim could manage to clean himself up. It would be a good project.

"He keeps dodging the topic when I mention technology. At the very least he needs to get me something to write with so I don't lose my mind." Tim sighed. "I don't know if I'm hoping Dick will find him when he goes out or not," he lamented. "I don't think either one of them is going to be- calm or logical about things." He huffed, blowing his bangs off of his face.

He had a pretty good list of demands by the time Jason came back, toweling off his hair. Tim glanced over the new outfit just because it was there and not because he had an opinion about what Jason looked like in a tight t-shirt and jeans versus in oversized sweats.

'I think that's the size of my head.'

He unconsciously put a hand to his head, looking at the bicep that wasn't a mottled mess of Tim's bruises. A muscle flexed as Jason scrubbed at his hair.

"That's so bad for your hair," Tim said, and instantly regretted opening his mouth.

Jason only snorted and tossed the towel in a laundry basket just inside the bedroom door. "Only one of us can have nice hair, I guess."

Tim didn't say, 'You could switch to a better conditioner.' But it was a close thing. "Can I get a pot of coffee before you go?" He asked instead. "Just leave it on the table." Before Jason could finish opening his mouth, "Come on, I think you owe me this one," Tim wheedled.

The look he got back was sheer incredulity. "That's what you're wasting that on?" Jason clarified. "I kicked you around like a soccer ball and you're using the incurred guilt for a single pot of coffee?"

Wow, okay, that was not true. Tim hadn't done well but he'd done better than a soccer ball. He'd gotten hits in, even, at the beginning.

Grandiose liar or not, Jason was moving to the kitchen even as he said it, so Tim didn't give a damn. "I think I get more than one use," he said happily. He watched Jason open up an overhead cupboard and fish out the glass coffee pot. He'd already washed and put it away? "My next demand is two notebooks and writing utensils, at least three colors."

"Done," Jason agreed easily. "You like pizza alright?"

"Pizza is good. Can you get textbooks from my room?"

"I think Bruce will notice if I go into the manor for your homework."

"I don't live there," Tim said, puzzled. "I meant my house."

Jason turned to blink at him, bag of coffee beans hanging from one hand. "That's not deserted?" He frowned slightly. "Your parents are in Nicaragua."

Tim rolled his eyes. "What's that have to do with my homework?"

Jason sighed and turned back to the coffee. "I'm not going there," he said, tone final. "It's too close to B."

"Boo, you whore." Tim continued while Jason spluttered and dropped something that clattered. "Okay, can you go to the bookstore for me?"

He had to wait a few impatient seconds for Jason to answer, "I guess?" He sounded confused that this was where his life was.

"Good." Tim settled further into the couch. "I'll write titles if you get me something to write with."

Jason tossed his phone over. "Make it in a note."

Tim tried and failed to catch it. It landed on his legs. "Thanks." He eyed the back of Jason's head, wondering if the older boy had lost his mind. Why give Tim a phone if he didn't want to contact Dick? Tim should just dial him up now.

He opened up the notes app and typed up his demands quickly. He stole a glance to check that Jason was still preoccupied. Then he opened up contacts and added Dick's new number under "Biggest Bird". Then he paused and looked at Jason's back. Jason was the biggest one now, huh.

He didn't change it. Dick deserved to be the big bird. He hesitated for a moment, guilty, before typing up "Hey Dick, I lived. 👍 Pretty sure I'm in Gotham now. Don't reply pls, it'll be pretty uncomfortable for me. Will contact when I can. -Tim."

He sent the message and deleted the record instantly. He exited all windows except the note app before he put the phone on the table.

"Reading for fun?" Jason asked. He was totally oblivious as to what Tim had just done.

Tim scoffed, heart racing with guilt he really shouldn't feel. "More like keeping up. There's a new book on systems tech that I need, and a journal from the National Microbiology-"

"I'm sorry I asked," Jason snarked, because he was a bitch too. But he was smiling when he opened up the coffee grinder and tipped the powder into a pour over cup. "Nerd."

Tim rolled his eyes. He tried to be subtle about keeping an eye on Jason's phone.

He had a trickle of doubt that he tried to press down.

Dick wouldn't message, right? Of course he'd be tempted to. He was Dick. Tim wondered if he should have told him that it was Jason. It didn't seem like information for a text message.

The phone didn't light up with any alerts. Jason brought over a whole pot of coffee and a plate of grapes that he seemed a little embarrassed to mention was past their optimal date.

Tim, a garbage-eating raccoon person who had subsisted on microwavable meals for more than a week at a time and would do it again, shrugged.

Jason pulled on a leather jacket, tucked guns and other equipment onto his body, and went out the door.

A few minutes later he had a thought that hit him like Jason's boot to the face. Tim fumbled a grape in his shock and let it roll off under the table.

'...Is Dick going to ask Barbara to find the phone I messaged from?'

"Whoops," Tim said, voice hoarse. "...Maybe they won't talk much?"

Chapter 4

It was a long, tense night. Jason put a pillow on the sofa and wondered why he even bothered. He made himself a cup of chamomile tea and then accidentally let it get cold staring at the sleeping lump on his bed, feeling like an absolute freak but needing to know that Timothy was still breathing.

He drank the cold tea. He put the pillow back away. He splashed his face with water from the kitchen sink. He killed some time doing equipment maintenance as quietly as possible. A dog barked outside and he held his breath, paranoid that it would wake his soulmate up.

It didn't. Timothy was fine.

Well. He wasn't fine. But he wasn't any worse.

Jason paced a line between the table and the kitchen counter until he was too irritated to keep going. He checked the time: not even 2 am yet.

"It's going to be a long fuckin night," he said to himself. Then he held his breath and looked at the cracked bedroom door, as if he might be able to hear Timothy's breathing.

He couldn't.

"Of course I don't. I'm too far away." He sat down. He jiggled his leg up and down, trying to think of anything else. Think about his work, his passion project to control organized crime and save lives. Don't think about Bruce and his revenge. Don't think about being sick with anger and lonely grief. Don't think about what he'd done to a teenager half his size-

Jason gave up and crept into the room again to be sure that Timothy was still breathing.

He was.

Jason did silent calisthenics, situps and pushups, and he held a plank until his body shuddered.

What had Timothy been seeing in his dreams for years? He must have been terrified when he realized the violent beast from his dreams was the man beating him down.

He took a moment to imagine that, imagine being in Timothy's shoes. He must have realized it there in the Tower. Which injuries had it been? Had he seen his broken fingers on Jason first? Was it a ghost bruise blooming over Jason's face as Jason loomed over him? Kicked him?

Jason collapsed to the floor and rolled over to his back. He clutched at his hair with one hand, a nervous tic he'd never managed to get rid of.

He went back to obsessively trying to remember dreams that he usually wanted to forget. What nightmares had he had?

Nanda Parbat would fuck anyone up. The things that Jason had been doing for years- some kid had been seeing that? Had seen all that violence?

'Makes me feel like Talia.'

Jason full-body shuddered, confused. Morals he had never recontextualized were creeping up to the surface. As a kid he'd been extremely protective of other children. That had been the best part of being Robin.

And now he was an adult. He was a grown man and he'd been sending visions of fuckin- of shooting men in the face and of stabbing people and watching the light die from their eyes, of all the blood in the sand and the shit and tears of death and he'd been doing that to some kid-

He had to stand up. He poured himself a glass of water just to have something to do, and that meant half an hour later he guiltily crept through the bedroom again to get to the bathroom.

He wanted a shower. He felt disgusting. Water wouldn't fix the shame but it would get the itch of dried sweat off of his skin.

It'd wake up the kid.

'I need to stock something in these places for entertainment.'

His phone was dying. He fished out the charger and played a word game for a full hour, trying to use the white glare and puzzles to keep him awake and too busy to think about how thoroughly he'd fucked over his soulmate. That kid was never going to be normal, never going to be safe. Jason did that to him.

It felt like morning was never going to come. He made himself breakfast at a decent hour and then waited. And waited.

Christ, Drake could sleep.

'Or maybe he needs to recover because someone smashed him into the floorboards. Just a thought.'

He was staring dully into a mostly empty cup of tea when he finally heard a sleepy voice from the bedroom. Jason put it down a little too fast and hurried to the door. He paused, hand on the knob.

'Don't be a creep. He's going to have another panic attack if you go in there like it's a goddamn drug bust.'

He knocked.

"Come in."

Jason pushed open the door and took a hesitant step inside. It was his room but he felt like an intruder.

Timothy was mostly propped up in bed. His eyes widened when he saw Jason and his mouth dropped open. He looked like he was looking at something dirty

Jason braced for it.

Timothy closed his mouth.

Jason's mouth was almost too dry to speak despite having just finished a drink. "Good morning," he managed. He was surprised by how level his voice was. God, he felt like shit. "Breakfast first or bathroom?"

"Bathroom," Tim said, "but could I get a crutch? Eventually?"

Jason nodded without comment. "You can use it by tomorrow, maybe." He stepped to Tim's side as meekly as possible. He wished he didn't see that the boy got paler.

Timothy had a pretty good poker face, but Jason had to touch to help him up. He could feel that heart racing like a rabbit's.

'I'm disgusting. I made this child afraid of me.'

He kept his body language as unthreatening as possible and his grip gentle as he helped Timothy through his morning needs.

It was hard to stand in front of the mirror. Jason stole a glance at their reflection, gut twisting with self loathing. The difference between them was more obvious from an outside perspective. Tim was a good 6 inches shorter, obviously still lean with youth rather than packing on the muscle he might manage as an adult.

Just a kid. He'd never had a chance against Jason.

Tim was obviously overwhelmed by frustration at his helplessness. Jason could feel him shaking. He pretended not to see how red Timothy's eyes were.

And then Timothy leaned back, digging his shoulder into Jason's stomach. He- he sort of melted.

Jason's mind raced. His hands moved on autopilot, gently cleaning Tim's hands. It felt like- no, he couldn't possibly have been seeking comfort from Jason. Could he?

'You never know with a soulmate bond. Lots of people stay in fucked up soulmate relationships. It might- shit, what if it's fucking with him? Making him look at me to feel safe?'

He felt like throwing up.

He glanced up at just the right time to see Timothy's face go even whiter. Jason's nerves frayed even further. He braced for another panic attack-

Timothy jabbed him with his shoulder. "Let's go."

That was fine by him.

Jason turned off the tap without a word. He pulled open a drawer to yank out a soft towel, patted Tim's hands dry, and then steered him out. He was looking forward to retreating when Timothy spoke out.

"I want to leave the bedroom," Tim demanded.

Jason paused.

'I wouldn't want to be helpless in someone else's bed either. He'll probably feel safer if he can at least sit up.'

He wished he hadn't been so cheap with the bed. If it had a headboard Timothy could have sat up there. "Sofa's fine," Jason said, and then took him out of the bedroom.

Making Timothy breakfast felt blessedly normal. Jason leaned into it, playing up irritation at how picky the kid was and playfully judging him for deploying the big cow eyes for coffee.

'Are you even supposed to drink coffee when you're that young?'

He didn't know, but he made a cup anyway.

When he finished cooking he found that Tim had dozed off again. Jason felt frozen at the sight.

'How? How does he feel safe enough to fall asleep with me right here?'

Conversely, Timothy's casual attitude made Jason's stress ratchet further up. That reached new levels when he actually talked with the little fucker.

'This is bad. This is so fucking bad. He doesn't get it. He wants to stay with me?'

The shower was a retreat. Jason wasn't too proud to admit that to himself. He pulled jeans and a t-shirt out of the bare bones supply in the closet to armor up before going back near his… well, god, he might technically be a prisoner? Patient sounded better.

He scrubbed the emotion off his face when he came back into the room. He was still drying his hair. Timothy craned his head over the back of the sofa to watch him.

Wait.

Jason lifted his arm a little higher and tracked the way Timothy's pupils followed the movement.

'He's staring at my arms?' Jason wondered. 'Making sure I don't attack him?'

God, he wished that was the case. It would have been much better for his nerves if Drake had that sense. But Jason suspected that the teenager was more innocently fascinated with a muscular arm.

Christ. He blundered his way through a conversation and just did whatever he needed to do to make Timothy happy. He made him a whole pot of coffee, health be damned, and promised to bring him the world. Books, notebook, whatever- he'd promise anything to get out of this interaction.

He was more relieved than he'd admit to put some space between him and his- Tim. Not his anything, just Timothy Drake.

Jason stuck his hands in his pockets aggressively and shouldered his way out onto the street.

Gotham at noon was a glaring nightmare. He ducked his head against the light and regretted leaving his sunglasses. No way was he going back in there now, not with the baleful little puppy dog huddled on his sofa waiting to judge him with those big sad eyes. God, the way he'd looked when he asked if Jason didn't want to be with him-

Jason shook off the cacophony of the confusing emotions that Tim inspired and focused on his task. He'd get the books and paper supplies first, they were furthest, then pick up the crutches from a different safehouse - no, maybe the groceries and then the crutches. The mobility aids would be unwieldy in a grocery store.

He ended up buying an overpriced backpack at the student wear shop next to the bookstore. Timothy's purchases went in the bottom. He didn't spend much time flipping through them with a furrow in his brow, feeling inadequate and undereducated. He was officially a middle school dropout and a high school dropout now. That couldn't be attractive.

Jason berated himself for the thought as soon as he recognized it. It didn't matter if Timothy would be attracted to him or not, it would be beyond fucked up to get involved regardless.

He wasn't as clueless about that as Timothy seemed to think. The thought of stolen glances and the way Tim unconsciously leaned against him at the sink had something twisting painfully in Jason's chest. It made him feel human, reliable, needed and wanted.

Timothy was cute. When Jason looked at him he wanted to keep him safe and that was all kinds of fucked up, wasn't it, when he was the biggest threat the boy had ever faced?

#jason todd/tim drake #red hood #ao3 is still down so why not #shadow bruises #soulmate fic #ao3

8 notes · View notes

braindeadcharlotte · 2 years

Text

A collection of grimy Transgender poems

cracking dollar store razors in the shower

hands splayed in ecstasy

while mother is immolated

and screaming

us against the world and so on

everything feels like plastic razors cracked open these days

all days

smoke and vapor and ash

a pest rotting in a chrysalis

a slimy memory in the heads of those who would like to forget

or remember

the hardened chitinous slough that surrounds me wonders which is worse

i don’t

a voice dripping honey whispers to me

why do you miss hating yourself so much

a dying colony of insects inside my lungs writhe

for a moment my eyes go black

and i am back

in the bathrooms

a choir ive wanted to know spills venom from above

asking why i still want razors

why I’m so fond of a memory

when my arms opened up like zippers

and revealed secrets to me i still don’t understand

if ive seen God it was then

in holy lacerations

if i had the guts i would vivisect myself

and see all of God’s glory before falling from Her prison

i so badly want to know if I’m pretty on the inside

still

once a smoker always a smoker

she says it’s stupid

but i think about the shower floor all the time

and the school bus in 5th grade

bleeding on a friend’s lunch tray who never liked me anyway

and crying louder than i would’ve like to when I was ready

It is vile how much easier it is to be alone with your hatred

than with a partner cutting it away

we feel murdered

we feel more hatred than we ever have

it is seeing red

while he is seeing nothing at all

buried deep under the earth, into the pits that fall below

a special level of hell for adults aborted

if i am to be forcibly cut out

and cleansed of blood and piss and semen

and made real

i hope i come out beautiful

gut lining

i have memories of lying awake beside a ghost, terrified at her closed eyes and the future

i looked at yours while we blossomed from garbage and carrion

and my guts lined with

Rage&Nicotine&Vomit&

Disgust&Hatred&Memories&

Regret&Bile&Bathrooms&

Loss&Stares&Betrayal&Hell&

Fathers&Ghosts&Failure&

Mold&Beer&Running&Razors

leave me alone

for a moment

while a new fear grips my stomach and the meat between my ribs

of all the things i deserve, it isn’t this

i don’t deserve meat i deserve more razors

skin sloughs off me like pages

it was never mine to begin with

I’m a spotlight in a home infested with bed bugs and flies

i am filthier than they are in their wettest dreams

they start to feed on scraps of long rotten cuts and its funny!

it is charming and it is growth, it is life and birthday parties and blood

i cannot stand it, it is hard to stand one more moment

one more blistering second of razor sharp memories of a young man in a bedroom, a park,

a shower

brown rot fungi threatens my home

i bathe in boracare and concrobium

it likes being bleached and shiny and pure

it wants to drink it like an old friend

it wants my insides to be clean

like all good girls do

sometimes i feel intoxicating

its not often

I’m learning to be an egotist again

it takes time

to hate oneself for being better than other vermin

submit and break into such tiny pieces inertia has no choice but to intervene

where do you go from here

britney spears is my christ

and there will be no resurrection

but i hope she takes my eyes and my hair when she falls to the pits

my tribute to a silent shepherd, undeserving of idolization

razors are still lining my guts

but their stings are loving tonight

i can tell

For her, miss Charlotte

colors i so love elude me

i am transparent

i was the void

and i held adoration in my chest

it bore holes like scabies under the skin

it was hot to bleed the ocean of space

all over everyone i loved

my thoughts can’t shut the fuck up anymore

when my lover sleeps there is nothing to stop them from re-burning

those familiar circles

how am i supposed to live like this

a wanderer of memories that feel like an others’

warped scenes of a childhood that couldn’t be mine

shouldn’t be mine

when did i lose the color of a house on fire

is it really better to be the smoke of a gender reveal party before it sets a forest ablaze?

a demon within me says yes

another is waiting for the same black smoke it has always known

i don’t phlebotomize it out under searing water any longer

i beg for it to stop screaming

for it is only screaming into a new void

where nobody that exists can hear

Charlotte isn’t living or dead

she is an idea in a mind that is tired of hating itself

and everything around it

she’s swirling in a toilet bowl

clawing desperately at the edges to keep from being flushed

please, I’m begging, she only looks like shit

i promise you’ll like her if you give her a chance

she’s sweet and caring

she thinks about what she says, so she doesn’t hurt anyone

she is full of love and fire, she is tall and confident

her lungs are pink and her brain isn’t quite as dead as it feels

nothing is below her

she is the burned remains of a slaughterhouse and the mushrooms are just now moving in

she is a Goddess in her own right, on the precipice of life and death

growing out of a body that has been rotting for 20 years

i want to love her more than i want to cut myself open

she is allowed to grow out of me lethargically

my bisection is nearly sedate

for her, miss Charlotte

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you have any input at all PLEASE comment, I would love to hear thoughts from fellow transgender people in particular!! Ive never written anything this vulnerable but I still want to share it, something about it makes me feel the need to

tysm for reading!! <3

#my poetry #poetry #trans #transgender #lgbt #myart

2 notes · View notes

mainfaggot · 7 days

Text

sept. 18th. '24

dear diary,

a bit early for a recap of the day, but this is kind of a huge step for me... admitting that makes me feel sort of stupid, by the way.

anyway, today, i decided to take it slow—quite literally. i walked slower than usual (i typically walk like im on a mission even when im not running late), i breathed slower (hard to do when you are near constantly in fight or flight mode in public spaces), and i focused on looking at my surroundings while ignoring the noise of "what if people think XYZ when they catch me in their line of sight."

i didn't magically feel better. if anything, i felt kind of weird. i felt a bit like a living spectacle... i was reading slowly on the bus. i allowed myself to take time to reread passages and underline phrases i felt were confusing; i was trying not to worry about either looking too haughty or too mentally slow. after class, i tried to walk slowly, breath slowly, look around, and i even took a moment to stop and stare at the canal while walking to a nearby coffee shop. i wondered if i seemed aloof, totally unaware of the hardships of life and the real world, or if i seemed strange and socially inept (why would anyone downtown stroll so leisurely? there are places to be! work to get done! classes to go to! and so on). i wondered if i seemed stuck up or vain. it was like i was walking by those thoughts, thinking about them as always, but this time i was trying to let them vanish in the wind... at least temporarily. it felt a bit like floating. i was very unsure of myself—i imagine an alien on earth for the first time would feel the same way. it was extremely unlike myself; when im slowed down, it's hardly ever a conscious decision or effort. to me, feeling slowed down has always meant feeling deeply upset, melancholic, withered, exhausted, or stuck. the act of slowing down often feels equivalent to falling apart or falling behind—a symptom of MDD that i've been dealing with on and off for years, basically. to view slowness in a different light was both refreshing and... strange. so bizarre. i think i liked it, but i don't know for sure. it's hard to figure out how i feel. it's weird to walk slowly without associating such a pace with tears of hopelessness. weird. im running out of synonyms. i do have to study now... i want to sleep.

well! until later,

zay mainfaggot

#z.post

1 note · View note

eoenvs3000f24 · 10 days

Text

Unit 01: Current Relationship with Nature

I have always been observant of the outdoors, from an early age I had to take a school bus to school every morning at seven. Thirty minutes of staring at countryside every morning, you begin to admire the detail in nature, from the vibrant colours of the varied species of plants that line the roads, the roaming cattle and livestock, the dew lined fields that reflect the raising sun. Living in the country allowed me to explore the outdoors in a safe area really allowed me to get my hands dirty and play with sticks and hide in tress and bushes. This also let me interpret nature up close, with countless days outside in the elements seeing how nature changes over the years. During the pandemic this space outside was something that I took to regularly, an escape from the inside and being chronically online, this really let me take an interest in the outdoors, I would often go for hikes in my back yard or for runs along the water, taking in the different views and wildlife that litter the landscape. I found in my later teen and early twenties I started to appreciate the beauty and simplicity of nature in the surrounding world, from the wildlife and foliage that line the Universtiy campus, with the flower gardens and greenhouse, as well as the arboretum. In one of my earlier years at the Universtiy of Guelph one of my ecology projects was a data collection on the squirrel and wildlife populations around campus, I would have to travel around campus over 5 days and record different wildlife I saw. I was quite surprised by the vast number of different wildlife species that were around the campus. I never quite noticed the wildlife on campus as I believed that now inside the city there would not be much to see however, this was not the case and to this day I still noticed the wildlife on campus more due to that project.

This is an image I took about 8 years ago in Whistler BC, it was just a stop on the side of the road off the highway, a small random park had such a beautiful scene.

I would have to say my older brother gave me my “sense of place” in nature, when we were younger, we would stay outdoors for hours in the back yard, building these log forts with cut up window makers that my dad would cut down before they fell. He let me learn how to enjoy nature and to stay outdoors and to really admire and take in the surrounding beauty of nature. We do not get to build forts out in the forest anymore, but I still have that part of me everywhere I go when I see nature.

This is a picture I took on my walk to campus, this was a spring day where the cherry blossoms decided to bloom, this was a pleasant surprise on my walk to campus.

In my more recent years, I find I explore nature with my girlfriend, around Guelph there are some incredible hikes and views in the surrounding area. We like to drop sticks in the streams and currents. We “race” our stick boats down these currents and streams, following until they get stuck or until we can’t follow the stream anymore. Although to me it is just a race of stick boats, that stream brings water to the surrounding foliage, which then supports the surround wildlife and help to support the balance of an ecosystem. There are so many different facets of an ecosystem and everything interacts with something else to maintain this balance. My studies at the University of Guelph have helped me to see these different patterns and ecosystem webs that define how an ecosystem functions. As I moved along through my studies of ecological sciences, I started to understand why certain animals act the way they do and why there is migration, as well as simple things like why are there only few kinds of animals found in the city compared to the wild. My interpretation of nature around me grew from just the area around my house that was filled with wildlife and foliage, to seeing nature even in big concrete cities. There is nature everywhere.

This a picture of Niagara Falls, ON. I took this while playing tourist with my girlfriend, she has grown up seeing the falls everyday but to me this was one of the coolest views of nature I had ever seen.

My interpretation of nature has changed a lot over the years into something that brings me joy and allows to me ground myself and feel connect to the world around me. I hope to I continue learning different systems in nature interact and grow. I also hope that I continue to enjoy the simple beauty in the nature around me and to be able to share my opinions and views of nature with others. Although I hope to continue my studies down the path of pharmacology, I hope to continue learning how to better understand the nature around me.

0 notes

bleakfate · 1 year

Text

Discord Closed Thread: Blake and Cecily Hijacked Table

Where: Winnie's Bistro

Written by Lex and Dana (@celestial-elite)

Blake: Being back in NYC was nice, and the blonde had settled pretty easily the last few weeks. She hadn't moved back to the Upper East side because she had no desire to run into her family, so she'd settled into a nice Brooklyn apartment. However, a request from one of her favorite teachers in high school brought her back to the neighborhood, and afterwards she was starving. When she walked into her favorite spot, she hadn't expected to see Cecily Fields of all people sitting at a small table for two. With a smirk, she bypassed the hostess and took the seat across the woman. Oh, don't look so surprised. You should be used to be doing the unexpected by now even if it has been years.

Cecily: One eyebrow quirked as Cecily took in the blonde’s sudden appearance. Of all the gin joints and people in the world, Blake Astor was the last one that Cecily expected to see. It was with a very slight smile, just a quirk of the corner of her lips, that she put down her glass of iced tea. “Do you often hang around restaurants in hopes you can hijack the table of someone you vaguely know? Seems too coincidental.”

Blake: The banter the two women shared was often her favorite. A part of the blonde wondered if Cecily ever put together why she loved making her so mad. Since being disowned by her family and taking a happy bow from the Upper East Side, she definitely didn't hide her sexuality. It was basically a blinking neon sign of a clue. "Nope! The universe just loves putting us in the same spaces. Also, vaguely? You really call going to the same schools since pre-school vaguely? How rude. I mean, who knows how to push your buttons better than I do?"

Cecily: "I'll have to speak to the universe about that," Cecily miffed, as the waiter came around and brought a second glass of water for Blake. "She's--" but her protest was too late. "Knowing how to push my buttons and knowing me are two completely different things," she countered, unflinchingly staring Blake down. "I bet you can't tell me a single thing about myself."

Blake: The blonde chuckled slightly at the fashion designer's mumbling. She had never understood why she was so fascinated with the other woman's reactions, but there she was. At first she'd thought it was purely because Cecily was hot, but it went beyond that for some reason. It was amusing really. The question did catch her off guard for a moment. If she decided to answer it honestly, then she'd reveal that she actually paid attention beyond purposely pissing the woman off. However, she hated purposely losing anything. "Are we talking about when we were younger or your life now as an adult? Those are two vastly different things." She would be pissed to lose on a technicality.

Cecily: “I’ll let you decide. Make it easy for you.” She feigned kindness, resting her elbows on the table and making a little ledge with her hands for her chin to rest on. “If you can name one of each, I’ll buy your lunch. Deal?”

Blake: The blonde arched an eyebrow at the other woman but a slight nod of her head was all she gave in response as she thought of the best things to say. “You’re insanely loyal to those you care about, you are effortlessly intelligent and meticulous in everything you do. Your favorite color used to be gold in high school and given the small accents in your clothing I’d be willing to bet it’s still the same. Your career has really taken off the last four years, and I’m hoping you do open your own boutique.” Blake then lifted the menu in order to give Cecily some semblance of privacy as she took in everything she’d said. Debating what she wanted to eat would never take long since she was a slight creature of habit, but she could play along.

Cecily: Cecily, as a fashion designer, had been seen by many people throughout her lifetime. People judged her work with a simple look and that was how the world operated. But she hadn't felt seen the way Blake was describing in a long time. Cecily's eyes narrowed at the sight of Blake behind the menu. She grabbed the untouched straw off the table, ripped off part of the end, and blew into it, sending the paper wrapper across the table. "So, what? You enjoy conversing with me?"

Blake: The blonde was not expecting the way Cecily decided to respond, and as she lowered the menu she smiled. It was her usual smile that Cecily had often seen before the blonde had caused mischief or done something opposite of what was expected. “I enjoy having fun with you. I let you be a little spontaneous, and you’re way more fun and even silly than you let on. I just was a little too against the grain for you when we were young. I’ve known another thing about you for a long time if you’d like to hear it.”

Cecily: Cecily folded her arms across her chest, clearly not loving the idea of being bested at her own game. Still, she did like the idea that Blake cared enough about her-- to any extent-- that she would notice such things about her. "Are you sure you're in the right business? Granted, I don't know what it is, but you've got a knack for reading people's aura. Tell me what I don't know."

Blake: “I’m not this good at it with everyone,” she said with a small shrug. There were many people she was just oblivious about. Her attention was hard to catch, or at least that’s what she’d been told by those close to her. “I’ve also always known you’re beautiful which is a past and present truth about you.”

Cecily: "Astor, you've got lines," Cecily shook her head in somewhat disbelief, hoping that her snark didn't make it obvious that the slight rose in her cheeks was not a result of the Pat McGrath makeup she was wearing. "Who knew? I never saw this side of you in school."

Blake: At Cecily’s words, Blake lightly tapped the other woman’s calf beneath the table with the top of her heels. “I have eyes,” she replied easily. “While I loved getting under your skin and driving you crazy, I wasn’t stupid enough to flirt with you. Not because I thought you’d be cruel to me or anything like that, but your world was the epitome of order back then. You didn’t do anything that wasn’t expected of you, and I didn’t want to turn your world upside down like that.” Blake wasn’t that selfish. The two of them weren’t close, and that kind of shock was something Cecily needed a support system or maturity to survive. “I did however love your brother. How is Grey? Did he confess to you that we were secret gaming buddies back in the day?”

Cecily: "Bold of you to think you could have that kind of effect on me," Cecily retorted coolly, taking another sip of her iced tea. The glass was starting to sweat, and she was grateful for the feeling of the water on her skin. It grounded her. "No, he didn't. Then again, he's better at keeping secrets than he looks. Don't tell me you play that game where you throw the banana peels at each other with him? I like the little pink mushroom."

Blake: “I wouldn’t think it would be me. It’s more the whole idea of me just being a woman. I didn’t want to be someone to throw that big of a wrench in things. I lost everything because of it. There was a lot of pain. I’d never want to be the cause of that for someone. It’s something we should all realize on our own if that kind of awakening is in the cards for us.” Blake smiled at the waiter and quickly put her order in. She took a sip of her water as she waited for Cecily to place her own. A fond smile appeared as she heard Cecily describe what the streamer could only imagine was Mario Kart. “You would love Toad. I’m a Yoshi girl. But yeah, we’ve played that before amongst others. Playing video games is kind of my job, so it works out.”

Cecily: "So what, you think the two closeted lesbians in our school at the same time magically will find each other when they're older?" Cecily raised an eyebrow, but studied Blake's face carefully for a reaction. "I'll have the harvest salad with salmon," she said to the waiter, and her lips curved up into a smile. "And why don't you bring us a bottle of Prosecco?" When he left, she turned her attention back to Blake. "No, not Toad. The pink one. With the braids. I liked that her braids were made out of mushrooms, too. How on earth did you manage to get the dream job of a twelve year old boy?"

Blake: In that moment, Blake was so thankful that all her verbal sparring sessions with Cecily had prepared her well which was the only thing that allowed her to keep her face more neutral. While they weren’t children anymore, giving too much away too fast wasn’t Blake’s game. It left too much possibility for getting hurt. “If it’s something that is meant to happen, why not? Serendipity and all that,” she answered back with a wide grin. “Toadette. My apologies. Honestly? I’m really funny and hot. That is what really got my foot in the door. Me being talented at what I do is a big part of it, but I never would have been noticed if I didn’t have those first two things.” It was a shallow industry unfortunately.

Cecily: "You don't strike me as the type to go for a Frozen Hot Chocolate," Cecily's eyes softened as she suddenly became very interested in the lemon floating around in her iced tea. "Toadette. There we go. Obviously if I had a choice, I'd pick the pink one. I've definitely seen evidence of the hot part, but I'm still waiting to find you funny, Astor. Think you've got a highlight reel that could show me your most amusing qualities?"

Blake: The quip made her laugh lightly. It was sweet and cute in its own way. She knew Cecily got her meaning, but they were both dancing around things which she could do. After all, the dance was part of the beauty. Blake would rather leave the canon balls for the pool. “I’ve got a killer sweet tooth. A way to my heart is definitely through baked goods or frozen treats.” Cecily asking about a highlight reel caused Blake to reach into her clutch for her phone. She easily accessed her YouTube page which held all her streams and then offered the device to Cecily. “I’m a streamer, Cecily. So yeah, there are a lot of videos that you could scroll through. Although, I’d rather you try to uncover them yourself. I mean, you’re not the woman I thought you were if you want to go for the Spark Notes.”

Cecily: "Perhaps we could meet there next time, so you can let me know how truly serendipitous this is." The implication of a second… what? Date? Meet up? They weren't exactly two old friends who were catching up. "You overestimate the amount of free time I have, really," Cecily shot back, realizing rapidly that the smirk on her lips was not going away anytime soon, especially not as long as the blonde was in front of her. "Any I should start with in particular?"

Blake: “If you take me to Serendipity after I take you to dinner, then you tell me when.” Their words still had a playful to them, but all the confusion and anger from their younger years wasn’t. It was a nice trade off. “There is no way a growing fashion designer isn’t swamped, but it could be fun background noise if my voice doesn’t grate your nerves anymore.” The thought of which video to watch took her a few moments before she thought of a good one. “I hosted a charity stream for St. Judes’ Hospital. It was my friends and I playing an Among Us tournament. That would be the best I think. We had a lot of fun.”

Cecily: "Oh, you're taking me to dinner?" Cecily asked, letting her genuine curiosity shine through. "You should have told me sooner, there's no way I'll get something together to wear in time. Obviously I have to knock your eyes out of your head with how gorgeous I look." Pulling out her phone, she quickly searched up the video in question and turned it to face Blake. "This one? It could be nice background noise as I'm stabbing silk."

Blake: “Cecily, I could literally invite you over, ask you to wear sweats, to only order take out, and I’d still think you’re a knock out.” There was no lying about that. It wasn’t even just Cecily’s looks. It was more than that, and that was more than Blake could unpack right then. After all, she’d pushed it down for long enough. “That’s the one! I hear I was great when I hosted the Streamer Awards too, but I don’t know. Watching that would be too weird. I don’t even like watching my streams back during editing.” It was just weird for her. Her team laughed about it all the time and teased her about staying humble. “I’m glad I could provide the soothing sounds you need while stabbing. Just don’t blame me if you get a finger.”

Cecily: At Blake's words, Cecily couldn't help the way her expression shifted-- her somewhat pleasant smile twisted right into a smirk. "Well, at least I know you have some degree of taste." She mused, but her eyes seemed to look anywhere but in Blake's. God, she hoped that blush powder was doing its job, to keep her cheeks a designated color of pink rather than let her emotions run rampant. "Did you ever play Barbie CoolLooks Fashion Designer?" Cecily asked out of the blue, after there had been a bit of a lull in the conversation. "Because I had that game when I was a kid. They gave you special paper, and you could print out the designs you made on the game, and then dress your dolls in them. I was literally obsessed with it. I didn't need that kind of accessibility once I learned how to sew, but I'd love to play it again, if you have that kind of resource."

Blake: The look Cecily gave her was not one Blake was used to. After all, she’d never done anything but pick fights with the woman when they were younger. Wether that was sitting on the MET steps next to her spot just to annoy her or purposely doing things that would make her annoyed. “If I’m giving you too many new sides of me at once, I’m sure I could find something to bicker with you about. Although, there are way more fun ways to end arguments.” Flirting was easy for the blonde. It was something that she loved because when things were new she could never predict how someone else would react. At the question of the game, Blake quickly shot off a text to her team saying she needed it quickly and at whatever price. She was sure there would be questions, but she’d answer them later. “I do. I mean, I will get it in a week tops. If it’s something you loved that much, I can find it. Would you like me to drop it off at your place when I get my hands on it?”

Cecily: “Oh? Do you think I’d like that way of ending an argument?” Cecily asked, finding herself enjoying this aspect of conversation quite a bit. As Blake offered to get her the game, Cecily felt quite sheepish. “Do you think your followers would enjoy watching us play?” She didn't need the game for herself, but she did seem to need another excuse to see Blake.

Blake: “I do. I mean, wouldn’t you enjoy getting to finally shut me up,” she asked in a playfully teasing way. There was no hurt or malice in her voice. Even though they’d fought a lot, neither woman ever tried to actually hurt the other. They were the textbook definition of frenemies if anything. “Are you kidding? They’d love getting to see me teased over fashion. Are you going to want to pick out my stream outfit?”

Cecily: “It would rank in the top five moments of my life,” Cecily deadpanned, but it was more the act of shutting Blake up rather than her silence. “Probably. What will your followers do if they see you in something besides jeans and a backwards cap?”

Blake: “Did you ever think of kissing me to shut me up,” she asked curiously. Her eyebrow ticked upwards as she leaned back in her chair more comfortably. The blonde wasn’t expecting an actual response, but she was never good at stopping her impulses. She wanted to know, so she set out on a quest for answers. “I actually have no idea. What would you want to see me in? It depends on that.”

Cecily: “Once,” Cecily admitted, before she could stop herself, “but I wasn’t ready for that kind of existential crisis.” Thankfully, the waiter dropped a bread basket on their table, so she distracted herself by pouring olive oil in a dish and dunking a hunk of bread into it. “I think it’s more what I want to see you out of, actually.”

Blake: Blue eyes snapped up to Cecily’s face at her words. It wasn’t one sided. Their fights would get intense, buttons were pushed, and Cecily knew how to get under her skin very well. That led to intense emotions which made her wonder about that passion having another outlet. However, seventeen year old Blake thought she’d die before ever hearing Cecily Fields admit it. “When?” Blake, always being the playful one, broke off a small piece of her own bread and dunked it into Cecily’s dish before popping it into her mouth. “Do you only want to see me out of jeans and baseball caps?”

Cecily: “You should let me design something for you.” Cecily burst out, before she could regain any semblance of self control. She normally wasn’t so free with her words— at all, really— so she wondered where this was coming from. There was no reason why she had anything to ashamed of, as clearly they were on somewhat of the same wavelength. “Do you want to see me out of a very stylish skirt and blazer? Think carefully.”

Blake: “If you think I’d turn down someone as talented as you designing me clothes, then I’m going to have to show you I’m much smarter than that.” Even when they were younger, there was no question about whether or not the woman was talented. “Why do I have to choose, when I can get under the skirt?”

Cecily: It was an unfortunate moment that Cecily decided to take a sip of her iced tea, because she could not hide her sputtering cough very well. "Are you always this forward? If you'd been like this in high school, the trajectory of my life would have looked very different."

Blake: "I'm sorry for surprising you. If it makes you feel better, you looked the most graceful." Her words were sincere. While there were many emotions she enjoyed invoking in Cecily, embarrassment was never one she wanted to add to that list. "That's something that's come with age I think. I wasn't nearly as smooth with it when I was younger. Still, it does usually take me longer to warm up to this level with someone. I've never met someone I could just speak to without tossing the words around in my head a few times. And hey, you changed my trajectory. Don't let your head get too big, but you played a huge part in my realization of my sexuality."

Cecily: Rolling her eyes, Cecily wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin. As embarrassing as it was to completely lose her cool, for some reason, she didn't mind it so much when it came to Blake. They seemed to be at a point beyond embarrassment, and somewhere near mutual destruction. Or, at least, that's how Cecily was going to view it. "I don't believe that for two seconds," Cecily snorted, taking a more decided sip of her iced tea, this time. "You hated me in high school. You loved absolutely nothing more than to push my buttons."

Blake: The blonde tilted her head for a brief moment and just looked at the woman across from her. She could see why Cecily would think that, but Blake wasn't one to hate anyone really. For her sanity it was either love, neutrality, or indifference. "If my mother hadn't trashed everything belonging to me, I'd show you my journals. Also, I never hated you. I just." Blake took a moment to sigh and think of the best way to phrase what she wanted to say. "You were used to everyone bowing to you and allowing you to just follow the boring paths many of our families set us on. You weren't challenged ever, and for someone as smart and talented as you, that had to be boring. So, I enjoyed never being what you expected. You are also really hot to fight with. I mean, how did you not figure out that was part of my motivation?"

Cecily: The corners of Cecily's lips pulled back into a thin line, because she had to admit that Blake had a point. High school Cecily wouldn't want to hear it. High school Cecily definitely wouldn't have believed it. But with the knowledge she had now about her own attraction and sexuality-- yes, she could admit that she and Blake had probably spent those formative years dancing around each other to whatever degree. "You think I'm smart, beautiful, and talented," Cecily settled into her chair, clearly pleased with herself. "Careful, Blake. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a little crush."

Blake: The blonde chuckled at Cecily's words. "That would be what you focused on the most out of that. Didn't I warn you about not letting your head get too big before I opened my mouth?" Instead of her words having the bite they'd had so often when they were younger, there was a constant teasing behing them. Teasing that couldn't be mistaken as anything else but flirting. "The attraction I have to you goes without saying at this point. Plus, we've both set more than one plan to see each other again. You're going to have to sit at least five feet from me during the stream."

Cecily: "I suppose you're in trouble now," Cecily's lips curved up into that absurdly self-absorbed smirk again, "since it would appear that we're almost becoming something akin to friends in our older and wiser forms." They were becoming a heck of a lot more than that, but that was a conversation Cecily wasn't ready to have yet. "Why would I need to sit five feet away from you? Does it have something to do with how the controllers work?"

Blake: "Oh the absolute horror," Blake teased back. The two of them had always had a weird way of pushing one another. It looked horrible as teens, but her constant bickering with the blonde pushed her to keep going after what she wanted. It started the fire beneath her 'don't give a fuck' attitude that helped her survive all the bullshit of her family and adolescent choices. "It has to do with how my brain works."

Cecily: Cecily had mellowed out quite a bit since high school, which was a blessing. She didn't think that her former self would be able to be quite as nonchalant about everything. "Dare I ask how your brain works?" Cecily teased, because she genuinle didn't realize the trap she was walking right into. "Is that the pretty girl buffer?"

Blake: The blonde arched an eyebrow at the woman across from her because she knew that their attraction to one another was obvious. Their conversation had been laced with inneundo from the beginning, and it was also somehow cute. "When it comes to being around a gorgeous girl that flirts with me, I'm insanely tactile which would not be the most conducive for gaming. Calling it the pretty girl buffer is cute though."

Cecily: "I don't really see evidence of that, here," Cecily was countering just to be a jerk, and she found it amusing. "Not so much as an attempt to hold my hand? You're talking a big game, Blake, but I see little to show for it."

Blake: "I had to slow it down, you know. I nearly made you choke on your iced tea earlier. I didn't want the first time my lips touch yours to be during mouth to mouth," she easily countered back. Cecily had to know that Blake could keep up with her banter after so many years. It was nice for it to be through flirting than anger though.

Cecily: "But you want that?" Cecily asked, willing her heartbeat to not be so loud. "You want to kiss me?"

Blake: "Yeah, I do. That's why I invited you out to dinner, offered to get you a game, and am open to you teasing me in front of all my followers on camera." Blake bit her bottom lip for a moment, but it didn't last long because the smile wanting to break free wouldn't allow it.

Cecily: "By all things McQueen, Astor, you like me," Cecily leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, triumphant. "I suppose we'll have to make this a regular thing, then. Some author in this cafe is using us as book fodder for their next lesbian rom com."

Blake: "Do I win points for actually knowing who Alexander McQueen is," she asked with genuine curiosity. She didn't know what won her favor with the designer, but she was willing to stick around and figure it out. "You don't sound too upset about the prospect of seeing more of me, Cecily."

Cecily: "Of course you do. I'm not upset about it," Cecily assured her, shrugging casually. "If this conversation is anything to go by, we missed out big time in high school."

Blake: Taking Cecily's words along what she'd said earlier as good signs, Blake reaches her right hand forward and slowly covers the designer's hand with her own. "Then I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?"

Cecily: Cecily turned her palm over and laced her fingers with Blake's. "Looks like it. We're off to a great start."

Blake: "Come over to my place on Friday. I'll have the game by then. What do you say?"

Cecily: "It's a date."

#blecily 001 #hijacking lunch

1 note · View note