#i'd get fed up with the both of them pretty quickly to be honest

[myfoodishappiness]

i know people were gossiping like crazy about jackie and shauna in that school. jeff hundred per cent was the third wheel and freshman probs got so shocked when they found out he was the boyfriend.

[dzpenumbra]

1/17/23

Last night was one of the worst nights I've had in a long time. The second my head hit the pillow the dark thoughts just poured in. It was rough. First stretch, I got like 1 hour of sleep. I kept waking up and needing to readjust, then freaking out, then feeling sick. I honestly can't remember the last time I legit felt run down. It must've been like... the last time I got vaccinated, honestly. I just don't really get sick much, which is surprising because I lived in a really gross and unhealthy house for a long time. But now... now I'm legit run-down.

I woke up after like an hour and felt like I had to shit, like diarrhea shit, but it was the opposite, I was constipated. But it was just... ugh. My body was just like "I want this out" and just going through all the different methods, I guess. Idk. I started to feel super nauseous, so I grabbed a bowl, refilled my water and stumbled back to bed. I just felt rotten. A bit of a fever, but cold extremities. But honestly, it was the head-game that got me the most. I mean this wholeheartedly, if I had just gotten the shot and felt like shit - without my parents shitting doom into my brain - I really don't think my brain would've gone there. I would've just gone "man, this sucks, I feel pretty crappy and I wish I had someone to take care of me." But those stupid conspiracy theory seeds planted in my head took root and had me freaking out most of the night. I ended up getting up around 9, after tossing and turning for a few hours, I got a granola bar and some yogurt, fed the cat and brought my weighted blanket to the beanbag chair. I spent most of the rest of the day in the chair, I said fuck it and took the day off completely.

I tried to do yoga, and did succeed. I'm surprised I even tried, to be honest. I just felt like garbage. It wasn't too rough, but the headaches were the worst part. All the forward folds and going from plank to standing really quickly just kept giving me splitting headaches, so I'd have to pause the video. It was rough, I almost tapped out... but I saw it through, I just didn't really push myself as much as I usually do.

I started getting texts from my mom about mid-day. Not even mentioning yesterday, trying to buy me a fucking workbench again. Just pretending like all the shit they dumped on me yesterday didn't happen, and like she didn't dodge a call from me. I just... didn't respond. I didn't know how. She sent me another message around 5:30 again asking me if I wanted to talk or not. And I just... again... didn't respond. I don't know what to say.

I try very hard to communicate clearly what problems I have. It has gotten me into a lot of shit when dealing with prideful people. And just in general too, I guess, I don't know. People just don't really like hearing the blunt truth told to them. Like, what I would say is "you guys both dangled the threat of death in front of me as a way to try to pressure and manipulate me into altering my personal medical decisions, and you did it through the guise of being 'supportive'. Then you got pissed off and scared and disappeared, leaving me to go through feeling like utter shit completely alone. Pretty sure that's not 'support'. Pretty sure that's... control." Something tells me that will not go over well, it will just lead to an argument. And I'm just done with arguments, to be honest.

Like... please tell me I'm not the only one seeing this. This like... obsession with "freedom" is not even remotely about freedom, it's about control. Like one day... the virus pops over to this continent and we have to take preventative measures to mitigate the spread, and suddenly half the country thinks their being systematically oppressed, when 3 months prior you couldn't bother them to get off the fucking couch. It's juvenile. It's not about principles, it's not about evidence. Here, let me use an example to show what's going on.

In fall of 2018, I found out that one of my earliest friends who I had known since I was like... 12? had died, and I was told it was related to fentanyl. That was a very serious trauma for me, it hit me very hard. We had grown apart over the years as his drug use escalated, but still... he was a part of my life, you know. We had memories. He is part of my history. I knew his family. So like... 8 months later? My dad finds out I'm smoking weed again after 15 years of actively avoiding it. And, despite having zero contact with me, is convinced that it's making me "psychotic" and "dangerous". Really, just coming up with a conclusion and then googling for whatever dots he can connect to try and persuade me that he is correct, to convince me via email that I am unknowingly being drugged and going crazy. So this fucker sends me an email - while I'm high - that is an article from some fucking periodical in Long Island or something? Like just some random local rag he googled. And the article is about how people shouldn't be buying weed because it's "fentanyl-laced weed". And he acted like he was my goddamn savior. By literally traumatizing me while I was extremely vulnerable, but using one of my past traumas against me, to try to control my actions.

Okay, you know... I felt myself getting political earlier and it's making me uncomfortable. So whatever with the general shit above, of course there are injustices in the world, of course there are problems. But like... a lot of people - I would stretch to say most - respond to fear with control. Instead of addressing the fear. Instead of engaging the fear. They control their environment to be able to avoid the fear, or snuff out the cause of the fear, and come up with any narrative they can find to justify not directly engaging with the fear. So they never have to process the concept. Like an extension of repression, but focused outwards. Just an observation, something to be aware of, because it seems to be something we as a species are very prone to.

I'm exhausted, I feel like shit and honestly, I don't want to relive this crap. I just want to sleep and zone out, and watch mindless TV. I have no idea how to talk to my parents about this, I am just creating space. They hurt me very deeply, and it's still very raw, and I don't trust myself to be able to communicate how this affected me without pointing fingers.

I am not good at boundaries. This is a boundary I really need to have, it's devastating to me. Fear-mongering and trying to scare someone out of a serious decision they are making for their self is not support. I don't know how to communicate how unhealthy this is without telling them what they cannot do. Like, I can say "if you do this again, I'm going to have to leave," and that sounds like a threat, like I'm just turning the tables and trying to control them. If I say "you cannot treat me this way," it looks like an ultimatum, it's giving them orders, telling them what to do. If I say "when you treat me this way, this is how it affects me," they just twist it around, trying to get me to change how it affects me. As though I 'got it wrong' or something.

It is. SO. Unhealthy. And I swear to god, every time I'm on an upswing with my PTSD shit... they just dump some new bullshit on me, crushing my spirit, reopening my trauma. And I have to like, go back into a cocoon and recover again, by myself. And all my progress I was making on my life? Not just halted, but all the daily life tasks start piling up again, right when I got caught up. I blink and suddenly I haven't streamed in a month. Suddenly I'm going to bed at 5:30 AM again. Suddenly I'm scared to leave my house again. Suddenly I feel like everyone out there is out to get me again. I fucking wonder why...

So I'm just going to wait until Wednesday, talk to my therapist, see how he recommends handling this. In the meantime, I'm just going to focus on staying alive and managing morale. Resting and recovering. Finding peace and happiness where I can find it. I'm already starting to feel a bit better, we'll see how the rest of the night goes. Worse comes to worse I can just sleep in the beanbag chair again.

[thornstocutyouwith]

describe their dream vacation.  would they take anyone or go alone?  

what is their idea of the afterlife?  does it scare them?

what’s their love language? 

what they wanted to be when they grew up vs what they do now.

who is their best friend?  how long have they known them?

do they have anyone they consider their enemy?  what did they do to gain that title?

what would their three wishes be if they found a genie?  

what do they consider their worst habit? 

do they have any habits they believe are odd?

if they could hit redo on a single past event in their life what would it be?  would they do it if it meant changing the present?

what does their future look like when they picture it?  who’s there with them?

[ Tancred ]

THE REAL IMPORTANT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS

describe their dream vacation.  would they take anyone or go alone? Maybe go to India's Golden Temple. He would not take anyone with him. It's HIS dream vacation. Others would just ruin it, pfft.

what is their idea of the afterlife?  does it scare them? Well, seeing as he is a half angel, who was raised by an extraterrestrial being possessing his house/library it's really hare to say what he believes about an afterlife. Maybe that there isn't one, ultimately. Everything is just a dark empty void. The end. It doesn't really scare him.

what’s their love language? Quality time, probably.

what they wanted to be when they grew up vs what they do now. Pretty much the same, Tancred always knew he was going to be a librarian.

who is their best friend?  how long have they known them? I'd say Jace, since Tancred's never really stuck around in most places to have made any other friends. Jace seems to have been the only constant at one time, after Tancred saved the other from the same place they had both been being tortured at.

do they have anyone they consider their enemy?  what did they do to gain that title? Yes. His tormentors in an overrun zombie dimension. There, the living were terrible people, and didn't like him being better than them, so tried to steal the library from him, and tortured him by removing body parts until he managed to escape. So all of the living in that dimension he considers to be his enemies.

what would their three wishes be if they found a genie?  He probably wouldn't need them, to be honest. Or use them. Though he might wish to know who his biological parents are. Where they are. And about his siblings.

what do they consider their worst habit? Probably getting fed up with people's bullshit really quickly.

do they have any habits they believe are odd? Not really. No. He doesn't care about that kind of thing.

if they could hit redo on a single past event in their life what would it be?  would they do it if it meant changing the present? Probably not. He actually doesn't regret anything that much. Everything that's happened has been positive character growth for him, and he knows it.

what does their future look like when they picture it?  who’s there with them? He hopes his family, Eira possibly if they ever figure things out, lol. And maybe less irritation from losers he's going to meet.

[faofinn]

BTHB - Anger Born of Worry

When Fao left on tour, he seemed to take most of Harrison’s sense and stability with him. The younger wolf began causing issues almost immediately, quickly squaring up to Sheila and Fred. Even Steve couldn’t control him, or his wolf.

After a particularly vicious moon, leaving both Harrison and Fred bruised and sore, things took a turn for the worse. He’d started on Finn, rounding on him over breakfast. They’d scrapped over nothing, Finn ending up landing on the floor rather roughly. He’d yelped immediately, scrambling away as he tried to protect himself. Still, Harrison didn’t stop.

The Daniels were furious, struggling to believe Harrison would do that to Finn, the kid he’d always adored. He was kicked out, the rest of the pack watching him as he collected his belongings. It was clear he wasn’t welcome.

Theo took him in, let him crash on his sofa while Steve patched Finn up - while he’d done what he could at the clinic, but it was clear he needed their hospital. Harrison, being bigger and more prepared, hadn’t fared too badly; a few cuts and scrapes that would heal soon enough.

While Theo’s offer was kind, Harrison couldn’t stay. He wasn’t sure if it was couldn’t or wouldn’t, but either way, he had to go. He left notes, an apology to Finn and then the Daniels, a few notes he’d saved up included to pay for the broken plates and chairs; another to Steve, for taking the chance on him and him screwing it all up, like he always did; one for Theo, a quick explanation and a (polite) request to not throw his stuff out, not that he deserved it; and finally, one for Fao. He wasn’t sure if it was a plead for him to come home safely, or an apology for everything he’d ever done. A love letter of sorts, things he’d never say out loud, but since he wasn’t coming back, that didn’t matter. Fao might as well know.

He waited until Theo had gone to bed, the older man offering to stay up and chat, sensing something was off. He’d declined, lied until he was left alone. Despite the other wolf trying to wait up, he’d drifted off, giving Harrison his opportunity.

He’d taken food from his cupboards - old stuff, nearly out of date, things he’d heard Theo complain about. It wasn’t like Harrison to just take charity, so he left some money too, under his letter of apology. With nothing left to do, he shouldered his backpack, shoved his rolled duvet under his arm and slipped out into the night.

When Theo woke and found Harison gone, he called everyone he knew, panic clear in his words. Nobody had seen or heard from him. And then, he found the letters.

The pack was out searching as soon as Theo raised the alarm - Harrison was still part of the pack, even after his actions. Everyone was distraught, worried about him - it wasn’t the first time he’d ran off, but everything felt wrong. His letters held too much finality, too much goodbye.

When Fao came back from his tour, it was to the family and the pack in chaos. Harrison missing was worrying, and the letter Fao read made his stomach twist. He was exhausted, just come back from war, but he threw himself into searching. Of course, after he'd spent some time with Finn. Something about what Harrison had said in his letter sent Fao searching further afield than he usually would. He spent days scouring the woods as wolf, sleeping under bushes despite the cold and wind. He clung to every hint of a scent, desperate to find him.

Haarrison kept his distance, travelled North. He’d never been far from London, only ever travelling to the south coast on the ‘family’ holidays he’d had. There was nothing for him in the north, but that was part of the (pull) of it. He wasted most of his money on hotels, trying his best to find somewhere to stay out of the cold and rain. There wasn’t much he could do; he couldn’t work, had to be careful where he left his leg when he shifted too. He did his best to hide his scent, to keep the pack from finding him, not that they’d be looking for him anyway.

The food was gone quickly too, despite his attempt to ration and hunt when he could. The idea of fish had quickly grown stale, rabbit and pigeon following suit.

He didn’t dare to beg, though would often find some safety in sleeping in doorways in city centres, his duvet wrapped tight around him. He was caught out a few times too, woken up to someone trying to rob him and beat him up. Bloody lip and bruised eyes left him more suspicious, made him sit awake at night. His black eyes grew into dark bags under his eyes, his tiredness past exhaustion.

With the days slightly warmer, more crowds flocked to the streets. His usual sleeping places disturbed by foot traffic and prying eyes. As much as he tried to sleep during the day, every instinct in him begged him to keep moving, to try and evade any search efforts that might still be going on. After all, he’d caused so much trouble within the pack, they’d surely still be out for blood.

It took Fao a long while to even get close to finding him. But his letter kept him going, scanning over each word to try and find any hint of where he was. It took him much further North than he expected. He lost the scent, and had pretty much given up as he headed into the town, very much human, in search of a hotel room to stay in and get cleaned up. But then he caught a scent again, and whilst he couldn’t be sure, it certainly seemed like him.

And there, curled up in a shop doorway, was Harrison. He was curled under a filthy duvet, and he smelled sick, but it was him.

Fao stopped dead.

“Harrison? Tomcat?”

He didn’t move at first. There was no way Fao had found him, not this far away. He sniffed quietly. Well, shit. Not one to give up, he pulled the duvet further over his head, trying to hide.

“Harrison?”

“No.”

“It’s only me.”

He sat up slowly, breathing deeply as he tried to check if it really was just Fao. The others wouldn't be too far away. “Fao.”

“Hey, stranger.”

“What do you want?” He got stiffly to his feet, backed in the corner.

“Wanted to find you. Came back from tour and you’d gone.”

“Yeah.”

“I've missed you, Tomcat.”

“So what have you come to do?”

“Came to find you. Your letter… Well, I…”

“I said what I said.”

“I was scared I'd lose you.”

“I’m not coming back.” He frowned. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

“I'm not gonna kill you, don't be daft.” Fao said. “But I swear I've been wolf for like a week, I was gonna get a hotel room, grab a shower and some food? Wanna come?”

“So you can tell the others where I am so they can get me? Yeah, sure.”

“They don't know I'm here, and I'm not going to tell them. I won't tell them I've found you, if you'd rather not. But nobody wants to kill you.”

“Of course they do.”

“They don't, Hars. They're all really worried about you.”

He shook his head with a bark of a laugh. "Don't be daft."

“They are. Sheila's a wreck.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t.”

“They’re not my pack any more.”

“They’re always going to be your pack, Hars.”

He scoffed. "They kicked me out. I deserved it."

“They told you to leave the house. That doesn't mean you're gone from the pack.”

“As good as.”

“Not at all.”

“I’ve said what I said, Fao. I’m not going back.” He squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw. “Just leave me alone.”

“Come on, let’s at least grab a shower, some hot food and sleep in a real bed tonight.”

He shook his head, though his heart desperately wanted to. “No, I’m not...I’ve got to go now.”

“No commitment. Have some food, a soft place to sleep. And then if you still want to walk away… I can’t stop you.”

“So you can kill me in my sleep.” He laughed drily or dryly whatever. “Yeah, sure.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?”

“I trust that pack will come before I do.”

“They’re not coming. I can’t even tell them, my phone is dead.”

“You can charge it.”

“Why would I tell them? I’m just here for you.”

“Because you all want me dead.”

“We don’t.”

He couldn;t allow himself the hope. “No.”

“I swear, tomcat. Swear on my life.”

Fao wouldn’t lie to him. “No, mate. It’s okay.”

“Come on, let’s get you warm and fed, eh?” Fao said, offering him a hand.

He flinched away; his back hit against stone and he groaned. “I’ve said no.”

Fao frowned, and stepped back. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know, I know.” He wrapped an arm around his stomach, protecting himself. “I know.”

Fao dropped his gaze, wolf body language taking over by default. “I’m just here to help you.”

“Honest?”

“Honest. I wouldn't lie.”

He hesitated, almost giving in. “I’ve not got any money.”

“Let me worry about the money.”

“I’m not taking charity.”

“Do I look like a charity? You're family, shut up and let me take care of you, tomcat.”

"I'm not family." He spat.

“You are to me.” Fao said, folding his arms over his chest. “Don't snap at me.” His tone betrayed where he'd been for the past few months, a hangover from his tour.

"I'll do what I want."

Fao raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say a word.

Harrison's lip curled. "What are you going to do?"

“Dunno. Figured I'd just wait for you to stop being an ass.

"I'm packing my shit and going." He all but snarled, starting to roll his duvet up.

“Okay. You want a hand?”

"Does it look like I want a hand?"

“Well, you seem to be making this a big thing. Bit dramatic if you ask me, all I did was offer you some food and a warm bed.”

"You only offered so you'd have the chance to hurt me."

“No I didn't. I don't want to hurt you.”

"You have to."

“No I don't.”

"An eye for an eye."

“Nobody cares about any of that crap.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I'm not lying.”

"I'll pay you back." He softened.

“If you want to.”

“I will.”

“Come on then. Food, a shower and sleep in a real bed.””

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He said. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“No, come on. We'll get you a good bed.”

He could fight it later. “Okay.”

Slowly, Fao offered Harrison his hand again. “Come on, then.”

Harrison shouldered his pack, then reached for Fao's hand. "Thank you."

“I've missed you.”

"Don't be daft."

“I really have!”

He didn't say anything. He still wasn't sure where he stood. There was no sign of ill intentions with Fao, but he couldn't be too careful.

Fao sighed, but didn't push it. Harrison was going to take time to trust him again. But he lead him to the hotel he'd planned on staying in, and managed to reserve a double room. They'd both have somewhere proper to sleep, hot water, and food that night and the next morning.

Harrison hesitated again. “Can I grab a shower?”

“Of course. You got some clean clothes?”

“Clean enough.”

“Grab some of mine, they're clean. And we can buy some more for you.”

“It’s fine. I can wash them in the sink.”

“No, Hars. We’ll get you some nice clothes.”

“I’ve got clothes.”

“Clean clothes.”

"They will be once I've washed them."

“Alright.”

“I told you,” he said gruffly. “I’m not taking charity.”

“I know. But there's a difference between pity and help.”

“And I don’t think you know the difference.”

“Of course I do.”

"Then stop pitying me."

“I'm not pitying you. I'm just trying to help.”

He scuffed his feet. "Feels a lot like pity."

“But Tomcat, you think anyone who's trying to help is pitying you.”

“Because it’s the same thing.”

“It's not.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How far is the hotel?”

“Not far.”

“I’ve had enough walking.”

“It's not too far. But I can carry some of your stuff?”

He jerked away. "It's mine."

“I'm not gonna take it. Thought it might just make the walk easier if you didn't have so much to carry.”

“I always have to carry it. Otherwise someone would nick it.”

“I'm not gonna nick it.”

"You might." He shrugged his backpack on again. "It's fine."

“Okay.” It hurt that Harrison didn't trust him any more, but he didn't know what else to do or say.

Harrison could sense the pain from Fao and he sighed. "It's filthy anyway, I'm better off carrying it."

“Whatever you're comfortable with.”

"Not fair on you."

“Not like I'm not fit.”

He huffed. "Yeah, that's true."

“So I'm happy to carry if you need it.”

"It's okay."

“Let’s get going, then.”

He sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

Fao led the way to the hotel, trying to keep a slow pace so Harrison didn't have to rush.

Harrison hesitated outside, turning to Fao. “They’ll kick me out again.”

“No they won't. They've been paid enough.”

“Still, they’ve seen the state of me.”

“You look fine, just a bit scuffed up.”

“I look homeless.”

“Well, Hars, I hate to break it to you, but you have been living on the streets.” Fao attempted to joke. “Come on, take my hoodie.” He pulled it over his head.

“You think I don’t know?” Harrison snapped at Fao.

“Sorry, sorry. Stupid joke. Come on, just take the hoodie, it’ll be alright. You’re clearly with me, so it’s fine.”

“And what about my shit?”

“I’ll carry it.”

“They won’t let you in.”

“Give it here, I’ll shove it in my bag?”

“Let me carry the bag though?”

“Sure, so long as you don’t break it.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Good.” Fao shrugged his bag off and rolled Harrison’s duvet and other crap up to shove it inside. “That’s alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He swung it onto his back. “Thanks.”

“Let's go, then.”

“Right.” He nodded. “After you.”

Fao led the way inside, glancing back at Harrison to make sure he was still following.

"I'm not going to run off. Don't give me that look."

“But you thought about it.”

“No.” He lied.

Fao raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. They got inside, and spoke to the person at the desk. He shot them some slightly odd looks, but Fao spoke in a way that dared him to give them shit, and nothing was said. They were given keys, and directions to the room. They headed up, and Fao unlocked the door to let Harrison inside. “Here we go. Much better.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Do you wanna grab a shower?”

“Yes please.”

“Go on, then.”

He glanced at Fao before heading into the bathroom, backpack still on. “Won’t be long.”

“Harrison. My pack, please?”

“It’s got my stuff in.”

“Take your stuff out?”

“Fine.”

“Thanks.”

He shoved his pack towards Fao. “I’m getting a shower now.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Enjoy it.”

He headed back into the bathroom, dumping his stuff on the floor before stripping. He ran the water hot, used as much shampoo and bodywash as he could, and just stood under the stream. It was a stark difference from his previous attempts at a shower, a hurried wash in the mcdonalds toilets. After washing his hair and body, he slumped down, sliding until he was sat on the shower floor. His head in his hands, he let himself cry, all his emotions coming to a head.

Fao gave Harrison plenty of time in the shower. He deserved his privacy, and it was no doubt the first shower he'd had in far too long. He sorted through the other wolf's stuff, only to neatly fold it for now. He'd go through and wash it later for him. Even the duvet could be washed, he was sure. Of course he wanted to bring Harrison home, but if he chose to keep living this way, the best he could do was make him more comfortable.

Harrison eventually emerged from the bathroom, hair still dripping and a mess on his head. He was in slightly cleaner clothes, his others having also had a wash. When he saw Fao, his lip curled.

"I told you not to touch my stuff."

“I just folded them for you.” Fao said, guarded. “That way you can pick out what wants washing and if anything needs fixing. It didn't seem right, just leaving it in a pile on the floor. It's all there, you can check it for yourself."

"It's not yours to touch."

“Look, sorry. I was only trying to help.”

"I didn't ask for your help!" He shot back, his wavering voice betraying him. "I didn't ask for any of it."

“Look, I don't know what the fuck happened back home, I don't care, but I'm your pack and I'm your family and we help eachother out when we end up in the shit! I'm not long back from fucking Afghanistan, and yet here I am with you, because I'm not just going to walk past and leave you to suffer. So get your head out of your ass and just let me help, for fuck's sake. It's not pity, it's not charity, it's me helping a friend. And I'm sorry I touched your stuff, I am. But I was only trying to make your life easier!”

Harrison didn’t say anything, visibly shrinking back on himself, his lip trembling. He turned away, grabbing his clothes and stuffing them haphazardly into his bag.

Fao softened, and stepped back. He'd gone too far, he knew he had, but Harrison was just so frustrating. It didn't help just how worried he was about him.

“Look, Tomcat, I'm sorry…”

He shook his head, his wet clothes shoved on top. "Don't."

“Don't go. I'll leave you be, the room is yours. Don't have to see my stupid face. But take it, sleep in a real bed, eat real food. For your own health.”

"It's fine." He tried to slink past Fao. "I'm fine."

“No, Hars, you're not fine.”

"I am."

“You're so far from fine it hurts. I read your letter, I really thought I was never going to see you again. I thought I'd lost you. Please, don't go…”

He stopped, finally looking at Fao. "You weren't meant to find me."

“And yet I did.” Fao said, stepping closer. “Come on, don't throw it all in now.”

"I can't." He shook his head, clenched his jaw to try and stop the tears that threatened again. "It's already over."

Fao couldn't help himself, he pulled Harrison in for a hug, crushing him against his chest. “Oh, Tomcat, nothing is ever over.”

[kingsofchaos]

If you wanted to i'd love to see Gav using his charm and wiles to get the others lads out of trouble somehow, maybe flirting them out of some kind of mess or something?

Michael and Jeremy have been dealingwith a particularly unpleasant crew, forced into a fake civility every coupleof weeks when they go together to collect shipments or demand payments. It’sthe sort of thing Gavin would normally be involved with, at least in the earlydays of establishing a relationship, but no one really wants him near this oneat all; the crew in question is incredibly unstable, more mercenaries in anever-shifting arrangement than anything like the close-knit loyalty of theFAHC, and their leader is absolutely the worst of them. Some smarmy bastardwith a stupid name neither Jeremy nor Michael deign to remember – Taylor orTristen or Troy – he’s always intentionally rude, stopping just shy of openlymocking the Fake’s with an arrogance that even his own people seem to despise.Itwould be so much easier to just kill him and move on but no matter how muchMichael and Jeremy argue Geoff won’t have it. Something about relations, how forall Toby(?) is an asshole he’s got enough power, a nasty enough crew, that it’ssmarter to just wait them out for now, get whatever they can out of them beforeit all goes south. Which is easy enough to say when Geoff’s got very little todo with them, but nonetheless Michael and Jeremy suck it up, go to everydealing with clenched teeth and itchy trigger fingers, and life goes on.After one such meeting, maybe threemonths after this unwilling relationship began, Michael and Jeremy drive out tomeet Gavin for drinks, Jeremy tuning out as Michael rants the whole way to thebar because all he wants is a beer or twelve, wanted to just go to their normaldive but Gavin had insisted on coming out to this fancy yuppie shithole. It’s stillfull of crooks but mostly the rich, stuck-up variety instead of honest thugs, thekind of place that likely only stocks pretentious brews, but Gavin offered topay so here they were.Gavin’s already there when they arrive,leaning carelessly against the bar, all fake flirty smiles and inviting anglesas he holds court, surrounded by half a dozen admirers - though two inparticular seem to be jockeying for his attention. Thing One had just turned togrowl something at Thing Two when Gavin notices his Lads coming through thedoor, lazy showman grin brightening into something more genuine as he shakesoff his fans and flounces over. The group is less than pleased, more than onethrowing absolutely filthy looks that have Michael sneering nastily back whileJeremy not-so-innocently flexes beside him, neither making any effort to hidetheir weapons and quickly sending the one idiot who tried to follow into a hastyretreat. Gavin just laughs, grabs a tray of beers before towing his boys backtowards a booth.That should really be that, except apparentlyGavin’s not quite finished with whatever game he’s playing. It’s clear his focusis still on Thing’s One and Two rather than the conversation happening aroundhim; he asks all the right questions, hums sympathetically in all the rightplaces, but nothing gives away Gavin’s drifting interests quite as much as thepalpable feeling of having his undivided attention.  Michael asks, Gavin ignores him in favour of throwingan all too familiar smile towards the bar, and Jeremy groans, thunking his headagainst the table and wishing he’d just gone home.It’s not genuine interest, there’snothing honest in the way Gavin’s eyes narrow, nothing sweet in the sharpnessof his grin, which is just as well really because Gavin certainly knows how topick them. Thing One is gorgeous in a poisonous kind of way, tight blackclothes and blood red lips only accentuated by the wicked looking scar curvingacross her cheek. Thing Two isn’t quite so put together but is no lessimposing, big and blonde and definitely armed.They both tracked Gavin’s movementacross the room like starving dogs, sneering and snapping at one another asthey turn back to their place at the bar where they’d obviously been sittingtogether before Gavin stuck his big nose between them. Jeremy and Michael tosseach other a glance, long suffering but confident; it wouldn’t be pretty butpresuming it was two on two they could take them. That’s the grim reality ofdrinking with Gavin when he’s in one of these moods; there’s no saying there willbe a fight, but you’ve always got to be ready for the moment he tires ofcivilised society and pushes someone into violence just because he can.And Gavin is definitely in a mood, openlyplaying the two against each other every time he passes on his way to the bar;brushing against one, flashing her a secret little smile, only to make eyes atthe other on his way back, the man half rising from his stool as Gavin laughsand trots back to the booth. When Thing One ducks into the bathroom Gavinsteals her seat, leans right into Two’s space and orders them each three shotsbefore slinking off again. When Thing Two walks off to answer his phone Gavin’sback to buy One a drink, something straight and dark and far more impressivethan his own neon cocktail.So goes the rest of the hour; it’s blindinglyobvious by now, at least to anyone on the outside, that Gavin is drivingheadfirst into one hell of a fight with no sign of hitting the breaks. Hisadmirers are getting steadily drunker, louder and nastier with one another asthey try to compete, and Gavin just keeps throwing fuel on the fire.It finally comes to a head when, on yetanother bar run, Gavin brushes past them both and zeroes in on a third man who’d just arrived, abandoningcoy touches and heated looks for his thickest accent and most charming smile. Thethree at the bar clearly knew one another, the Things had been friendly enough whengreeting the third, but the longer Gavin stands there chattering away thecooler their interactions become, shoulders growing stiff and tight as fistsclench and voices rise.Seemingly oblivious Gavin keeps stirringthe pot, whispering something to one, winking at another, brushing off someone’sreaching hand only to skate fingers down the other’s arm, until eventually hetosses his head and stalks off in a huff, triumphant little smirk sneakingacross his face as an all-out fight breaks out behind him.Michael, who’d been growing snippier andsnippier all night, is fed up with pandering to Gavin’s nonsense when he andJeremy actually had to work today. He gets himself going on tirade about justwanting to drink and forget the assholes Geoff has them dealing with, not watchGavin flutter his eyes at idiots and destroy their friendships for his own sickamusement. Jeremy tries to agree wholeheartedly but Gavin interrupts him withan exaggerated pout that quickly bubbles into laughter as he croons back, asinfuriating as ever, aw Bois, don’t I alwaysdo right by you?Timing as spot on as always Michael doesn’teven get to snap a reply before an almighty crash has the three of themspinning around just in time to see Mystery Man #3 tripping over the flooredbar stool, turning just far enough in their direction to reveal himself as noneother than Todd (Tommy? Theo?). He’s reaching into his jacket in a way that hashalf the bar twitching towards their own holsters but its already over, Thing Twograbbing at his arms while Thing One ducks in from behind, rapid jerky motionof her arm unmistakable as she makes good use of a knife.There’s shouting now, people moving inevery direction as even the bartenders pull out weapons but Michael and Jeremyjust turn back to Gavin, eerily synchronized in their surprise, and Gavinsmiles. Climbs to his feet and buttons his jacket as casual as you please, all C’mon lads it’s getting a bit too loud inhere innit? Like the bane of their last few months isn’t bleeding out onthe floor, like Jeremy isn’t still open mouthed in shock, like Michael isn’t chokingback laughter all vicious and brilliant, adoring affection so familiar on his grinningface.Tomorrow Geoff will get a phone call.Will hear that Travis was taken out in some kind of scuffle, died slow andbloody in a bar just outside the city. He’ll hear that it was an inside job,some escalation of a drunken argument between Travis’ people, that their wholecrew is in uproar and already splintering apart, not much of a threat to anyonebesides each other. Geoff will know that despite their desire Michael andJeremy couldn’t have had anything to do with it, death witnessed by far toomany to be a frame-up, will know that even Gavin, who’d been sniffing aroundthe deal ever since his precious Lads started complaining, can’t possibly haveforced Travis’ crewmates to kill him. And yet, tomorrowGeoff will glare at the three flopped all over his couch, faux surprise at thenews doing nothing to hide the way they’re as unapologetically self-satisfiedas overgrown cats, and will know with the absolute surety of any harried parentthat somehow, in some way, this mess was absolutely their fault.For now, though, three friends spill laughingout of the bar, hopped up on petty vengeance and unmatched camaraderie, on thesweet victory of their chosen reality; the night is young, the city is theirs,and the Lad’s remain untouchable.