#jesus christ this is just so much unnecessary headache

[myownprivatcidaho]

.

[eliemo]

Solitary

Summary: Logan wakes up. He wasn't supposed to this time.

TWs: aftermath of a suicide attempt, implied/referenced self harm, self hatred and self esteem issues, hopeful ending

Notes: Mind the tags pls, I wrote this with no plan at like 1am. Platonic LAMP

When Logan woke up, the first thing he registered was a splitting headache, white hot pain spreading down his head to his spine like his skull was being snapped in two.

The next was the pulsing agony in both of his arms, shooting up to his shoulders with a sudden intensity that made him gasp before he could stop himself, only to be met with another stabbing pain in his throat.

“Hey hey hey, easy.” A vaguely familiar voice filtered in from somewhere nearby, but Logan was pretty sure the pain would only worsen if he opened his eyes to look. “Easy, Lo. You’re safe, you’re ok.”

All Logan was able to manage was an awful sounding croak. He felt someone running their hand gently through his hair, another holding the side of his face.

“Breathe, kiddo. You’re ok.”

Patton. A bit of the rising alarm faded when he recognized the moral side’s voice, but something still pulled at his chest when he realized how scared Pat sounded. What was going on?

“Can you open your eyes?” Patton asked, soft and concerned right beside his ear. “We really miss you, Logan.”

Patton’s voice broke a bit at the end, miserable and pleading, and that was enough for Logan to risk pain that came with the sudden light, making another weak noise in the back of his throat as he pried his eyes open, surprised and a little frustrated over how much effort it took.

Like he’d warily expected, the barrage of light did feel like someone was repeatedly taking a knife to his eyes, but it wasn't nearly as intense as he’d anticipated.

It took a second for everything to come into focus, but when it did Logan could make out that he was on the couch in the living room, a dark blue blanket draped over him, the curtains closed over the windows to keep the sunlight out of the dim room.

Patton was crouched beside him, fingers still running through Logan’s hair, slow and gentle. Virgil was perched on the other end of the couch, eyeshadow smeared and staining his face with dried black tears.

Roman was standing beside the armchair just a few paces away, looking like he’d just been startled out of his seat, face pale, eyes wide and shiny.

They all looked...awful. They looked about as bad as Logan felt right now.

“Wh-what?” It hurt to talk, voice raspy and shaking, but the confusion was only making his head hurt more. “What’s happening, I—”

“I’ll, uh- I’ll get him some water,” Roman said hastily, failing to hide the worried glance he sent Patton’s way. “Hang in there, Teach.”

Roman was gone before Logan could say anything, and his gaze wandered instead to Virgil who was still planted by his feet, shifting anxiously where he sat, glancing between Logan and Patton like he was waiting for someone to speak.

Luckily Roman wasn’t gone for long, hurrying back into the room within seconds and practically thrusting a glass of water in Logan’s face.

He moved to sit up and take it, only to hiss at the pain shooting up his arms at the tiniest of movements, falling limply back onto the cushions.

“Don’t use your hands, honey,” Patton said, a second too late. “Here, let me help you, ok?”

Any other time Logan would have protested. He was perfectly capable of drinking a cup of water by himself. But right now all he had the energy to do was give a tiny nod and let Patton help him to sit up.

He didn’t have the energy to fight, keeping his aching arms under the blanket and letting Patton bring the cup to his lips. The cold water eased the pain in his throat somewhat, even if it took a frustratingly long time for Logan to swallow a few sips.

“There you go,” Patton said when he saw done, and Logan hated how overly gentle the other side was being with him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Logan said, despite how badly everything hurt. “What...happened?”

He saw the three of them exchange worried glances among themselves, trying and failing once again to hide it from Logan. His head was still too heavy to remember what had put him in this position in the first place, but their concern was only worsening his rising anxiety. Or maybe he was just picking up on some of Virgil’s distress.

The anxious side shifted again, brows drawn together as he looked Logan over. “Do you not...remember what happened?”

Logan took a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing against the lump in his throat, taking a moment to catalogue his aching body, his headache, and the searing pain shooting up his arms.

“Was I...injured?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Patton immediately burst into tears. To his dismay, Roman and Virgil’s eyes started welling up at the same time.

Oh, god. Logan was even less prepared to deal with their emotions than he usually was.

“Is that…” he trailed off, swallowed, and tried again. “Is that a yes?”

Patton only began crying harder, and before Logan could try to apologize the moral side was throwing himself forward, arms wrapped around Logan as best he could, sobbing loudly into his chest.

“Patton, I—”

“I’m so sorry!” Patton wailed, only further growing Logan’s confusion. “I’m so sorry Lo, I’m so sorry! We didn’t- we didn’t know! I swear we had no idea!”

“Let him take a moment to wake up, Padre,” Roman said, still hovering anxiously. He and Virgil were being much quieter about their distress, but both of their faces were soaked with tears. “But we...we really are sorry. Gosh, Logan we’re so so sorry.”

Logan screwed his eyes shut again, still coming up blank when he tried to connect the dots. “What...what on earth are you apologizing for?”

“For not realizing you felt that way, Lo.” Virgil moved to put a hand on Logan’s leg, refusing to look the logical side in the eyes. “Jeez- you’re family and we never...we never noticed.”

Patton was still bawling into his shirt, Virgil tightened his own hold, Roman began pacing as he tended to do when he was stressed, and Logan still had absolutely no clue what was going on. Why wouldn’t someone just tell him what had happened?

“Patton...” Logan stopped, first from the pain that came with raising his hand to touch Patton’s shoulder, then from the shock of seeing his arms. “I—”

“Don’t look, baby,” Patton said, gently guiding his hands back under the blanket like Logan hadn’t gotten a clear view of blood stained bandages wrapped around his arms from his wrists to his elbows. “You’re ok.”

His arms were...had he...?

Roman cleared his throat, and Logan looked over at the sound. The Prince held a wrinkled piece of paper in his hand, crumpled and a little stained, and the writing Logan could just barely make out was suddenly alarmingly familiar.

“We, uhm. We found your note.”

And just like that it all came rushing back- the overwhelming pain, the emotions, everything spiraling out of his usually so strict control as he finally let everything out onto a flimsy piece of notebook paper.

He’d lost control, no longer able to see a better way out. All he’d been focused on was the horrible pain in his arms soaked with blood that signified an ending he hadn’t even been sure he really wanted.

It came back in a fragmented blur, and Logan abruptly remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have woken up.

Oh. Oh no.

“I am...so sorry,” Logan said, at a loss for what else to do. “It was never my intention for you all to—”

“Your intention was pretty fucking clear,” Virgil snapped, and Logan was taken aback by the hostility in Anxiety’s voice. “Jesus Christ, Lo! What were you thinking?”

“Virgil,” Patton snapped, but the wavering in his voice overshadowed any vehemence. “That’s...let’s calm down, kiddo. Ok?”

Virgil wiped his eyes with his sleeves, shoulders hunched as he crossed his arms and stared at the ground. Logan’s chest squeezed, guilt and panic overwhelming.

“How long was I...asleep?”

Patton gave a shaky sigh, going back to running his hands through Logan’s hair. “Since last night. It’s...I think three in the afternoon now.”

Logan’s stomach dropped, and the pain in his arms flared up again as he struggled to sit up, only to fall limp against the back of the couch. He’d been out all day, forcing the other sides to stop what they were doing and look after him.

He couldn’t imagine how much damage and stress he’d caused. The one thing he’d been trying to avoid doing any more of.

“I’m very sorry,” Logan said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “My intentions were not to be an inconvenience or cause any unnecessary stress. I will attempt to get back on schedule as soon as possible and—”

“Get back on schedule?”

Logan couldn’t remember hearing Virgil yell like this, shrinking back into Patton’s arms before he could stop himself, the anxious side having stood up from the couch, eyes wide and brimming with new tears.

Logan cleared his throat, struggling to speak with his heart hammering in his chest. “I...apologize for—”

“You think we’re upset over the schedule?” Virgil snapped, flinching when Roman moved closer to put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for you to wake up after you tried to kill yourself and you think we’re upset because we’re behind schedule? Are you fucking serious, Logan?”

The screaming eventually dissolved into ragged sobs, and Logan watched as Roman gathered Virgil up his arms and pulled him close, the anxious side burying his face into the Prince’s chest.

Roman hadn’t stopped silently crying, silent tears sliding down his cheeks as he pressed his nose to Virgil’s hair, trembling with the strength it took to hold back his sobs. And Patton hadn’t let go of him, half of Logan’s shirt soaked with the moral side’s tears.

He hadn’t...expected this. Any of it.

Honestly, Logan hadn’t expected anyone to even notice his absence at first. He supposed they might not have known he’d...passed at all if he hadn’t been found before he’d finished.

He'd expected them to be mildly agitated when they found out he was gone, a little annoyed that he’d taken such drastic measures instead of continuing to ignore it and move on for Thomas’s sake. They'd have to make their schedules themselves now, and his death would likely push a few things back.

Things might be a bit less efficient without him but...they’d realize it was for the best eventually. They would be happier without him around. The air would be lighter.

It would be quieter. They wouldn’t have to constantly hide their annoyance every time he opened his mouth.

They wouldn’t have to deal with him at all anymore.

He hadn’t...expected anyone to be upset over the thought of losing him. He hadn’t even succeeded, he was perfectly fine, and every single one of them was in very clear distress.

“I am...very sorry,” he tried again, wondering if all he’d managed to do was ruin things irreparably. “I never wanted to upset any of you.”

“It isn’t about us,” Patton said, reaching over to quickly squeeze Virgil’s hand. “It’s not about our feelings. It’s about yours.”

“No, Virgil is right. It was selfish of me to—”

“It wasn’t selfish,” Virgil said quickly. He pulled away from Roman, just enough to look at Logan. “It’s not...it wasn’t selfish, Lo. It wasn’t your fault.”

Logan frowned, because that...was an exceptionally strange thing to say. Especially when he had every right to scream until his voice was hoarse. “Of course it was. I did it to myself. I was fully aware of what I was doing.”

That made Patton tighten his hold and Virgil’s gaze drop to the floor, but Logan didn’t falter. It was the truth. He wasn’t going to make excuses or pretend to be ashamed. He’d been convinced it was the right thing to do.

Roman suddenly sighed, trembling and quiet, the only one able to meet Logan’s eyes. “Sometimes our brains tell us things, Lo. They aren’t true and they’re awful but it’s...hard not to listen. You just need some help quieting the thoughts.”

“My thoughts are...perfectly rational,” Logan said, despite the situation. “I was simply mistaken. I thought I was doing what was best.”

“You thought we hated you!” Patton was crying again, sobbing with nothing holding him back, and Logan suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at the note left on the coffee table. “You thought...Lo, the things you said—”

“I was wrong,” Logan said curtly, even as a prickle of dread settled in his stomach. “I was...I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

He was a bit taken aback by how quickly the three of them burst into affirmations, all of them suddenly crowded around him, holding him close as gently as possible. Keeping him safe.

“We love you,” Virgil was saying, and the anxious side had somehow managed to half commandeer his lap, his arms wrapped around his Logan’s middle. “I love you, Logan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not...your fault,” Logan said, wishing his arms didn't hurt quite so bad. He couldn’t even attempt to hug anyone back. “I shouldn’t—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Roman spoke up, placing a gentle but grounding hand on Logan’s back. “I know it feels like you did, Teach. I know. But you didn’t.”

“I tried to...I- I thought—”

“You’re in a bad place and we didn’t notice,” Virgil said, barely audible from where his face was pressed into Logan’s shirt. “That’s our fault. We- I should have been there to help, I didn’t know you—”

“I was attempting to hide it.” Hiding it had become normal. He’d hoped it would all simply go away, or fade away to the background at the very least if he just pretended.

But it had only grown worse, leaving him feeling empty and numb and hurt each time he was ignored and talked over, each time an argument went a little too far, each time he felt like a burden for simply speaking his mind. For having a thought in the first place.

He’d thought they hated him. He thought they hated the sound of his voice, his presence in their lives, his existence. A bitter part of him had wondered if they’d celebrate his death before erasing him from their memories entirely.

He hadn’t been able to say it aloud. But he’d finally been able to sit down and put it all on paper, finalizing it into one last goodbye.

Logan has been stupid. Logic had failed, and he’d done something irrational.

If he couldn’t even do his job well enough to keep himself alive, what even was the point in keeping him around? Thomas might be better off without him after all—

“Logan.” Patton was right in front of him now, warm hands on Logan’s cheeks, effectively cutting off his spiraling thoughts. “We’re here now. We’re here and we know.”

Logan curled his shoulders and nodded, the thought equally comforting and terrifying. He’d never planned on having to face the consequences of this decision. Of his awful, irrational feelings.

“We’re gonna help you kiddo,” Patton continued. “You’re not alone, Logan. You never ever have been. I’m so sorry you thought you were.”

Logan swallowed, alarmed at how tight his throat was becoming, vision quickly becoming blurred. “I...I don’t want to cause any pointless stress. We’re all busy.”

“We’re worried about you,” Patton said softly, never letting go of Logan. “You worry about the people you love. You worry about family.”

“I...” he paused, closing his eyes as the tears finally spilled over. “I wasn’t...sure that I was.”

Virgil lifted his head and frowned, but Logan refused to look down at him, staring blankly at the wall instead. “You weren’t...what? Family?”

Logan didn’t respond, didn’t jump to correct the assumption because he...couldn’t. He’d questioned his place for so long, somewhere along the way he’d begun assuming nobody cared. That it wasn’t a question for anyone else.

The heartbroken noises from the other three sides made him flinch, and he melted into their touch as they rushed to assure him once again, hard as it was to focus on anything they were saying.

He’d been so stupid. How could he have mistaken this for anything but love?

“You’re family, Logan,” Roman said, holding him from behind with his head now rested on Logan’s shoulder. “You will always be family. I’m so sorry it got this bad.”

Logan wasn’t sure when he’d started letting himself cry in earnest, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

There were three pairs of arms around him, holding him close while he trembled and sobbed and tried to force out apologies that kept getting caught in his throat.

He’d been selfish, and he’d upset them all so much but…

But he’d been so hurt. He’d felt so hurt for months and none of them had noticed. Nobody had asked. He wasn’t angry, he knew they would never have left him like that if they could have known. But it didn’t change the fact that it had happened.

But it was...going to be better now. Logan wanted so badly to believe it was going to get better.

“We’re going to fix this,” Patton said, and Logan’s eyes slipped shut when the moral side once again began playing with his hair. “We’re gonna be right here, Lo. We’ve got you. It won’t ever get this bad again.”

Logan felt himself drifting back to sleep, the pain fading to a dull ache in the background, and he didn’t try to fight against it. His chest was still heavy, mind clouded with distorted thoughts and doubts, and he knew none of that would disappear the next time he woke up. He wasn’t naive enough to hope it would.

But he had a way to fix it now. A way that wasn’t quite so final as his original plan.

And his family would be there when he woke up. He didn’t have to do this by himself anymore. He didn’t have to be the only one trying to fix this.

Logan believed them. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. Never again.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

February Contest Submission #14: Valentine Vesuvius

words: ca. 4700 setting: mAU with accidental time travel lemon: no cw: homelessness

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?”

I turned to look at Elsa in confusion. Wasn’t this museum date her idea? She looked mischievous, her left eyebrow arched.

I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it. I glanced at the other families gathered in a loose arc around the museum tour guide who was currently droning on about some old emperor or another.

“Hell yeah,” I whispered.

Moments later we were giggling as we ran through a deserted hallway like school girls skipping class. Never mind that we were two adults in our upper-twenties who chose as well as paid to be at the museum.

We rounded a corner and found ourselves suddenly immersed in a dim room void of people, filled instead with spotlights on old pottery from Ancient Rome or something. Elsa spun to face me and took my hands in hers. I dragged my gaze from a vase depicting a mountain with people at its base, and met Elsa’s eyes.

“I’m so lucky to have you as my wife,” she said, gently squeezing my hands.

“I’m the lucky one,” any more words would have been cut off as Elsa cupped my face and kissed me.

She pulled away slightly and rubbed her thumb in a soft circle on my cheek. “Anna…”

My eyes were still closed from the intimate sensation, but I blinked them open. Why did she sound so sad? “Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked.

She took a deep, slow breath and let it out in a shaky sigh.

“I just… I want kids so bad, Anna.”

My heart broke. I nodded. “I know, Els. I do too.”

“I thought this tour would be a fun valentines date. I just didn’t expect there to be so many families. So many kids. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand to be around them another second.” She shook her head. “It hurts too much.”

We had been trying everything we could the past couple of years, but the IVF wasn’t working and every adoption had fallen through. It was all getting so expensive, and even more frustrating.

I rubbed her arm. “Why is it so easy for straight people to accidentally create life, but when a couple of lesbians want kids it costs twenty thousand dollars and two left kidneys?”

“It’s not fair,” Elsa sighed.

“It’s not,” I said. “But hey,” I touched her chin, lifting her head up from its sad slouch. “We’re strong as fuck. We’re not going to give up.”

Elsa nodded.

“And until we do become parents,” I continued, “we are still perfect, and whole, and completely the best family I could ever imagine. Just the two of us.”

She smiled. “You’re right, Anna. With you by my side, there’s nothing else I could ever need. I hope I’ve never made you feel like you aren’t enough. You’re my everything; so much more than I deserve.” Pulling me close, she started sounding more like herself again.

“Don’t be silly,” I kissed Elsa quickly. “You deserve everything good in the world.” Another kiss. “And I love you.” Another. “So much.”

The last kiss was deepened by way of Elsa’s grip on the back of my neck. She took my lower lip between her teeth and flicked the tip of her tongue across it playfully, sending a shiver up my spine and heat shooting down my stomach.

I gasped as Elsa grabbed my waist and kissed my neck while she walked us toward a wall. Throwing my head back, I was relying on her to guide us. I couldn’t function when she was sucking on my neck, my pulse point like — that, ah! Jesus!

“Oops.”

I barely registered that my back hit something wobbly, but the last thing I heard was the unmistakeable sound of pottery crashing on the floor. I felt a flash of cold air run over my skin and then - nothing.

————————————-

When I came to, the first thing I felt was a piercing headache. I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet and I wished I could close them. Gripping my skull, I rolled around in the darkness behind my eyelids, wishing the high pitched shriek in my ears would fade. Then I noticed the bumpy texture digging into my back. Uhh… Why did the museum floor feel like it was made of rocky ground?

Perhaps more pressing: why was the rocky ground …trembling?

I stopped moving altogether and sure enough, the ground I was laying on was shaking. I cracked my eyes open only to be blinded by bright sky. This was definitely not the museum exhibit. Blinking rapidly, my eyes started to adjust to the light even as my headache pounded and begged me to close them, or better yet, knock myself back out.

While I waited for my vision to make sense, I scrambled to get my feet under me. This was easier said than done, the way the ground wouldn’t stop moving beneath my legs. Finally I was at least on all fours and stable enough to look around.

“Jesus Christ.” Was that a motherfucking volcano? I arched my neck to see the top of the mountain I was extremely close to. Pluming dark clouds surrounded its peak. What the hell happened to me?

I whipped my head around, swaying from the dizzy fit the motion sent me into. I was in sort of a vast, empty field of rocky, grassy terrain. There looked to be a bustling town just down the hill. No one else was around, except —

“Elsa!” I shrieked. I scrambled to my right, getting to my feet as I gained momentum. Rocks kept shifting under my bare feet and I tripped a couple of times before I reached where she was laying. I fell to my knees by her side, and rolled her onto her back.

“Elsa?” I tapped her cheek with my palm, patting it several times. “Els! Wake up!”

She groaned.

Relief washed over me. I kept nudging her until she came to. She groaned again. “Ugh… my head.”

“Shh, I know, it sucks.” I said, more to myself than to her, as I pulled her head into my lap. “Wait. Are you wearing a fucking toga?” I looked down at myself. “Am I wearing a fucking toga?!”

We were both wearing cream colored fabric gathered at the shoulders and the waist. As if being at the base of a volcano wasn’t enough of a wake up call, for some reason the wardrobe change was what pushed me over the edge. It felt like my throat was closing up as I started struggling to breathe. My lungs couldn’t fill; I took breaths faster and faster, but too shallow to help. Perfect time for a panic attack, Anna.

Slow down. I closed my eyes, gripping Elsa tightly to me. Breathe in.

I felt the fabric under my fingers, it was thick but soft. Breathe out.

I heard birds chirping their alarms in the distance, wind sweeping past, and small rocks settling into new places all around me. Breathe in.

I smelled… fresh, salty air, tainted by something like smoke or dust. Breathe out.

“Hey lady! Is she dead?”

My eyes snapped open. There was a young girl, about eight years old approaching us from down the hill. She held a basket and wore a similar tunic, but hers had been through a lot. It was tattered and dirty. The words she spoke were so strange - I understood them in my head but at the same time, they sounded… foreign to my ears.

I cleared my throat. “No, she’s just waking up,” I responded. My own words had the same strange quality to them when I spoke to the girl.

“Oh. Who are you? My name is Cassia.” She had dark hair chopped unevenly at her shoulders.

“What a pretty name!” I said, a million thoughts racing through my head. “I’m Anna, and this is my… this is Elsa.” I didn’t know where, or when, we were so I didn’t want to get us into any unnecessary trouble. “Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have any. I was just gathering some berries when the ground shook again. Did you do it?” She squinted at me suspiciously.

So there are earthquakes here often. “No, of course not,” I laughed, hopefully convincingly, even though I had never felt less like laughing. “Elsa and I are traveling from afar, but …we got lost and hit our heads when the earth shook. Can you tell us where we are, exactly?”

Cassia gave me a strange look. “This is Pompeii, silly. What other city is at the bottom of the volcano?”

Pompeii?

….Holy fucking Vesuvius…

———————————————————

Once Elsa was fully conscious and aware of our situation, we decided to take Cassia up on her offer to show us to her home, which turned out to be more of a fort in the outskirts of town. It was about midday and the kid was generous enough to let us hang out in her home while she went back out to keep foraging, now that the tremors had slowed down enough.

We sat on the dirt floor after Cassia left, both staring off into the distance, in shock. How the fuck did this happen?

“So…” Elsa began.

“We’re in fucking Pompeii!” I exclaimed.

“What the fuck!” Elsa said.

And then we laughed, because, honestly, what else could we do at that point? We laughed uncontrollably. We laughed at our clothes. We laughed at the earthquake, at the damn volcano, at the funny way all of the words sounded.

When we couldn’t laugh anymore, I fell into Elsa’s torso and we sat, half snuggled up on the dirt floor of this impoverished orphan’s dwelling place.

“What year do you think it is?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Elsa said. “Does it matter?”

“I mean,” I glanced at her sideways, “I sure hope it’s not 79 AD.”

“Is that when it happened? How do you even know that?”

“I told you I always liked that section of art history.”

“Hmm,” Elsa sighed. “Well how do we even figure it out? We can’t just ask someone. Do they even use that system right now? Like the AD and BC stuff?”

I shrugged. “I almost don’t even need to be told though, you know? Just by the way that smoke looked above the volcano… I have a bad feeling.” Elsa looked concerned too. “Maybe we could ask around to find out if it usually does that when there’s an earthquake here. We could get a sense for how much we need to panic.”

“That’s a good idea. And if it’s the worst case scenario, then there’s the question of, do we worry about evacuating or do we figure out how to get us the fuck back home before this place is history?”

Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I wish we had a clue how it happened. I don’t know how we’re getting back if we don’t know what sent us here in the first place.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “We should try to think back on everything that happened in those last few minutes we can remember.”

“Well, we were in that room with the… what was it? Pottery?”

“Mhmm,” I continued, “And you were kissing the life out of me until we bumped into something and it fell. Oh! I wonder if it was that vase I was looking at.”

“What vase?” Elsa asked.

I rubbed my head, “Think think think. Um, it was clay. It had people on it. Oh! And a mountain! A volcano! It had to be that vase. It must have been found in Pompeii, and when we broke it while we were making out, it sucked us into its original time. Or something like that.”

“Sure, that sounds about right for how today’s going,” Elsa said. “But then, why didn’t it come through with us? I didn’t see any clay fragments where we landed on that hill.”

“Me neither,” I frowned. “Or maybe it couldn’t come along because here in Pompeii it already exists! Maybe we just have to find where it is now and recreate what happened before.”

“There’s a thought…” Elsa said. “So we just have to search the entire city for a vase with a volcano and people on it.”

“That sounds fun! Can I help?”

Elsa and I both turned to the doorway, startled. How long had Cassia been standing there?

——————————————————————-

Too long. Cassia had been standing there too long, and she had as many questions for us as we had for her.

Before long she knew we were accidentally-time-traveling wives from almost two thousand years in the future and Pompeii was doomed; and we in turn knew it was indeed the 79th year, no the dark volcano clouds were not normal for an earthquake, and the entire city was already scrambling to evacuate. I had a terrible feeling that Elsa and I caused the earthquake through our rough landing, effectively dooming Pompeii. Also, Cassia was eight years old like I had guessed, had been living on her own since she was five and a half, and she wanted nothing more than to help us find the vase we needed.

“That’s really sweet of you,” I said, placing a hand on her arm, “But you have to promise that as soon as we find the right vase you’ll get yourself to safety.”

Cassia glanced to the side as she said, “Promise.”

I was a little concerned about the validity of that promise but decided I’d try again later. First we were off to a shop that sold souvenirs for all the rich vacationers that visited Pompeii.

It was a short walk until we made it into the more touristy, upscale part of the city. Here, everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off. In and out of homes, carrying personal possessions, yelling for neighbors, yelling at the sky.

We almost lost sight of Cassia several times but we managed to follow her to the shop she talked about. We ducked under the arched doorway into the small space. It was dark, and seemed to be usually lit by candles like the lonely one over to the side that hadn’t been extinguished. Elsa went to retrieve it for us.

Using the single flame to see, we wandered around the space as a little pack, checking out all kinds of little trinkets made from stone and clay. Many were volcano-related, but it all seemed so small compared to the vase I remembered.

“Cassia,” I said, “Do you think this place has any vases that are… this big?” I motioned my hands around to describe the size.

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so? This place has nothing that big, but it could be…” she tilted her head in thought. “Oh, it’s probably Oaken’s! Duh.”

More winding through the chaotic streets behind Cassia. This walk actually went very fast, and before we knew it we had arrived at another shop. This one was bigger and well-lit inside. We all walked in. I immediately noticed that there were many vases of a familiar style and size, making my heart leap in hope.

“Not open for business or looting!” A voice called from deep in the shop.

“We just have a question!” I yelled back. “It’s urgent!”

“And we mean no harm!” Elsa added.

The man grumbled as he made his way to us, accompanied by the sound of sandals crunching on clay shards. Poor guy must have lost some of his pottery to the earthquake earlier.

“What’s the question?” A very large man appeared from behind a display wall. “Oh Cassia, dear. Why didn’t you say you were here?”

Cassia was standing half behind me. Was she suddenly shy or something?

I spoke up, “Cassia led us here. We think you can help us. We’re looking for a certain vase. We… saw it on a recent vacation but didn’t buy it, and then…”

“Then later we realized we lost a ring,’ Elsa chimed in. “We think it might’ve fallen in this vase.”

The pottery man sighed, “Well that’s a long shot, but what did the vase look like?”

“It was about yay-big, and it depicted the volcano with people underneath,” I explained excitedly.

He raised an eyebrow, “That’s about half the vases I make. You know this is a tourist town at the base of a volcano.”

I thought harder. There was a chip of color I could almost see in my memory. “Um, well, it might’ve had a sort of turquoise color by the rim?”

“Oh!” The man stood up straight. “In that case, I know the exact vase. Unfortunately I sold it about six months ago. Real rich family. Their vacation home is at this address,” he scribbled onto a small stone. “I don’t think they’ve been in town the last few months. With all the chaos out there, nobody would notice if you slipped in to look for the ring. Just make it quick.”

Soon we were walking again. When we entered an empty alley I spoke up, “Hey Cassia, why were you so quiet back there?”

She turned to face us while she kept walking, backwards, “Oaken is nice, but I have to act shy and sad around the people with money, so they’ll feel bad and give me food. I learned pretty fast that they don’t care about a mouthy troublemaker as much as a helpless little girl.”

Wow. I couldn’t imagine having to learn something that depressing as a homeless five year old. Cassia was a strong kid, and she somehow managed to seem happy and nonchalant about her struggles.

Elsa looked around at the quiet homes we were walking between. “Why are some parts of the city so calm while other ones are in chaos?”

Cassia shrugged. “Only the richest people will get to evacuate in time. The rest of us have learned to stay in our homes and hope we make it through whatever comes. There’s no point in panicking around the city because we would never make it onto a ferry anyway.”

The rest of our walk was completed in silence. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for this girl. I wished there was some way we could help her before we (hopefully) escaped the city ourselves. Judging by the look on Elsa’s face, her heart was breaking for Cassia, too. I met Elsa’s eyes and we shared a look. We definitely had to do something for the girl.

Suddenly we were standing in front of a grand structure made of stone. It was no little hut; more like an ancient mansion. This was somebody’s vacation home? Jeez! These people in 79 AD sure knew how to live lavishly.

“Looks like he was right,” Elsa said. “There’s no one around.”

“Wow!” Cassia was already walking through the front door. “Check this out! They have a river in their house!”

Elsa and I stepped inside and saw what the kid meant. There was a decorative skinny pool of calm water that stretched in a line from the front room of the house to somewhere beyond the next doorway. Pompeii style skylights illuminated the open space with the ashy, dreariness of the sky above.

We passed the minimalist entry room into the next space. Here, there was a staircase to the left, a gathering area, and more doorways.

“Hey Cassia, why don’t you head upstairs and see if there’s any vases up there while we finish looking down here?”

“Okay!” the girl was excited by her solo mission and took off up the stone steps.

Once she was gone, I rushed to Elsa. “Come ‘ere, baby,” I said as we hugged each other close.

She let out a sigh of relief. “I was gonna lose it if we didn’t get to talk soon. Alone.”

“I know,” I said. “This is a lot to go through without being able to actually talk.”

She nodded. “About Cassia…” I knew exactly where she was going.

“We have to take her with us,” I finished.

“She has nowhere to run. If she’s left here she’ll be dead by tomorrow night.”

“I know, Els.” I grabbed her hands. “You don’t have to convince me. It’s what we have to do.”

Elsa continued, “And I’m not saying that we have to adopt her or anything, but I just want her to be safe. Once we’re back we can find somewhere for her to—”

“We are fucking raising that child, Elsa.” I interrupted.

“Oh thank god,” she said, as I pulled her in close once more. “Do you think we should tell her?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“What if she doesn’t want to come? We’re running out of time, so maybe we shouldn’t give her the option if she might fight it,” she explained. “This is the only way she’ll be safe but if she doesn’t want to leave Pompeii, there’s no way we could make her.”

“Given that she’ll have to hold onto us while we kiss and break the vase…” I added.

“Or we grab her at the last second.”

“Right,” I said. “Either way, you have a point. We shouldn’t give her the option in case she would choose to stay.”

Elsa’s face suddenly went pale as she pointed behind me. I turned to see Cassia standing with her arms crossed.

“If you two wanna have a kid you’re going to have to learn how to talk quieter. It’s so easy to eavesdrop on you!”

My mouth was stuck open while I tried to form words.

“What did you hear?” Elsa asked in a low voice.

Cassia’s demeanor changed from snarky to… almost shy. “Um… Well, if it helps you to know, I’d really like to go with you. Away from here. Please.”

“Of course,” I stepped forward and wrapped her up in a big hug.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Elsa joined in. “And if you want, you never have to be lonely again.”

A soft voice came from the middle of the hug, “I’d like that.”

“Now let’s find that damn vase,” I said, pulling away from them.

“Language.” Elsa looked at me pointedly, with a glimmer in her eye.

Cassia laughed at Elsa. “I already know how to swear, weirdos.”

This kid was going to be an adventure.

——————————————-

A few minutes later, we found the vase in a bedroom. It was sitting on a side table near a window, which was actually just a square cut out of the wall. We were going to have to hurry with the way the sky was looking out there. I was not about to let us get buried in burning ash right after vowing to expand our family to include our new little Pompeii friend.

“Alrighty!” I said, clapping my hands together and rubbing my palms. “So… now what?”

“What did you do to get here?” Cassia said. “Kiss a bunch? Ew.”

Elsa cleared her throat. Yeah this was a little more awkward than I hoped.

“Um, yeah, so,” I began, “maybe you can stand right next to the vase here, Cass. And then Elsa and I will…” I glanced at my reddening wife, “do our thing, and when we bump into the vase, at the last second, you grab onto us.”

Cassia stared at me.

“Does that makes sense?” I asked. “We only have one shot at this.”

She blinked. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds easy. You just… you called me Cass.”

Shit. “Sorry, was that ok?” I grimaced.

“I like it,” she grinned. “I like it a lot.”

“Awesome!” Phew. I didn’t want to fuck things up with our kid before we even got home. “So, you stand right here and just ignore everything about what we’re doing except for where we are. Then grab us as soon as—”

“As soon as you hit the vase, yeah. Got it.” Cassia pushed us toward the doorway. “Go be gross.” Elsa and I stumbled over to the open entryway of the room. We ducked out of Cassia’s view for a moment.

We both leaned on the wall and took a second to breathe. I gazed over at Elsa. She had a lot of emotions running across her face; embarrassment, relief, worry. I took her hand, causing her to look at me. “Hey.” I said. “Whatever happens this time… we did everything in our power to fix things.”

“I know,” Elsa sighed. “There’s just so much to process. We probably caused the deaths of everybody here, but at least we could save one person - and that’s if this even works to send us all home, which if it doesn’t, means we’re all going to die the same fate, which maybe we deserve—!”

I cut her off with a kiss: short, but long enough to send my message. “Shhh babe. It won’t do any good to obsess over that right now. If we survive, we will absolutely be marching ourselves to therapy, but for right now, we gotta get in there and get our butts back home.”

She nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little as if some of the tension eased away.

“Now, you gonna kiss me or what?” I asked with a smirk.

——————————-

I flung my arm wildly about, searching for the bottle of Tylenol on my bedside table. Would that even be strong enough for the fierce pounding in my skull? Instead of my familiar nightstand, I felt cold linoleum floor. I blinked my eyes open. Dim yellow spotlights gave a soft glow in the dark space around me.

Oh.

It all came back, just like that. I rolled over and saw Elsa sprawled out next to me —why am I always the first to wake up?— and the small form of a girl just beyond her. Cassia! She was clothed in a very sensible t-shirt and leggings combo. Thank goodness she didn’t pop into the museum in her old tattered cloth.

It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed our little …blip, so I quickly slid my two girls across the floor to keep us out of view from the hallway. As I pulled Cassia by her wrists, I noticed the vase sitting on a podium, looking exactly as it had back in Pompeii. It had bright colors and no evidence that almost 2,000 years had passed, or that it had technically shattered twice. Huh. Isn’t that the weirdest thing?

I sat on the floor next to Elsa and Cass while they continued to sleep off their travels, and I wondered how the vase actually did what it did. Was it a magic vase? Did that guy Oaken know he made something so powerful? Did he make other enchanted pottery? Something told me I would never have the answers to those questions. I certainly wasn’t in any rush to go back and ask him. Nope, ancient time traveling wasn’t really my thing after all.

It wasn’t long before Elsa woke up, and Cassia wasn’t far behind. We probably should’ve prepared her a little for life in the 21st century, as the simple museum lightbulbs were freaking her out. Just you wait, little lady. You have no idea how much your world has changed!

Once we calmed her down a bit, Elsa and I held hands with Cass, and began walking out of the room that changed our lives. Well, we took a few steps anyway, before I halted.

“What’s that noise?” I asked. “That jangly noise?” It was coming from the kid. I raised my eyebrow at her.

Realization dawned on Cassia’s face as her hands found her pants pockets… and pulled out fistfuls of glittering jewelry. “Oops?” she said, nervously.

Elsa’s jaw dropped. “Did you take those from the mansion?”

“I found them upstairs,” Cassia said, looking down at her clean black tennis shoes. “It was all just laying there, and the world was ending.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly, not wanting her to think we were upset. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I wondered if those pieces of jewelry had ever been recovered from the archeological site. I could see the headlines now: Priceless Ancient Pompeii Artifacts Vanish from Museum! I chuckled to myself, shaking my head.

“Hmm?” Elsa prompted.

“Ah, nothing,” I said with a smile. Then I pointed to the red, glowing Exit sign above a nearby doorway. “Hey, you wanna get out of here?”

[balfecaitriona]

CHAPTER UPDATE! Merry Christmas! I hope everyone is having a wonderful festive season! This is my Christmas gift to you all, hahah! Thank you for all the kind comments I received on the last chapter since I was so out of touch with writing for a long while, it was really lovely to receive those lovely messages! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it!

CHAPTER TEN | DINNER DATE

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION

CHAPTER SUMMARY:

Jamie takes Claire out for the night and gets an answer to one very important question.

PAIRING: Claire x Jamie. RATING: Mature. WORD COUNT: 4043.

Chapter 10

 DINNER DATE

  Claire's eyes flashed open and within seconds she felt embarrassment flush through her. Last night had been a heavy one, in fact she couldn't remember half of it apart from blurs and distorted memories.

"Oh no..." She whined, curling up in the bed with shame as she thought of Jamie. She could vaguely remember him carrying her, and her giving him a mouthful over it. It had been so long since she had a proper drink that last night she seemed to take the celebrations too far.

Sitting up in the bed she realised she was still tangled in yesterday's dress, which made it all the worse. She stood up quickly to feel the thump of her head aching as nausea floated to the back of her throat. This, she realised, was a hangover.

Claire moved to grab her silk pink dressing gown from the dressing table stool, catching a glimpse of her bushy curls that seemed to be even more messy than usual. The sight only made her want to drop beneath the bed covers more and never resurface. But sitting wallowing up here wasn't going to repair anything. Instead, she made her way downstairs to find Jamie, that was if he was still there and she hadn't chased him off.

Jamie was sitting on the sofa flicking through another of her books, this time it was an old favourite of hers, Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. At the sound of Claire, Jamie slammed the book shut immediately, though Claire couldn't deny she was delighted to see she hadn't scared him away.

Jamie glanced up at her. Her face wore the dumbfound expression of a tired toddler, mouth ajar and eyes heavy from drinking the night before. Her hair stood on end, her curls fuzzed out around her face, resembling a lion's mane. She clutched at her pink robe, trying to hide last night's clothes underneath. In truth, she looked a sight, but Jamie still thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

"I'm so sorry." Was all Claire could muster, feeling the shame and guilt rush through her, she didn't know whether tears would begin streaming from her eyes or if she'd begin wailing. Thankfully, she did neither.

"For what sassenach?" Jamie replied with a smirk, but Claire strode past him, her silk robe sweeping him as she walked to the kitchen.

"Was I horrible?" She said, though not looking at Jamie. Instead her hands were searching for the kettle, as she filled it with water. Jamie seen this as a distraction, to stop herself facing the embarrassment that was so obviously eating her up.

"Oh I was... wasn't I?" She seemed to groan with shame as she set the kettle on the stove to heat, after she'd lit the stove with a match.

"What're ye talking about, ye didna murder anybody sassenach!" Jamie said with a laugh, waving his hand as he dismissed her sudden embarrassment. Clearly her memory had returned and she was feeling all the worse for it.

"You're being too nice! If I was a horrible, nasty, wicked old nuisance, I wish you'd just say!"

Jamie placed a hand on her lips as she turned to him to quieten her. 

"Enough Claire." He said gently, knowing she was giving herself too hard a time over being drunk.

"If I or my clan gave ourselves this scolding every time we roused from the spirits, we'd never get anything done!" He remarked. He and many others he knew, had done far worse when drunk, there was no need for her to be torturing herself like this.

"You know anything I said- I didn't mean it. I was stupid with drink, and I'm not used to whisky-"

"Enough." Jamie said finally, though there was no sternness in his tone. "We'll say no more about it, and I think no less of ye for it." He concluded, allowing her to go and continue making them both coffee, if anything she definitely needed it right now.

"Good... I'd like that." Claire breathed, brushing herself over as she fiddled in the drawer for a spoon. If he was willing to let it go, she was more than happy to.

"Unless of course you'd rather talk about how you danced on top of a table... And sang your heart out with some old gentleman." Jamie remarked, with a smirk dancing on his lips, intent to play with her a little.

Claire's eyes held both shame and regret that he would even think to discuss this. Inside she was punching herself for making such a fool of herself.

"Or the fact ye intended on hand wrestling the barman if he didna serve ye another drink, not to mention what you'd intended to do to me if I wouldna let you drink it-"

"Shut. Up." Claire concluded, making to stand on Jamie's foot long and hard, so he winced before she let go and he laughed, but Claire didn't share it.

"All right, all right sassenach, I've had my fun!" Jamie laughed again, returning to the living room. Claire followed, setting down his coffee before sitting in the sofa, cradling her own in her hands before taking a generous sip.

"Jesus H. Rossevelt Christ that's good." She muttered to herself. Jamie stood by the fireplace, resting a hand on the mantle as he stared at her, making her uncomfortable.

"I was thinking..." Jamie said with thoughtfulness. "I was thinking I should treat ye to something nice. But I'm no gonna tell you what it is." He looked at her then, with a mysterious twinkle in his eye and a daring smirk on his lips.

"What? The only thing I need treating is this headache." Claire said, reminding herself to place a wet cloth on her head to ease her pain as soon as she'd finished her coffee.

"Just you make sure you wear something nice... I'll be back later." Jamie said at once before he strode from the living room and left through the front door.

Claire was dreary eyed and sleepy still, she glanced up to stop him but he was already gone.

"Wait- where are you going?" She stood up to see him leave out her front gate through the window. "You're coffee..." Her eyes found the cup on the side table where she'd left it. Not so much as a sip stolen from it's contents.

Claire sat back down again, with no energy to annoy herself over what Jamie was up to, she was too busy suffering from the night before.

  Claire's eyes flashed open and she felt her jaw ache from the position she was laying in. Peeling herself off the cushion her head was balancing on, stretching her arms in the air with a moan.

Evidently, she had fallen asleep. Her eyes flashed to the clock on the mantle to discover it was past five and Jamie was still nowhere in sight. Claire only hoped he hadn't ventured too far and got lost. Nevertheless, she decided to shake it from her mind for now, her mind was now set on taking a bath.

Claire filled the kettles and some pots, allowing for them to boil as she went to fetch the tin bath from the small walled yard out in the rear of the house.

Struggling with taking it inside, she eventually got it placed in the living room, in front of the fire which was usually lit. But for early May this was unnecessary. The coolness of Spring was vanishing, replaced by the sweltering heat of early Summer.

Drawing the curtains, Claire filled her bath with hot steaming water and added some of her soap flakes to make the water turn a cloudy white. It would be great not to have to be rationed on her soap and shampoo and everything else for that matter, now that the war was over.

Stepping in, the heat flushed her skin a bright red but she welcomed it. Laying back she felt the hot water melt away all her aches and pains. Her body gave into the delightful comfort of the bath, and within moments the heat made her lethargic and sleepy, but it was a warm feeling of contentment, one she hadn't felt in so long.

Claire washed away the mangled dread of last night, shampooing her mane of curls so now she resembled a wet shepherd dog who'd escaped out into the rain. She felt clean and warm and happy, the sleep had helped her head and the sickness that threatened to escape through her mouth. She finally felt all right again.

Laying her head back and closing her eyes, Claire didn't hear the front door opening, nor the living room door for that matter. She was abruptly brought back to reality by the deep notes of a panicked Scotsman.

Her eyes flashed open and she jumped to find Jamie staring at her, hand on the door knob. His face flushed a deep red as his eyes darted everywhere, but thoroughly unable to ignore the obvious.

Claire's face too went a deep scarlet and she flailed about in the water, trying to find something - anything- to shield her modesty. "Get out!" She shouted with loud, staggered embarrassment, and Jamie thankfully caught himself and vanished through a slamming door.

Claire jumped from the bath, soaking and wrapped a waiting towel about her body. Shock fading from her fast. Her wet form sat down on the sofa and she brought a hand to her mouth to muffle the contagious laughing that escaped, unable to believe what had just happened.

Drying herself, very quickly and without care, she slipped on her silk night gown, before she sheepishly opened the living room door to find Jamie stood there. The two said little as they awkwardly passed each other, Claire glad to escape upstairs and settle on her bed, to laugh some more. But this time she didn't bother muffling it, she laughed loud and merrily.

An embarrassed Jamie heard her from downstairs, and her laughing made him feel less uneasy about seeing her that way, and he smiled, shaking his head at the foolishness of it all.

  Claire's curls seemed to dry fast in the warm May heat. Her hair stuck out with a little frizz, but otherwise loose, easy curls. She fixed the front of it away from her face with clips. Jamie had said to wear something nice, but during the war almost all of her lovely outfits where distributed to the war effort. There was one, fitted pencil dress she had kept back though, for some rare occasion. Mostly when Frank had returned and they would resume their life together and indulge in life's luxuries as they once had. She felt a cold pang in her heart when she thought of him, a man she had all these hopes and dreams with, and how easily she had cast them all aside for a stranger.

Roused from thought, Claire stored those guilt ridden concerns to the back of her mind and put on the deep red dress. It fit her form perfectly and ended just below her knee. Her neck was bare, but around it she wore a delicate gold chain, while her face had a light dusting of make up and a deep red lipstick to match her outfit.

Leaving the bedroom, Claire almost felt nervous. It had been a very long time since she had been out of blood stained work clothes, and when she did get the opportunity, she was hidden away in bulky jumpers and frumpy skirts. But tonight she was herself again, and in truth she felt embarrassed and bare. Deep down she recognised these feelings as being in love again, those first pangs in your heart that made you feel nauseous and on edge, but it was a welcomed feeling of daring excitement for what was to come.

She had found Jamie where she had left him. He was standing in the living room, waiting for her. Her wore a pair of cream trousers, dressed with a white shirt that had two buttons undone at the top so just the flickers of his red chest hair could be seen. He also wore a deep blue jacket that seemed to make his eyes shimmer and seem even more blue than they had before. His red curls were slicked back only slightly, so that one broke free and waved on his forehead. The sun shone through the window and danced on his jaw where the inklings of a red stubble was returning. He was a vision and Claire could feel her breath stop when she could appreciate just how beautiful he really was.

But Jamie seemed to feel the same way about her. His eyes traveled from her black heels, up her bare legs and over the curves of her hips and bosom, up her long delicate neck to rest on her sweet, soft face, where two golden eyes stared at him with a shy exuberance.

"You look... beautiful." Jamie said with a staggered pause, the words that had filled his head a moment ago, vanishing, leaving him speechless.

"You don't look too back yourself." Claire replied with a delicate smile dancing on the corners of her lips. She entered the living room, eager to know their destination.

"Where are you taking me?" Claire asked.

"You'll see." And Jamie took her by the hand and led her from the house, and the two walked in the warming dusk of a Summer's evening.

***

Claire recognised the place he was going immediately. They had entered the Royal Mile, a place famous in Edinburgh for it's rich history and old winding streets with gruesome tales. It was flocked with tourists usually, but things had been progressively slow since the war.

Jamie took her inside a little restaurant called The Royal Mile Inn. The minute they entered Claire was hit with an old musty smell of beer and age. It was a charming little place with booths, backed with green leather seats. The walls where covered in mirrors and old advertisements for whiskies and ales. Claire could see why Jamie found charm in the place. It wasn't unlike something found in the eighteenth century, apart from the modern amenities.

"I canna understand this." Jamie said as he glared down at the menu, after they had been seated.

"What?" Claire asked, eyes glancing up to see his confusion.

"Where I'm from, an Inn would just serve ye broth or a stew. How on earth do they have all these things to choose from?" Jamie was like a dumbfounded child.

Claire laughed, understanding that while they did have establishments such as these in the eighteenth century, an inn was seen as more of a board house, where one stayed over night and the menu was very slim in comparison to this.

"Just order something." She said, deciding that some things where better left unsaid. She didn't have the energy to begin explaining menus to him right now.

Jamie had a large slab of steak served with chips, while Claire had opted for some grilled chicken and potatoes.

"I don't believe it, sassenach- and fried ye say?" Jamie was twisting a chip around on the end of his fork, unable to believe that it was just a cut and fried potato.

"Yes, you can do quite a lot with a potato." Claire replied, humoured that something so simple could get him so excited.

"It's crunchy... I quite like it..." He said as he shoved three more into his mouth, eyes alight with how delicious they tasted. Claire laughed again, wondering what other customers would think of Jamie, bemused by the twentieth century.

Dinner had come and gone. Jamie had demanded a large slice of chocolate cake for dessert while Claire settled on some apple pie. When they had finished, the bill had come to be paid for. Claire asked graciously for it to be brought down, before digging in her purse to retrieve some money.

"What're ye doing, sassenach?" Jamie asked with alarm.

"Paying." Claire said, seeing Jamie's concern. "Look, I know you don't..." She felt the need to lean in and whisper. "I know you don't have any... legitimate money. I don't mind."

"But I took you out, to treat you." Jamie said, digging his hand into the inside breast pocket of his jacket to pull out a large wad of money, to Claire's amazement.

"Where did you get that?" Claire seemed to hiss, her stomach churning fearful of what he'd had to do to get such a large sum

"I ken what a pawn shop is Sassenach..." Jamie said, counting through the dozens of notes. "I went in and sold my dirk."

"You did what?" Claire said with astonishment.

"Aye, the man said it was a verra rare artifact..." Jamie's eyes flickered up to Claire with a smirk on his face and she smiled back, but it was more sincere.

"Thank you." Claire said, placing a hand on his, moved by his kind gesture.

  "I've always wanted to see Edinburgh." Jamie said as he walked hand in hand up the Royal Mile with Claire. "Who'd have thought I wouldna have seen it in the eighteenth century, but the twentieth." His eyes gleamed at her.

"Well I doubt much as changed." Claire commented. "Edinburgh is one of the oldest cities in Britain. I think if you had of seen the Royal Mile in the eighteenth century, you'd find it near enough the same." The cobbles underneath their feet only certified that fact.

"I suppose it's like... stepping back in time." Jamie said, with a toothy grin at Claire before he glanced up the length of the mile. It was filled with shops that sold scarves and tartans as well as a variety of places dedicated to selling authentic Irish whisky. There where people gathered in small groups, walking along with maps in their hands and pointing as they were being escorted on the many different tours. Jamie found many people where dressed in grey wigs and beautifully tailored eighteenth century suits, but Claire had to explain to him what a reenactment was and how they were merely tour guides, dressed up for authenticity. And through it all came the thrilling, bright notes of a bagpipe being played in the center of the mile by a man in full Scottish regalia.

"Sassenach!" Claire heard Jamie call as she was glancing at some tartan skirts on a window display. She turned to find Jamie already scrambling into a souvenir shop, eyes wide with wonder as his tall, large form knocked and rattled the stands in the small, cramped shop. Claire followed him, unable to understand what had got him so excited, and then he lifted it.

In his hand was a postcard, with a beautiful image of one of the many Scottish castles.

"That's it." Jamie said with certainty. "Lallybroch."

Claire heard the amazement in his tone as he recognised the home he had spoke so fondly of. Claire knew the castle, she had never visited herself, but there were countless tours to it and pictures over Scottish brochures. Now though, it went by the name of Midhope Castle.

"It's called Midhope Castle now." Claire said, posting to the small name etched on the bottom of the card.

"That's odd..." Jamie said, but it didn't dampen his smile any, or the wonder on his face.

"I wonder if it's still owned by Frasers, surely Jenny would've taken it on...But then she would've married..." Jamie said to himself, his mind already lost in thought.

"We can visit it, if  you'd like?" Claire asked, and Jamie almost dropped the card.

"What?" He said, his eyes suddenly filling with shock.

"Yes, I don't think it's far outside Edinburgh, an hour's drive maybe." Claire said, trying to think of the many road signs directing her to Midhope Castle in the time she'd been in Edinburgh.

"Ye mean it, sassench?" Jamie asked, like a child afraid of getting their hopes let down.

"Of course." Claire said, turning to him now with full attention, a gentle smile on her lips. She was more than happy to take him to see his home, even if it was only for a short visit, it was the least she could do.

  The two had returned home just as the sun had finally sunk in the sky and the sky was a deep shade of blue. The summer's heat hung in the air, making it muggy and warm.

"I had an amazing time tonight..." Claire said finally, walking into her living room and standing by the mantle. Her face bore a wondrous happy smile that she doubted would fade any time soon.

"As did I, sassenach." Jamie replied, walking up to her and placing his hands about her waist and drawing her close.

For a moment he pressed his lips against hers, breathing in her sweet smell. She smelt of honey and vanilla, fresh and clean from the soap she'd used to wash earlier.

Claire drew back to look at him. His eyes were such a deep shade of blue, like the ocean and like the ocean, they were mysterious. Claire wondered what was lurking beneath the beautiful blue depths.

"There was something more... I wanted to ask ye, Claire." Jamie said, and suddenly he seemed bashful, unable to meet her gaze as he struggled with words.

"What is it?" Claire asked, her face now full of worry.

"I meant to ask ye earlier... Well, I've wanted to ask ye the moment I laid eyes on ye..." Jamie said, fighting with himself now, as though the words were teetering on the edge of his lips but he couldn't bring himself to say them.

"I dinna ken what'd ye would say... If ye would think me a fool... But I can't fight it anymore."

Claire was growing more concerned now, panic was apparent on her face as she wondered what on earth could be troubling him so. She felt her heart beat faster, urging him to say the words he longed to say.

"What?" Claire urged.

"Will ye be my wife Claire?" Jamie said, the words bursting from his lips as he glanced up to meet her gaze.

Claire felt her heart thud in her chest for an entirely different reason now. She hadn't known Jamie long, he was practically a stranger to her. At least, on normal terms. But nothing about this had been normal. From the moment she had laid eyes on his rugged form in that hospital bed, there had been a draw to them both, like two magnets ready to snap together, unable to be parted. Her husband was lost to war, and the time in between she had filled with Jamie. Was it right? Did she truly love this man before her? There was no question.

"Yes." Claire found herself saying, and it had left her lips easier than she thought it might. True, she may annoy herself and hate herself for being so eager, for letting Frank go, for moving on before she had even mourned him. But to let Jamie go was a fate she couldn't bare.

Jamie embraced her, lifting her up in his strong arms to kiss her, consume her. His lips danced against hers with a fierce want that he had fought for so long before. She was to be his, and that had made him happier than he had ever hoped to be in this lifetime. Claire found herself unable to pull herself away from his embrace, not long enough so their lips should be parted for a single second, she wanted to breathe him in, taste him, consume him.

No more words were spoken that night, except the stolen whispers of desire, uttered into the night as they explored each other and finally gave in to the wanton passions that had swarmed them from the moment they had met. To hell with what everyone else thought. Claire gave herself to Jamie freely and he had taken her, and she was the first woman he had ever been with and he knew for the certain, she would be the last.

[ludi-ling]

Crazy Eights

Well, here it is, a little treat for my followers - the first chapter of Crazy 8′s, the sequel to 52 Pickup. I’m sharing since it’s Day 7 (AU) of Rogue/Gambit Week 2020. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish this story, even though I got a fair way through it, since I wrote myself into a corner, and I’m not sure I like it very much. But I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Crazy Eights

Chapter 1

               Thieving 101.

               Simplest rule in the book.

               Don’t get caught.

               I can hear pere’s voice in my head, clear as day, literally beatin’ the words into all of us, his snotty-nosed, grass-stain-scuffed li’l Fagin’s gang.

               Don’t. Get. Caught.

               And then his face, leaning in towards mine, grinning, saying:

               Unless, o’ course, you have a reason t’get caught.

               Yeah, that was mon pere, full of good, subtle ideas. He’d usually direct them at me cos he knew I was like the worst kind of sponge. I’d be soakin’ all that shit up, swimmin’ in it like a gator swims in swamp water.  As a kid, I’d always figured he was just picking on me. As an adult, I realise all he was doing was laying down challenges, cos he knew this punk-ass kid would rise to the bait every time, pushing every damn boundary he could along the way.

               You got potential, boy. But you got no discipline. Always halfway t’ bein’ in a rage, t’ ventin’ it out on some poor trash. You play de con, kid, you live de con. No heart-on-your-sleeve shit.  Dat stays inside. Cos y’know what? Folks can read dat crap a mile away.

               “C’mon, pretty boy,” the man to my right grunts, as the alarms I’ve set off still scream all around us. “Getcha arse in gear. The boss don’t take kindly to waitin’.”

               He prods me in the back with the barrel of his gun, a little too sharply than is strictly necessary; but I get it, he has a job to do, and actin’ mean is part of it.

               “Yeah, well, that’s what bosses are like, mon ami,” I answer with a smirk. “Never got time for nothin’. Mebbe you should think about goin’ freelance, neh?  It has its advantages.  No calls at unsociable hours… Don’t gotta do all the dirty work y’self… Get t’ have a couple of pretty femmes hangin’ on your every word… Still. I reckon mebbe you two ain’t smart ’nuff yet t’ graduate from the ol’ ‘Crime Boss 101’ course, am I right?”

               “Hey!” The guy to my left gives me a crack on the back of the head with what I assume is also the barrel of a gun. “Shut the fuck up!”

               See? Boring, predictable, run-of-the-mill flunkies. These couyons ain’t never gon’ make it past mid-tier bodyguard material.

               And those alarms are still screaming.  Ain’t some asshole gon’ shut it off already?  It’s givin’ me a headache.

               Whatever. I do as I’m told and shut the fuck up. Mostly because I’m busy scanning the décor of this corridor we appear to be walking down.  The walls are lined with paintings, a mess of eras and styles that could tell anyone with an ounce of taste that whoever’s collecting this shit has none.  Taste, that is.  All it tells me is that this guy has cash, and he don’t mind throwin’ it ’round.  We walk past a Cezanne, and I grimace.

               Hang on in there, li’l guy, I say to myself as we sweep right by it. One o’these days I’m gonna free you.  Soon.

               Cos let’s face it.

               You think I’m gonna leave a Cezanne to rot in Cain Marko’s fuckin’ playboy mansion when it could be on my wall?

               I think not.

               We get to the end of the corridor and, thankfully, as soon as we do, someone finally finds the off switch to the alarms. My lovely escorts throw open the burnished oak doors that I can only assume lead to Marko’s private hidey-hole; and before I have a chance to admire the woodwork, I’m being pushed inside in yet another unnecessary show of who’s boss.  I stumble a little over the threshold, and there he is.  Cain Marko, kingpin of London town.  A big, ugly, concrete slab of a man with a mat of red hair and a jaw like a foot.  He’s sitting on a burgundy-red velvet sofa that looks to be late Victorian.  Possibly a Chippendale? Something to research later.  True to form, he has a girl on each knee.

               Crimes bosses.  I toldja so.  Predictably borin’.  Boringly predictable.

               “Well, well,” Marko greets me with a menacing grimace and a Cockney rasp. “Robert Lord.  Your reputation precedes you.  Finally, we get to meet face ta face.”

               It’s at that point that Jake decides to kick in, a harassed voice in my earpiece, hissing: “Remy? Remy, where the fuck are you? Is everything okay?”

               I jerk my head to one side and Jake’s panicked questioning cuts out.

               “Yeah,” I address the man on the sofa. “Coulda been under better circumstances, though. Don’t much care for bein’ kicked around and chained up.” I clink the restraints at my wrists and ankles meaningfully. “Unless, o’ course, it’s consensual and there’s a woman involved.”

               An ugly grin crosses Marko’s face.  He shifts a little and pats each girl on the ass; they get the message and get to their feet, tottering out on stilettos that take a certain art to walk in – neither of them have it.

               “Well,” Marko says with mock disappointment as he, too, gets to his feet. “If ya wanted to meet under better circumstances, you coulda made a less shitty attempt to rob me, Mr. Lord.  I’d heard you were supposed to be some thief extraordinaire, but you ask me? You, breakin’ into my safe? That was pretty fuckin’ amateurish.”

               “Hey,” I banter back good-naturedly as I watch him walk over to the bar and pour himself a drink. “I got through most of your li’l traps jes’ fine, mon ami.  You wanna talk amateurish, let’s talk ‘bout your alarms. They’re more fuckin’ painful than Tante Mattie boxin’ me onna ears.  And it takes too long to shut ‘em off.  Either that, or your flunkies are too stupid to figure out how.”

               Marko, who’d looked half-amused up to this point, lets his mouth drop into a disdainful sneer.

               “Y’know somethin’, yank?” he growls at me, turning back from the bar. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”

               I raise a wounded eyebrow at him.

               “Yank? Hey, now you’re just insultin’ me.”

               “Oh really?” He laughs; and I take back the comment about his alarm system. This is worse. “Mr. Lord, insults are gonna be the least of your problems tonight. No one steals from Cain Marko and gets to just walk out again. You picked the wrong house to rob, mate.  This is one job you ain’t walkin’ out of.”

               He lifts his chin slightly and calls out:

               “Klein?!”

               There’s no answer, and he gives an irate little pause, looks over his shoulder and says again:

               “Klein?! Where the fuck are you?”

               “I’m here,” a woman’s voice replies from a darkened corner, her presence so unexpected it even causes me to jump.

               “Fuck me, woman,” Marko rasps at her. “How long you been standin’ there?”

               The woman says nothing, simply stepping out from her corner.  I realise there’s a door there.  It’s impossible to say whether she’d just walked through, or whether she’d been there all along.  Marko ain’t big on lighting.  Which is a shame, ‘cos Klein is a woman to be looked at.  Mile long legs and a figure to get all wrapped up in.  Brunette hair scraped back into a bun that begs to be loosened. A glance like wildfire.

               “Sorry,” she says with a small twist of humour, all delivered in a perfectly delicious and proper English accent.  I feel some sorta expression begin to form on my face; an appreciative little smile begins to shift round my lips.

               Forget pretty girls tottering around in sexy stilettos they can’t walk in.  This is a woman.

               She glances over at me, then back at her boss with an expectant expression.

               “This shit thief stole me old lady’s engagement ring.” He takes a cellphone out his back pocket and stares at it. “Lesse how fast you can find it for me.”

               Klein don’t waste time mincing words.  Unlike the two couyons behind me, she’s calm, quiet, efficient.  She marches on up with a roll of the hips that’s entirely unconscious.  When she’s finally in front of me, I catch a whiff of her perfume – a barely-there scent that’s not quite fruity and not quite flowery.

               I cock my head to one side and hitch her a smile.

               She doesn’t take the bait.  Her expression is composed as she sizes me up, wondering where to start.  It’s as if she hasn’t even noticed my smile at all.

           “Be gentle, chere,” I quip.

              That’s when she raises her eyes and gives me a look – part disinterested, part unimpressed. Her facade is almost frosty, but it don’t fool me. Beneath the cargo pants and the bomber jacket and the unadorned face, there’s a something to this woman. It’s in the sway of her hips and the sensuousness of her scent. It’s in a whole lot more besides.

              She frisks me in all the usual places, and, Goddamn, her hands alone are enough to set me on fire. Her movements are precise, clinical... yet as insinuating as the touch of a lover.

              Did I mention yet I haven't had sex in 8 fucking weeks?

              She gets on her knees and runs her palms down my legs, and it’s almost more than I can take.

              “While you’re down there, chere...” I can’t help but say; and she pauses, looks up at me with steely eyes and says... Nothing.

              Her gaze fixes on my fly like it’s the only option left, and now we’re talkin’.

              She holds eye contact as she raises both hands, and thumbs open the button of my pants. Her look is impassive; but there’s an undercurrent there, a something that’s signalling to me loud and clear. She unzips my fly slow as a strip tease, and that’s when the shadow of a smile flickers across her face – a brief split second of something more, something to work with.

              Jesus Christ, I’m holding my breath.

              She knows what I’m thinking. She rises to full height and this time she doesn’t bother to hide the smile. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

              “Thought you were s’pposed t’be lookin’ for contraband, p’tite,” I can't help but drawl. The comment wipes the smile from her lips and her gaze drops. She yanks open my fly and within a few short seconds she’s found the fob pocket hidden inside the waistband of my pants. Another split second later and she’s found the ring.

              She turns and flashes it triumphantly at Marko.

              “You made record time, Klein,” he observes approvingly, glancing up from his phone. “Twelve seconds. I’m impressed.”

              Twelve seconds? I swear it coulda been a lifetime...

              She throws the ring to her boss and I watch on, with a wistful sense of loss, as it arcs across the room and into his hand. Oh well. Next time, maybe.

              “If you’re done, chere,” I pipe up behind her, “mebbe you could zip me up again? O’ course, if you ain’t, we can always take dis somewhere a li’l more private... ...”

              I hadn’t exactly been expecting an answer, so I’m doubly taken off guard when she whips round and socks me hard with a fist to the face.

              I totter a bit, tasting blood and seeing stars.

              Damn, this woman packs a punch!

              In the background, Marko’s laughing raucously.

              “Looks like you chose the wrong woman t’ try and charm, yank.”

              Seriously? Enough with the ‘yank’ thing already!

              I grit my teeth and scowl as he continues:

              “Zip ’im up, Klein. I can afford to be charitable to trespassers. I think we can let him leave here with his dignity, if not his life. He has taste after all. Me old ma’s engagement ring,” and he grins sardonically over at me, “is my favourite piece outta my entire collection.”

              Klein obediently turns around and zips me up with more force than necessary. No more smiles and subtle flirtation. She doesn’t even look at me.

              “Sentimental value,” Marko is saying, turning the ring between thumb and forefinger as he approaches me. “That’s what this ring has, Mr. Lord. Me old ma woulda been turnin’ in her grave if I lost it. Specially to some shitty low-feeder like you.”

              I lick the blood from my lip slowly. Low-feeder, huh? This guy is really throwing out them punches tonight.

              “Yeah, I getcha,” I retort with a sarcastic grin. “Momma woulda slapped ya t’ kingdom come if you ever messed wit’ her jewellery. Beat you wit’ a belt, prob’ly, told ya you were a good f’nothin’ piece o’ shit, I’m willin’ t’bet. Sure, I can read a mommy complex a mile away, homme, and you got it bad.”

              I dunno what’s gotten inta me tonight. Or maybe I do. Frustration is a thing and a half. I'm fuckin’ wired, and I can’t stop running my damn mouth off. I ain’t usually this lippy. Honestly.

              Anyways, I’m steeling myself for a beating from my End-of-Level-Boss, but surprisingly he don’t take the bait. Judging from his get-up, he’s ready for a night out, and he don’t want my blood soiling his purple Savile Row suit. Which is good for me, ‘cos the rings on his fingers look like they could double up for some pretty nasty knuckle dusters.

              “I take it back,” he sneers down his nose at me. “This bloody yank don’t deserve jack.”

              He sweeps away and grabs his jacket.

              “You’ve been lookin’ t’prove yerself, ain’t’cha, Klein,” he throws over his shoulder at the woman still standing beside me. “Take care of Mr. Lord for me, and consider yerself one of the gang.” He walks over to a side table, pulls open a draw and takes out a gun. When he throws it to her, she catches it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “Just make sure you keep some suitably gory keepsake for me to remember ’im by. I’m thinkin’ his teeth. He’s got them pearly whites you can only get in ’Murica. It'll remind me of ’is charmin’ smile.”

              He laughs to himself, throws the ring up in the air, catches it, and deposits it into his pocket.

              “Sorry, Mr. Lord,” he addresses me, “but I have places to go and people to kill.  Don’t worry. Klein’ll entertain you in the playpen.” He waves absently at a door to the right. “I’m sure she’s just itchin’ to get her hands on you.”

              He chuckles and heads for the door, followed by one of his henchmen, leaving with a final, gleeful, “So long!”

              The door bangs shut and now it’s just me, Klein, and Henchman #1.

              Wise strategy on Marko’s part, if Ms. Klein is basically untried and untested.  I might break her little heart, and Henchman #1 might have to put me down instead.

              I suppress a laugh at the thought.

              Klein says nothing. She turns abruptly and sticks the barrel of the gun into the small of my back.

              “Move,” she says.  Her voice is deadpan – nothing to work with.

              “Y’know, chere,” I venture conversationally, as I start shuffling over to the door, “I could speed up some if you’d jes’ untie these chains… Then we could get t’ playtime in the playpen a whole lot faster…”

              “Hey, shut up will ya!” Henchmen #1 barks at me, punctuated by a sharp poke in the back by Klein’s gun. All right, all right, already. I get the message.  They hustle me up to the door and next thing I know, I’m being shoved inside.  Henchman #1 shuts the door behind me and I hear the locks thunk shut.  Now it’s just me, and Klein.

              It turns out the playpen could give H. H. Holmes’ hotel of horrors a run for its money. It’s a pokey little room, and someone’s done gone and painted the walls in a nice shade of red and crusty brown. Blood, gore and brain matter.  The whole place stinks of death.  Merde. The light-hearted mood I’ve managed to maintain so far immediately takes a dive.

              “I take it housekeepin’ don't come round often,” I quip in an undertone – hardly as insolent as it could've been, but it earns me a kick up the ass anyway.  I stagger forward under the momentum, turning to face my would-be executioner as I do so.

              She has the gun pointed at me.

              “Chere, I’d put my hands up if they weren’t tied behind my—”

              The gun fires.

              And the bullet hits the wall over my shoulder.

              The crazy femme don’t give me a moment to recover.

              In a flash she’s lowered the gun and is marching right over to me, grabbing the front of my shirt and jerking me down into a hungry kiss.

              “It’s okay,” she whispers when she sees I’m too shocked to respond. “There aren’t any cameras in here.”

              The words are barely out of her mouth and she’s kissing me again. This time I slip easily out of the chains that I’ve been working on ever since they were clapped on me, and as soon as they hit the ground, I let my palms slide up over her cheeks, pulling her closer, deeper into our kiss. Her fingers wind into my hair, tugging lightly; her body presses against mine, reminding me exactly what I’ve been without the past couple of months. I grab handfuls of her perfect ass and pull her in closer.

              God, I’d fuck her right here, right now, if we weren’t in this shithole and this wasn’t a very important job.

              We kiss until we have no air left to breathe.

              “Lord, I’ve missed ya, Remy,” she murmurs against my lips.

              “Mmm, not as much as I’ve missed you,” I answer sincerely, stealing another kiss before adding heatedly, “Eight whole weeks without you, chere... It’s enough t’ drive a man certifiably insane.”

              She laughs, soft and sexy, her fingers combing lightly through my hair as she backs up a bit and regards me.

              “Darlin’,” she murmurs with a smile, “you were the one who said no contact...”

              “Didn’t wanna risk breakin’ your cover, Anna,” I reply, bridging the slight gap between us and feathering light kisses along her jawline. “Cain Marko’s gang don’t got a real nice reputation, sweet.”

              “Pfft,” she scoffs. “I can handle myself.”

              “For sure,” I agree. “But I’d prefer it if we didn’t tank this mission ‘cos we couldn’t keep our hands offa each other.”

              She hums with vague agreement and runs her thumb across my bottom lip.

              “Sorry about the fist to the face, babe,” she apologises. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too much."

              “Peh.” I wave it off absently – I'd pretty much forgotten it already. “You do what you gotta. Speaking of...”

              But she’s already way ahead of me, rooting around in her utility belt and taking out the small mem-chip case.

              “Nice distraction, by the way,” she congratulates me wryly as she hands me the goods.

              “Didja like it?” I ask her, pocketing the small case.

              “In theory. Thought you had more style, though, Cajun. You managed to set off every alarm in the fucking building.”

              “Heh. Just wanted to make sure you had enough time to pull the heist, cherie.”

              She rolls her eyes expressively.

              “You thought it was funny pissing everyone off, admit it. And what was all that business with the fob pocket?”

              “Chere,” I answer with mock sincerity. “Eight weeks of celibacy and you think I’m gonna pass up the chance to have you feel me up? C’mon.”

              The punch she lands on my bicep is enough to hurt.

              “You are such a troll!” she shoots at me with more affection than ire, I’m happy to say.

              “You love it,” I mutter, grabbing her helplessly and kissing her mouth soundly. We end up wasting a few more precious seconds making out again.

              “So what we gonna do, huh?” I ask her once we break apart. “Henchman #1 is waitin’ outside, and I figure we could both take him out pretty easy...”

              “Nuh-uh,” she cuts me off with a mischievous grin. “That’ll break our cover for sure. You, sweetheart, are taking the back door out.”

              Her gaze slides over my shoulder, and when I look back, I see that the back door is actually a chute in the wall. From the amount of gore it’s covered in, it’s pretty obvious it's a disposal chute – for corpses.

              “You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, p’tite,” I groan under my breath.

              “Think of it as payback for kicking me down that garbage chute back at the Plaza hotel,” she banters back lightly, clearly enjoying this.

              “Anna, after this, we’re even and then some,” I say dolefully.

              “Yup,” she replies cheerfully. She swoops in for another quick kiss before saying: “I’ll be waiting for you by the East gate in about 30. Got some stuff to finish up here, otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”

              “All right.” My response is half-hearted. I ain’t relishing goin’ down that chute, that’s for sure. Anna, however, is completely indifferent to my plight. She’s almost at the door already when I stop her.

              “Uhh… Anna?”

              She stops, turns.

              “What?”

              I point down at my chained-up ankles.

              “Li’l help, please?”

               She gives a theatrical sigh; but she comes back anyway, dropping to her knees and undoing the chains round my ankles.

              “I’m pretty sure you could do this yourself faster than I ever could, Cajun,” she says pointedly, to which I shrug and reply:

              “Sure. But havin’ you down on your knees in front of me brings back all sorts of happy mem’ries I’ve been denied the past couple of months.”

              The chains clatter to the floor and she quirks an unimpressed look at me.

              “Jesus. You’re puttin’ out more pheromones than a skunk puts out spray.”

              “Chere, I been insulted ’nuff today, bein’ called a ‘yank’ an’ all. You reckon you could find an analogy a little more flatterin’ than a skunk?”

              She gets to her feet and plants her hands on her hips.

              “Swamp boy, there ain’t enough analogies in the world for the dirty things I wanna call you right now,” she declares in her gorgeously titillating and rarely-bestowed native Mississippi accent.

              “Oooh,” I banter back. “Dirty, huh? Beb, when I get you home tonight, you can call me all the dirty things under the sun. I can’t wait.”

              She chooses to ignore the statement, walking over to the chute instead and pulling it open. When she looks back at me, she’s smiling sweetly.

              “Sugar, when we get home tonight, the first thing you’re gonna do is take a shower. Cos once you’ve gone down this here chute, you’re gonna be dirty as hell, and not in a good way.”

              Trust her to kill the mood. I peer down the hole gingerly. The miasma wafting up from down below is worse than any skunk’s.

              “Chere, you wanna rethink this? Only I get the feelin’ one shower ain’t gon’ be enough t’ get the stench out...”

              “Quit being such a baby!” She’s smiling way too hard for my liking at this point. “The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can wrap up this job.”

              I step reluctantly up to the edge of the hole, and she leans in over my shoulder, murmurs in my ear: “And the sooner I can get my hands on you again.” She lets that suggestion linger. And, Dieu, does it linger.

              “Now buckle up and hold onto the railings,” she warns me.

              “What railings?” I manage to get out, before her boot heel connects with my ass, and I’m suddenly tumbling through the filth and mire down, down into the depths of the Marko mansion.

-oOo-

[Chapter 2 now here!]

[starbuck]

Terror Notes: “Go For Broke”

well… I guess I’m really doing this! Some proper, bullet-pointed notes for each episode of The Terror, starting with ep 1: Go For Broke!

I wrote these out last night (and edited them this morning to make them readable - you’re welcome!) so I hope that y’all enjoy my thoughts and assorted nonsense! I tried to save my comments for points I actually wanted to make because I feel like they bring something to the table but I still ended up writing A Lot lol

I love that Crozier couldn’t even be bothered to be present in welcoming Sir John and Fitzjames onto Terror, making Little and Hodgson do it by themselves. One could argue that he had important captain-y things to be doing at that time or something but I’m not 100% sure that wasn’t the case. 

idk if it’s just the angle, but I paused the episode just as the shot of the officer’s mess is coming in from above and Hodgson’s hands make me so uncomfortable. They look so bone-y and weird. (Just what you came here for, I know. Hand commentary.)

Cannot tell you how uncomfortable it is, after many rewatches, to listen to Fitzjames recounting in a casual, lighthearted manner 1) shooting people 2) people catching fire (and burning to death), and 3) their burning flesh smelling “like roast duck” (so, like something edible) and it’s even more uncomfortable to have the closeup be on Hodgson’s face as he laughs at the ‘roast duck’ comparison.

On a lighter note: I love that Fitzjames felt the need to remind everyone what size cherries are by illustrating it with his fingers. In case they forgot, I guess? As someone who occasionally speaks unnecessarily with my hands, big mood tbh.

I LOVE it when Fitzjames gives Little that affirmative tap on the arm after he compares Fitzjames’s injury to Lord Nelson’s. My friend Eli and I refer to it as The Fitzjames Arm Tap. I would like a Fitzjames Arm Tap, pretty please.

God, Sir John loudly setting his hands on the table to try to dispel the tension from the ‘birdshit island’ debacle as he attempts to change the subject is so funny. I’m gonna stop just pointing out things I find funny soon, I swear, but I just cannot handle this scene.

Between Hodgson looking horrifically embarrassed by Crozier’s outburst at Fitzjames and Little looking nervous when Crozier shoots him a look as Sir John says that there’s no reason to be concerned about the ice, it really does seem that they were having to ‘manage’ him even back in ep 1 when his alcoholism wasn’t completely out of hand.

Personal sidenote about this: My Pop-pop is often rude to workers in stores and restaurants (he doesn’t drink thank goodness but he has Alzheimer’s coming on which has worsened his temper) so I very much understand the feeling of being on-edge that an outburst is going to occur and trying to deal with the fallout when it does. Just going by my own experience, I can imagine Little apologizing to Fitzjames for Crozier’s rudeness as soon as they were out of Crozier’s earshot (not that anything Little could say would heal the deep psychological wound that Crozier created but hey, it’s something).

The way that Sir John brushes aside Dr. MacDonald’s and Crozier’s concerns about moving Young when he’s in such bad shape never fails to upset me but also ~foreshadowing for hauling the ill on boats oooohhh~

I said I was done pointing out random things that amuse me but the speed and agility with which Des Voeux pops out of the hatch and onto the deck after Orren falls into the water is just so funny. I could watch that two second clip on repeat all day. Might gif it so I actually can.

Is this a good time to point out that there’s also a scene in Moby-Dick where someone falls from high up on a mast and drowns? It’s in a chapter all about bad omens experienced by the crew of the Pequod and The Terror definitely has some similar vibes going on with the sun dogs displayed in the establishing shot of Erebus in that scene and David Young, a “warning of things to come,” on his way over.

The second(?) time I watched the part where Young tells Stanley that he didn’t think anything of getting headaches since he’s always gotten them, I had this thought pass through my head that was like “oh god, I had chronic migraines for years so I’d never have known if I had lead poisoning either!” but then I realized that this probably was not a relevant concern I should have.

Not sure I have any deep commentary on this but as Gore informs Sir John and Fitzjames about the blocked propeller, he’s standing in the same spot, in the same room as Goodsir will stand next episode to tell them about his death.

Also regarding this scene, I love how Gore waits for Fitzjames to give him the go-ahead to leave before actually going. I know that Fitzjames is his superior officer too but, since Sir John already dismissed him, it seems like waiting for Fitzjames’s approval isn’t really necessary, yet a nice thing to do. Perhaps this is a legitimate formality, but something similar happens later in this episode in the command meeting when Crozier asks Gore how many sun dogs he’s seen; he looks to Fitzjames and waits for his nod before answering Crozier. He doesn’t look to Sir John, he looks to Fitzjames. I know that we know essentially nothing about Gore but like.. underrated ship???? Just saying…

Ten nights ago, I was unable to get to sleep for at least an hour because I started thinking about David Young’s saying “I want to go to my grave as I am” and, of course, that ultimately doesn’t happen for him but also, this, like all things about him, is a “warning of things to come.” I’m pretty sure that no one else was properly buried until, arguably, Fitzjames and ironically, that was explicitly not what he wanted done with his body (and, since his grave was later looted by Hickey, similar to the way that Young’s autopsy ultimately achieved nothing, it didn’t really matter anyway).

I know that this happened exactly ten days ago because I forced myself to wake up and write it down in my notes app, lest I forget, which only prolonged my sleeplessness. I suffer for my analysis. 

Ah yesssss Tozer’s lesbian haircut. We love it! Why does my hair not look like that when I take a hat off? I’d like to file a complaint.

Was just thinking the other day about how Hartnell being the one to notice that there was something up with the ice in ep 1 is followed up on with Blanky complimenting Hartnell’s ability to read the ice to Crozier in ep 7. I wonder if Blanky ever gave him like. ice-reading lessons after becoming aware of his interest and natural talent at it in ep 1? That makes me happy to think about.

The two people who we’re shown awoken by Young’s screaming are Sgt. Bryant and Morfin and like. Do I even have to explain why that’s an Oof?

The way that Goodsir hesitates before knocking on Stanley’s door and Stanley irritatedly closing his book before answering the knock in an exasperated voice would be comedic in any other context. If I’m being honest, it still makes me laugh. As does Stanley’s “As if that weren’t plain.”

I’ve pointed this out before but mmmmm... that shot of Stanley in profile with the open candle flame in the background… the foreshadowing in this ep is thicker than the smoke at… Oh alright, I’ll stop. 

God, the autopsy/dive scene…. Collins being lowered down and entering the water paralleled with Goodsir’s initial cutting into Young’s corpse, the breaking up of the ice paralleled with the cutting of the bone-saw. But most significant to me is the parallel of what is seen/not seen and the long-term effect that this has. Collins sees Orren’s corpse (and then presumably never tells anyone about it), reinforcing his guilt over Orren’s death, the beginning of his mental health decline. Goodsir doesn’t see the cause of Young’s death in his autopsy and this not knowing about the lead poisoning until it’s too late to do anything about it is the cause of many of Goodsir’s later problems as well. And, to finish it all off, both the autopsy and Collins’ dive were ultimately for nothing (considering a spinning propeller is useless when your ships are frozen in). 

Crozier and Blanky’s simultaneous face journeys as Sir John rambles on about how there’s nothing to worry about and they’ll find the passage any day now are truly legendary.

I wrote some pretty extensive tags on this already but man… Crozier’s comment about how not all of Sir John’s men returned from one of his previous arctic expeditions is just so nasty and awful. Like, yes, Sir John is wrong to undersell the danger they’re in and Crozier is advocating for the correct position here, but that was completely uncalled for and horrible to say, particularly in a command meeting, in front of so many people. And Sir John looks legitimately upset by it too. He gets over it quickly, at least on the outside, but I still feel really bad for him (and I NEVER feel bad for Sir John so this is weird for me).

“But of course we will not be abandoning Erebus, or Terror…” Let’s check back in six episodes and see how that’s going! 

Crozier slamming his fist on the table to prove he’s not being melodramatic reminds me of this one post (that I sadly can’t find rn) about Jesus Christ Superstar that’s like “‘CUT OUT THE DRAMATICS’ Judas hollered dramatically.” It’s such an Overall Mood.

I don’t have a developed commentary on this at the moment but it’s an interesting reverse-parallel that Sir John had no concern for Young’s well-being when he was alive, ignoring Crozier’s concerns about moving him from ship-to-ship when he was in such poor health, yet now that he’s dead, Sir John is the one to recommend that Young be buried which Crozier is surprised by, and seems to feel is unnecessary.

There’s been so much amazing commentary already made about Young’s burial scene so I’ll skip it except to say that Hickey’s irritated sigh when he hears footsteps coming towards the grave is SO funny. That’s exactly how I feel when I know that someone is about to tell me something that will annoy me.

Goodsir was really getting into the emotion of Sir John’s “eulogy”/motivational speech before he remembered the promise he made about Young’s ring. Also, what triggered his memory was Sir John saying “We shall earn our loved one’s cheers and embraces,” so no doubt a reminder of the traumatic “Your loved ones will be there in Heaven to welcome you! :)” “I never knew my mother or father” exchange (or maybe just a reminder of the fact that he was supposed to get Young’s ring to his sister but just let me scrape a little humor out of this. God knows I need it).

The shot of Bryant praying in his hammock the night before they get completely frozen-in is honestly deeply upsetting to me. Especially considering he’s a marine so he Did Not Ask To Be Here, yet there he’ll die.

According to Melville, ship’s compasses occasionally spun round-and-round when a ship was caught in a severe storm and this was an incredibly upsetting thing to behold because of how disorienting it was. So, considering that, Fitzjames keeps his composure pretty well but he clearly has some reservations about how things are going and Sir John has no comforting-sounding remark about ‘Magnetic North’ to offer him now.

The bit where Sir John “sees” Crozier, on Terror, turn away from him with a half-smirk on his face is interesting because there’s no way he could have possibly seen Crozier’s expression at that distance and I’m doubtful that he’d even have been able to make out the identity of anyone he might have been able to see on Terror’s deck. So really, it speaks mostly to Sir John’s mental state; his seeing their getting frozen in as a loss against Crozier and imagining that Crozier would see it as a victory for himself.

Ugh the final shot is making me think about @catilinas’s post comparing a shot of the two ships stuck in to the shot of the ink drops from ep 3 and I am LOSING IT but I was losing it anyway because it’s 2AM now and my entire body feels like gelatin. 

THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT! 

SEE YOU NEXT TIME!

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Lesion oneshot in which Bandit demonstrates his superior pick-up skills :) (Rating T, humour, ~1.2k words) - written for @catfacedcryptid! 💚

.

“I”, Bandit announces in a grandiose gesture and nearly knocks his beer off the counter, “am on the prowl tonight.”

Lesion lifts a brow. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“He’s looking to get rejected”, Smoke replies easily and seems to be oblivious of the dark glare directed at him.

“Oh. He doesn’t have to look very hard for that.”

“Alright, alright”, Bandit rolls his eyes as the toxic duo snickers at his expense, “enough. No need to be envious just because I’m the only one here who actually can get dates.”

“Tze Long has a silver tongue”, Smoke disagrees immediately. “He could sell heaters in Spain. Don’t you remember how he talked that cop out of giving us a speeding ticket?”

“You’re right, I did do that”, Lesion feels obliged to agree.

“Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have sucked dick to achieve the same thing.”

“I’m not. I’ll admit it freely.” Smoke grins. “Doesn’t change the fact that Tze Long could out-smooth you with his pinky.”

“Oh yeah?”

Lesion chuckles and tips his bottle towards the Brit. “He said it, not me.” He’s not going to deny it though – he’s been told his open way of communicating draws people in, especially since he’s a great listener on top. He knows he catches more flies with honey than vinegar, and it helps to have travelled the world and come into contact with a myriad of different personalities. He’s figured out what makes most people tick and easily adapts. Someone once called it opportunistic and dishonest, yet Lesion firmly believes it minimises unnecessary conflict. His job isn’t bursting people’s bubbles, his job is ensuring that everyone can get on with their lives.

And he knows Bandit will interpret Smoke’s comparison as a challenge.

The telltale German squint conveys enough. He’s too predictable. “Bullshit”, he spits. “See that brunette over there? What do I get if I manage to get her number?”

“Her number”, Smoke deadpans and makes Lesion laugh good-naturedly. The beers they’ve had so far are taking effect, as does the familial atmosphere between them – Lesion is feeling increasingly silly, smiles coming easy and more often than not reciprocated by Smoke who seems to enjoy his relaxed mood.

“Jesus Christ. You two are unbearable. Just watch a master do his work.” The two exchange a look and try not to stare after Bandit too openly as he swaggers over to the woman in question. His entire posture is already wrong, entirely too aggressive, and he’s wearing his interest on his sleeve – reeking of desperation while trying to project confidence rarely goes well in Lesion’s experience. He should’ve gone for an innocent, friendly interaction far from flirting and worked his way up.

He also missed the wedding ring on the woman’s finger.

Lesion already has to hold himself back not to start giggling before Bandit even opens his mouth, but as soon as he does, he knows it’s over anyway.

“Haven’t we seen each other before?”, Bandit purrs and oh, this one is stale.

“Yes”, comes the friendly reply, delivered with a smile, “it’s why I haven’t been there since.”

And that does it. Lesion erupts into startled laughter, full-bellied and only getting worse over Bandit’s gobsmacked expression, even louder when the woman throws him a happy smile, visibly content with her instant comeback. Breathing is swiftly becoming a luxury.

To his credit, Bandit admits defeat and slinks back to their table where Lesion is trying hard not to start hyperventilating any second. “Stop. Stop laughing. I get it. Fuck. I’m serious, stop.”

With extreme effort, Lesion manages to get himself under control long enough for Smoke to chime in: “Seems like the only way for you to get laid is to crawl up a chicken’s ass and wait.”

This time, Lesion actually starts crying after a few seconds. He just can’t, it’s too perfect, the wholly unimpressed scowl on Bandit’s face, the amused smirk on Smoke’s, the woman’s own visible entertainment.

“Can’t believe you actually went for one of the classics. They never go over well.”

“Oh yeah?” Bandit nurses his wounded pride with more alcohol, all the while ignoring Lesion who’s halfway under the table by now from cracking himself up – at this point it’s almost compulsive, he can’t stop. “Even the clever ones?”

“Try ‘em, mate. I may be rubbish at winning anyone over, but I can dish out at least.”

Another challenge. Hook, line and sinker – Bandit just can’t resist: “You look like my next boyfriend.”

Smoke lights up. “What a coincidence! And you look like the guy I’ve turned down two seconds from now!” When Lesion nearly falls off his chair, he earns a dark look from Bandit and a grin from Smoke. “You alright there, mate?” He waves off the concern and wipes some tears away.

“Nice shirt. It would look even better on the floor.”

“And it would look magnificent jammed down your windpipe.”

Lesion chokes on air and needs a moment to stop coughing, and when he does, he has no doubt most of Bandit’s pranks-to-come will be directed against him. “Okay. I’m okay. Oh my god, that was – let me breathe for a moment.”

“You sound like you got a shirt shoved down your windpipe”, Bandit grumbles, but it’s half-hearted and Lesion is too busy focusing on calming down, so it fortunately doesn’t set him off again. The way Smoke beams at him, he must look deranged, crying and giggling intermittently, rubbing his temples to prevent a headache, and much too joyous compared to Bandit who looks like someone just died.

“I don’t see you seducing anyone”, the German makes a last attempt at saving his reputation.

“And I won’t be, not like this.” Lesion takes a deep breath and ignores his aching cheeks.

“I dunno. You could at least try”, Smoke nudges him and lifts his eyebrows meaningfully.

They eye each other up for a moment and Lesion realises he’s serious. When he turns to the Brit a little, angles his body towards him, he notices Smoke mirroring him subconsciously, and it’s frightfully clear all of a sudden. Still fighting the smirk threatening to return, Lesion asks: “Porter. Wanna make out?”

Bandit opens his mouth to protest.

“Hell yeah”, Smoke replies without hesitation and leans in before Lesion can, and though it’s meant only for show, though it’s only for Bandit’s benefit who gapes at them like they grew another head, though it’s preceded by nothing, really, Lesion thinks: I could actually get used to this. The kiss lasts much longer than it should and involves more tongue than it has any business to, but since neither of them are complaining, they continue until Bandit throws a beer coaster at them.

They separate and Lesion turns to Bandit, shrugging a shoulder and taking a sip of his beverage. “That’s how you do it, mate. Did you get it or do you need another demonstration?”

And Smoke just grins into his beer.

[taexual]

I Want Desire [6] / Mark x Reader

OTHER PARTS: 01 - Got7 Mafia AU / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 - The End

Mark reveals the truth about why he hates Adam but what he overhears later causes the pleasant chit-chat to turn into a fight with potentially fatal consequences.

Pairing: Mafia AU!Mark x Reader

Warnings: strong language, angst, drug use

Words: 6.8k

I tagged those who requested the next part at the bottom. Sorry if I forgot anyone!

You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep. Originally, you had intended to leave Mark’s room as soon as he was asleep because he was drunk and he already looked like he was sleeping even when his eyes were still open.

However, you woke up God knows how many hours later, on the edge of Mark’s bed with your neck bent in an uncomfortable position. Quickly, you realized that your neck – which was in excruciating pain when you moved it – was bent uncomfortably simply because you must have spent the entire night asleep on Mark’s shoulder while he slept on his back, leaning his head against yours. His neck was probably going to hurt just as much when he woke up.

Another second passed before you finally remembered what brought you to his bed in the first place, and what stopped you from leaving it after he did fall asleep.

His words.

He told you he loved you last night. He was absolutely smashed when he said this, but they do say a drunk mind speaks a sober heart.

Suddenly, you were feeling sick.

It must have been the sudden worry about what to do when Mark woke up that quickly washed over you and in turn, caused you to feel like you were going to throw up any moment now. Quickly getting up from the bed, you started to head down the hallway, but then your head started to spin due to standing up too fast and you had to stop. As you waited for the dizziness to pass, the sick feeling in your stomach passed, too.

“Y/n?” a groggy voice called behind you and you slowly turned around to see Mark’s open eyes. “What time is it?”

“I actually don’t know,” you said, trying to fight the awkwardness off. “I was just leaving.”

You lingered by the door, hoping that Mark will give you a hint whether he remembered last night or not, but he just groaned, rolled on his back, and stayed quiet. When he heard you open the door of his room, that’s when he chose to finally open his mouth.

“Y/n,” he said again. “Do you think it’d be horrible if I asked you to bring me water?”

You snickered. “Well, you’ve done worse things. I’ll be right back.”

You thought you saw him flinch slightly when you called him out, but then again, that could have just been his headache causing him mild convulsions.

You weren’t sure why you were bringing Mark water. He didn’t deserve your kind behavior, and yet you’ve still been nothing but nice to him the whole night last night, and you were still following his orders today, apparently.

As you walked down the stairs towards the kitchen, you tried to convince yourself of two things: first, that you were helping Mark just because you were a nice person in general and not because the words he said to you last night affected you in any way; and second, that the sick feeling in your stomach was from the glass of champagne you’ve had at the ball and not because it was a signal that your body was shutting down or something.

After pouring two glasses of water, you finished one of them in a few gulps, waiting a few seconds until the sick feeling passed. Then, you turned around to walk back to Mark’s bedroom and take his glass to him.

Only you stopped short at the sight of Grace, smirking, and leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Jesus Christ, Grace,” you said, taking a deep breath and placing the glass of water down before you dropped it. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“So, you weren’t in your room when I got home from the ball,” Grace said, completely ignoring everything you just said.

“Yeah… things happened,” you said, not really wanting to talk to Grace about what happened last night before you talked to Mark about it. “Can I talk to you later about everything?”

“Did you, uh, do anything you might regret later?” Grace asked awkwardly.

You looked down. “Not yet. I mean, I don’t even know what happened, Mark was drunk, like really drunk, I don’t even—hey! Did you apologize to Adam for me?”

You couldn’t have cared less about Adam. You just needed to change the topic somehow.

“Actually, no,” Grace said, straightening suddenly. “Sorry. I just didn’t find him. Maybe he left the ball after you did.”

“Hmm,” you said, picking the glass of water from the counter. “Well, I’ll call him or something later.”

Grace nodded at this. You nodded back as a response and were about to awkwardly stroll past her and head back to Mark’s bedroom when she suddenly grabbed your hand, stopping you. Slightly surprised, you turned to look at her.

“Please be careful, okay?” Grace asked quietly. “Remember that it’s his job to manipulate people. Don’t let him do that to you, Y/n.”

Swallowing slowly after hearing this advice, you nodded. “I know, Grace. I’m just bringing water to him and then I’ll leave.”

“No, don’t—I mean, discuss what happened last night. Don’t just leave it at that,” she said. “Find out what he wanted and why he got so drunk and nearly blew the Uchida deal.”

You already knew that, though. Mark explained – or, well, attempted to explain – everything last night, while he was still drunk, and, in all honesty, you were terrified to know if he meant it or if that was just his drunken blabbering.

“I’m sure it was just one of his episodes,” you said. “No offense, but your brother truly seems crazy sometimes.”

Grace laughed. “Sometimes?”

You laughed as well and then, after giving her a quick smile, walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs back to Mark’s room.

Once you opened the door and entered, you noticed that he was already sitting in bed, his head in his hands.

“There’s your water,” you said as a way to announce yourself.

He removed his hands from his face, his fingers brushing against yours when he extended his hand to take the glass from you. It wasn’t a spark of electricity that both of you felt once you touched but rather a sense of calmness and safety. And that surprised the hell out of you.

“I’m, uh…” you started to say, suddenly scared of the feeling that – based on the look on Mark’s face – both of you shared. “I’m going to go. I have some calls to make.”

“To Uchida?” Mark asked as he watched you get up from the bed.

“Actually, no. But now that you mention it, I should probably call him, too,” you sighed.

“I don’t like him,” Mark said and then finally brought the glass to his lips, tasting the cold liquid inside.

For some reason, watching him drink was captivating. The way the water in the glass touched his lips. The way he closed his eyes at the feeling. The way his throat moved when he swallowed. All of that caused you to freeze for a moment.

You only woke up from this trance when you heard him place the glass on the nightstand and saw him look at you with raised eyebrows.

“Right, then,” you said, clearing your throat and turning around. “You don’t like anyone and I kind of don’t really care, so I’m going to—”

“It’s not that I don’t like anyone,” Mark said, causing you to stop again. “It’s just that people suck and I might be the only person on the planet who can see that.”

“Not all people suck,” you countered, although some part of your brain knew better than to argue with him. After all, you didn’t like Uchida, either.

“Yes, they do,” Mark argued as expected. “You just not know enough about them to see that they’re dickheads.”

Your mouth was now a separate being as it started to speak before you could stop it. “What do you know about Uchida that makes him a… dickhead?”

“Come on,” he said, almost laughing. “You know why Uchida’s a dickhead.”

“I want to hear your take on it.”

“Well, he’s a sleazeball, for starters,” Mark said as he watched you turn around, so you could look at him. “He’s basically drooling when he looks at you and it’s unsettling at best. At worst, it makes me want to throw up.”

Just hearing him say that made you want to throw up as well. Maybe not because of Uchida per se, but rather because your stomach was still all over the place, and having a semi-normal conversation with Mark, caused you unnecessary anxiety. Uchida was not what you should have been talking about. And yet you weren’t brave enough to bring the topic of last night up.

“Okay. I’m going to go make that call now,” you said.

“So, if it’s not Uchida, who are you calling then?”

His unnerving need to know whom you were going to talk to was really starting to bother you, but you held onto those last pieces of patience and refrained from starting a fight.

“Adam,” you said. “I left the ball without—”

“Oh, God,” Mark groaned loudly. “I don’t understand why you’re even bothering with that dick. It’s not like you’re Cinderella and he’s looking for your fucking shoe because you bailed after midnight to get into your carriage before it turned into—”

“I know how the story goes, Mark,” you interrupted him because clearly, he was getting really into it. “And I think you know very well that I didn’t leave because of a carriage. Unless you’re the pumpkin.”

Mark failed to see your attempt to lighten the situation by throwing in some fairytale humor.

“That is not the point,” he stated. “The point is, you shouldn’t care about that motherfu—”

“Is he a shitty person in your eyes, too? Is it because he’s a sleazeball?”

“No. It’s because he’s on drugs.”

The other taunting arguments you’ve prepared all escaped you as you frowned after hearing this.

“He’s on… what?” you asked, your eyes widening. “That’s a really far stretch, Mark.”

“Has Grace ever told you how she met him?” he asked.

You thought about it for a moment, trying to recall the way Grace introduced Adam to you.

“I think she said she did some work with him,” you said. “She didn’t specify what kind of work, though.”

“Yeah, he’s not in the Mafia, but he constantly gets himself into shit that he needs our help for,” Mark said. “Usually, it was me who took care of him, but last time, I sent Grace because, well, it was my wedding.”

Cold ran through your body after hearing him say that word. The two of you never talked about your wedding. It was a forbidden word in this house.

“But… Grace was there,” you said slowly.

“Not at first,” Mark said. “She missed the ceremony because someone – that someone is Adam, by the way – almost got himself killed and then almost killed my sister.”

You rolled your eyes at the way he needed to stress that it was Adam he was talking about.

“And how’d that happen?” you asked, somewhat skeptical because you knew Grace wouldn’t be stupid enough to spend time with a person who nearly killed her. Not to mention the fact that she actually set you up with said person.

“You better sit down for this,” Mark said, patting his bed. “Because I’m finally going to tell you the truth about your precious Adam.”

“How do I know it’s really the truth?” you asked, already walking towards his bed despite having a hard time believing what he was saying.

“You can ask Grace,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Or Adam. Though I’m sure the way he remembers this is fairly different from what I remember.”

“Right,” you said, sitting down on the corner of his bed. “Tell me this story, then.”

“Technically, I’m not supposed to be telling you this,” Mark started. “The only people who know this is my dad, me, and Grace.”

“That’s, like, half the family,” you said, frowning.

“No. Our mother doesn’t know. Neither does one of my sisters or my younger brother. Or any of my uncles, cousins, and—”

“Okay. Got it. No one knows. Why not, though?”

“Because of my mom, mostly,” Mark said. “Adam’s father was my dad’s classmate back in school. Adam claims they were friends but I doubt it because I sincerely don’t think my father would ever befriend anyone who could produce a son as much of a dumbass as Adam is.”

“How about you tell this story with no swear words, hmm?” you asked, interrupting his story. “Consider this a challenge of sorts.”

“How about you don’t cut me off and just listen,” Mark countered. You rolled your eyes but obeyed, genuinely wanting to hear what else he was going to say. “My dad never told me if he was friends with Adam’s father, although I’ve asked in the past. He just doesn’t talk about it. I don’t know why. Actually, the only time he mentioned Adam was when he asked me to clean his mess up about a year ago. Up until then, I didn’t even know Adam existed.”

“So, you’ve known him for a year?”

“Yeah, give or take,” he said. “I’m assuming that before my father asked me, he was actually the one who was looking after Adam. Why? That beats me. If I were my father, I would have left Adam to die a long time ago.”

You shook your head after hearing this. “Just because you don’t like someone doesn’t mean they deserve to die, Mark.”

“I already told you that when I don’t like someone, it’s for a reason,” Mark said but you found that hard to believe. “Anyway, back to what’s important. So, my dad asked me to help Adam but do it lowkey, so no one found out. Thus, the two of us were the only people in this house who knew about this.”

“Because of your mom, right?” you interrupted again, but this time, Mark didn’t seem to mind. “Why did you say she couldn’t find out about this?”

“I didn’t say,” Mark replied. “Because I don’t know. She just can’t find out about Adam – that’s what my father told me.”

This seemed like a family secret and you’d have been lying if you said it didn’t intrigue you. Unveiling the shield that let you find out more about the Tuans was still on your bucket list, even if you didn’t want to be a part of this family.

“So, I went to find Adam for the first time. It wasn’t serious then, he just ended up in some of the non-pleasant neighborhoods after he got high,” Mark said, intensely watching your reaction when he said this. “He’s friends with some suspicious people, so I think they brought him there so they could rob him. Well, I shot them all and brought him home.”

The fact that Adam was high didn’t shock you as much as the fact that Mark killed his assailants. Though, should it really shock you? Mark was in the Mafia. He’s killed people. He’s just never talked about it to you.

“But that’s just one of many times I had to save his ass from some shit he got himself into,” Mark said. “Actually, now that I think of it, ever since he moved from stimulants to tranquilizers, he’s been—”

“Sorry. From what to what?”

Mark sighed. “He used to do coke. Now he just pops pills that help him calm down.”

“Is that… better?” you asked, somehow not at all embarrassed to reveal your cluelessness about drugs.

“Depends,” Mark shrugged. “He doesn’t need to snort this stuff. It’s still fairly easy to die from it, though.”

You nodded, not questioning this any further. As you would realize in the next second, it wasn’t the drugs themselves that you should have been asking questions about, but rather the very fact that Adam was addicted to drugs in the first place. And yet, now that you thought of it, this idea really seemed plausible. Adam did seem indescribably boring to you. So, perhaps his lack of enthusiasm was because he was always high on sedatives.

“Well, so since he’s taking zannies now—” Mark continued and then saw your confused face again. “Xanax. It’s a tranquilizing—okay, nevermind. Ever since he started using it, he’s been a little better, but he still manages to get himself into shit. Last time that happened, I was busy, so I asked Grace to take care of this.”

“I thought no one else was supposed to know about Adam.”

“Right. But it was either that or our wedding would have been canceled,” Mark said and watched you look away from him, seemingly in thought. “If you’re considering what your life would have been like if I had bailed on our wedding, then don’t. I can assure you it would have been ten times more boring.”

You snorted. “Ten times more peaceful is more like it.”

Mark rolled his eyes but chose not to get into this right now.

“So, anyway, when Grace showed up to drag Adam’s ass out of the shithole he managed to climb into this time, she found out that it was more serious than she had expected. You see, our sweet little Adam somehow managed to get himself into a middle of a gang war,” Mark said, and you could see a twisted kind of pleasure on his face as he revealed the truth about Adam to you. “I don’t know all the details but Grace had texted me that his father died that day and he was on his way to get more pills from his dealer. He must have said some things because, long story short, my sister found him with a pistol aimed at his temple.”

Even though you knew that this story ended well – since both Grace and Adam were still alive – you still anticipated to hear the ending. Mark, of course, noticed this and smiled to himself after successfully managing to capture your attention with just his words.

“My sister, albeit a very good shot and a fantastic negotiator, couldn’t handle this many amateur gangsters,” Mark said. “She was grazed by a bullet, though she claims it’s not Adam’s fault.”

“Maybe it’s not,” you said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Y/n, the fact that Grace was even in that situation is entirely Adam’s fault,” Mark countered. “And I can’t believe that despite the injury and the stress she suffered because of his stupid ass, she still thinks Adam is normal enough to set you up with him.”

“Well,” you said. “I did need someone to go to the ball with.”

“And out of all the people she could have chosen as your date, Grace chose Adam,” Mark said, rolling his eyes. “Obviously she only did that to get a reaction out of me but she forgot to consider your safety. And the fact that we don’t mention Adam to anyone.”

“Despite everything you just said to me,” you said. “Somehow, I don’t think Adam would put me in a position where I’d be in danger.”

“That’s because you naïvely see the good in everyone,” Mark explained. “I, on the other hand, see people for who they really are. Assholes. All of them. Except you, I guess.”

You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be a compliment so you ignored it.

“You never give anyone a chance,” you told him. “You always have this irrational grudge on everyone, even if you don’t know them that well.”

“Except I do know them,” Mark said. “I can read people. I know what they want.”

“Is that so?” you crossed your arms over your chest. “What do I want then?”

“Easy,” Mark said, leaning back and smirking. “You want excitement. Passion. Desire. Love.”

“Right,” you swallowed, trying to stay still and not let him know if his observations were correct. “What about you? What do you want?”

“I want—”

Someone knocked on the door, interrupting Mark mid-sentence. You felt yourself flinch at this interruption, having been so focused on the conversation with Mark that the rest of the world seemed to have blurred.

“Come in!” Mark called out and before you could get up from his bed, so no suspicions would be raised, you saw Mark’s father enter his bedroom.

“Have you—oh, Y/n,” Mr. Tuan had to take a moment to fight off the initial shock after seeing you on his son’s bed. “I was just looking for you. Can we talk?”

You glanced at Mark before standing up from his bed and saw concern flash in his eyes. There were glints of pain in there, too, but he closed his eyes and shook his head before you could truly read him.

One part of your brain thought he was scared that you were going to leave, just like he admitted to feeling last night. But the other part of your brain – the one who was sick and tired of the mind games he played with you by leading you on so many times – told you that maybe you just imagined his concern.

“Yes, of course,” you said, nodding at Mr. Tuan and walking out of Mark’s room without saying anything else.

Once it was just you and Mr. Tuan in the hallway outside of Mark’s bedroom, you were starting to feel uncomfortable.

“I was looking for you because I wanted to talk to you about the matter that we discussed the other day,” Mr. Tuan said. “Though, I have to ask… have you changed your mind?”

“I’m, uh… no,” you chose to say. “No, I was just in there because Mark was drunk last night. He asked me to bring him water. I was… doing that.”

“Okay,” he said, hesitantly. “Well, I gave this some thought and I’ve come to a decision that we can’t possibly keep you in this family if you truly don’t see a future for your marriage. Though, I think it’s you who needs a bit more time to make this decision.”

You looked down, realizing that you needed to give Mr. Tuan an answer that would determine the rest of your future. As you thought about it, the sick feeling in your stomach returned. It just wasn’t your day today. Anytime you got remotely anxious, you’d start to feel like you were going to pass out or throw up. And yet it was crucial that you made this decision right now because you might not get another chance.

The only thing keeping you from leaving this house right away was Mark’s confession last night. But then again, Mark had already played with your feelings before. Were you really going to suffer through that again?

If he had only brought up his words from last night. If he had only repeated the same thing he said when he was drunk. If he had only acknowledged that he remembered what he said. If he had only told you he didn’t regret telling you any of that… Anything would have been enough to let you know that he actually truly wanted you here.

But instead, Mark chose to talk to you about Adam, simply because he had an anger problem and he chose to hate everyone who had issues, whether it was you and your naïve heart or Adam and his drug abuse. Adam needed help, not hate. And if helping him was such a huge problem for Mark, you weren’t sure if there was anything that Mark could have truly not been bothered by.

Biting your lip, you shook your head, looking up at Mr. Tuan again. “I don’t need more time. I know this won’t work.”

“Well, if you’re certain,” Mr. Tuan said and sighed. “I can’t keep you here. Though it was extremely nice to have you as part of our family, Y/n. I’m truly sad to see you leave.”

“I know,” you nodded. “Despite all of the negativity, I truly consider you to be my family. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“It’s me who’s sorry,” Mr. Tuan said. “I’m going to need you to stay for at least one more day, though, okay? Spend it packing and saying your goodbyes while I prepare all the papers you’ll have to sign. Beaurocracy. It takes some time to get things done even in the Mafia.”

You laughed at this. “Thank you, Mr. Tuan. I’m sorry if it’s a lot of work.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “Uh, have you told Mark about this? Or should I..?”

“I—”

Before you could finish the sentence, the door of Mark’s bedroom opened swiftly, revealing the owner of the room with an expression so angry that for a moment you thought this was the face that Mark’s enemies saw before he killed them.

“I think we’re finished here, then,” Mr. Tuan said, noticing Mark’s glare. “Or would you like to talk to me about something else, Y/n?”

“No, uh, that is all. Thank you, Mr. Tuan,” you said, giving Mark’s dad a quick smile and then watching him walk down the hallway, leaving you alone with his son.

Mark fired before you could turn around to look at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m… standing in the hallway, a little baffled that you’ve started to yell at me out of the blue,” you said awkwardly.

“You’re leaving?” Mark continued, having clearly heard the conversation between you and his father. “After… after everything?”

Everything? Did he mean..?

“After what?” you asked. “Because you’ve been doing everything to lead me to believe that me leaving is exactly what you want.”

“What the fuck did I do that lead you to believe that?”

“Are you serious?” you almost laughed. “Should I remind you of the conversation we had after I invited you to Uchida’s ball? Or what we talked about the night you saw Grace, Adam, and me at the bar? Or any other time we’ve talked, when you found a way to turn a normal conversation into an argument?”

You were throwing these accusations at him and yet, your heart was beating fast as you waited for him to remember what he said last night and to throw it in your face as a last resort to get you to stay.

“Oh, so you’re saying you’re so sensitive that you can’t even handle me telling you the truth?” was what Mark chose to say instead.

The truth.

The truth that he really did see you as a temporary fuck and nothing more. The truth that he only cared about you when there was a chance that you’d be taken away from him. The truth that he didn’t remember anything that he said to you last night.

“Yeah, Mark,” you said. “I’m too sensitive for the truth. Good thing you’re not. Because here’s the truth for you: I’m leaving. And there’s nothing you can do about that.”

You turned around to walk away from him because tears were going to form in your eyes any second now.

Although you were careful and didn’t let him manipulate you, you still hoped he’d remember. You still hoped he actually had feelings for you. Hell, maybe you were even willing to forgive him everything he had said to you if he really did love you.

You tried to distract yourself from a yet another fight with Mark by packing your suitcase. Surely, the fact that you kept arguing with him and ended up more upset than he ever was, was already a huge sign that this marriage was not going to work out. So, you were doing the right thing by ending it.

And yet, the sick feeling in your stomach lingered and you were starting to think that it wasn’t nausea. It was your sixth sense telling you that something bad was going to happen.

You had hoped you’d leave the house quietly. You’d say goodbye to Grace, grab your suitcases, and leave. You didn’t expect to have to deal with Mark on top of everything. And if you did think about him, you thought he’d be happy to see you leave. But as always, wherever Mark went, screams and tears followed.

After you finished packing, you were trying to gather enough courage to exit your room and find Grace because you did have to say goodbye to her, but then you realized that you still had to wait the whole day until Mr. Tuan fixed everything. Which meant that you could apologize to Grace later and right now, you could go somewhere else. Despite it being only a few hours until you’d leave the Tuans forever, you still wanted to get away from them right now.

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you dialed the phone number of the person that you found out so much about today.

“Hello?” Adam answered in a somewhat disoriented voice.

“Hey, it’s Y/n,” you said. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, no, I’m awake,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Good to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I called because I’m really sorry about the ball last night,” you said.

“The ball?” he asked and then realized a moment later. “Oh, yeah, right. No worries. I get it. It was an emergency.”

“Yeah…” you said. “Listen, are you busy right now?”

“Not, uh, not really. Why?” Adam asked after some hesitation, letting you know that he might have been busy but he was willing to cancel his plans for you.

That’s the type of dedication you needed. Maybe, aside from his drug problem, Adam was the guy that you should have been into. Not Mark.

“I need to get away,” you said. “And sadly, all of my friends are in this house.”

“Ah, I see your problem,” he laughed. “I can come pick you up. We can go somewhere.”

“That would be great!” you said with unnecessary enthusiasm that made you cringe.

Adam just laughed again. “Great. I’ll be at your house in twenty.”

True to his word, Adam really arrived twenty minutes later. He texted you to come down because he didn’t want to ring the doorbell. Understanding his worry, you left your room and jogged down the stairs, hoping you won’t run into Mark.

As always, though, luck was not on your side.

“Leaving already?” Mark called out to you from the staircase as he watched you run down.

“Yeah, for now,” you said. “I’ll be back to say goodbye to Grace.”

“What about me?”

You stopped for a moment because you realized that the further down you walked, the louder you had to yell in order for Mark to hear you on the top floor. “I’m not in the mood to get into another fight with you, so I truly hope this is the last time I see you, Mark.”

Mark was quiet for a moment but he was too high up for you to see his reaction.

When you started to climb down the stairs again, he opened his mouth. “Where are you going, though?”

“Out,” you replied, finally opening the front door of the house and noticing that Adam parked right in front of it.

You panicked for a second when you realized that Mark could probably see Adam’s car. And then you realized you had no need to panic. You were probably never going to see Mark again. He could yell all he wanted.

“You’re going with him?!” Mark’s loud voice followed you as you hurriedly walked out of the house. “Y/n, don’t—!”

You closed the door before he could add anything, choosing not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you get upset again.

Instead, you climbed into Adam’s car, not failing to notice that he really did look like he just woke up an hour ago.

“Drive, please,” you said. “Or Mark will come and slash your tires.”

Adam nodded, starting the car slowly, even though he heard the urgency in your voice.

As soon as he pulled out of the front yard, the door of the house opened, revealing Mark. Once again, you were too far to see his face, but if you had to guess, you’d think the same murderous expression that he used on you a few hours ago outside of his bedroom was on his face again.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to leave with me?” Adam asked.

“Of course,” you replied, looking away from Mark’s reflection in the front mirror of Adam’s car. “I don’t respond to anyone. I can do what I want to do.”

“Okay,” Adam said. “I’m just asking because it kind of feels like you’re running away from him.”

You groaned. “Yeah. Every time I leave that house, I feel like I’m running away. There’s this incredible sense of freedom when I’m away from him.”

“So, he’s really that bad, huh?” Adam asked, glancing to look at you before turning back to look at the road.

You didn’t really know how to answer this because, despite everything that’s happened, you still hoped that there was a side to Mark you haven’t seen yet. And you probably wouldn’t see it now that you had definitely decided to leave.

“He’s just too much for me,” you chose to say. “Every time I think we might work out, something happens that triggers a reaction out of him, which, in turn, causes me to become upset, and I realize now that he’s literally making me bipolar.”

“I’ve only ever seen you two fight,” Adam admitted, turning to look at you once again. “Have you ever had any normal conversations?”

Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze when the road in front of you was full of cars, you cleared your throat and Adam turned back to look straight.

“We… I think we had a normal conversation this morning,” you said. “Actually, we talked about you.”

Originally, you didn’t intend to mention this to Adam but you figured that since the topic came up, there was no harm to let him know that you knew of his relationship with the Tuans. At least, with a few of them. And hey! Maybe you were going to figure out why Mrs. Tuan didn’t know about him.

“Really?” Adam seemed intrigued, and therefore, looked at you again. “What did you talk about?”

“Mark told me where he knows you from,” you said slowly. “He didn’t get into details but he, uh… he did say that he’s known you for a while.”

“Yeah, we know each other for about a year,” Adam confirmed it, slowing the car down and then speeding up again. “Sorry, it’s a new car. I still haven’t gotten used to it. Anyway, I’ve known the Tuans for quite some time, I just met Mark a year ago. I met Grace even more recently.”

Completely ignoring the fact that the so-called new car already had enough bruises to look like it’s been in a few accidents, you focused on what mattered more in that moment.

“Have you met Mrs. Tuan?” you asked, trying to seem inconspicuous.

“Actually, no,” Adam said, slowing down and speeding up again. A car beeped at you before switching to a different lane. Adam ignored it, focusing on the conversation. “My dad really liked the Tuans. My mum did, too, but she, uh--she died. Actually, my dad died, too.”

“Yeah, Mark mentioned that,” you said. “I’m sorry. Your father’s death was fairly recently, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s cool,” Adam said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve gotten used to it. I guess, uh, Mark must have also mentioned what happened at the funeral, huh?”

“Yeah, that came up, too,” you bit your lip, remembering how upset Mark was about Grace getting grazed by a bullet when she went to rescue Adam. “Mark mentioned one other thing, though. I don’t care about it, I just want to know if it’s true.”

“The fact that I use Xanax?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said, a little surprised that Adam understood what you were getting at.

“It’s true,” Adam said, glancing at you again. “Sorry if that disappointed you. But really, it’s nothing serious. It helps me deal with my emotions, you know? I’m sure Mark made it sound worse, though.”

“Yeah, he said you were kind of addicted,” you said awkwardly.

You saw the way Adam gripped the wheel tighter after you said this. He didn’t say anything for a moment and you were starting to consider if you should apologize to him.

“I’m not addicted,” Adam said. “I can stop whenever I want to. I just choose not to because it helps.”

“Okay,” you said. “I don’t know much about… this medicine. I’m just trying to understand you better. Because I don’t know if I can trust Mark, so I feel like I have to double-check everything he—”

“Of course he’d say I’m addicted,” Adam interrupted you, laughing dryly. “He never liked me very much.”

“That’s Mark,” you said, a little nervous because of Adam’s sudden switch of emotions. “He doesn’t like anyone.”

“Yeah, but he has a special kind of hatred for me,” he continued and when he looked at you, you could notice that his pupils had dilated. “I never understood where it came from. He sure has a way of making me feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. I could literally kiss his fucking ass, and he’d still call me worthless.”

You had to be honest, the angry side of a normally quiet Adam was truly a scary sight.

“Don’t worry about him,” you tried to say. “How about we change the topic? Let’s talk about—”

“Grace is such a nice person,” Adam continued as if you hadn’t said anything. “So are you. I don’t understand how he manages to live surrounded by so many great people and still be a bitter fucking dick.”

“Adam,” you said suddenly and waited until he turned to look at you. “Are you, uh—have you taken Xanax today?”

“Of course!” he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Going to the ball made me a bit stressed. I took it this morning. It helps me feel better.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that,” you said, feeling very uneasy. “Maybe you shouldn’t be driving, though. How about you pull over right there? We could just talk.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he replied. “I’m not addicted. I don’t get any of the stupid side effects. Ever.”

You were too afraid to find out what the side effects of Xanax were but you were certain that Adam was experiencing one of them now. He was no longer boring. He was the equivalent of a ticking time bomb.

“Okay,” you said, trying to calm your beating hear down. “Still, though. I’m getting kind of carsick. I think I need to just walk for a few moments. Could you pull over? Maybe right after we cross this bridge?”

“You get carsick?” Adam asked, glancing at you again. “You can open the window if you want to throw up.”

“Yeah, no, that probably won’t help,” you said. “Could you just—”

“Y/n, I can’t stop in the middle of the road,” he said, removing one hand from the wheel to gesture at the passing cars. “Maybe you should just stay quiet for a few moments and it’ll go away? I used to get carsick all of the time when I was a kid and sleeping usually helped me but—”

“Adam, please,” you said a little louder than you intended.

He flinched, clearly not expecting you to scold him. And then he did the thing you asked him to do.

He stopped the car.

You only had enough time to widen your eyes and were about to open your mouth to yell at him. Ask him what the fuck was he doing. Tell him that this is not where you wanted him to stop.

But there was not enough time for any of that.

The same car that had previously switched lanes after Adam’s uneven driving was pulling back into your lane right behind you. Driving at nearly full speed and then stopping randomly caused the other car to brake but only after it’s front collided with the back of Adam’s car, instantly pushing it towards the railing of the bridge.

“Adam—!” was the last thing that escaped your mouth before the railing broke and your car plummeted down from the bridge while every passerby, witnessing this scene, froze in time.

You lost consciousness before you hit the water. In those few seconds before the car dived off the bridge, you managed to decipher the only thought that ran through your mind as you awaited the inevitable collision with the water below.

You hadn’t said goodbye.

This is purely fictional. Real-life people are in no way connected to the characters in this story. The characters have no relation to their real-life selves, either.

@ m-neko-chaan @ bi-girl16 @majatvdto @madison-wants-to-die @jalapeno-princess @nctzenofficial @kpopgrrl09 @ jinismybabyboy @melaninharleyquinn @ btsaryannah2005 @livelaughkpop @ danismyfire @schaumkeksus @bammiesmysoulmate @nekononamida @fantasyinmyworld-blog @my-favorites-things @cassiansgrayson   @ float-tee

[gutterballgt]

Headcanon that Raleigh gets glasses after Pitfall to help with the headaches and vision issues that come up in recovery. Mako thinks it’s adorable. Chuck is Suffering. Herc is done with all of them. -Kai

It’s only for close-up reading, but thanks to all the sudden downtime, Raleigh is ALWAYS READING. Chuck tries not to say anything. He really does. He’s not the type of jerk to call a bloke Four-Eyes or to lick his fingers and rub them on some poor sod’s lenses.

But the poor wanker looks ridiculous.

Okay, he doesn’t look ridiculous. He actually looks... rather nice in glasses. Intelligent, where he just looked like a rough-edged has-been before.

Okay, he never looked like a has-been, no matter how much Chuck wanted him to. Bloke’s always been a goddamn vision splendid.

But the glasses are distracting. They make the bloke look like a fucking scholar, and if there’s anything that has always flipped Chuck’s switch, it’s a fucking hot scholar.

It doesn’t help that Mako can’t stop talking about how adorable the new glasses are. “Doesn’t Raleigh look so sweet? If his hair was dark, he’d look just like Harry Potter.”

Which is fucking ridiculous. The bloke’s glasses aren’t round, and he doesn’t have a lightning-shaped scar.

No, the wanker looks like a gorgeous university professor, and Chuck catches himself wanting to... listen to him lecture. Or, fuck, even just read to him aloud.

Bloke’s got an amazing reading voice.

And those fucking glasses.

It’s driving him up the goddamn Wall.

Worse, he made the colossal screw-up of telling Herc in a weak moment, and now Herc is fucking done with the both of them.

“Just tell him and fuck, already.”

As if it’s that fucking simple. He started a goddamn fight with the bloke and was a condescending dickhead for most of their acquaintance. He can’t just walk up to the rotten sod and say, “Hey, you look fucking hot in glasses. Wanna come to my bunk and root all night?”

He’s not sure what to do when Herc fucking does it for him.

“Oi, Raleigh. Look, mate, Chuck thinks the glasses are hot and he’s driving me up the goddamn Wall pining about it, so will you two find a shady spot and fuck so we can all get on with our lives?”

Mako’s mouth drops open.

Chuck turns brick red and wonders if this is what a stroke feels like.

Raleigh... snickers. And eyes Chuck through those fucking gorgeous glasses. “Sure, whatever. We doin this or what?”

Definitely a stroke. He’s clearly hallucinating.

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

“You just can’t quit thinking about my dick, can you?”

“OI!”

And Herc is fucking done. “Jesus Christ, you pair of jackalopes! Just get the fuck out of here and get starkers somewhere else!”

As far as Chuck is concerned, the spontaneous burst of applause from the huge fucking crowd that had gathered out of nowhere was unnecessary.

...

It did get him laid, though, so he didn’t complain.

Much.

[notsoguiltykpop]

The Tenth Floor pt14

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader & Taehyung x Reader

Min Yoongi had gone through 34 secretaries in the past 24 months, and each one of them left in tears. This fact alone should have warned you against taking the job, but the pay was too good to pass up. Surely you could put up with a billionaires temper-tantrums, right?

Genre: Fluff, humor, probably some angst

Warnings: Strong language, smut talked about/implied, some dark themes

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

“Jesus christ, what did you do?” Taehyung’s question was not welcomed.

“Me?” Yoongi scoffed, shooting a glare in Taehyung’s direction. “What did I do?” You had left shortly after Yoongi agreeing to pay you time and a half for Saturday night--which, looking back, Taehyung should have been forced to pay. It was his idea for you to come along in the first place. But somehow, it was Yoongi that you seemed the most vengeful towards for the moment, and he suspected arguing with you over the matter wouldn’t go over well. “You’re the one who caused this whole mess.”

Your threats didn’t hold quite as much weight as you probably thought they did. The company had been sued before, and what few people realized was that as long as the company agreed to pay whatever amount the court deemed appropriate without complaint, cases were rarely made into a big deal. However, it would shake the board’s faith in Yoongi drastically, which could be hard to repair if Taehyung decided to take the opportunity to meddle. You going to the press was a slightly bigger concern for the company, because you were right about the stocks falling. Yoongi was willing to bet that you wouldn’t go that far though--at least not yet.

Yoongi’s biggest concern at the moment was what the hell had just happened, and why. He knew there was something going on with you, and that you were mad at him, but he wasn’t prepared for this.

“You told her we were step brothers.” Taehyung accused. “Please, tell me how the fuck that was supposed to help your situation with her?”

“I thought you told her.” He said flatly.

Taehyung shook his head. “Bullshit. What else did you say to her? That’s why she’s suddenly so hostile towards me, isn’t it? You’ve been trying to turn her against me.”

Yoongi’s fingers drummed on his desk. “She wasn’t surprised about our family connection.” He muttered. “You must have said something.” He himself was looking back through his memories with you, trying to figure out if he’d ever let something slip at any point. He was sure he hadn’t. There was no real reason for Taehyung to have told you either, because he clearly hadn’t gained anything from you knowing they were brothers. That left the question of who else knew and had told you. But even still, that fact by itself still didn’t warrant so much anger towards either of them, so what else had whoever it was said?

“You’re just going to sit there, feigning innocence?” Taehyung snapped. “You know, I suspected you’d said something about me to her, but I never would have guessed you’d go so far as to drag yourself down--”

“For the last goddamn time Taehyung, I did not say anything to her. Not about our family, not about you.” Yoongi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Taehyung was clearly going to be no help in answering any of Yoongi’s questions. “Considering the situation, what possessed you to drag her to the family dinner?”

His eyes were still closed, but Yoongi could hear Taehyung shifting in his chair. It had been the dumbest of moves, and Taehyung knew it. “What we need to focus on now is her not going to the press.” He said, avoiding the question entirely. “Mom hates people getting in her business, which is exactly what reporters love to do.”

Yoongi nodded absently, then upon processing what Taehyung had said, shook his head. “She won’t do it.”

Taehyung snorted. “Half an hour ago I would’ve sworn that she’d never say the words “shove it up your ass,” but here we are.” He sounded resigned to the fact. “How do you know she won’t?”

It was a good question, and Yoongi thought about it before answering. “I don’t think she wants to.” Yoongi hadn’t missed the hurt in your eyes when you’d made your threats. You were serious, but not at all happy with the situation. The fact both pained Yoongi and gave him hope that things could be reconciled. Then again, a part of him thought it might be better this way. He could play along, let you hate both him and Taehyung, he could still write a letter of recommendation for you, and you would escape this mess. You’d probably be happier that way. “Before you do anything, let me talk to her.”

“Why?” Taehyung demanded as he stood to leave the office. “So you can make things even worse?”

Yoongi groaned. “For god’s sake--you seem to have missed the part where she hates me more than she hates you.”

You were hiding.

You knew it wasn’t the best course of action to take, but the moment you’d left Yoongi’s office, all of the fear you’d ignored swelled up and filled your mind to the point that you couldn’t take another moment around people, and you certainly didn’t want to be around when Yoongi came to his senses and got angry. You’d side-stepped Seokjin, who was trying to ask you something you didn’t catch, and fled down a hall until you came to an empty conference room.

You didn’t turn on the light; there was no need. The sun trickled in through the blinds enough for you to make you way around the large table in the middle of the room. You took a seat, and put your head in your hands.

So much for not causing unnecessary trouble.

But you couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t fair to yourself. You had to do something, and in the heat of the moment, that something seemed like it should be threatening your boss.

God, this was a mess.

You’d let it go on too long, of that you were sure. Perhaps if you’d talked to Yoongi the day after you overheard his and Taehyung’s conversation, things could have been handled in a mature and civilized way. As it was, you had screwed yourself and your job over. The damage was irrevocable.

You thought about calling Jessica, but after your thumb hovering over the call button for a few seconds, you put your phone back down. There was too much to explain; the night that you’d nearly slept with Yoongi, the conversation you’d overheard while hiding in a closet with Jungkook… You didn’t even  want to try and explain that you were on sort-of speaking terms with him, anyway. No, calling Jessica was not an option.

The only other person you could think of to talk to who knew anything of the situation was Jay, but he was guaranteed to be no help. He wouldn’t judge you, of that you were sure, but he would let his temper take over and would undoubtedly do something stupid. Ever since you were children he had looked out for you, and despite being a constant pain in your ass, had a protective streak. He was no good either.

“Can I come in?” Jungkook’s voice made you look up briefly.

“No.” You deadpanned.

“Too bad, I’m already here.” Jungkook took a seat on the opposite side of the table, and you put your head back in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question irked you. “Obviously, I’ve never been better. That’s why I’m hiding in an empty conference room. Do I look okay, Jungkook?”

Jungkook ignored your sarcasm. “What happened in there? You walked out of Yoongi’s office looking like you’d seen a ghost--”

“Why in the hell do you care?” You interrupted, meeting his gaze.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook looked genuinely confused, his eyebrows scrunching and his head tilting to one side.

“What is it you think you’re going to get from me? Why are you trying so hard?” You rubbed your eyes, willing away the stress-induced headache that was creeping in.

Jungkook was silent for a while, and you were just starting to think that maybe he’d left without your realizing it when he finally spoke. “I’d like to be a better person.” It was said almost like a confession, like something he was ashamed to admit.

“And you think befriending me is going to help?” You looked up at him once more, meeting his gaze evenly. “Acting kind towards one person doesn’t change how you’ve treated others.”

“No, I know that.” Jungkook looked down at his hands that were folded on the table. “But you--I don’t think you ever meant to--gave me hope that maybe I could be a better person in the future. Also, it isn’t acting; I really do like you. Not in a romantic or sexual way,” He added the last part hastily. “Like in a bro way. A girl-bro way.”

You blinked at him, and then you started to laugh quietly. You couldn’t help it, nor could you explain what was quite so funny, but you didn’t even try to stop the giggles bubbling up. Maybe it was the stress getting to you. “You mean in a friendship way?”

Jungkook tilted his head to the side, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, that.”

“Alright.” You sighed, and though you’d stopped chuckling at his choice of words, a smile still pulled at your lips. “So why, after all these years, did you suddenly decide to quit being an ass?”

Jungkook’s own smile faded somewhat. “I was seeing this girl--she worked for Yoongi for a bit, but we started going out before that. She was… wonderful.” There was a slightly dreamy look in Jungkook’s eyes for a second, but he shook his head and it was gone just as quickly as it’d appeared. “She scared the fuck out of me--I mean, how I felt about here did--so I pushed her away. I hurt her.” He chewed his lip absently. “I don’t want to hurt anyone that way again.”

You nodded, mulling the words over in your mind. Your first thought was of Jessica, and you were about to ask him further about it when Jungkook changed the subject. “Okay. I answered your questions, now you answer mine. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I doomed myself.” You sighed. “But there’s no changing it now.”

“You quit?” Jungkook guessed.

“That’s what I should have done, but no.” You then explained everything. Part of you was bewildered that you were talking to Jungkook, of all people, about the matter. Another part of you was grateful for him listening. You hated to admit it, but he was a decent person when it suited him.

When you had finished, Jungkook sat back in his chair and let out a breath. “Wow.” He said, eyes wide, but not staring at anything in particular. “That’s… A mess.”

“I know.” You agreed.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Calling me insane isn’t a question.” You pointed flatly, noticing the look he was giving you.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” Jungkook countered.

“Then by all means, continue.”

“Why the fuck did you agree to dinner?”

You shrugged. “Honestly? I could really use the extra money.” You had to pay your credit card bill soon, and with the repairs to your car on it, your paycheck wasn’t going to cover it all. But time and a half for a day would help out enough that you might be able to pay it off.

“So you’re an escort now?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Not that I have a problem with escorts--I just don’t get it.”

You grimaced at the word. “No. If they’d offered to pay me, the answer would have been no a thousand times over--even if they offered to pay twice as much. But I’ll be there on my terms, of my own free will.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “Well. I wish you luck, then.” He then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card and pen. Turning the paper over, he scribbled something down on it. “Here.” He slid it towards you so you could see that he had written a phone number. “It’s my personal cell phone number.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before continuing, looking at the table instead of at you. “If you need anything, let me know. Yoongi may be my boss, but I have no loyalty towards Taehyung.” He gave you a half-smile. “I’ll kick his ass if you want.”

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You said after a second, taking the card bemusedly. “That was a very non-dick thing to do.” To your surprise, Jungkook didn’t gloat or tease you for your words. He simply nodded, and said if anyone asked where you were, he would tell them that you were on the third floor digging out some old files.

You borrowed one of Jessica’s dresses for Saturday. It wasn’t like you were trying to impress anyone, but you didn’t want to feel underdressed, and had no idea how formal--or informal--the dinner would be. It was a dark blue, and maybe a little too short for the cold weather, but paired with tights you were sure it would be fine. You had forgotten about finding shoes to go with it, and ended up wearing the same flats you wore to work. Part of you almost hoped that Yoongi would notice, just to bother him.

Taehyung showed up at your apartment building at 4:45 exactly. Initially, you had no intentions of letting him drive you anywhere ever again, but he had a point; it would look better if you showed up together, and if you were going to do this, you might as well do it properly.

He wasn’t driving his bright yellow taxi, which somehow didn’t surprise you. Instead, he pulled up in a shiny black sportscar. You didn’t say a word as you stepped in, despite Taehyung’s feeble attempts at conversation. “Can we talk about this?” He said finally. You didn’t bother to look at him, fixing your gaze out the window at the other cars stopped at the traffic light.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You had managed to avoid both Taehyung and Yoongi for the majority of Friday, giving them no opportunities to try to talk to you. You were still angry with both of them, and while you were sure that wouldn’t change easily, you found yourself scared to be in the same room as Yoongi for any length of time. You could never decide if he was the most manipulative person you’d ever met, or if you actually liked him, but either way you were sure your resolve would fade if you talked any of it over with him. The only thing you actually knew for sure about Yoongi was that he didn’t miss opportunities, and it was likely that he would pick up on any hesitation and play it up. It would be far, far too easy to find yourself right back where you had been before all of your threats.

You didn’t have the same reasons for avoiding Taehyung; you simply didn’t feel like putting up with him.

“Yoongi said something about me to you--didn’t he?”

You scoffed. After everything, they were still competing with each other, you were in the middle. “Ask him yourself.”

“I did.” Taehyung frowned. “Look, can we just start over?” He waited to give you a chance to speak, but you stayed silent. “I honestly thought there was something between us--”

“You want to talk? Fine.” You snapped. “Let’s start with yours and Yoongi’s past, and why you think it’s okay to use innocent people to try to get back at each other.”

Taehyung visibly stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re--”

“Or would you rather talk about why you and your taxi just happened to be outside of the company on the day you knew Yoongi had hired a new secretary?”

“I swear to god that was a coincidence.” Taehyung said quickly. “I had no idea who you were when I picked you up.”

“But when you figured it out, you didn’t feel like sharing the information?” You pressed. Taehyung’s mouth was a thin line, and you guessed he didn’t have anything to say to that. “Don’t want to talk about that either? Maybe we should talk about you suddenly showing an interest in the company after literally years, once you found out I was Yoongi’s secretary? All I’m asking for is a little honesty.” The two of you rode in silence for a few minutes after that. “Good talk.” You muttered under your breath. It was going to be a long night.

The Min’s house was more like what you pictured a CEO of a company’s living in. It was big--a big door, big front porch, big garage--and everything looked ridiculously expensive when you were ushered into the home. You had been in large homes before, though not often, and found that they usually felt cold and incencier. They all looked decorated by professionals, and it was as though the humans that lived there and their personal touches were lost in the high ceilings and stone floors.

The divergence from this was one of the biggest differences from you expectations that you initially noticed as you looked around; it somehow felt very much like someone’s home. There were pictures lining all of the walls, most of them of people you didn’t recognize, but some you realized were of Taehyung and Yoongi when they were younger.

Yoongi had not arrived yet, and Mr. Min had apparently been detained in a golf-club meeting, so it was Mrs. K that greeted you at the door. After giving you a tight hug, she ran off saying something about food burning on the stove. This left you and Taehyung in the common area alone, and rather than sit in one of the large couches and attempt to look comfortable, you wandered around the room looking at the pictures on the wall. There was one in particular that caught your eye; it looked like a selfie that had been printed out rather than a professional photo, and was of Yoongi and Taehyung, their arms slung over each others shoulders as they made goofy faces at the camera. Both were wearing school uniforms, and they looked in their first years of highschool.

“You two actually smiled while in the same room together once?” You scoffed, glancing at Taehyung, who was also gazing at the picture.

“Many times, actually.” He replied. “We were practically inseparable for the majority of highschool.”

The idea of them getting along was beyond weird; it didn’t make any sense. “What happened?” You weren’t really expecting a response, but you got one.

“I betrayed him when he needed me most.” He was smiling faintly, but his eyes were sad. “My mother was dating his father while he was still with Yoongi’s mother--complicated, right? Anyway, I figured it out pretty early on, but didn’t say anything. Not to Yoongi, not to his mother, or even my own. It was Mr. Min and I’s secret for a while.”

“That’s why Yoongi hates you.” You said, though something still didn’t quite add up in your mind.

“Oh, no.” Taehyung shook his head, chuckling lowly. “He hates me because it was my fault his mother found out. If I’d kept my mouth shut, things might have been different.”

“Different...How?” You asked, though at this point you almost wished Taehyung hadn’t answered. This was more information that you needed. The last thing you needed was to get more personally involved in Yoongi or Taehyung’s personal life, but the curiosity was gnawing at you. “And why did you decide to tell her?”

“I was selfish.” Taehyung said with a shrug, disregarding the first part of you question. “Mr. Min offered the potential for my mother to have a better life--she didn’t know it at the time, seeing as he’d never told her what he did for a living--one where she didn’t have to work three jobs to barely survive. But Min never once gave me the impression that he was going to commit to my mother long-term unless something changed. I think some part of him felt guilty for even considering leaving his family. He wouldn’t make a choice, so I made it for him.”

“Surely that wasn’t your place.” You said, starting to understand. “Why didn’t you just tell your mother, or--”

“I knew it would crush Mrs. Min. I knew she would leave. It was the closest thing I could get to a definite for my mothers happiness. I did what I had to.” Taehyung’s new blunt honesty was disarming, and you weren’t sure that you particularly cared for it.

“That’s horrible.” You deadpanned, but you weren’t only talking about what Taehyung did. For Yoongi’s father to cheat, to lie to both women and his son… It made you angry, and you weren’t even personally involved. You heard the front door open, and Taehyung looked toward it.

“You wanted honesty, this is it.” He said nonchalantly. He started to walk away, then paused to add; “It’s funny, isn’t it? What people will do when they’re strapped for cash?”

The jab at what you yourself were currently doing hit home. You were about to correct him, tell him that what you were doing was nothing like his actions, when Yoongi walked in with an older man that he closely resembled, though still looked distinctly different from.

“Did we miss anything?” The older man asked, giving you a jovial smile.

“Only everything.” Taehyung joked. “This is Mr. Min.” Taehyung directed at you, his entire demeanor having changed completely.

“Dad, this is…” Yoongi paused when he looked at you. “My secretary.” He finished lamely.

You only barely stopped yourself from giving him hell about the fact that he never referred to you by name. You were more than just his damn secretary, and deserved to be talked and about as such. But you were getting paid for this because of an agreement you had thought of, so you held your tongue. You chose to be there knowing what Yoongi and Taehyung were like.

Dinner was, as Taehyung had predicted, awkward. Mrs. K constantly tried to make small talk, and although you did your best to participate, it never got far. There was only so much you could say about the weather, and though there was much you could say about working for Yoongi, none of it seemed appropriate for the time being.

“I spoke with Miles today.” Mr. Min said eventually, about halfway through the meal. “You remember him, don’t you, Yoongi?”

Yoongi shrugged, stabbing a piece of food as he did so. His mood hadn’t been fantastic when he got there, and it had quickly soured further as he and Taehyung shot glares at one another. “The name sounds familiar.”

“He tells me his daughter is still single, and she always did fancy you--”

Yoongi put his fork down somewhat forcefully. “You haven’t seen me in a year, and already you’re trying to set me up with someone?” He scoffed.

Mr. Min frowned. “I’m making a suggestion that would help your career. Their family is highly influential, and with their backing there’s no limit to what you and the company could accomplish.”

He had hardly finished his sentence when Yoongi started laughing. It was entirely out of place, and everyone else at the table sat horribly tense as the only sound in the dining room was Yoongi’s snickering.

“Sorry.” He said finally, still chuckling. “No, it’s just funny because marrying for money worked out so well for you.” He looked around the room. “What? Does no one else see the irony here?”

“Why don’t we discuss all this when we don’t have guests.” Mrs. K said, looking near to panicking as she glanced at you.

“I don’t see why--” Mr. Min started, but was silenced by a look from his wife.

“We. Are not. Talking about this.” She said firmly, a warning in her eyes. Even Taehyung looked uncomfortable at this point, and everyone ate in silence for another long while. You didn’t see what the benefit was of you being there; Mr. Min seemed, for the most part, indifferent to your presence, and Mrs. K had already met you. You supposed it was just so Taehyung could say that he brought you home to meet his parents, even if he thought Yoongi got in your pants first. It was another way to one-up the other. But while it pissed you off, when you reminded yourself how much you were getting paid for your time, it took the edge off.

Mr. Min excused himself not long after that, and Mrs. K was had just waved everyone else into the kitchen for desert when Taehyung got a phone call. He didn’t tell you who it was from or what it was about, only stepped out of the room for a few minutes before walking back perplexed. “That was my neighbor.” He said to his mother, who looked as though she were about to scold him for leaving the room so abruptly. “Some local kids broke into my house and the police are there--”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.” Yoongi cut in. He was leaning against the counter as far away from you as possible, with icecream in one hand. “Did they set it on fire while they were there? I really hope they did.”

“So I’m going to have to leave early.” Taehyung finished, without looking at Yoongi or pausing as he spoke.

“Good.” Yoongi said, and Mrs. K shot him a look that very clearly said; “really, Yoongi?”

“Y/n and I were just starting to get to know each other though.” Mrs. K objected, putting a hand on your arm. “And she hasn’t finished her cake yet. She can’t leave yet.” It was true that you hadn’t finished the slice of cake Mrs. K had pressed into your hands, but you didn’t see how that changed anything.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I need to be there.” Taehyung grimaced.

“Alright.” Mrs. K grumbled, holding her arms out to give Taehyung one final hug. “Come by more often.” Then she looked at you. “You should stay and finish your desert. Yoongi will drive you home.”

“I will?” Yoongi started, but upon catching his stepmothers eye, sighed. “Of course I will.” Taehyung looked like he wanted to argue, but left without saying much else.

You and Yoongi didn’t end up staying significantly longer than Taehyung, as it turned out. The time had slipped by without your noticing, and it was getting late when Yoongi said he was tired and needed to get home to catch up on sleep. Mrs. K had been fussing over how thin he was, telling you that he’d lost weight recently and to keep an eye on him to make sure he was eating right. Yoongi didn’t seem to mind, having relaxed drastically without Taehyung or his father around. He and Mrs. K actually got along fairly well, which surprised you knowing more about their background.

“He listens to you.” Mrs. K said as she walked with you to Yoongi’s car. “So maybe you could tell him to drop by more often.”

Yoongi muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite hear, and weren’t sure you wanted him to repeat.

You were about to get into your side of the car when Mrs. K took your hand. “I hope I see more of you.” She said. “I know how difficult Yoongi is to work with, and to deal with Taehyung at the company on top of that… Well, you must be superhuman.”

“Thank you.” Was all you could think of to say.

Yoongi waited until you were halfway out of the neighborhood to ask for you adress. It was something you knew was coming, but not something you were looking forward to. Even now, you hated the thought of him seeing your apartment, or even the general area of the city that you lived in. The thought of it made your stomach twist in knots and your palms sweat.

“Drop me off at the corner of 5th Avenue and 4th street.” You said. “I’ll take the bus.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Yoongi scoffed. “Seriously, what’s the street you live on?” He finger hovered above the GPS, waiting for your answer.

“I said I’ll take the bus.”

“Bullshit.” Yoongi replied. “I know what side of the city you live on, if you don't want me to put it in the GPS you can tell me how to get there.”

You didn’t bother answering. You supposed he could drive you closer, but there was no way in hell you were telling him where you lived. It was dumb, you knew. If you really didn’t care about him, you wouldn’t care about what he thought, but the logic of the matter didn’t help you to feel better about it.

It was another twenty minutes until Yoongi asked again.

“Drop me off anywhere, I’ll take a cab.” You shrugged.

“Oh, come on. It can’t be far from here.” Yoongi said. You were sitting at a red light, and Yoongi looked at you incredulously. “For god’s sake, I’m not a stalker, and if I was, I could get your address from the company files.” He waited for a response. “Why the hell does Taehyung know what building you live in and you won’t even tell me the street name?”

“You’re not Taehyung.”

Yoongi responded by parking abruptly, turning off the car, getting out and walking away without another word. You sat dumbfounded for a moment before following him. “What the fuck?” You said, slamming your door as he had done moments before.

“You. Are infuriating.” Yoongi whirled around to face you. “You make literally no sense, do you realize that?”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” You snorted. It was freezing outside, but you ignored it for the time being. “You switch between completely insane and slightly evil to weirdly nice and bizarre, I don’t think you have any room to talk about me not making sense.”

“What have I ever fucking done to you?” Yoongi snapped. “I fixed your piece of shit car! I never threw anything at you, and you know what? I think I’ve been pretty damn nice, so what is your fucking problem?”

“My problem, Min Yoongi.” You said lowly. “Is that every time I gave you another chance, you screwed me over without a second thought. My problem is that when I thought you were being honest with me, you were lying more than you ever had to me before. My problem,” You took a stop closer to him. “Is that you’re a despicable, disgusting, manipulative prick that tried to fuck me just to say that he could.”

Yoongi had gone uncharacteristically quiet. “How… Did you know about that?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t planned to go that far--or have this conversation at all for that matter. But the damage was done, and there was no excuse you could think of that seemed reasonable without some part of the truth. “The door to your office wasn’t completely closed last tuesday night.” You decided bending the truth was the best option. “I heard the whole conversation between you and Taehyung.”

“For fucks sake.” Yoongi said, closing his eyes. “No wonder--can I explain?”

“There’s nothing to explain.” You said, doing your best to keep your voice from wavering.

“God-I’m sorry.” Yoongi said, his voice pained. You shook your head.

“I really don’t want to hear it.” You said.

“No.” Yoongi agreed. “I don’t blame you--but it was out of context, it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.”

You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I just want to do my job, and for both of you to leave me alone.”

Yoongi nodded, running a hand through his hair has he looked around where he stood. “Fuck, it’s cold.” He said, his breath coming out in a puff.

“No shit.” You mumbled. “So I’m going to get going.” You only managed to walk a few steps away from him before he caught your arm, however.

“You don’t owe me anything.” He said. “I get that. But I’ll never forgive myself if you die of cold out here because of me. So I’m begging you to let me drive you home, and then I swear I won’t bother you again. I’ll get you a better job, one that pays twice as much, and you’ll never have to speak to me or Taehyung again, if you’ll just do this for me.”

“I’ll see you Monday, Yoongi.” You said, pulling your arm free.

You heard Yoongi swearing under his breath as you walked away. You were almost to the street corner when he called out to you again.

“I… Don’t suppose you took the keys out of the car with you?” He asked.

You turned, raising an eyebrow. “No, why?”

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair again, clearing his throat. “My uh, car is locked. With the keys in the ignition.”

Your initial thought was to leave him there--he could take a cab. But this side of town was dead at night, and the only taxis around were sketchy at best. You were fairly sure he’d left his phone in his car as well. “God dammit.” You muttered, not loud enough for Yoongi to hear. “I don’t live far from here.” You said slightly louder. “Follow me, I’ll give you a ride home.”

Yoongi made a face. “No.”

“For fucks sake.” You snapped. “Why not? A minute ago you were practically begging to drive me home, but you’re too good to ride in my ‘piece of shit’ car?” You spat his words back at him, and he grimaced.

“That’s--not it.” He muttered.

“Then hurry up, it’s fucking cold if you haven’t noticed.” You walked away, not bothering to check if Yoongi was following or not. If he wanted to freeze to death, that was his choice.

A/N Holy crap that was a long chapter for me! Well over 5k this time o.O Hopefully it cleared up a few questions! I thought I’d get to other ppl in the office’s opinions of what’s going on in this chapter but 5k was plenty long enough for me hahaha. I actually updated after only a week it’s a miracle lmao. Oh and I’m always including these little notes about where I get inspiration; I know this women who’s married to a CEO, and there was one time that he got in an argument with someone else in the car and he literally put the car in park in the middle of the street and walked away. He left his phone behind and his wife drove around for like two hours to find him (he was hiding in a fudge store and refused to leave until he had bought and tried every flavor. He would not share any with his wife). Did this chapter confuse you more? Did it answer some of your burning questions, or did it leave you with more? Do you still hate Taehyung? What about Yoongi and Jungkook? As always, let me know what you thought! Thank you for reading and sticking with me all this time <3 <3 <3

[prewars]

heres that list of unsolicited fic recs that ive amassed over the past few years when i get certain itches to deep-dive ao3 and be disappointed, this isnt everything but these are ones over 5k, mostly over 10k, thanks for the unnecessary encouragement @sonnywortzik @becominganoven @donotloseme @dicktective

Crossed in the places that you never knew to get through by noelia_g (generation kill)

It's not the real beginning. Things have happened before that led to this, things thousands years in the making and things quite recent, like the wound still bleeding, dark blood seeping into the dirt. But it's a beginning nonetheless. Right here, right now, this happens.

Après moi le deluge by beyond_belief (gen kill)

He can pop Motrin for the pain but there's nothing to be done for his jagged nerves. Rudy suggests more yoga, his mom suggests meditation, Patrick suggests he get laid. The Corps suggests a promotion, and Nate finds himself a Captain. There's a small voice in the back of his head that says, This isn't what you want, and it's getting louder day by day.

Aftermath, USA by traveller (gen kill)

The morning of the assassination, Patti Jankowski got up, took a long shower and towel dried her hair before braiding it into two long ropes that hung over her shoulders. She put on jeans, a t-shirt that showed Mickey Mouse saluting the American Flag, a light tan windbreaker and her comfortable blue SAS sneakers. In her shoulder bag she put a Smith and Wesson .22 caliber revolver, and an umbrella. The forecast was for a 62% chance of rain.

Adrift by visiblemarket (constantine)

Time was, Chas would’ve offered John the bed to make sure he rested, then crammed himself atop the sagging, scratchy, ancient cushions instead. That time has clearly passed. John tries not to let it bother him, but he’s had a hard enough time sleeping lately, and as soft and warm as the blanket Chas tossed him the night before was, it hadn’t much helped. And so he awakens to birds chirping, sun streaming through big airy windows, and a colossal headache.

to know me as hardly golden is to know me all wrong by norgbelulah (justified)

The God’s honest truth of it was that he didn’t want to be whatever Boyd was, he didn’t want to be Boyd Crowder’s friend, and he didn’t want to follow him down into the darkness that was always waiting for them both. And he knew if he stayed, he would be all of those things and learn not to mind them.

I Have Always Lived in the Moment by scioscribe (justified)

Tim says that technically he was only mostly dead, and mostly dead is still slightly alive. The witty repartee would be more convincing if Tim could get some color back into his face. Raylan remembers an overwhelming whiteness. Art wants to know: Like the tunnel with the light at the end of it? No, Raylan says, blander than that, and icier, too. Like an afterlife manufactured by IKEA.

To Call the Darkness Home by scioscribe (justified)

After a time, even the nightmares stopped, and he started bitching like an ordinary person about the low pay and the roaches, exactly as if Lexington hadn’t been his longed-for salvation. But there must have been some uneasiness in him that he just hadn’t paid any mind, because every time he had left, he had gone farther and farther away, until he had threatened to run right off the coast into the Atlantic.

Where's Waldo? by swamplamp (better call saul)

Jesse Pinkman manifests on his doorstep like a wet dream that nobody asked for. It's 4 AM. "You're a sight for sore eyes," Saul remarks flatly, squinting out towards that semi-familiar face. Seeing Pinkman lets old feelings roll back in and isn't that a shame? Saul makes to shut the door and go back to a kinder slumber. But he stops. Saul feels a twinge of sympathy worming its way into his chest before he can start pulling the door closed. They stand there for a moment, steeped in caution and confusion.

By daybreak we'll be gone by storm_petrel (the losers)

Clay has a handful of life philosophies that he’s gained though years of extremely hard-won experience. Sleep when you can.  Keep track of where you stash your boots and dog tags, because they don’t come with you.  Trust the people who earn your trust.  When in doubt, and in the absence of a proper machine gun, go for a sidearm with more than ten rounds in the magazine and minimum .38 calibre for decent stopping power. If still in doubt, shift out and go for the jugular.

In All the Tongues of Men and Angels by coinin (the losers)

Carlos Alvarez, first son after three daughters, was not supposed to join the Army. Carlos Alvarez was supposed to go to college, major in something useful like business or civil engineering, graduate with honors, marry a nice Catholic girl, and provide his parents with grandchildren while establishing himself in a respectable field of employment. Unfortunately for his parents, Carlos Alvarez was of the opinion that the suburban American ideal could go fuck itself.

the prisoner's dilemma by arbitrarily (free fire)

“Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened to you two?”

“First date,” Justine says.

“Went dutch,” Chris says.

Places We Don't Belong by easternepiphany (community)

Yesterday they went hiking in the Sandia Mountains, made it to the top of the trail, and celebrated by making out against a tree, slick with sweat. They were caught by a family of four, two parents and a son and a daughter, all who looked on in horror. The mother asked, in a stern and angry voice, weren’t they a little old for such antics. “Probably,” he said with a shrug and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

A Fool For Your Face by Ghostcat (you’re the worst)

The days after Becca and Vernon’s shitstorm of a party were golden, as if he and Gretchen were finally alone. As if her depression had moved house, left the country, waved goodbye. They laughed and fucked, got drunk or didn't. Did drugs or went dry. Or kissed. For hours. Leaning against the brick wall of some local dive turned glorious oasis because of her lips.

But the walls are giving way by FanchonMoreau (mozart in the jungle)

“You don’t have to feel obligated to stay with us,” Cynthia tells him. “But you’re my orchestra,” Rodrigo insists. She smiles. “We’re big kids. We can take care of ourselves. Take a gig somewhere else if you need to. Trust me, we’ve got this.” He does trust her, and he trusts his orchestra. And he’s not stupid enough to miss the implication that perhaps he’s not wanted here, at this particular moment.

the grave robbers by arbitrarily (american gods)

“Okay, fine. I liked vodka and I liked whiskey. I didn’t even like the top shelf shit — I liked the cheap stuff, the stuff that burned on its way down. I liked it when I felt like it could make me choke. I liked when my bedsheets were tucked in so tight I could barely crawl in under the covers and I slept like I was trapped. I liked the smell of bug spray. I liked the burn of that, too. I liked when I stayed in the tub too long and my skin went all wrinkly and gross, and okay, I get the fucking irony of that now — no need to remind me. I liked when glue dried on my fingers and I’d peel it off. I liked angel food cake. I liked when I’d lay in bed at night sometimes and be just about to fall asleep, but then, I’d jolt awake, like I was falling down a flight of stairs or something in my almost dreams. Or whatever. You know — everyone knows that feeling.”

Reconstruction Site by disco_vendetta (pacific rim)

One day he looks up from the scaffolding and realizes that he’s almost exactly at Jaeger height and has to wrap his hand tight against the metal to keep from stepping out into the air. Not because he wants to kill himself or anything, just because for a split second his mind felt that old equilibrium and he just knew he should be able to, should be able to walk straight across the valley in front of him and out into the sea and on forever until he finds whatever’s next.

Benediction by sistermercury (the exorcist)

“I had to see.” Tomas starts weakly, and something inside Marcus begs for both of them to stop; Begging Tomas because he doesn’t want to know, can’t hear about another goddamn vision, not tonight. Begging himself, because something’s gone wrong and his self-righteousness can wait. It won’t be the first time Marcus fails to follow his own good advice.

he's alive! i'm alive! we're all alive! (oh, this case just got busted wide open) by rustykitchenscissors (mcu)

The next day, he rides his new motorcycle downtown and walks around until he sees a store full of the kinds of phones the other Avengers use. They’re all so thin he thinks they’ll break the moment he picks them up. Like how Bucky said for a while after, “I bet you met your old self like this, you’d break all his bones just going for a handshake, huh?” Only when drunk, of course. That mix of bitter and wonderstruck, hair scrambled across his forehead. “I bet you’ll snap me in half without thinking one of these days.” And Steve would throw an arm across his shoulders and pull him in tight to make sure he knew, Look, fuck that. I swear to God you’re steel to your core.

a tree grows in brooklyn by newsbypostcard (mcu)

"It's done, Buck," he says painfully, lying himself back on the ground. "All that's left is to leave." They don't leave. He can't. His chest rises and falls, too hard and too obvious.

Responsible Science by lettered (mcu)

Three weeks after Bruce left New York, Black Widow found him in Honduras.

the blackberries in the thickets by newsbypostcard (mcu)

"You are James Buchanan -- like the President -- from Illinois, Nevada, California, and New Jersey. I am Grant Stevens -- wanted to be Ulysses Grant, but Nat said two dead presidents living at the same address might sound a little fishy -- from Florida, Connecticut, Washington, and New York."

Bucky frowns at him. "How come you get New York?"

"Just worked out that way."

Life of Crime by neveralarch (mcu)

It's really hard to run through Boston when you're carrying a quiver on your back, a bow in one hand, and a huge bag of money in the other. Still, Clint's doing fine—he's had a ton of practice, after all. He's never going to win any Olympic medals (for, okay, lots of reasons), but he's fast enough for a guy on foot. Doesn't matter, because this chick's gaining on him anyway. Fucking flying. It's gotta be cheating.

[ragehappysecretsanta]

Date Night Interrupted

Author: http://canadiantardis.tumblr.com/

Recipient: http://meganna2525.tumblr.com

Summary: Lindsay is taken on the worst day possible - date night with her partners - but she trusts them to know how to save her before anything bad happens.

Warnings: Teen rating, swearing, mild violence, polyamory (Mavinseg), pregnancy, FAHC AU

Word Count: 5568

Date Night Interrupted

Lindsay grunted at the right hook to her cheek, her head whipping to the side from the force, but still she couldn’t help but laugh, even as she felt the blood fill her mouth and drip from her lips from her teeth biting her tongue.

Some upstart crew thought they had the jump on the Fakes, thinking if they ‘took the weakest link’ of the wild bunch that was Lindsay and her partners, they’d be able to demand turf and dealers as method of payment for ransom. Yeah, sure, she had been easy to kidnap on her way home from the cat shelter she volunteered at every other day, and it stung her pride how they thought so lowly of her, but she knew something they would soon learn if they survived the lesson.

“Stupid bitch.” The punk who had punched her muttered angrily, turning away from the redhead in disgust.

Lindsay just laughed in response, baring her blood-stained teeth at his back as he walked out of the ‘torture’ room she was stuck in. Personally, she found it lackluster and had no flavour like Ryan had made his torture chambers to look. This room was bare except for the bolted chair, a couple lights imbedded into the ceiling that shown the dark gray walls easily, and a plain as hell metal door that was the only entrance or exit out of the room.

Now that she was alone for the first time since waking up with that god-awful headache from the struggle she had against the upstarts – which she remembered being from her head being smashed into the pavement until she had lost consciousness – she took stock over her new injuries. Cuts and scrapes along her arms and palms from the struggle – with a few exceptions as the cats had been extra playful during her volunteering time – the back of her head most likely split open as her hair felt like it was sticking to her, and her face felt like a giant bruise from the ridiculously unnecessary beatings they gave her to rough her up before they sent any evidence that they had taken her. Her chest and stomach weren’t badly beaten, which was lucky – or about as lucky as a kidnapped felon could get – for her and the three-and-a-half-month fetus inside her.

Lindsay also took the time to look over the state of her clothes, and was sad that her pretty fading-red dress and leggings were both torn, neck hole stretched, and the front edges were frayed to hell. She couldn’t blame the cats she had been taking care of for the multiple small holes and stretched fabric from this morning, they wouldn’t do this much damage at their worst.

She wasn’t sure where her purse was, which had her ASP pistol – which she has lovingly named Ruby after she got it painted a beautiful red – and phone, among other stuff. She guessed it was either with the punks or back on the street where she had been taken.

She realized a little late that the blood dripping from her lip was falling onto the dress and she groaned in annoyance. It was going to take forever to get the stain out, even longer if she wasn’t rescued within the hour.

“Come on. This was supposed to be Date Night.” She grumbled to herself quietly. Because of the damn upstarts, who knew when she and her lovers were going to have another one. “Son of a fucking bitch.”

** 4 Hours Later **

Lindsay was normally late to Date Nights when they happened on days she volunteered at the cat shelter on the outskirts of Los Santos named Kate Shelly. Because a member of the Fake AH Crew was a regular volunteer at the shelter, the place had become a safe haven for cats, the workers and other volunteers were granted complete protection/immunity, and the place never got heavily taxed or had to struggle to stay afloat.

Oftentimes – meaning every other month or so – Gavin would join Lindsay to visit the cute little fuzzballs, and he had today, but had to leave early at the request of the Lads needing his computer skills for something.

He had kissed Lindsay on the temple – her mouth and most of her face was covered by a long-haired calico she had been cooing into –  and put a hand to her belly before leaving, promising to see her at their apartment this evening. She had given a muffled response, laughing at the kitten in her hands as it mewed in complaint.

Now, several hours later, Gavin and the other two lounged around their living area, Michael picking at his shirtsleeves idly, leaning against the other man comfortably.

“When did she say she finished?” Meg asked from her spot on the recliner, playing with her skirts in boredom.

Michael pulled out his phone before he answered. “‘I promise I’ll be done in an hour.’ Sent three fucking hours ago. She always does this, Jesus Christ!”

“But Micoo, the kitties!” Gavin protested in defense for his fellow cat lover in her absence. “She might have forgotten the time again because of ‘em. C’mon, we just need to call her and talk her ear off until she gets here.”

Michael huffed in mild annoyance, but not the anger he played up for the public, and tossed his phone at Meg. “You do it this time, Turney. I got kicked-puppy eyes for a month straight after the last time.”

“Fine, fine, I don’t need your phone to call her, Mikey.” She tossed the phone back to him before she grabbed her own phone and went about calling Lindsay’s number, flipping her hair away from her ear to hear properly.

There was a brief silence before they all heard the faint sound of the phone being answered before Meg laid it on thick. “Have you forgotten again, babe?” She stuck her bottom lip out like Lindsay would be able to physically see it. “You know we’ve been wanting to see this movie for weeks.”

Gavin and Michael just barely heard an incoherent reply but saw Meg stiffen, her back straightening and feet planting on the floor, her eyes bright and staring at nothing to listen intently. Michael almost asked what was going on but seemed to think better of it. Both men were attentive to their girlfriend’s reactions, aware something wasn’t right.

“Wow.” She barked a laugh, venom lacing her tone. “How fucking stupid are you? You know what’s going to happen to you because of your little gamble?” There was an answer but Meg cut it off. “I’ll cut off your balls and stuff them down your throats. Unless of course, you’ve realized the errors of your ways and let my beautiful girlfriend go on her way and maybe she’ll forget your ugly-ass mugs and we’ll let you live your pathetically short lives in peace.”

Meg’s face grew red with anger, her free hand digging nails into the armrest and her jaw clenched. Whatever she heard as an answer to her threat didn’t go the way she wanted, before she dropped her phone, the two men hearing the end call beep coming from her phone.

“Get Ryan or Geoff on the phone.” She commanded in a hard voice, making Michael and Gavin scramble for their respective phones and call their friends, looking to Meg for instructions. “Tell them a bunch of assholes took Lindsay for ransom. Gunna need a lot of manpower to find her before we go guns blazing.”

The young men nodded and took off to different parts of the apartment as the people they called answered in various states of curiosity and confusion, before they slowly took an angry tone as they listened to the two explain what they knew.

“Did they say their crew name?” Ryan asked Gavin in a growl.

“Hang on, I’ll ask.” He replied, pulling his phone away from his mouth to speak to Meg. “Did they mention a crew name or anything?”

“No, but the man who spoke to me had a nasally voice, like this.” She spoke as if she had a stuffed nose. “Must have been an upstart crew. Look around the path Lindsay normally takes home from the shelter for more, ‘cause I don’t know.”

Gavin nodded and repeated everything to the Vagabond over the line.

“Alright. Thanks. I’ll make sure to save some bloodshed for you three.” He promised.

“Thanks, Rye-bread. Hear back soon?”

“Yeah, course. Oh, hey, sorry Date Night’s cancelled again.” His tone had gotten softer just before hanging up.

Gavin sighed, nodding to air as he put down his phone.

“Geoff’s rallying the troops, and they’ll start searching in a couple minutes.” Michael said a minute later, striding back towards Meg and Gavin, looking down at his button-up and dark jeans and shrugged. “So much for Date Night.”

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

Although this wasn’t the first time Lindsay had been captured by a rival gang, this was the first time she was captured because of her relationship with Gavin, Meg, and Michael, and while she was pregnant.

The four were known by and large in the underworld as being the strongest team in the Fake AH Crew, what with Michael and Meg’s killer streaks and Gavin’s unbelievable technological abilities and smarts. But – and it was somewhat her own fault in this – Lindsay’s strength was never known to anyone outside the Crew.

She could tell this was why the upstarts thought they could cut down the strongest team by taking her.

As she waited in the barren, boring torture room, Lindsay thought it would be best if she tried to doze to pass the time, wondering how long it’ll be before her trio rescued her ass. She wondered if they’d be able to find her with or without help, before her eyes slipped shut and the next thing she knew her neck was leant to one side rather uncomfortably and the light had been turned off.

With a loud groan, she brought her head back up and tilted it to the other side, wincing in discomfort as she tried to fix the crick in her neck. She rotated her head as best she could, ignoring the discomfort, when she heard the distinctively loud footfalls coming towards her room, and she winced again when the lights turned back on, assaulting her eyes suddenly.

The same punk as before entered with a grin. Lindsay’s eyebrow rose.

“With a smile like that, you don’t look nearly as stupid as you really are.” She said, mocking cheer, hoping to push some of the man’s buttons.

The grin grew forced for a moment before it relaxed, much to Lindsay’s disappointment. “With a face like that, you don’t look nearly as much of a whore as you really are.” The punk replied with just as much false cheer in his voice as she had.

“What do you want.” Her face went flat as her tone got monotone.

“Nothing. Just wanted to let you know your lovers have been informed of your predicament. My men said that other slut was downright furious when we didn’t agree to her command to let you free.”

“Stupid decision, then.” Lindsay replied, her mind buzzing. If they knew she was taken, they could possibly be able to track the phone and find them in no time flat.

It seemed something in her expression changed to show her thoughts as the upstart chuckled lowly. Her eyes narrowed at him, demanding an answer to what he thought was so funny.

“If you thought we would keep anything of yours that could be traced back here, you really are stupid. We weren’t born yesterday, bitch.”

“No, if you were born yesterday, you’d already be smarter than you are.” Lindsay retorted, but she began to worry. She knew there were other ways of finding where she had been taken, but those ways took so much longer than Gavin hacking and tracing a source. She could only hope the upstart crew had contacted her lovers nearby so they could be in the ballpark of where she was.

“So, what now?” She asked, leaning her head back with a look of boredom on her face. “Do we play the waiting game until they come here?”

The punk’s grin grew. “We’re going to be playing a little game of cat and mouse with those three, until we get every little bit of information out of you, or until they agree to our terms. You see, our bases are connected to the railway, with the only ways in or out through the train tracks.”

“You really think you’ll be able to hide from the Fakes?” Lindsay let out of a bark of laughter, feeling dried blood crack and flake on her chin. “They’ll find me and you’ll have a few hundred bullets in the head and I’ll only have been roughed up.”

“How much do you want to bet on that?” The punk leered.

“I’ll bet your pathetic life on it.”

“How about something on you, bitch. If they don’t come get you by midnight tonight, you answer one question a friend of mine will ask. If they do, as you said, I’ll be dead.” His grin was stereotypically villainous.

Lindsay bared her teeth again in answer, leaning her head back against the headrest.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

They heard from Ryan first, just as the three entered the Fake Penthouse where they could hear orders being told by Geoff to someone on the phone. Only the Inner Circle and B-Team were allowed in the Penthouse that doubled as Geoff’s main home and the Fake’s more casual base of operations.

Gavin’s phone rang with the opening notes of Sleeping At Last’s ‘Saturn’ before he heard Ryan’s voice muffled by his mask.

“You at the penthouse yet? Need you in the sights right about now.” He grumbled, way too forward, much like how he got when the Vagabond was around.

Gavin nodded, slipping away from his loves to head to his ‘Room’ where his tech was. “Just got in. Computers’ll take a minute before I can get in, found anything yet, Vaga?”

“Yes.” He could hear the eye-roll through the mask and line at the nickname, which was the entire reason Gavin still calls him that. “Traces of blood that are long-dried on a sidewalk about a forth of the way away from the shelter. Quiet street, only a couple bugged places and barely any buildings this way.”

“Alright. Which street?” Gavin asked, his computers up and running and he was already looking through cameras to hopefully find the right one.

“Along the shoulder of the highway. Still considered the main street, but it’s mostly road.” Vagabond informed, rattling off coordinates until Gavin found him in the cameras.

“Ah, gotcha. Okay, checking through the stream. Anything else you got?” Gavin asked offhand as he traced back from the camera.

“Only the blood, I think it was either from a headwound or some area that bleeds a lot from a small wound. Also, a hairclip.”

“Her cat ear hairclip?” He questioned, slowing down his search as he saw Lindsay enter the camera’s view, several hours earlier. He frowned. Lindsay had texted saying she was still in the shelter an hour after this timestamp.

“Yeah, the little black and yellow ear things.” Ryan’s voice came through with a quiet chuckle. “Though I still say it’s a bowclip, not cat ears.”

“You know Lindsay. When she gets something in her head, she sticks with it.” Gavin said without really paying attention, watching the video a couple times before an angry bird trill escaped. “These mofos did something to the stream. They must’ve known about the bugged places and took them down for just long enough to take Linds.”

“Fuck. Okay.” Ryan’s voice slipped back into Vagabond’s. “What do you have?”

“Lindsay appears for a full three seconds before the stream cuts forward a full two minutes later, with only the clip and blood visible, but really small and grainy because of the shite quality. Guessing they did something to turn off the video feed or something.” He continued to mutter. “But it doesn’t make sense, the timestamp says 3:02, but she was still at the shelter at 4…”

“… Gavin, you hadn’t thought about the possibility the assholes were the ones texting you with her phone? It’s the only logical explanation.”

“Shit… She’s been missing longer than we thought. Shit, shit, shit. R-Vagabond, are there any tracks from the vehicle they used? Any sort of tracks? It rained just that morning over there. Streets should still have a bit of moisture to show tracks.”

“This is a busy street, Gavin.”

“Well, what the hell do you suggest, Vagabond?” Gavin snapped, worry pooling in his guts. They had been wrong by about four hours. Leads were already getting cold in his mind, irrational fear clouding his thoughts with the regret that he should have stayed with Lindsay.

“First off, calm the fuck down, Free. Hope isn’t lost. Check other cameras along this street. They can’t have been smart enough to cover their tracks completely. Check earlier in this feed for the car. No one ever thinks about these things, only the current, more important parts.”

Gavin nodded and followed the orders mechanically, distantly hearing his door opening and just knew it was Meg by the faint draft of her cheap perfume she decided to try for the date. She said nothing, but her presence washed over him like a physical aura, reminding him how to feel calm.

Her fingers brushed through his hair and he felt his mind clear enough to focus on the task at hand.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. Hang on, I’ll dig what I can get.”

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

Lindsay was given a wall clock to watch tick away the time until the stupid bet was called off. She wouldn’t say it aloud, but she was glad to hear something other than her breath when the upstarts left her alone. At least it was a familiar noise that set her at ease, knowing the punks weren’t anywhere near her for the time being.

But, in the same vein, her worry grew with every minute that passed. She watched at it turned to 11pm, and there was still no sign of her rescue.

As it inched closer to midnight, the punk appeared again with a smug smile that Lindsay furiously wanted to deck. He didn’t even say a fucking thing while they waited and watched the time tick by.

“Would you look at that? They aren’t here.” The clock barely struck midnight when the upstart started talking, wheeling around to face her.

Lindsay simply glared at him, knowing he was going to try to get information out of her, but she wouldn’t even for a stupid bet like this. She may not have a lot of power in her situation, but she was going to keep the one thing they wanted close to her heart.

“I believe you lost a pointless bet.” He continued, moving to tower over her, a move she had seen countless punks do to look scarier than they were. If her legs hadn’t been tied to the chair legs, she would have busted his nuts. The only people allowed that close to her was her friends and lovers, not upstart punks who kidnap her.

“If it was pointless, then it should be void.” Lindsay replied, her glare hard.

“No, it was still a real bet, missy. So, how did that bet go? Your people don’t show up, you give us…?” He gave a smirk, dramatically thinking hard. “Oh, that’s right, you answer a question honestly that a friend of mine will ask.”

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

The upstart’s ‘friend’ gave off the same vibe Lindsay got when she first met the Vagabond. Cold, weird, impassive. But at the same time, he was nothing like the Vagabond, or Ryan even. He wore a pressed suit, and acted like he was professional assassin or something. This crew was pulling all the levers to look like a cliché gang.

Neither had spoken a single word since the ‘friend’ had entered the room. The upstart had left long ago. Lindsay had raised an eyebrow at the guy briefly, waiting for him to speak first, and now they were in a long silence that felt neither awkward nor comfortable.

Finally, after ten minutes of silence, Lindsay broke the silence with a witty remark. “So, you know that saying, a picture lasts longer? Yeah, might want to take a picture then.” She ends with a sarcastic smile, trying to egg the suited guy on.

But it didn’t seem to be her day. The man blinked a couple times but still wouldn’t respond. Lindsay was getting fed up with this treatment.

“Okay, what’s the question you want me to answer?” She demanded.

This got a reaction out of him. He straightened, and in a tone that was equally as cold, weird and impassive as his body language, he finally spoke. “What are the real names of Rimmy Tim and Vagabond?”

Lindsay had thought she was ready for any question they would try to get out of her, but this one surprised her. They weren’t looking for locations, but names… Oh.

“Why would you want to know?” She asked, playing dumb and hoping to stall for time to think. Like hell would she give their actual names, but she wasn’t sure if they knew Ryan and Jeremy’s names already and were just testing to see if she were telling the truth. After all, if they did some close digging – and had someone like Gavin on the team – they’d be able to figure out their names. “And what does that have to do with getting territory and dealers for your upstart crew?”

It was like the man went on mute again. Not a peep came from him. He was more robot than person, and the familiar vibe the Vagabond gave off ended. This guy was nothing like him.

“Sorry, buddy. I’m not telling you jack shit. You could search everything on me and still not find the Fakes real names.” And it was true, all the contacts were nicknames or codenames each member used the most, just in case she lost her phone or got caught, like now.

“I would rather not have to hurt you further.” The man said. “Unlike my coworkers, I do not have a death wish. But a job is a job.”

“Listen, buddy. Doesn’t matter what you do to me. Everyone in this base is still dead when the Fakes find out where I am. And that’ll include you.” Lindsay held no sympathy to the assassin man. If he didn’t want to hurt someone, he wouldn’t, job or no. “My crew don’t take too kindly to members being kidnapped for ransom.”

“Just tell me the names of Rimmy Tim and Vagabond, and you will not be hurt any more than you are, Miss Rose.” The man ordered, stepping forward and grabbing a large chunk of her hair, making her cry out as he pulled, causing the split skin on the back of her head to reopen.

“I’d never rat out my friends.” She replied with gritted teeth, her eyes narrowed into slits from pain and anger.

They stared at each other for a full minute in silence, a contest of wills, when they heard the distant sounds of gunfire. Immediately the man let go of Lindsay, real emotion showing on his face. He was scared.

Lindsay grinned, laughing loudly. She could practically hear her lovers coming for her. “I told you assholes. I fucking told you.” She bared her teeth again at the man. “Never mess with the Fakes.”

They heard running before the upstart punk burst through the door, his eyes wild. He went right up to Lindsay and punched her painfully hard across the cheek, making her bite her tongue again. “You fucking bitch! How did they find us?!”

She laughed in response, blood bubbling down her lips. “We’re the Fake AH Crew, bitch.”

The upstart growled, turning to the other man. “Untie her and follow me. We have to move her before they find us.”

The sounds of gunfire were getting steadily closer, and Lindsay couldn’t help but find the entire thing fucking hilarious. She laughed as the man untied her from the bolted chair, laughed as they took her out of the room and she saw the rest of the base, which was equally as drab and boring and clichédly villain’s lair as the torture chamber.

She continued to laugh until the upstart turned back and gut-punched her, and her entire being froze with sudden fear for the still-developing baby inside her.

“Shut the fuck up.” The upstart snapped, turning back to continue walking when he dropped with a spray of blood.

Standing at the entrance of a corridor stood wonderful, beautiful, gorgeous Meg, her face dark and thunderously pissed off. Lindsay began to think she saw the punch and had the same fear as she had. She pointed her rose gold gun at the other man with a sneer.

“Let her go and die, or die.” Her tone was laced with hate. “I’d rather not let my beautiful girlfriend get sprayed by filthy blood like yours.”

The man hesitated for a second before he stepped away from Lindsay, his gun dropping to the floor as his hands went up without complaint. He had a calm expression on his face, as if he accepted his fate.

Staying out of the line of sight, Lindsay found her legs shaking as she quickly crossed over, barely wincing at the sound of Meg’s gun shooting before she wrapped her arms tightly around her girlfriend, laughing a little more genuinely than before, and both pretended they couldn’t feel the damp cheeks on the other. Just because kidnappings weren’t a rare occurrence didn’t mean they no longer felt fear for/as the victim.

They stayed for a moment wrapped around each other before Meg let go first, tapping her ear to connect with the others. “I got her. Heading out now.” She looked to Lindsay briefly with a question on her face that she understood easily. Lindsay nodded and her girlfriend ordered no survivors.

No one angered the Fakes and lived long to tell the tale.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

It had been exactly as the Vagabond had said, the idiots forgot to cover them arriving and taking down the cameras along the way to their hideout, though it took much longer than Gavin would have liked.

All the same, when he found where the van had stopped at, it was an easy thing to track through poorly defended camera streams. He told Geoff and Michael first, and then stayed behind to be their eagle eye.

He didn’t like staying behind when it was Lindsay they were getting back, and he was a good shot – better when he was pissed off for some reason – but he understood the others would need help finding their way around the base.

Gavin watched as the Fakes burst into the base, keeping an eye out for any idiot who had the bright idea to flank his friends and lovers, and while he wasn’t there, he felt a surge of glee at each asshole the others shot down.

He was the first to hear Meg after she got to Lindsay, and then seconds later saw the footage of the two walking close together – whether Lindsay was hurt badly or just needed help walking, Gavin couldn’t tell – towards the nearest exit he told Meg to go to. He saw Michael roar and launch himself at the enemies. No survivors. Michael and the Vagabond were going to fulfill that order with glee, Gavin could easily see that.

Gavin wanted to head off and wait for Meg and Lindsay to return to the penthouse, knowing Michael was going to take a while, but had to keep an eye on the other Fakes so none were overwhelmed. Just in case. He told them where the enemies hid, or where they were trying to flee. If he had a more normal conscience, the sight of his friends murdering fleeing gang members would have sat uncomfortably with him, but he relished in it. They hurt Lindsay. They were not going to be given mercy. The Fakes weren’t the top dogs in Los Santos for being nice ormerciful all the time.

The entire massacre took about half an hour in total, and by that time, Meg and Lindsay had returned, with Caleb looking over her injuries. Gavin was just ending the communications and heading out of his ‘Room’ towards the infirmary when he heard Lindsay ask about the likelihood of punch to the stomach killing a baby.

“It would vary on the assault, and if it was a recurring assault. You’ll have to see another doctor and see if they can check on the baby’s health to make sure it’s going to be okay.” Caleb replied. “But if that baby gets anything from you, it’ll be your luck.”

Gavin entered the infirmary soon after Caleb spoke, causing the three to look at him. The girls relaxed instantly and Meg went to kiss him on the cheek.

“What’s this about baby killing?” Gavin asked.

“The upstarts tried to rough me up a bit, including punching me in the stomach.” Lindsay’s hand rubbed her stomach slowly. “I wanna make sure it’s going to be okay.”

“Shit… It’ll be fine. Like Caleb said, you’ve got the strangest luck in the world, and that baby is going to get it too. I’m sure of it, love.” He assured, heading over to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her softly.

The three stayed in Caleb’s infirmary until the rest arrived, splashed in dried blood and small bits of other stuff. Ryan looked like he was just in a Viking attack with how red his mask looked, but other than various superficial wounds, no one had been badly hurt. Michael went straight to Lindsay and kissed her deeply, and Gavin could tell their girls were happy to see him again.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

As with any rescue mission, there was a long recovering period the victim and the closer loved ones went through before getting back to normal. This time was a little more stressful because of the fetus’s life was at stake for a good week before it was confirmed nothing was wrong, and the baby was still on track to be a healthy pregnancy.

After that scare was over, recovering from the kidnapping was spent with her partners near constantly. Gavin stayed with her when they went to the shelter, with even Meg accompanying them at times to see the two entertain the cats or help around the front desk.

At home, the other three were almost choking Lindsay with affection, but it was nice. There were more soft kisses, more laying across her lap like a pillow, more playing with her hair. They had to be careful with her hair though, because of the stitches from the split skin at the back of her head. It would take another few weeks before the scarring would be the only reminder of this particular kidnapping.

About a month and a half after the kidnapping and rescue, the four were getting ready for Date Night again. Lindsay chose the day so she wouldn’t be busy with kitties, and the others planned around the day. The guys wore button down shirts, and Meg wore jeans and a deep V-neck blouse. Lindsay herself wore a dress and leggings again, as jeans wouldn’t be comfortable while pregnant.

“Oh, you look lovely, babe.” Meg said when Lindsay got out of the bathroom in her dress, twirling her finger to ask her to spin the dress, kissing her sweetly on the lips. “You ready?”

“Yeah, are the guys ready?”

“We’ve been ready for a fucking hour!” They heard Michael shout from the entryway with staged anger. “Hurry up before we leave your slow asses behind and go dancing by ourselves.”

“We’re coming, we’re coming. Jeez, assholes.” Lindsay shouted back with a smile, laughing when Meg quietly made a ‘that’s what she said’ joke as they headed towards the boys.

Each of the four had a certain quality about them that made them dangerous to enemies. Michael and Meg were killers, deadly shots and explosions were they’re favourite methods. Gavin was incredibly smart and the best hacker in Los Santos. But Lindsay’s strength was different.

Lindsay was the luckiest person in the weirdest way possible. She could be shooting at an angle and hit a target dead centre by accident, and then trip over her own feet the next second. She was lucky enough to not be with one person, but three of the most ruthless and beautiful people she ever had the pleasure of knowing, and in only three months, they were all going to be raising the luckiest child in the world.

As they headed out of their apartment, Lindsay wrapped her arms around Gavin and Michael’s waists and held them close to her, Meg walking ahead of them with the gentle evening breeze blowing her hair behind her as she moved.

It was nice, returning to normalcy and having Date Nights again, and Lindsay could never regret how her life got to this very moment in time.

[uniformbravo]

bloop heres a post abt my 3-day trip to san diego B)

this was just gonna be a list of highlights but i ended up talking about a lot so it’s more like a Kind Of The Highlights But I Got A Little Carried Away list

it was a 2 hr drive so i put on some tunes & forced everyone in the car to listen to my thousands of anime ops and piano covers it was *fire emoji* (im not on mobile)

at the end jaelin said she couldn’t hear it the whole time rip

made myself carsick looking at mob psycho memes while we looked for a parking spot at the museum for 20 minutes (it was worth it they were good memes)

the museum we went to had a whole gaming thing going on where they just had a shitload of games out for ppl to play & one of them was just dance projected onto like an entire wall basically & i mean i didnt play but it was fun watching my mom try her best 

she played against two of my sisters who both beat her by more than double her score hgdhgksd bye mom

got a nauseating headache in the science museum & took the opportunity to sit down & look at more mob psycho memes for 35 minutes while the advil kicked in

felt better by the time we went to see this fuckin movie about national parks in the us but idk it was like. the whole reason my mom wanted to go to san diego was to see this movie bc they were getting rid of it soon & after seeing it i can see why they’re taking it out kjgkdjgksd like!!! it would’ve been cool if it told u shit about the parks like fauna and flora shit but it had this dumb little narrative abt these three campers traveling to each park & fucking around & i looked over at jaelin at one point & she was asleep & i was like same

im being too hard on it, it was kind of interesting to watch and had some cool visuals but the acting was pretty embarrassing & unnecessary, i wish it would’ve tried to be a documentary instead of entertaining. that’s my Professional Review of this random movie they’re removing forever soon, hope u enjoyed

realized i had more free time at the hotel than i thought i would & v heavily regretted not bringing my tablet to draw aaaaaahhhhh it was ok tho bc i brought my big sketchbook so i just drew in there B)

i’ve been drawing a lot of terukis i think i accidentally discovered a hidden love for him on the midnight shores of the san diego bay

(what i actually discovered is that he’s v easy to project a rly specific part of myself onto hgkdgksdjkgjsdk)

rented bikes to ride by the bay & it was super fun bc i havent ridden a bike in a long time but like. the second half started getting really hard for me & i thought i was just weak shit bc i literally never exercise but then i realized my back tire had gone flat hfdjghsd my legs were..... so sore

also the seat was shaped weird so my ass was sore for the rest of the trip. it’s still sore tbh. i have a bruised ass

went to a model train museum which was pretty cool bc the little towns had little people & jaelin and i were making up stories for them (my favorite recurring joke was pointing out ppl that had fallen over & calling them dead)

after the trains we made a spur-of-the-moment decision to stay a third day to see more museum shit bc why not so we managed to grab a room at a new hotel and #Locked In our decision

on the way to the second hotel we got a flat tire so i was like convinced i was cursed bc wtf it was literally on the same day???

while we waited for the tire repair i got a pink lemonade from taco bell and it was amazing i can’t believe i ever thought piece of shit sprite was worth even looking at over this

ok so i need to talk about the second hotel we stayed at because it was... literally the fanciest hotel i have ever stayed at in my entire 22 year old life

it was a mariott?? but a fuckin Fancy Mariott ok first of all we were on the 19th floor which just..... what the fuck

floor level was the 6th floor, this bitch went underground (though that might have just been the parking garage idk)

the lobby bathroom was like. jesus christ. to flush the toilet u wave ur hand over a sensor??? what’s wrong with just automatic toilets???? why are these toilets so extra????? i couldn’t even get it to work for so long jgkjdkgsd i hate technology

also there were moist towelettes sitting in a neatly folded pile by the sinks like what even. i thought it was paper towels but then it was wet

the lobby also had this fancy-ass bar/lounge where they served starbucks but u had to have a room key to get in i think

in the elevators to get to the rooms you can’t even enter the floor level until you hold your key card against a sensor like what the fuck..... we had to get some strangers to tell us how to do it gjdks i bet if we hadn’t been able to figure it out the elevator wouldve just dropped us 12 floors to our death like Access Denied, Assholes

the room itself was super fucking cramped tho which makes sense like if im gonna be able to afford anything at a place like this u better believe it’s gonna be the size of a damn peanut. it was the fanciest peanut ive ever seen in my life tho

the view was uhh we were directly across from some tall office building so at night u could like see into all the rooms it was kinda cool but also weird

there was a jar of hershey’s kisses on the coffee table when we got there but it was dark chocolate so like get the fuck outta here with that shit how dare you assault Mine Eyes (i ate like 4)

it rly was a tiny room tho and it didnt help that there were 5 of us rip... like there was a main room and a bedroom and a bathroom and already that’s making it sound bigger than it was hgkdjgskd 

but even tho it was small it had a lot like.. there was a kitchenette that was big enough for like 1 person to stand there but it had a fridge/freezer, sink, dishwasher, toaster, microwave, cupboards & coffeemaker like there was so much shit crammed in there, this wasn’t no minimalist living space it was just. a lot crammed into one tiny floor plan

anyway yeah it was really bizarre for me to be in a place like that & i just constantly felt like i didn’t belong there but that was mostly my anxiety lol i really dont like being in fancy places in general idk. it was still kinda fun tho

the natural history museum was cool, they had a bunch of animal skulls & taxidermy which i thought was pretty neat. all their dinosaur stuff was in the basement tho which u had to pay extra to see which like. bye

they did have some cool movies tho, they were like nature documentaries, one on marine biology around baja california and the other on animals of the galapagos & those were pretty neat, way better than that national parks shit we saw at the science center jgkdjkskdkdjg 

ok so this one’s more of a buildup over the 3 days so im gonna give a lil 3-part summary

day 1: we went to panda express for dinner & i had leftovers so i was like “sweet im saving these for when we get home” (bc the hotel had a fridge right)

day 2: got a rly good burger from a vegan place, my brother got the same one but didnt want his second half so i was like “cool more leftovers im gonna have so much good food when we get home this is perfect”

day 3: fucKIGN LEFT BOTH CONTAINERS IN THE FRIDGE ACCIDENTALLY WHEN WE CHECKED OUT HKDJFLSKDG i was literally so good about it the first two days like when we switched hotels i made sure not to forget them and i held onto them & everything & then halfway through the third day i was like “SHIT”

it’s ok tho bc for dinner that 3rd day we did panda again & i got the same thing so i have the same leftovers again hehehehehe

ok i think that’s basically everything & im not just saying that bc it’s 1:45 am and ive been working on this for like an hour and a half at this point.,.,. overall it was pretty fun, i think i liked the bikes & those animal movies the best... also the drive out bc i got to play my music lmfao (i love sharing my music ok)

anyway the end thank u

[pronetopronoia]

UGH, MONDAY AGAIN ALREADY?!

Hope everyone had a nice, long, enjoyable weekend! It’s the Tuesday back to work after an extended weekend for a lot of folks so that makes it...

SUPER MONDAY (the word “super” being used sarcastically in this instance).

Here’s two characters that have absolutely nothing to do with me having a conversation in their cubicles after coming back to work much like all of us are doing today:

INT. MODERN, BUSTLING OFFICE

RANDOM ANNOYING COWORKER and LAUREL sit talking in their adjacent-facing cubicles amongst a farm of people and noise.

R.A.C. “Hey bitch, how was your weekend?”

LAUREL “Uh, not right now, OK? Let me have some coffee first, I kind of have a headache.”

R.A.C. “LOL, you? A headache? You’re indestructible. What is it? Are you hungover? You’re totally hungover, aren’t you?”

LAUREL “No for real. I like get migraines and stuff.” R.A.C. “Really? I’m sorry do you like want some Tylenol or something?”

LAUREL “No, I’ll be fine.”

The two turn back to their work and sweet, sweet silence is achieved for about 15 minutes.

Suddenly RANDOM ANNOYING COWORKER swivels back around...

R.A.C. “Gosh, you really don’t seem like yourself today, are you sure you’re OK?”

LAUREL “Oh yeah, actually I’m doing just fine, just busy. It’s our Monday after all, haha.”

R.A.C. “How’s your head?”

LAUREL “Oh yeah, that. Oh just fine.”

R.A.C. “Oh man, I can tell in your voice that it is NOT fine. You know, you can go home if you need to, like hello?! Let me find my Tylenol...”

LAUREL uncomfortably sighs.

LAUREL “No, really, I’m cool. Thanks. If I was really in horrible pain I would take something and/or leave.”

R.A.C. “Yeah. but why suffer at all, ya know?”

LAUREL signs again, then launches into a soliloquy that has been a long time coming even though it is none of R.A.C.’s goddamn business.

LAUREL “Alright, look. I have a migraine disorder. It actually runs in my family but some of my family members experience it in different ways. I am not trying to minimize anyone’s symptoms or experiences in sharing mine or expressing my frustrations in this frank discussion of which I am having with you right now in a deadpan manner in the hopes that you will be offended just enough as to maybe leave me alone the rest of the day. So, back to the headache disorder, it’s a pretty severe one but at this point my pain tolerance is so high, you would not believe it. Also, sometimes just working and doing my regular shit through the pain is completely preferable to like going somewhere and laying in silence through the pain. Can medication help it at some times, yeah. Do I want to take a ton of medication all the time? Yeah, no thank you. Do I know how to either lesson the frequency and severity with lifestyle modifications? Yep, I’ve been doing this for years. Do I sometimes have other symptoms besides just headache pain. Yep, I deal with that. Did I think it was a brain tumor and/or severe mental illness at different points throughout my life? I sure did, I literally just am now realizing the issues. Believe it or not, I even took some serious, heavy-duty medication for one of those concerns at one point and it fucked up my life tremendously for a number of years and directly led to the development of another fucking ailment that I now have to deal with but I can’t absolutely prove without a doubt that the second issue was from the medication alone so I have no way to sue the drug company. So, as you can imagine, I am both a bit annoyed and frustrated when someone shows a bit too much concern in my direction and then also is insistent on giving me medication in the workplace and/or in my personal life. I actually found a medication, which is none of your business, that seems to work the best at treating this so far. If and when I am truly in absolute agony, which is quite few and far between, I will very politely let you know, I will accept your help if offered as a medication I am willing to take, and excuse myself because that is just how I am. Again, not minimizing anyone else’s experience, not trying to insult you in any way, not trying to really have any affect on literally anything or anyone else. Also, do I have any desire to be the spokesperson for this issue or any other issue? I do not. I’d just kindly wish, just to the sweet, sweet, sweet, merciful lord in heaven above if you’d kindly stay out of my personal affairs even though I am voluntarily just divulging so much unnecessary personal information in an effort to get you to leave me alone.”

RANDOM ANNOYING COWORKER stares shocked at LAUREL, blinking several times.

R.A.C. “Uh... OK. Wow. Um, nice attitude there Laurel. You know, it’s real cool of you to be so sarcastic when someone is showing you actual concern. I mean jesus fucking christ, it is really necessary for you to be so rude? I’m just making small talk and asking how I can help. No wonder you are single, jesus christ!”

LAUREL “Sorry.”

R.A.C. “Yeah, honestly, thank you. That’s the least you could say, really! I mean do you even realize how you sound sometimes when you talk to people?! God, I mean I was really having a great day and now you really have made me feel small, do you realize that? I mean, god! Like, I feel so belittled right now it is unbelievable!”

LAUREL “I apologize again, that must be really hard for you.”

R.A.C. “Yeah, actually it really, really is. Like, you yelling at me like this, it is like bringing back memories of my father. God, you know what, we all have problems, OK?! We ALL have things we are going through. It’s not just you and your stupid headaches, OK?! God! You are really self-centered, Laurel. Seriously. I don’t know how you are able to hit your quota every month with no issues whatsoever because you really need to learn how to talk to people, do you know that?! I mean God, do you have any compassion and do you ever even take onto account another person’s feelings, like ever?”

LAUREL “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

R.A.C.  “Yeah you should be! You should be! God! Ok, WHATEVER. I’ll leave you and your stupid headache alone. Have a great rest of the day!”

RANDOM ANNOYING COWORKER swivels around in her chair and starts furiously emailing a few of the other staff about what a fucking bitch LAUREL is being today, like, for no reason out of the blue, she is obviously bipolar. 

CUT TO BLACK

THE END