#less than ​10 years back people were getting their chins FILED DOWN

[simplyghosting]

Person: Oh! Having your chin is trendy right now. Women are getting their chins filled because the defined look is in and-

Me:

[13uswntimagines]

Learning to Love (Preath x Adopted Teen!Reader)

Request: could you do something where christen and Tobin adopt teenage r whose been through a lot and shows her how to accept love or something fluffy and angsty like that

Pt 2

Author’s Note: So this was really difficult for me to write for some reason. it’s also super long, but I wanted to include several learning moments. I’m going to put a warning on this for mentions of abuse, but nothing graphic. I hope you enjoy this! Send me Requests, Questions, or if you just wanna say Hi! Let me know what you think, your comments mean the world to me. 

You woke with a start, a cold sweat covering your entire body, your breathing heavy, and your brain trying to remember where you were. You clutched at the old hoodie you were wearing, pulling the collar to your nose and breathing in Tobin’s soothing scent. 

You had stolen the Thorns sweater awhile ago and never given it back. You found comfort in one of the several items that had become your own the 8 months that you had been with the women. 

You had immediately clicked with Tobin. Her overall laid back demeanor had set you at ease. Your mutual love of art always gave you talking points, whenever you actually felt like talking. But she never pushed, she was just as comfortable in silence as she was when you were conversing about art. 

It had taken you a little longer to become comfortable around Christen. She was the observant one. The one who always knew when you weren’t telling them the whole truth. The one who always pressed you to explain why you felt the way that you did, and at first that had unnerved you. She wasn’t pushy, but she had a way of getting you to open up that terrified you. 

You were like Tobin in the fact that you were never very good with words. You didn’t know how to articulate your feelings verbally, and the more… positive emotions confused you. Your parents had both been drug addicts, more interested in their respective highs than your actual wellbeing, or teaching you what affection was. You had only been removed from the home after your mother had tried to sell you to an undercover cop in exchange for drugs. You had spent the next 10 years bouncing around through the foster system, with each home only building on the scars that the last had left behind. 

Then by some miracle, you had met Christen and Tobin, who seemed determined to teach you about the happier emotions. The emotions that you didn’t understand. Hell, you had nearly jumped out of your skin the first time one of them tried to touch you. The going was slow, but it wasn’t in their nature to give up. 

You glanced at the clock, sighing at the blinking 4:40 that you found there. It was too early to be up, but you didn’t know if you could go back to sleep after your dream (memory?). You sighed, sliding out of bed and heading for the one room in the apartment that you knew could help you. The room that both women had made sure you knew was open 24/7 the moment they found out about your propensity for art. 

You were so engrossed in your project that you didn’t hear the door to Tobin’s studio open. She looked you over from the door, watching as you traced one of her canvases with a dark charcoal color. The painting before you was striking. A perfect rendition of a man's face over a cowering form. The only happy portion of the canvass was a warm red in the distance. 

“Hey kid, what ya up to?” She asked quietly, don’t her best not to startle you. You jumped anyway, dropping the paintbrush with a loud crash. 

“I’m sorry I- I-I didn’t…” you stuttered turning to face her, your cheeks very red. She held up a hand to stop you. She wanted to say that this response was unusual, but it wasn’t. Your go-to was to immediately apologize for whatever. 

“Slow down kid, we told you that you could use this room whenever you wanted,” She soothed, moving to stand beside you and rubbing soothing circles on your back. Your shoulders relaxed, and your gaze returned to your masterpiece. 

“Okay,” You breathed out. 

“It’s really good,” She said in awe, taking in the detail of the piece. Your lips twitched up slightly, and Tobin was glad you didn’t try and fight her on it. You weren’t used to complements without strings, and they were still teaching you to accept them. 

“Thanks, I couldn’t get it out of my head,” You mumbled, biting your lip, shaking your head slightly. You ran a hand through your hair, and Tobin resisted the urge to laugh when a red paint line followed the path of your hand. 

“Nightmare?” She questioned as casually as she could. Yes, she had read your file, but she wanted to hear about your experiences from you when you were ready. So far the only thing you had told them was that the man you kept drawing was father number 4. 

“Mmm,” You hummed back, tilting your head to the side. 

“You know you can always come to get me or Chris if you’re too scared to go back to sleep,” Tobin asked for what probably was the millionth time. You gave her a slight nod. People always said that but the moment you started asking for things, the moment you became more work than what you were worth, they would throw you away. 

There was a beat of silence between the two of you, and you felt the urge to finally tell her more about the painting. About why he was always so much bigger than you. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. Tobin shot you an encouraging smile. 

“Hey, you two breakfast-“Christen’s voice called out before you could divulge any secretes, before cutting itself off “whoa baby this is fantastic,” She said the second she saw the painting.

You pulled your lips into a tight line and nodded your thanks, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a hug. You buried your face in her shoulder, taking in gulps of her scent, allowing it to soothe you. She wound her arms tighter around you, running careful fingers through your hair. 

You had taken a long time to warm up to her, but you loved her cuddles, and this was a typical good morning gesture after a hard night. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Christen questioned softly, her and Tobin’s hands running circles on you back.

“Hmmm,” was your only response to her, not willing to leave your new favorite hiding spot yet. 

“You’ve told us about this part, but what’s this?” She asked, pointing to the bright spot that was a new addition to the image the women had become very familiar with. You had known this part was coming. It was part of your therapy, to explain some parts of the painting to them. It was difficult, but in the end, it helped. It made everything a little less scary. 

You but your lip in thought. Truth be told, you weren’t sure what the bright light was. 

“It’s-, I’m always trying to get to it. I know that whatever’s behind the door is… safe? That’s not the word, it’s more than that it’s… I don’t know how to explain it,” you stuttered out, furrowing your eyebrows in concentration. You were good at naming the negative emotions, but oftentimes the happy ones evaded you.“I don’t know what’s behind it, only that I need it,”  

“That’s ok baby, wanna come eat some pancakes?” Christen sent you a blinding smile, and Tobin Laughed as your face lit up. You loved pancakes. 

“Can I finish it?” You asked hesitantly. You hated leaving things half-done.  

“Yeah baby, come find us when you’re done,” Tobin nodded, patting your back before they both took their leave. 

You watched them go. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you knew they cared for you in a way you had never experienced before. 

****

Camp was an… experience, and meeting so many new people was frightening, but Tobin and Christen had kept their promise to always protect you. The team had been understanding about your aversion to touch and never pressured you to join in their shenanigans. They also gave you more people to draw. 

You sighed leaning back against the bench that was acting as your backrest, pulling your knees closer to your chest and digging your feet into the grass of the practice field. You rested the black sketchbook that had always been your companion on your knees, bringing it closer to your face. You held your pencil between your teeth, your eyes flicking between the fine lines sketched on the page and the two women who were depicted. You were sure that the realistic picture was almost done, but something was missing. Something you couldn’t put your finger on. 

“What ya go there kiddo,” Christen asked, stopping several feet away from you and gesturing to the space beside you. You sent her a careful nod, and she sat down a few feet away from you on the turf. 

That was one thing that you appreciated about the women, they always came down to your level to make you feel more comfortable.

“It’s Becky and Alyssa, but something’s not right,” You mumbled, scooting closer to the woman, who smiled softly at you. 

“I’m not a sketch artist, but I could check it out if you want,” She offered, bringing her hand up to rub your back. Her smile widened when you didn’t immediately flinch away at the contact.

 It was a slow process, but little by little they were showing you how nice human touch could be. You loved morning cuddles, but you only liked touches that you initiated. You bit your lip in thought and sent the woman a very tiny nod, before carefully sliding over the book. A small gasp left her lips when eyes landed in the pencil sketch.

“This is incredible,” Christen said in awe, her fingers running lightly over the near-perfect replicas of her teammates. You shrugged, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“Something’s missing, but I don’t know what. Like it doesn’t feel right,” You murmured, glaring at the sketch in frustration. The picture was missing the key element that would make it come to life on the page. You didn’t know what it was, so how could you add it?

Christen glanced up at you. You rested your chin on your knees, hugging your legs, knowing that there would be no way of completely getting out of this conversation. You didn’t typically bring up your feelings, and Christen wasn’t one to let that go. 

“Why doesn’t it feel right?” She questioned softly, bringing her hand up to gently smooth out the wrinkles in your forehead, and run her thumb down your cheek. You sighed and tilted your head into her hand just slightly. 

“It’s just…” you stuttered, trying to find the words to describe the women. It wasn’t just one thing. It was how their bodies always seemed connected, even from across the field. How their eyes always seemed to be on each other. How they touched each other with such care. “The way they’re so… drawn to each other.” You finished after a few seconds, shaking your head. It was so much more than that. It was an extremely deep connection that went beyond simple care. “I don’t understand how…” You trailed off, pinching your space between your eyes. 

Your sketch was missing the connection between the two. The ease they clearly felt with each other. The amount they… cared. 

“They love each other,” Christen responded gently, watching your reaction very carefully. Your lips formed an even tighter line. Your childhood had shown you that love didn’t exist, but the thing between the women was so defined. So alive and vivid. Could it be love?

“Hmm,” you hummed, pulling the book back towards you, scratching behind your ear. Maybe it was love. 

Tobin watched you from afar, her lips quirking up at how well you were doing with Chris. 

“She’s a little shy, but she seems to be doing ok with all of us,” Ash mumbled, standing beside her and watching your interaction. 

“Kid has had it rough,” Tobin husked out. How someone could treat a child the way you were treated, she would never understand. Hell, you had been removed from one of the foster homes for suspected poisoning, and you were petrified to eat anything you didn’t open yourself. Your file was as almost as tall as a toddler, and she wondered how you had slipped through the system for so long. 

“We don’t doubt that,” Ali said gently, rubbing Tobin’s shoulder in a soothing fashions 

“She seems pretty close to Chris though,” Ashlyn smiled when you leaned into Christen’s hand, the comfort you took from the contact obvious from the look on your face. 

“Sometimes,” Tobin shrugged. It was odd. There were moments where you were completely open with them, and then two seconds later you would throw all your wall up again. 

“She draws a lot,” Kelley pointed out, joining the three women in their observation of you. 

“It’s the only way she knows how to express herself,” Tobin hummed shrugging. 

“That’s not surprising,” Kelley said, and all the women turned to look at her. 

“she was probably punished for showing any emotions at all,” Ash added with a thoughtful look on her face, and Tobin nodded. She had seen the scars, both physical and mental. Though you hadn’t unpacked them all with them, it would be impossible to hide the marks that would be with you for the rest of your life. It was also something your therapist had told them both in the beginning. 

“All I know is that it gives us a way to start that conversation without making her too uncomfortable” Tobin shrugged. It was true, you wouldn’t tell them what was bothering you until it was drawn on a page. It was your process and that was ok. They were showing you that feelings were ok. “She’s come a hell of a long way,”

****

Your eyes traced the faces sketched upon the page, your eyebrows furrowing because there was something yet again missing. Your dinner sat untouched on the plate in front of you, as you were far too focused on your drawing of the two blond women. 

You felt the presence behind you before you saw her, and you didn’t mind. Yes, Emily was a little hyper, but she was funny and sweet, and you had known her and Lindsey longer than you had known most of the other women. You had gotten to know them on the many times you had accompanied you m-. Tobin. The many times you had accompanied Tobin to practice. The same went for Kelley. 

“Holy shit! Tobs was right, you do have some skill!” She exclaimed, placing two hands on your shoulders. You jumped at the contact, squeezing your eyes shut, dropping your sketchbook on the table with a thump. The noise lost in the general chatter in the room (though Tobin and Christen did send you a worried look from where they were talking with Alex and Kelley.)

“Disonny, remember we had this talk?” Lindsey said as she appeared on your other side, sending Emily a disdainful look. The women knew that you didn’t like surprise touches, it was one of the many rules that Tobin and Chris had given them. 

“Oh, right. Sorry kid. But like that drawing is fire,” Emily jumped back quickly, sending you a regretful look. She pointed to the chairs next to you, and you nodded with a small smile. 

“It’s not right…” You murmured, returning your attention to the drawing, biting your lip. 

“What do you mean, it looks just like us?” Lindsey asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the picture of her and Emily. You had drawn it during the tactics meeting. There was just something about the way Lindsey’s hand was placed in Emily’s back, and how Emily was watching her instead of Vlatko that had been irresistible to you. 

“It’s missing something,” You grumbled shaking your head. You missed the glance that the two women shared. They knew that Chris and Tobin were trying to teach you to open up about your feelings. 

“Like what?” Lindsey asked carefully. Placing a gentle hand on your back and rubbing soothing circles like she had seen Christen do about a million times. 

“It’s something about the eyes. They get this glint when you look at each other,” You said, turning to the two women. Your hands moved animatedly as you tried to explain the thing that you knew was missing. The thing that you didn’t have a name for, but you could see clear as day. The thing that you just couldn’t capture on paper. 

“It’s because we love each other,” Emily explained as gently as she could, and you tensed. As far as you were concerned, love was a myth. A thing people used to give others hope or to justify their despicable actions. Dads 3 and 9 had proved that to you with their twisted definitions, and all of the families that had packed you up and shipped you off had destroyed any understanding of the concept. To think that someone would have such a deep level of care for another, only expecting the same in return was mind-boggling to you. 

“Love doesn’t exist,” You huffed, turning away from Emily’s kind eyes, and running a frustrated hand through your hair. The women resisted the urge to sigh. This wasn’t an uncommon occupancy, but your absolute denial was still a little disheartening, as everyone was doing their damndest to show you differently. 

“You’re allowed to feel that way, but I’m going to disagree with you,” Lindsey murmured, carefully untangling your hand from your hair and holding it in her own. You tended to take out your frustrations on yourself. A habit, among many others, that the women were working to break. 

“How do you know you love her and not something else?” You questioned, staring at the two women. The let your challenging tone roll off of them. They knew you had some deep-seated beliefs and that it took time to change them. 

“I care for Lindsey so deeply that I would do anything for her,” Emily started, grabbing her girlfriends hand and looking at her with so much devotion it almost took your breath away. 

“I always want to be around Emily. I want to protect her and make her feel better when she’s sad,” Lindsey finished, an equally adoring glint in her eyes. What you would give to be able to capture those looks perfectly on paper. Do be able to do that look justice. 

“I don’t, I just-,” You stuttered, your eyebrows furrowing. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to figure out what you were trying to say. Tobin and Christen were always trying to make you feel welcome to make you feel better. Could that be what they meant? “She makes you feel safe?” You asked hesitantly. 

“The safest I’ve ever felt,” Lindsey said solemnly, and Emily nodded her agreement. You glanced over to the table where Christen was sending you a questioning smile. You smiled back. 

Lindsey and Emily shared another look, realizing that your doubts about love had nothing to do with them, but were instead about how you were feeling about your moms. 

“That’s how they make me feel,” You mumbled, looking down, almost ashamed. Tobin and Christen had done nothing but try and get you to open up to them. To make you feel safe and comfortable, and you couldn’t get a grip and call them Mom or tell them that you cared about (loved?) them. 

“For the record, they have the same glint when they look at you,” Lindsey whispered into your ear, pulling you into a hug. You gave her a tiny, not quite believing nod. You wanted to believe her, but how could anyone love a messed up 13-year-old like you?

****

You woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in your hotel room bed. Your heart was racing so fast that you thought it might beat right out of your chest. You clenched your eyes shut in an attempt to rid the images out of your mind. To rid the smell of his breath, that evil glint in his eyes, or the pain he had inflicted on your lower half from your brain. 

“Hey baby doll, you alright?” Tobin’s sleepy voice broke you out of your spiraling thoughts, and you bit down hard on your hand to prevent the sob from leaving your lips. 

“Hey, Y/n are you alright?” She said, flipping on the light, which startled Christen awake. They both took in your shaking form. Your face was pale, and you were rocking back and forth in the bed. You stared unseeingly at them, almost as though you were in a different world. 

The two women immediately jumped into action, Tobin rushing to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and Christen slowly moving to sit beside you on your bed. Her hand came up to gently run circles on your back. 

“Y/n, baby,” She murmured, afraid that she would startle you more than you already were. Your eyes snapped to her and you shook your head rapidly, tears flowing freely down your face. You leaned further into her touch, collapsing in her arms. She pulled you closer to her, rocking you back and forth as you sobbed into her chest. Tobin ran a comforting hand through your hair when she returned, unwilling to coax you out of your hiding spot in her wife’s chest. 

She held you tight as if to reassure you that she was there, and she was never leaving. She and Tobin shared several worried looks, unsure of how to proceed. It was rare that you showed them any emotions besides happiness and frustration. They knew you had nightmares, but they had never been involved in the aftermath of one before. 

They half you between them, cooing soothing words and reassurances into your hair until your crying slowed. 

“Hey, baby can you look up at me?” Tobin asked softly, running the warm cloth over your features when you glanced up at her. You sighed into the touch, unused to the warm feeling that settled in your chest. 

“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Christen murmured into your hair, never stopping her comforting rubbing on your back or her rocking back and forth. You rapidly shook your head, returning to your hiding place. You knew that they had read your file before they adopted you, but reading a second-hand account of events and hearing it were two very different things. 

“Why not baby? It might help to get it off your chest,” Tobin pressed just a little, and she saw your shoulders deflate. 

“You won’t want me anymore,” You said so quietly into Christen’s shoulder that it was almost inaudible. The women gasped. 

“We will never not want you Kid” Tobin declared firmly, as Christen’s rocking picked up to ebb the tears that had started to flow again. 

A choked “Why?” left your lips, muffled by the soft material of Christen’s shirt, and you felt both women tense. You had been to hell and back, and you just couldn’t understand why the women hadn’t given up on you yet. Perhaps it was their competitive nature. Always wanting to overcome every challenge they face. But perhaps it was something else, the little voice in the back of your brain said. 

“Because we love you,” Christen whispered into your ear, and your tears increased. 

“You’re an amazing kid, and you bring so much light to our lives, despite all of the shit that you’ve been through,” Tobin added, wrapping her arms around both of you. You sighed into their touch. 

“Will you stay with me?” You whimpered softly. They made you feel safe, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep without them. 

“Always kiddo,” Tobin hummed, pulling the covers back and allowing Chris to maneuver you had her underneath them before joining you. You sighed deeply, relaxing at the feeling of both of them. You felt so safe, so protected between them. You felt… something so much greater than care. Something that you had been avoiding. 

As you drifted off you released a soft “love you mom and mama,”. You missed the shit-eating grins that took over both women’s faces, as they had been waiting for this moment for 8 months. The moment where you would finally accept their love, accept their invitation into their family. But you did catch the soft “love you too baby,” that came from both women. 

Things weren’t perfect, but they were heading that way. Sure, it would be a challenge, but they would never give up on you. You were theirs and they were yours forever and always. 

[an-absolute-travesty]

Let me go

~Writing strike is over!~ 

*confetti*

Hopefully that taught the general public to appreciate writers a bit more

There was no prompt for this, I just wanted to write it :)

Massive tw for: major character death, grieving, blood, panic...this one is rough, friends

Word count: 1,701

About: kam angst

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or removed):@you-are-the-vacker-legacy @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlykeefitz @percabetn @vibing-in-the-void @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42 @rainbowtay-11 @littlemisscupcake 

Tam was making lunch for his boyfriend when he got the hail. Keefe himself sat in his art studio, working on a project that Tam apparently wasn’t allowed to see yet. Their anniversary was coming up though, five years of success. Tam suspected it was some present to do with that. Maybe a nice landscape, they needed something to sit over their mantel. 

“Hello?”

Dex’s voice came from the other end. “Tam, we just got word of a possible Neverseen attack in Atlantis. We think it might just be a few crazy extremists, no leaders spotted yet. but since you and Keefe are closest we need you two to check it out. No interactions required, just a scope out.”

“Got it, be there in five.”

~*~

It...wasn’t just a few extremists. If that wasn’t obvious enough. 

“Shit,” Tam said in a harsh whisper, pulling Keefe far behind a wall as he crept around the corner. 

“What? Who is it?”

“A certain mommy dearest.” 

Then, someone appeared behind him. Tam couldn’t remember who. Couldn’t remember how. All he knew was that he was shoved from his safe spot into the open. 

“Hey boss, we got a visitor. Remember the little shade boy?”

He quickly moved to a place of defense, shadows prepared. 

“Oh yes, I remember him. Shame, he wasn’t the goal. Ruy?”

The man turned. 

“Be rid of him.” 

Everything went to slow motion. A throwing knife was hurtling towards him. He braced for impact, there was no way to dodge it. Aimed right for the heart.

Only then he saw the flash of movement. Keefe fell back into Tam, the wound in his chest just starting to bleed. 

“No!” Did it come from him or Gisela? Tam couldn’t tell, his eyes trained on Keefe’s face as he gently lowered him to the ground. 

“Oh you fucking idiot.” Tam didn’t know if he was talking to himself or Keefe. Maybe both. He went to remove the knife from where it sat lodged in Keefe’s heart.

“No,” He said weakly. “Leave it, less bleeding.” Somewhere in the background the Neverseen had gotten away, Tam never found out what their goal was that day. He was sure they didn’t get it, though.

Keefe held Tam’s face in one hand, staining him with blood. 

“You have beautiful eyes you know. I’ve always loved your eyes. I hope I get to see them again.”

“Keefe, don’t talk like that, you’ll be fine, we’ll get Elwin in here and-”

“No.” He took a break to cough, it left blood rolling down his chin. “No, Elwin can’t do anything for me. You can hail him, I’d rather go in the infirmary than the street.”

“Keefe-”

“Go, call him. It’ll make you feel better, love”

So he did.

Elwin was there fast, 10 minutes at most. 

It took entirely too long.

~*~

Keefe passed out on the way to he infirmary. He still laid asleep as Elwin frantically rushed to grab something that might heal him. The contrast was awful, half to death and Keefe looked calm in the chaotic room all while being soaked with his own blood. 

Bullhorn was laid beside him. Having Sophie around, it wasn’t a too uncommon sight, but everything felt more grim when the typically white sheets had gone red. 

Finally, Elwin stepped back. Tears shined in the physician’s eyes. 

“I’ve done what I can. It was a deep wound. Now we-” He got choked up. “Now we can only hope.”

Tam creeped towards the bed. Bullhorn laid scarily still next to Keefe, silent and unmoving. 

He touched his forehead to Keefe’s as tears streamed down his face. 

“Please stay,” He whispered. “Please wake up, please. You- you can’t just leave me, please, I love you.” 

A hand moved up to cradle Tam’s face.

“Hey...Bangs Boy.” His voice was weak, but there.

Tam couldn’t tell who was crying anymore, him or Keefe. Maybe both. 

Tam held his face, almost not believing he was real. 

“Keefe! Please stay here, stay awake, stay with me please, love.”

A sad smile came across his face. “I wish I had that option, but...if I don’t, then please don’t look at what’s in the studio, okay? Please promise me you won’t look at it, Tam.”

“I promise.” Tam said without a second thought. 

More friends rushed into the room then, hoarding around his bedside. All the best friends, they hadn’t talked all together in months.

How gruesome that this was the only thing that brought them all together. 

The spent the next hour together, talking about old stories, laughing even. The room was still somber. Tears were exchanged with sad and nostalgic smiles, remembering the years they spent together. Suddenly, Keefe interrupted after being quiet for some time.  

“Guys…” He said in labored breaths. “Please leave the room. I don’t want you all to have to see this. I love you all, and...and I better see you at my wanderling planting.” Everyone paused, before solemnly lining up and mumbling their last goodbyes. Sobs were heard throughout the room and eventually they all filed out into the hall, their wails could be heard from inside the infirmary.

Tam didn’t move from his spot. 

“You always were stubborn, Bangs Boy. That’s why I love you.” His tone was raspy and harsh. 

“I love you, too.” Tam said, voice cracking, as he wrapped his arms around Keefe. “Why couldn’t you just let me take the knife?”

He didn’t answer at first, just pulled Tam’s face up to look at him. He smiled fondly but there was an obvious sadness to it. 

“You have so much to live for. Linh needs you.”

“Linh can live on her own, she’s stong.”

Keefe shook his head. “Let me go, Bangs Boy.”

 “I can’t, I’ll never let you go, you’ll be fine-”

“Tam…” He trailed off, the sentence left unfinished as he winced in pain. Keefe’s typically tan face had gone ghostly pale, his perfectly mused hair now sat in limp strings on his forehead. 

“Hey,” He managed, holding the unhealable wound on his chest. “I think I’m...I think I’m heading out. I can’t really feel my toes. Tell everyone that my last words were ‘Cassius is a little piss baby,’ I can’t let him think I forgave him in my last moments.”

Tam smiled, Keefe could always make him smile, even in moments like this. 

Keefe simply held Tam’s face, a thousand words left unspoken. 

His last were simple.

“I love you,” 

Before Tam could reply, he was gone. 

~*~

There were a lot of people at the wanderling planting, too many. All the random people from Foxfire that Tam barely knew, random citizens, every councillor. 

Too many. 

Everything moved far too fast to keep pace with Tam’s mind that felt as if it dragged across the floor. Mourners would only pay their respects for a few moments, unless they were a close friend. 

Too many. Too fast. 

The ceremony was confusing. Tam didn’t understand it, it was just too much for him to handle. He hadn’t been to one before and was now meant to lead it while still in mourning. 

Too many. Too fast. Too much. 

Before long he couldn’t stand it anymore, he ran off into the forest. Not paying attention to direction. He heard yells calling him name.

Too many. Too fast. Too much. Too loud. 

Too bright, why did they have to wear green? 

Too lonely, it was just him and Linh again. 

Too sad, he couldn’t do this.

Too many. Too fast. Too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too lonely. Too sad. Too many. Too fast. Too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too lonely. Too sad. Too many. Too fast. Too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too lonely. Too sad. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much.

He found himself sitting at the base of a tree, he didn’t know who’s. He couldn’t handle it. He had to go...somewhere. He didn’t know where. He had to get away from this place. The ceremony could go on without him. 

He took out his home crystal, ignoring the voices still searching for him in the labyrinth of trees. 

~*~

Tam stumbled into his previously shared home, face finally dried, but still red and puffy. 

Pictures on the walls shook as he slammed the door, a plate fell from its place in the cabinet but he payed it no mind. 

Somehow he ended up in the art studio...well Keefe’s art studio. Though, he guessed he wasn’t so much now. 

Tam sat down in front of the large, tarped piece that Keefe had been hiding from him for weeks. 

It was probably just a landscape. Tam kept telling himself that. Just a landscape, that was what they talked about. 

And yet...he couldn’t help the curiosity. 

Keefe’s last wish was to not look at it. How could he disrespect that? But if it was just a landscape...why would that be his last wish?

Tam slowly unveiled the painting. 

It was a portrait.

Of him. 

In the painting he was smiling, his whole face was lit up, the bags now present under his eyes were missing. 

Why would he hide this? 

Tam flipped over the canvas, a piece was folded paper was stuffed in between the wood. It looked like a preparation for a speech, the ideas he decided not to use, crossed out.

“Tam would you-

Tam you know what would be really super cool-

But, consider if you just-

Ugh this is harder than I thought it would be 

Hey uh..you are cooler than like...a whole pan of mallowmellt 

UGH

Tam...I love you more than life. I want to be with you for the rest of it. Would you please give me the honor of marrying you?

HAH I DID IT!!! Now I just have to...actually do it.”

Tam slid to the ground, a sob escaped his body and tears slicked his face. 

~*~

Their anniversary was coming up. 

Five years of success. 

On the day, Tam took the note to his tree. 

“Let me go, bangs boy”

He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. 

“I love you, too”

[eryiss]

Chapter Four - Equilibrium

Summary: The Justine's were always a criminal family. The Dreyar's were forced into it due to prohibition. After gaining power and influence in the criminal world, the families were forced into a fragile truce. This was until the recently disowned Freed Justine arrived at Laxus Dreyar's door, demanding a job in exchange for information that could bring his family down. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as part of the Mashima’s Heroes Big Bang, hosted by @ft-ez-bb. I have been paired up with the wonderful @fairiesherefairiesthere​. Remember to give them lots of love.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Four – Equilibrium

~Six Months Later~

When they had agreed on how to deal with the Justine's, Laxus had made a rule for himself. He wouldn't allow himself to be consumed by his fear about what Freed was going through. He wouldn't let every waking minuet be hell as he tortured himself by wondering what awful things might be happening to Freed. No matter what it took, Laxus promised himself that he would get on as normal, keep himself busy and forcing his thoughts to the side whenever they got dark.

But there was an exception to that rule. That came whenever he found himself sitting in the Eisenwald hotel, a front for lots of illegal activity where discretion was expected. Because the only reason for him being at the hotel was when Freed had requested to see him, which always brought a rush of anxiety.

"Come on," Laxus mumbled to himself, hunched over at the hotel room's desk. "Just fucking get here."

A night prior an advertisement for the Eisenwald hotel had arrived at Laxus' door, as was Freed's way of requesting a meeting from Laxus without detection. The advertised room price had been $10 per night, which was how Freed told Laxus that their meeting would take place at ten pm. When Laxus had shown the advertisement to the person at the front desk, he'd been given a key and told which room to wait in.

The first time they'd met like this had been a stark reminder of just how good at being a criminal Freed could be, because he'd managed to organise everything without being detected by his father and family. It was equal parts impressive, humbling, and terrifying.

As Freed entered his thoughts again, nervousness flooded through Laxus. He never knew what Freed would look like when he walked through the door. The first time they'd met, Freed had been healthy and seemed as he always did. But the next time he'd been bloody, bruised and simmering with anger after some of his father's men had attacked him in protest of his reintroduction to the family; he'd only wanted to meet to see Laxus in person again. Laxus didn't know what to expect when Freed arrived, and it racked his nerves.

He just wished he would get there.

Eventually, the door to the room opened, and Laxus reached for the gun attached to his waist on instinct. He stood up, ready to act if any of the Justine Family members had discovered their meetings and wished to take a shot at him. It was possible, and Laxus couldn't be too careful so he kept his finger rested against the trigger.

But it was Freed, and Laxus' heart fluttered at the sight of him.

He seemed like himself. There were no injuries other than the cut on his lip from last time, which both men knew would never fully heal. But he was well dressed, clean and healthy looking, and Laxus couldn't ask for more.

Without speaking, both men walked to one another. Freed kicked the door closed behind him, wrapping his arms around Laxus in a strong hug that Laxus clung onto tightly. To have Freed in his arms again, safe and alive and seemingly without injury was something Laxus hadn't experiences nearly enough, and he would take every opportunity he could to make the most of it.

They remained silent for a short while, relishing one another's presence and the stability that they promised each other. It was these moments where Laxus wished he had fought harder against letting Freed leave and return to his father. Because as much Laxus missed Freed when he wasn't there, he wasn't the one in danger like Freed was; he didn't have to see the worst that the Justine Family had to offer; and he wasn't the one who was looking over his shoulder every day for the last half a year. The strength of Freed's hug showed Laxus just how much he was missed in return, and Laxus hated that Freed ever needed to miss him that much. Freed should never have to miss him because he should always be there for him.

"Are you okay?" Laxus murmured into Freed's neck, voice slightly gravelly.

"Yes, I just needed to see you," Freed spoke quietly, and Laxus felt the vibrations against his collarbones. "You're okay as well, aren't you?"

"I missed you," Laxus confessed, gently running his hand up and down Freed's back just so he could feel the man in his arms. "Was worried about you, but you probably already know that. But I've been fine. You sure you're okay."

"I'm as good as I can be, given the situation," Freed nodded slightly as he spoke, and Laxus knew that was the best he could ask for.

They pulled out of each other's arms, though Laxus immediately cupped Freed's cheeks and kissed him. Freed readily reciprocated, leaning against Laxus and moving his lips with practiced movements. The thrill of kissing Freed still remained, but it now mingled with the incredible sensation of comfort and safety and relief. Despite his absence in his life, Freed had become synonymous with home for Laxus, and Laxus loved kissing him and holding him whenever he could.

He would have loved it if they could just stay like this for the night. To be in each other's arms, share a meal in the privacy of the room, to fall asleep side by side. But he knew that they needed to talk – they always did in these meetings – and the small folder Freed had tossed onto the bed was a reminder of that.

"So," He whispered after pulling apart. "What do you need to talk about?"

"Well, the last two months have been productive," Freed said, walking away from Laxus and towards the folder on the bed. His tone seemed more downtrodden now he was speaking about his family again. "I thought it might be best if you looked after it from now on. Not only does it give you a bigger picture of what we've got against him, it also means there's less evidence of what I've been doing in my rooms, should someone start looking into me."

"You think that people are getting suspicious?" Laxus asked, looking at Freed slightly panicked. "If you're in danger we stop it. I ain't gonna let you go back if you think they're onto you."

"Nobody suspects anything, I just want to keep it that way," Freed said placatingly, and Laxus tried to believe him. When Freed avoided his gaze slightly, Laxus frowned and tipped his chin to force eye contact. "I was thinking that maybe it's getting near the point where I wouldn't have to return."

Laxus' stomach lurched.

"You think we've got enough?" He asked, voice cracking slightly. "If we took it to the police then we might get 'em locked up? And you could come back to me?"

"Perhaps," Freed said, sitting on the bed and taking Laxus with him. He cupped Laxus' hands softly and looked at him seriously. "I don't know if we're ready, I honestly don't. I don't remember everything that I've given you in the past, so I might be overly optimistic about our chances, but I think at the very worst we're nearly there. That's why I wanted to meet you, rather than just having someone deliver it to your door like I did in the past, because I wanted your opinion on whether or not it's time I return."

"Course I'll help," Laxus replied almost automatically.

"I need you to be objective about it, though," Freed demanded softly. "It would be very easy for us both to say that I should come back today, but we need to be realistic. Can you promise me that?"

"I will," Laxus nodded. "Well, I can try my best. But I do want you back with me."

"I want to come back too," Freed agreed quietly.

They rested their heads against each other, closing their eyes and breathing softly. Laxus stroked his fingers across Freed's hand as they sat side by side, knowing that he had do what Freed had said despite every instinct telling him to not let Freed out of his sight. The very fact that they could discuss Freed coming home was better than what Laxus had expected, and Laxus put all his hope into the fact that Freed would be where he belonged sooner rather than later.

Eventually they got to work, looking through the information that Freed had gathered against his family. Even being as objective as he could, Laxus was shocked by just how much evidence Freed had collected.

At the start of Freed's time with his family, he'd only been able to get scraps of information and evidence. Small fragments, the occasional letter, and the odd thing that implicated his father. But as he regained the trust he had once held, and he was allowed more access to the crimes committed, his gathered evidence had gotten more undeniable and had greatly increased in quantity.

This haul of evidence was his largest yet, and Laxus almost couldn't believe how detailed it was. Every important and influential member of the family had full accounts on them, almost enough to have them all put in jail simply based off of that. But Freed also had contracts stating the family's wrongdoings in general, as well as a list of people who might be able to testify his family's guilt. There were also pictures of crimes taking place, letters between Freed's father and known criminals, and even a damn gun with one of Freed's brother's fingerprints on it.

"This is a lot, Freed," Laxus said, placing down the last file on the bed. "This is so much. How did you even manage this?"

"I often used to sneak around my father. Both socially and professionally, my father and I had differences in opinion, so I learned how to avoid him," Freed shrugged. "That, and the fact that they're repulsive people. Ever damn one of them, I can't believe I used to be like that honestly. I've been impatient to leave them, I suppose that helped."

"I'm glad," Laxus shrugged. "Pretty sure you know my stance on getting you out."

"Do you think this is enough?" Freed asked, looking over the spread of information covering the bed. "It does seem substantial. Perhaps I'd convinced myself that we'd never have enough, but looking at it again… maybe it's time."

"Freed, if we give this to the police they'll throw a fucking party," Laxus said seriously. "This is enough. It's more than enough. It's fucking air tight."

"Yes," Freed nodded, then smiled. A tentative smile that lit up his face. "It is, isn't it."

Before Laxus could speak, Freed was on him, kissing him with an energy that he hadn't shown since he'd left to work with his father. Laxus took a moment to catch up with the action, kissing Freed back with the same level of enthusiasm and gusto. As Freed pushed against him, Laxus wrapped his arms around his waist to pull him close. A weight seemed to lift from Laxus' gut, one that he had long since come to terms with.

As they pulled away for breath, Laxus smiled with a look that could only be described as elated. He stroked Freed's face with his thumbs, the delightful feeling of his anxiety leaving flooding throughout him. Because Freed was going to be coming back, he would no longer be forced to deal with murderers and evil men every day.

"Are you coming back tonight?" Laxus asked, and Freed shook his head slightly. Laxus' smile fell. "Why not?"

"We need to be careful about this, Laxus," Freed spoke gently, almost remorsefully. "The police might take time to act, and if I suddenly disappeared they'd get suspicious. That might lead them to you, and I won't allow that."

"So when are you gonna leave?"

"Whenever I can be sure of both your safety and mine," Freed sighed a little, though smiled at Laxus as his expression fell further. "The moment they start arresting people, I will be at your side. And I don't intend to leave it."

It was meant to placate Laxus, but a thought struck him, and panic rose through him again. It was a different kind of fear from what he'd felt when Freed was with his family, but one equally bad. Freed seemed to notice the sudden spike in his anxiety and began holding Laxus' hands firmly, keeping him grounded rather than letting his worries overtake him.

"What if they arrest you?" Laxus suggested. "You've been working with them, they might think you're a part of it. Fuck, if you go to jail you'll be stuck with them-"

"I've thought about that too, Laxus," Freed said calmly, and Laxus looked up from his lap. "I knew it was a risk when I suggested we do this, actually, and I've done something about it," Freed shifted slightly, reaching into his suit-jacket's pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. He handed it to Laxus, smiling a little as Laxus unfolded it. "I didn't tell you about it until now because I knew you wouldn't approve."

Laxus frowned, and looked down at the paper. It was a letter, written in Freed's handwriting, with his obvious signature at the bottom. As Laxus read through the short paragraphs, his hands on the paper clenched tightly. The letter was Freed taking credit for the evidence.

"You said it'd be anonymous," Laxus snapped.

"I did, but it was never going to work that way," Freed admitted quietly, and Laxus glared at him. Had he planned this from the start? Laxus went to speak, but Freed stopped him. "Without me, this is just a pile of paper. They'd say it was falsified or unreliable. Without someone like me to credit it, nothing would happen, and he'd get away with everything."

"What if he finds out?" Laxus growled. "He kicked you out for fucking men. If he finds out you tried to ruin him, he'll fucking torture and kill you."

"I know what he's capable of," Freed snapped back. "But I am not going to let him get away with his shit anymore. He's an abhorrent person and I will make damn sure he rots behind bars, and if risking myself is the way to do that then I will. I will do anything to make sure the remainder of his life is hell, and I am deadly serious about that."

"Freed, he's a murderer! If he even thinks…" A horrible thought occurred to Laxus. "You ain't thinking about testify against him, are you?"

"I have to," Freed retorted.

"You fucking don't!" Laxus yelled. "This is enough. We've got enough!"

"I don't care!" Freed snarled. "That man - that fucking cruel bastard who calls himself a father - made my life fucking hell. He did everything he could to turn me into him, and should I show a hint of individuality I was beaten. Everything about me was wrong to him; so much so that he disowned me for something a better man wouldn't have care about. And even then, he couldn't simply leave me. He had to attack my friends, the people who would show me more care than he could dream of. He hurt the people I love; simply for the fact they offered me a life he denied me! He is a cruel, vindictive, jealous man, and the moment he tried to hurt you I knew I would go to hell and back should it bring him down!"

Freed was panting now, and Laxus wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulders. He was shivering with anger, and Laxus pressed his lips to the side of Freed's head.

"I will see that man lose everything. His freedom, his safety, his money and his empire. I will make sure he loses every damn part of the life he cares for. I will watch as the colour drains from his face, as the fear blooms in his eyes, as the realisation sets in and his future becomes clear," Freed stopped, panting again. He continued in a whisper. "I will relish every moment of pain I cause him, and I will not do it behind the veil of anonymity. I am owed that."

"Hey," Laxus whispered softly, holding Freed close. "Focus on me. Come on, eyes on me."

Laxus cupped Freed's face, resting their foreheads together and remaining quiet as Freed's breathing slowly became more calmed. Freed was shuddering slightly as the rush of anger subsided, and Laxus wished he could do something to lower the anguish that he was feeling. He could only be there for Freed, and he would do so.

"I understand you're worried about me, and that you don't want me to get hurt," Freed whispered. "But I need to do this."

"I know you do," Laxus conceded.

"And you won't object to it?"

"I won't," Laxus agreed. "But you gotta promise me that you'll come to me if you need me. If he starts acting weird, or you even think for a second that he might have picked up on what's happening, you leave and come to me. No objections, no telling yourself you're being paranoid. If there's even a tiny hint he might know, you come home and stay with me."

"I will," Freed promised, and Laxus believed him.

"When d'you need to go back?" He asked after a moment, stroking Freed's cheeks absently.

"I don't have any assignments tomorrow, so as long as I show my face at the house sometime in the day he won't be suspicious," Freed shrugged after a moment of thought. "So I could sleep here if you'd like. It's not the most hygienic-"

"Stay," Laxus demanded. "Please."

"Of course," Freed nodded slightly. There was a look of hesitance in his eyes, and Laxus frowned. "Could you… can we not… would it be okay if you just held me tonight? Do you mind?"

"Course I don't mind," Laxus assured him.

He carefully removed the papers from the bed, placing them back in the files that they'd been in when Freed first arrived. By the time the dossier of evidence was back to what it had been before, Freed had begun to undress, and Laxus quickly did the same. Sans clothing, they climbed into the crisp, cold sheets of the bed, wrapping their arms around each other. Laxus smiled, slightly sadly, as Freed buried his face in the crook of Laxus' neck, as if looking for protection. It was a show of vulnerability that Laxus expected didn't come easy to Freed.

"You never have to ask me to hold you, y'know," Laxus assured him, voice a whisper. "You told me you'd always love me, you know I feel the same, right? You know that I love you?"

"I do," Freed whispered, pressing his lips against Laxus' collarbone in a kiss.

"I'd marry you, if I could," Laxus confessed, and Freed looked up towards him. "I've thought about it a lot. If there wasn't this bullshit about two men being together, I'd do whatever I could to be your husband."

"You wouldn't have to do much. If you asked me, I'd take you to city hall and get it done now, were it possible," Freed said, smiling a little. "Though, what is a marriage but two people making a promise to love one another for an eternity. I already feel like that to you; I've committed myself to you, Laxus. Wholly and fully."

The words made Laxus swallow, and he almost felt a tear prick in his eye.

He went to speak again, to stumble out a reciprocation that would be nowhere near as eloquent nor romantic as Freed's words had been, but his lover acted before he could. He leant up, and gave a lingering soft kiss to Laxus, that made him feel so damned loved he could barely understand it.

"Just hold me," Freed told him in a whisper. "That's all the response I'll need."

And Laxus let out a quivering breath, pulling Freed closer to him. The small smile on Freed's face told Laxus that he understood just how much Laxus did care for him, and the fact Freed had pre-empted Laxus' struggles with words told him that Freed was truly perfect for him. A few tears did prick at him this time, and as he slowly stroked the other man's hair he knew that no night would be as good as one shared with Freed.

He didn't know how much time had passed, nor if Freed was asleep or not, by the time he looked down to his lover. He gently stroked his cheek, and in a whisper almost inaudible, he spoke again.

"I've committed to you too, Freed," His voice quivered a little. "Every damn part of me."

~Three Months Later~

The New York Telegraph

BREAKING: Justine Crime Syndicate Verdict Given, Family Patriarch Sentenced to Life Imprisonment

By: Jellal Fernandes

The legal court battle between the State of New York and accused Justine Family Crime Syndicate has finally come to an end after two months of intense and aggressive campaigning. Yesterday at four thirty-three pm, the jury of twelve came to a unanimous verdict of guilty against the members of the Justine Family and their associates.

After months' worth of evidence, character witnesses, testimonies and controversies, the infamous court case has come to an end. A spokesperson from the New York County Courthouse today confirmed that charges against Augustus Justine, among others, have been deemed credible, and appropriate sentencing has been doled out, thus brining and end to the criminal trial of the decade, which has captured the interest of the nation.

Speaking with lead prosecutor, Warrod Sequen, it is the Telegraph's understanding that the charges of mass-murder, grand larceny, criminal damage, arson, bribery and embezzlement (among others) against Augustus Justine have been found guilty. Sequen states that Justine will face multiple life sentences, all of which will be given without bail nor early release due to the seriousness of his crimes. It is suspected that in the days following, when other high-ranking members of the Justine Syndicate are given their own verdicts, similar sentencing will be given. Sequen claims that "today is a victory for justice and for New York," and that "the streets will be significantly safer from now on."

Often credited as the bedrock of the prosecution's case was Augustus' own son, Freed Justine. Records state that evidence collected by the younger Justine gave police the justification and standing to arrest the Justine Family's most influential members, and without him it would be likely that no action against them would have been made.

Also pivotal was Justine's character and witness testimony, where he spoke at length about the "monstrous, inhuman" nature of his father. Those in the courtroom state that Augustus Justine was visibly angry, often interrupted his son's testimony in rage filled tirades, wherein he threatened violence and revenge against his son, and was eventually removed from the courtroom so proceedings could continue. It is also stated that Freed Justine didn't seem affected nor shaken by his father's threats.

Although the younger Justine has made no public statement, he is quoted in his cross examination as saying, "my reasoning for going against my father is a combination of moral obligation and personal hatred for the man."

The court case itself was not without its drama. Most infamously, the hotel where the jury were living during the proceedings was broken into during the night, and it is believed that had hotel staff not immediately called the police, the intruders would have broken into the juror's rooms with the intent to threaten them into giving an innocent verdict. The perpetrators of this crime have been linked back to the Justine Family, and their trials have been scheduled for later this year. It is expected that they will face charges for breaking and entering, intention of grievous bodily harm, and attempting to pervert the course of justice.

Police proficiency has also been called into question, with many people asking why a criminal organisation as large as the Justine Family's was allowed to continue without prior police intervention. The invasion of the juror's hotel has given further cadence to these criticisms, and Chief of Police Byro Cracey is expected to resign due to mounting pressure.

The unprecedented nature of the trial makes it difficult to predict the greater effect on society that will now occur. However, in the words of the trial's judge Jura Neekis "A vial monster has been put to trial today, and we expect that many similar men will follow. We pray that the justice given today will offer a modicum of comfort to those who were affected by Augustus' actions. The city of New York is constantly shifting and changing, sometimes for good and sometimes for bad. I have no doubt that today is a good day for us all."

.

PUBLIC INTEREST: With Rising Cries of Anger, Are Prohibitions Days Numbers?

By: Jason Thompson

Throughout its entire existence, controversy has surrounded the law of prohibition. With fiery passion coming from people for and against the laws against alcohol, it has always been a hotbed of discussion and discourse. Many claim the ratification of prohibition was a win for morality, while others believe it's an invasion of civil liberties and an attack on business.

Recently, the arguments against the law have become louder and more passionate. Not only are decriers saying that the law is unjust, but they also claim it is pointless. In a city like New York, it can't be denied that alcohol is being made and sold. We have all heard the stories of speakeasies and moonshine production. Those speaking against prohibition state that alcohol is more available than ever, and that you just need to know how to find it.

Having spent the last two years looking into this, I have to concur. Alcohol is everywhere, just hidden out of sight. Should you ask the right people, you'll can be pointed to hundreds of bars doing a roaring trade, simply being less obvious about it.

Furthermore, rather than making America a more moral and evangelical country, it acts to blur the lines between right and wrong. The people who wish to drink have not stopped, and therefore have taken steps closer to crime. Those who previously would have done trade legally and without consideration for crime are now deeply intrenched in the illegal underworld. Innocent people are now consorting with criminals, all to get a product that five years ago would be readily available.

Prohibition hasn't worked to make America a better place. It is similar to putting lipstick on a pig; however the pig seems to be allergic to the lipstick and is slowly rotting away into a gangrenous slop.

Anti-prohibition groups have started to from, and despite what our government is telling us, they are not made solely out of drunkards and wrongdoers. Many of them exist in the elite, including lawyers and doctors, the people you look up to and we are taught to aspire to be.

With these opinion groups growing larger and louder, how much longer can the rule of prohibition last? In my opinion, the writing is on the wall, and very soon we might be raising a toast without fear of arrest. But until then, we can only wait.

~Thirteen Years Later~

Fairy Tail had worked well as a speakeasy, but it only flourished in lawfulness.

When prohibition had been introduced, Laxus had been forced to relocate into an unused music store, which had been refurbished into a bar. And while it had doubtlessly worked well, and had been successful, it had never been as good as the real Fairy Tail; the one his grandfather had run proudly and with success. That was why Laxus never sold the building, even though it would have lined his pockets with gold, because he hoped that eventually he'd return, and he could run his business like his family always had.

It was an incredible building. Large, located near the city centre, with ostentatious decorations and architecture. The inside had a selection of vast tables, multiple levels, and a stage where live entertainment often occurred. It had always been crowded, and at one point it'd been a tourist spot because of how interlaced with the culture of the city it had been.

And now it was back. Prohibition was no more, and Fairy Tail was back where it was meant to be.

Laxus stood at the top floor balcony, hairs greying slightly and wrinkles begging to settle in. He now had to wear a pair of spectacled that, despite Freed saying they gave him a mature handsomeness, Laxus thought made him look old before his time. His bones ached ever so slightly, but he would be damned if he let body deteriorate even slightly, so his strong form remained. As did his loud sense of style, as shown by the fur-lined coat that he wore like a cape, draped over his shoulders.

He watched the stage from where he stood, where his lover was playing for the enraptured crowd. Freed too was aging, and although the hair dye was hiding the most of it, the frown lines were forming and Laxus took delight in pointing it out. But he was still beautiful. Still the most handsome man Laxus had known.

And he could still play a tune beautifully, and Laxus always loved listening to him.

Once the music subsided, and the crowd of drinkers applauded, Freed walked to the back of the stage. After a few moments he had walked up the staircase to the top level of the bar, standing beside Laxus. The blonde automatically wrapped an arm around Freed's shoulders, pulling him close and enjoying the feeling of the man by his side

"Good show," Laxus complimented, leaning over and pressing his lips against Freed's head.

Many patrons of Fairy Tail knew of their relationship, and they also knew that they shouldn't have any problems if they want to come back. That meant that, while they would never be overly public with their affections for one another, they never felt the need to hide it entirely.

"Thank you," Freed smiled. They remained quiet for a moment, before Freed spoke again with nonchalance. "My father was killed yesterday."

Laxus froze, then looked down to his lover with wide eyes. "Shit."

"Yes," Freed agreed.

"You okay?"

"I think so," Freed said after a moment's thought. "Rather him than me. It's not like I particularly cared for the man."

"How did you find out?"

"The prison sent me a letter explaining what happened," Freed said, leaning on the banister and looking over Fairy Tail's patrons. "Apparently he was in constant arguments with another inmate, they both saw themselves as heads of the prison I think. Apparently tempers flared, someone managed to sneak in a weapon, and my father was found with his neck cut in his cell. Apparently the public release will be next week."

"You gonna go to the funeral?" Laxus asked, resting his head against Freed's.

"I don't think so. Most of the people there will see me as a traitor who caused his death," Freed chuckled. "Besides, he was dead to me many years ago. I'll hardly grieve, so why would I need to heal from it."

Laxus thoughts for a moment, looking down at Freed's emotionless face. "You sure you're okay?"

"I am," Freed nodded. "It's not as if I lost anyone important to me. I've still got you, and your grandfather and everyone here. That's all the family I've ever had, and I expect it's all I'll ever need."

"If you're sure," Laxus agreed. "I'll get you a drink."

"Thank you," Freed smiled at his lover, pressing his lips against Laxus' softly.

Laxus walked to the private bar that was only accessible to the staff. He picked out two glasses, filled them with their favoured drinks and returned to Freed. He handed the man his port, while taking a sip of his own whiskey as he leant against the man again, looking over the tavern's main hall.

In that moment, they were two kings, looking over their empire with pride. Neither man could think of anything better.

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 6

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes, blood

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

“St. Roch, Louisiana. We’re staying in our own backyard”. Flag was reading from a tablet; as we were taken through a long hallway, leading from the cellblock, to what seemed to be a large garage.

I had a guards pistol aimed at me, as it’s owner followed my every move, with cold eyes.

I had spent the rest the day before, trying to wrap my mind around my new situation.

I was officially a prisoner at Belle Reve – a high security penitentiary, in the sweatiest asscrack of the Louisiana swamps. I was there for the kidnapping and assault of judge Jeremiah Kelper. 

The assault and maiming had been of such a horrible nature, that I was committed to this facility, without trial. My conviction was a formality, as I apparently confessed to the guards of Belle Reve, the night of my arrival.

I was to serve life, without parole.

There was no mention of the incident in Wayne Tower in my file.

Unofficially, I was the newest member of Task Force X, a top-secret group of meta-humans, and people with exceptional skills, required to complete missions of a classified nature.

These individuals also happened to all be convicted felons, and the scum of the earth.

There was Floyd Lawton; a.k.a. Deadshot. The man who never missed a shot. During dinner – sloppy joes, yum… – he’d shown me a picture of a cute 8 year old girl, who had his eyes.

“She’s a bit older now, writes me every day. She just got an A on her biology report!”, he’d exclaimed proudly. It was clear Floyd loved his daughter, more than anything.

Killer Croc – Waylon Jones. He was huge, terrifying; and made me feel safer than I had in weeks, just by his presence. Croc – as he insisted on being called – had won me over, by calling me cher’.

I’d talked to him about Sammy, and recounted some of the trucker stories he’d told me.

After Croc’d told me he’d once eaten a truckdriver, he said: “I’m glad it wasn’t your boss. He seems like a decent guy”.

I’d been surprised by the gentle and kind demeanor of Chato Santana; or, Diablo, as they called him. I’d seen a videoclip on the news once, of him torching a group of inmates at a prison he was held at. I thought he’d be a hothead – pun intended – but he turned out to be calm and remorseful about his violent past.

Harley. Now, she was a different story. She was about as calm as a puppy on poppers. She also seemed to have no remorse for anything she’d done, as the sidekick and girlfriend of the Joker. I was equal parts terrified and enthralled by her person.

She’d spent most of the rest of the day, singing lullabies to a picture of a hyena, and doing her nails. Once, she’d disappeared for about an hour, before returning to her former activities, with a satisfied smile plastered over her pretty face.

We soon discovered what Harley had been doing, when the napping Digger Harkness – Captain Boomerang, the australian – suddenly screamed; jumping up and down, scratching at his body.

“Ants! Bloody fire ants!”, he’d yelped with a shrill voice; running towards the bathroom.

He’d returned a while later, shaking his coat, and sending the giggling Harley a deadly look. His arms and neck were covered in tiny and angry red welts; that he’d scratched at for the rest of the day.

This was my new family. I was very aware that none of us had chosen to be here, but it seemed that we were all determined to make the best of it, until such an opportunity arose, that we’d be able to leave.

Apparently, Harley had tried to run multiple times – even having made it back to the Clown; and stayed of the grid for a few months, before arriving back at Belle Reve, with a pair of roller skates, and a taxidermized beaver.

I didn’t know when or if I’d be able to escape; so for now, I decided to settle in.

---

In the middle of the large garage stood a helicopter the size of a tank. In front of it stood six crates; each of our names written on the side of one of them.

The rest of the squad seemed to know the procedure. They opened their crates, and dug through them. Flag paced back and forth in front of us, carrying a machinegun.

“You know the deal”, he hollered. “Three weapons. Two ranged, one for close combat. Croc and Diablo, you are both the exceptions”. No weapons for them, I guessed.

“Oy, colonel”, Digger called.

“No, Digger”, Flag answered, before the aussie had a chance to ask. “Boomerangs do not count as close range, though they can be used as such. You bring two. No more”. Digger cursed under his breath.

They’d all been through this before. I couldn’t help but feel like it was the first day of school, and that I’d forgotten my backpack at home.

“You alright?”, Floyd asked from behind me.

“Yeah”, I answered. “It’s just…new. How do you do this? How do you work for these people, who treat you like shit, and then demand that you risk your lives for them?”. I bent to open my crate, and started going through the equipment in it.

“Look”, said Floyd. “Ain’t none of us here who wants to be here. Except for maybe Harley”, he smiled, and looked at the person in question.

She was swinging an oversized fairground hammer, almost knocking over a soldier who was busy checking out her ass.

“We do this, because we have to, for one reason or another”. He looked at me seriously. “I’m here for my little girl. Every time I finish one of these missions, I’m one step closer to seeing her again; and to show her that her daddy’s not a monster”.

I pulled out my jacket, stood up, and looked at it.

“You find whatever reason you need to do this, but make sure it’s important enough, not just to survive for, but to live for”, Floyd finished, patted my shoulder, and walked away.

I sighed and returned to my crate. I had no idea what in my life was important enough to live for at this point.

I didn’t have a family to protect or impress. That had all ended after Hatter had entered my life.

Sammy… he was a friend, but he’d be better of if I didn’t return. Ever.

That left my cats. But they were fine where they were.

So what?

I was interrupted in my train of thought by Flag, who suddenly appeared next to me.

“Hey. You need to get ready. Liftoff in 10”.

“Sir, yes, sir”, I retorted, and rolled my eyes.

I went behind a tall crate to change into my outfit. Leggings, top, boots, jacket; and finally, my claws. I tested the knives once, against the crate in front of me, carving through the thin metal easily.

Retracting the claws, I went to join the others.

Flag stopped me before I had a chance to enter the chopper with the rest of the crew.

“One last thing, Chess”, he said, and pulled out a strange looking harness, made out of some synthetic material and wires.

“What’s that?”, I asked, skeptically.

“This is an armed device, that will explode, should you decide to… smile, without being ordered to do so, by myself”.

I looked him, dumbfounded. “You’re gonna blow me up if I go invisible?”, I guffawed.

“No”, he answered. “I’ll blow that nano-bomb in your neck if you try to run away. This device will explode on it’s own, whenever its sensors recognize that you are using your powers”.

I shook my head, confused.

“If I’m not here to do that, then why am I here?”.

Flag used a strange key to unlock the harness.

“After what happened yesterday…” he started. I interrupted him.

“You mean when I didn’t run away?”, I spat.

He was unmoved by my exclamation.

“After what happened yesterday”, he repeated, “Waller seems to think it would be better if I take control of when you should… do your thing. You’ll be able to make things you touch invisible, as usual; but you cannot disappear yourself”.

He held up the newest addition to my outfit, to let me put it on.

“From now on, you will be wearing this whenever you are not in your cell. I can disarm the device at any time, for as long as I deem necessary”.

I stepped back, shaking my head.

“No”.

Flag frowned.

“Put it on”, he said, a slight edge to his voice.

“No”, I repeated, and crossed my arms in front of me.

Flag exhaled through his nose.

“Put it on, or I’ll put it on you myself”, he growled. I tilted my head, and raised my eyebrows at him.

“Is that a promise?”, I asked.

He raised his chin, and looked down at me.

“I can have one of GQs men do it”.

I ripped the harness from his hands, and begun to put it on; trying to figure out where each strap was supposed to go.

There were two straps, one going over each shoulder. One strap went around my torso, from my back to my front. Holding it all together, was one last strap, starting from my back, going down between my legs, and connecting with the others, on the middle of my chest.

Flag grabbed the straps in front of me, connecting them to a round disc, with a small red light in the middle. He tightened the harness as much as he could, making me bump against him; and locked the disc with the key.

“You go invisible; you die. You try to take it off; you die. You even think of trying to steal the key, guess what…”.

“I die?”, I jestered.

“You die”, he answered.

I tried to move around in the strange contraption.

“How am I supposed to pee in this?”, I asked angrily.

“We’ll climb that mountain when we get to it��, he answered, and turned his back to me, walking away.

“Old Fashioned”, I called after him. He turned around.

“What?”, he asked.

“If you’re gonna ride me this hard, it’s only polite to buy me a drink”, I said; turned my back to him, and walked away to join the squad.

---

Landing in St. Roch, our first destination was an old gas station just outside of town. It was abandoned by its owners; probably due to the explosions going off less than a mile away.

“You have your orders”, Flag called. “We go in discretely, locate our target, and take them out”.

“It’s probably going to be more complicated than that”, Diablo muttered next to me. Croc growled in agreement.

“You know, Flag, we’d probably be even more discrete, if you didn’t have Y/N here tied up like a Christmas ham”, Floyd smirked at him.

Flag frowned.

“This is Chess’ first mission. Let her find her legs before we throw her into it”, he said. “Let’s head out!”.

“Someone’s got a crush”, Harley said in a singsong voice, skipping past me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, I asked.

Digger chuckled, and followed her.

“She means, he wants a gander at your map of Tassie”, he winked back at me, and took a swig of the can of beer he’d taken from one of the fridges in the small store.

I shook my head, and feeling a machinegun between my shoulders – I was just thrilled that the Tweedles had joined us on this little fieldtrip – I followed the rest of the group.

Sneaking past a checkpoint – Floyd taking out the inhabitants from afar – we made our way downtown.

I heard crying from behind a dumpster, and stopped to see what it was. A young woman was hiding behind it; shaking in fear.

“Are you ok?”, I asked, reaching a hand towards her.

“Chess!”, Flag called, from a few yards away. “Get your ass over here”.

“She might need help”, I said, and stepped towards the crying woman.

She recoiled from my touch.

“No! Please leave me alone!”, she cried.

Floyd came up behind me.

“She’s afraid of us, Chess”, he said. “Just leave her alone”. He went back to the group, who continued down the street, leaving me alone with Flag and the terrified woman.

I backed away from her, a lump in my throat. Turning around, I walked up to Flag, trying desperately to hold back tears. Behind me, I heard the woman get up, and run down the street, away from us.

I looked up at Flag.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her”, I said quietly.

“I know”, he said shortly. “But she doesn’t”. He made to touch my shoulder; but changed his mind, straightened his back, and turned around.

“Let’s go, kitten”.

We joined the others.

“That was quick”, Harley smiled. “It’s ok, colonel. It happens to all men”.

“Lady, I will rip your pigtails off with my bare hands”, he growled at her, stomping to the front of the group.

“Never happened to me”, Croc winked at Harley, who beamed back at him.

Another checkpoint. Digger took care of this one.

Huddling up behind a couple of cars, we finally saw our target. A lieutenant of Ra’s Al Ghul, who had been stirring up trouble, laying the groundwork for a new stronghold for his master. They had chosen to set up shop in the town square; having tied up a group of around 10 hostages to a statue in the middle.

Flag started barking orders in a hushed voice.

“Alright. Floyd, you got the roofs. Keep in radio contact”. It was clear he trusted Floyd more than the rest of the group.

“Croc, see that van? Make sure anyone in it, and in the immediate vicinity of it, don’t have the chance to warn the target”. Croc went down on all fours, and disappeared into a nearby shrubbery.

“Diablo and Digger. I want you on each side of that building. If they do spot us; I want you to bottleneck them into that alley”, he said, pointing in the direction he meant. “GQ, you and your men join them. One on the flame, two on boomer”. Digger scoffed at the nickname.

“Harley; I want you… actually you just do whatever it is you do, without giving the rest of us away”, he sighed at her.

“Sure thing, boss”, she mock-saluted him. “Go team!”.

“You got your orders. Go!”, he finished; and the group scattered, each to their assigned positions.

“What am I supposed to do?”, I asked, feeling slightly left over.

“You stay on me”, he answered, and looked through his binoculars.

A few minutes went by. Hearing a growl from the direction of Crocs assigned post, I saw blood spatter on the inside of the windows of the van.

I heard Harleys voice yelling; “Batter up!”, followed by a clank and a loud scream.

Some of the lieutenants soldiers began scrambling.

“Goddamnit, Quinn!”, Flag cussed. “You! Stay here!”, he growled at me, and ran in the direction of Harleys voice, leaving behind his binoculars. I picked them up, and looked through them.

In the square, the soldiers were rigging up chains and wires around the hostages. Connected to the wires were multiple red sticks I recognized from movies I’d seen. Dynamite.

I looked in the direction Flag had gone. He and Harley were arguing quietly behind a bus.

I looked back at the town square. Our target was walking back and forth in front of the hostages, ranting about something I couldn’t make out.

I tried zooming in with the binoculars. Military tech for the win, I thought, and looked through them again.

In his hand, the lieutenant was holding what seemed to be a tablet. Large numbers read 5:00. The bastard walked up to a teenage boy, who had a stick of dynamite strapped to his chest. He put his hand on his cheek, and said something to him, that made the boy break down in tears. He then pressed a button on the screen. The numbers began to count down.

4:59.

4:58.

4:57…

Fuck!, I thought, and threw the binoculars on the ground.

Reminded of my harness, I rolled my eyes. Ok. So I couldn’t smile. But I did know how to move quietly and quickly. I pulled up my hood, and closed my jacket.

I snuck forward. I heard a gunshot and a grunt behind me, and looked back; seeing an enemy soldier on the ground, a bullet hole right between his eyes. Thanks, Floyd, I smiled up at the roof of a nearby building, seeing Deadshots white hood disappear back into the darkness.

I moved forward again, hiding behind a truck. A stone landed on the ground next to me; and looking in the direction of the thrower, I saw Flag waving at me.

“Get back!”, he mouthed at me angrily. I shook my head, and looked towards the hostages. Continuing forward, I suddenly heard a beep. Looking down, I saw the light on the disc on my chest turn from red to green.

Looking back at Flag – his wrist raised, pushing some buttons on what looked like a watch – I smirked, and nodded at him. Thanks, I thought.

A purr moving through my body; I smiled.

Readying my claws, I ran towards the square. A soldier looked in my direction, having heard my movement, but unable to see me. Oops. Quietly now, I thought, and scaled a car next to him, making as little sound as I could.

I saw Digger and the Tweedles running towards a group of soldiers exiting a building. They finished them of quickly, but not before having drawn enough attention to make the lieutenant aware of their presence.

He yelled something I couldn’t I understand, and dropped the tablet he had been holding.

Gunfire sounded, and I ran faster, making my way to the group of hostages.

I reappeared, startling a few of the hostages who screamed at me.

Picking up the tablet from the ground, I desperately began pushing the screen, trying to make the countdown stop.

2:35.

2:34.

2:33…

There was no way I could stop the detonation.

I spun around, ran to the statue, and began pulling at the wires.

“You’ll make it go off!”, the teenage boy from before shouted at me.

I ran to the back of the statue, finding a simple lock, holding together the two ends of the chain intertwined with the wires.

This I can handle, I smiled, and got out my kit.

I managed to break two of the lockpicks, my hands shaking from the stress of the situation. I looked at the tablet on the ground.

1:01.

1:00.

0:59…

Taking a deep breath, I gave it one more try. Please, please, please!.

The lock opened.

I grabbed one end of the chain, and ran with it around the statue, releasing the hostages. The teenage boy carefully pulled at the tape that held the stick of dynamite to his chest, and put the red stick gingerly on the ground.

“Thanks!”, he smiled at me, and ran. I smiled after him.

An elderly woman was having trouble keeping up with the others.

0:37.

0:36.

0:35…

“Just go on”, she yelled at me.

“No!”, I answered, and ran to put her arm around my neck. Stumbling a few steps forward, the woman was suddenly lifted from the ground, screaming, as Croc – with a smile plastered across his gruesome face – ran to safety, the old woman hanging over his shoulder.

We did it!, I thought, and went to run after him.

Someone grabbed my leg, holding me in place. Looking down, I saw the lieutenant – a gash across his face, and a gunshot to his chest – laughing up at me. His strong hands were holding on to my leg, making it impossible for me to move.

I looked towards the group waiting for me at a safe distance. The hostages were continuing down the street, running towards sirens and blinking lights.

0:15.

0:14.

0:13…

Flag screamed something at me, Edwards and his soldiers holding him back.

I yanked at my leg, desperately trying to get the dying man to let me go.

0:09.

0:08.

0:07…

I lifted my fist and screamed; cutting through my captors arm. He let go with a yelp; and I ran.

0:03.

0.02.

0:01…

0:00.....

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r​

@hyp-oh-critical​

[scribomaniac]

One Step Ahead Ch 10

Read from the beginning here!

“You’re in?” Aelin stared at him suspiciously. “Just like that?”

Rowan nodded, not trusting himself yet to speak.

Aelin opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. She looked like she wanted to push him further, learn what his motives were. But, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, instead she said, “Well then. Let’s get to work.”

Rowan and Aelin re-entered the manor side by side. He was relieved by her lack of questions, unsure how he’d handle any more scrutiny tonight.

When they returned, it looked like no one had moved an inch. There were no open seats left in the room—and even if there were, Rowan would never put himself in such a compromising position—so he leaned against a wall instead. Looking around at the rag tag force Aelin had managed to muster together, he pursed his lips and asked, “So what’s the plan?”

Clearing his throat, Athril leaned forward. “The only way we’ll even have a shot at putting Maeve away is if we have hard evidence putting her in the house the night of the murder.”

Looking over at Aelin, Rowan raised a brow. Sounds easy enough to me, he told her. You’d just have to testify.

Noticing their exchange, Arthil shook his head. “I can’t put Aelin on the stand. For starters she was only a child when it happened. Any good lawyer will argue she misremembered Maeve being there that night, or thought it was Maeve when it was someone else. And then of course there’s the fact that Aelin Galathynius is still considered a missing person.” He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “The only form of identification she has is as Celaena Sardothian.”

“So we’d just have to prove she’s Aelin,” Rowan shrugged. “That can’t be too hard. We’d just have to match her DNA to a sample of her parents.”

“Or to mine,” Aedion shrugged. “Your mom was an Ashryver, so that’d work, right?”

“Look,” Athril snapped, “I’m not putting Adarlan’s Assassin on the stand. I’m taking a big enough gamble as it is. If someone leaks your identity as a wanted killer then we’ll be laughed out of court.” Looking around the room, daring anyone to object, he said, “We need to do this without Aelin.”

“Then tell us what we should do,” the old man in the chair said calmly, though the young man behind him looked like he was ready to start throwing punches.

Aelin stepped forward, her eyes zoned in on Rowan’s, “We need someone on the inside. Someone who can gather intel and evidence.”

Rowan lifted his chin, and Aelin nodded.

“No one is perfect,” Athril continued. “Maeve may have an army of killers and cleaners at her disposal, but there’s got to be a misstep somewhere.”

Westfall raised his hand, as if he were in class about to ask a question, “I’ll keep reviewing the old case files and see if any of the neighbors or staff have anything new to add.”

“This was personal, too,” Faliq added quietly. To the untrained eye, she looked bored as she stared blankly ahead of her. But Rowan could see the intensity behind her eyes. She was planning something. “Maeve might have kept a memento, or a keepsake.”

Aelin walked over to where Rowan stood, looked into his green eyes for a long moment, then reached out for his hand. His fist was clenched, but it wasn’t until Aelin’s fingers pushed his apart that he realized how tightly he’d been holding onto the ring. “I know this is a lot to ask,” Aelin said quietly, too quietly for anyone else to hear. “But you’re the only person who Maeve trusts enough. If I give this to you, if I trust you to take it to her,” the golden ring in her eyes flashed, “can I trust you to help us?”

Heart stuttering in his chest, Rowan couldn’t tear his gaze away no matter how hard he tried. She was trusting him. This girl who had been betrayed so many times—by her family, by Arobynn, by her friends—and she was trusting him. Suddenly the ring in his hand felt much too heavy.

Curling his hand around hers, the ring locked between their grasp, Rowan nodded. You can trust me.

Aelin’s eyes softened. Good, they said.

“Good job, cuz,” Aedion said, standing up suddenly and coming to sling an arm around Aelin, “Sounds like you’ve got everything covered.”

“Not everything,” Havilliard chimed in. Everyone looked back at him. “How do you plan on regaining your family’s fortunes once this is all over?”

Grinning slyly, Aelin said, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

More than mildly concerned, Rowan narrowed his eyes at the young assassin, but didn’t ask. This wasn’t the time or the place.

Rolling his eyes, Havilliard pressed, “Fine, but then what about back up? If Maeve finds out what we’re up to before we get to trial, or tries to off us during trial, we need to be ready, and like Athril said, she has an army of killers.”

“The police will protect us,” Westfall said, so confident and sincere.

Faliq snorted, drawing Westfall’s glare. She raised her hands to signal peace. “Look, the police might protect some of us but definitely not all of us.”

“And some of us don’t need protection,” Aedion grinned, his face almost identical to the one Aelin made earlier but with a touch more teeth. “Besides, we’ve got the Bane to back us.”

Havilliard hummed. Then, ever so delicately, he pulled out his phone and began to type. “If you say so.”

“Hey,” Aedion frowned, “who’re you texting?”

Looking over his shoulder, Westfall sighed and shook his head, “He’s just on Tindr.”

Faliq slapped a hand over her eyes and Aelin laughed.

“What is Tindr?” The old man asked.

Shaking his head, the young man behind him patted him on his shoulder, “I’ll tell you tomorrow, grandpa. It’s late though, let’s get you to bed.” He looked up at Aelin, “We’re done for tonight, right?”

“Yeah, Ren,” Aelin nodded. “Thanks for letting us crash here.”

Rolling his eyes, his responded blithely, “Anytime.”

Once Ren and the old man, Rowan looked around the room. There were only a couple of couches and he didn’t see any blankets or pillow. Holding back a grimace, he resigned himself to a night on the hard floor. “So who’s taking first shift?”

“No one,” Aelin answered him, opening a closet door and pulling out some blankets and pillows. “This house may look like its about to fall over, but Ren’s done a good job with the security system.”

Havilliard got up and stretched. “Besides,” he yawned, “I need my eight hours or else I’m useless come morning.”

Rowan had to wonder if the mayor’s son was truly ever useful.

“Come on, Chaol,” the dark-haired man called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

“I’ll come up in a few minutes,” Westfall went to follow, pulling out his phone, “I just need to call Yrene first.”

Faliq snorted, “A few minutes—yeah, right.” She went to follow them out. “You two have never had a conversation shorter than two hours.”

Sputtering, the police officer blushed a ruddy red, “That’s just—we have a lot to catch up on, okay?”

And then Rowan was alone with the cousins.

Aelin pulled the cushions off one of the couches, throwing them all about the room without a care. Looking at Aedion, Rowan raised a brow.

Aedion sneered back. “What she we do with the Cleaner? Everywhere’s full.” And you’re not bunking with me, his eyes practically screamed.

Crossing his arms, Rowan silently replied, I’m heartbroken.

“He’ll sleep down here with me,” Aelin said simply.

Rowan blinked, looking back at the young assassin and watching her pull on a handle to bring out a pull-out bed.

“What?” Aedion barked, his brows raised. “But he could—”

“What?” Aelin repeated, standing straight to look at her cousin. Placing a hand on her hip, she continued, “Try to kill me? If he’s going to try anything like that then it’s best he’s near me.” Her blue eyes locked onto his green ones. Try anything buzzard and I’ll end you.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, I’d expect nothing less.

“Now go on,” Aelin shooed Aedion out of the room. “You still have to check in on the Bane.”

Obviously unhappy with the situation, Aedion gave Rowan once last glare before heading out.

When Aelin turned back to him, he cleared his throat, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Yeah, you will,” she tossed him a couple blankets.

They spent the rest of the time preparing their beds in silence. Aelin kept trying to fluff up her pillow with no luck.

Laying down on his back, Rowan made sure both Aelin and the room’s entrance were within his eyeline. He didn’t really think Aelin would try to slit his throat in his sleep—she could have done that easily in the car—but there were too many people underneath this roof for him to let his guard down even an inch.

Sighing, Aelin gave up on her pillow and flopped onto her back. “What do you say, buzzard?” She asked, “Light on or off?”

“On,” he replied easily.

Aelin snorted but then rolled over, facing away from him. Staring up at the ceiling, Rowan thought of what tomorrow would bring. He and Aelin would return to the city and part ways. She’d return to her shadows and he would return to Maeve with her ring. He wondered how she’d react. Would she be happy? Would she celebrate him and praise him?

Lorcan would be furious. Connall too, probably. Vaughan wouldn’t care, fully expecting Rowan’s return. Fenrys would make a joke, most likely calling Rowan an errand boy or something equally trivial. Gavriel though, he’d smile kindly and raise a glass in Rowan’s honor.

Chest tightening, Rowan thought of how they’d react once they learned of his betrayal. The six of them had been together for years now. They’d fought together, killed together, helped each other survive. They were a cadre. And even though Gavriel was the only one Rowan could safely call his friend, he would miss them.

He’d been relieved, earlier, when Aelin hadn’t pushed him for a motive. If she had, Rowan didn’t know what he’d say. That he knew what it was like to lose someone you loved? That if he could he’d tear the people responsible apart with his bare hands? No, he shook his head, dispelling the thoughts of a soft smile turned bloody, of dark eyes looking vacantly up at him. Swallowing thickly, Rowan took a deep breath.

“Rowan?” Aelin’s voice, so soft and quiet, called out to him. Rowan blinked, having thought she’d fallen asleep already. “I,” she paused. Then, “Thank you.”

Brows furrowing, he asked, “For what?”

Aelin turned over but didn’t look him in the eyes. “For believing me. For helping me.” Finally, her blue and gold eyes met his, and something inside Rowan’s chest loosened. “Thank you.”

Rowan held her gaze for a few moments longer, then he nodded.

Turning over again, Aelin’s breathing soon evened out. Rowan wasn’t sure if she were truly asleep or if she were just pretending to be and found himself not caring. Closing his eyes, Rowan listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart and let it lull him into a light sleep.

He woke up a few times in the night. First because Westfall was trying to find his way in the dark to what Rowan could only guess was the kitchen for some water. Then around midnight Aedion snuck in to check in on him. The third time was just as the sun was cresting over the horizon, and it was because Aelin rolled over to get out of bed and the mattress creaked.

Looking over at him with a wince, Aelin whispered, “Sorry.”

Dragging a hand down his face, Rowan shook his head, “It’s fine.” He should get up anyway. They had a long day ahead of them. “Any chance I can take a hot shower?”

Aelin nodded, “Yeah,” she stretched, showing a bit of skin along her belly. “The bathroom upstairs works fine.”

Pursing his lips, Rowan was more than a little suspicious at Aelin’s words but left the room all the same. In the light of day, the house looked even worse. Rowan could see scorch marks along the stairs and was pretty sure there was mold growing in the hallway. To his surprise, though, the bathroom was completed rehabilitated with white tile, stainless steel faucets, and even a glass shower. Frowning around at the room, he tried to figure out why this one room was perfectly up to date and untouched by the decay that plagued the rest of the house. Knowing there really wasn’t time to dive into that mystery, Rowan quickly disrobed and jumped into the shower, thanking whatever gods existed for the scalding hot water that came from the pipes.

After finishing, Rowan put his clothes back on and then found some mouthwash to swish in his mouth. Feeling more like a human, he headed back downstairs and found Aelin, Havilliard, and Aedion in the kitchen.

It was surprising to find the mayor’s son up and awake so early. According to his sources, the modern-day prince liked to live a life of luxury and rarely got out of bed before ten.

“Still alive, huh?” Aedion grunted around a mouth full of toast.

Ignoring the pup, Rowan asked Aelin, “What time are we leaving?”

Buttering her own slice of toast, Aelin shrugged, “Once everyone’s up and ready. Before noon. I want to make sure we have on last check in.”

Nodding, Rowan grabbed what he hoped was a clean mug from a cabinet and filled it with coffee. He was just about to sit down when a knock came at the front door.

The room snapped to attention.

“What the hell?” Aedion snarled.

The person knocked again. Louder this time. Footsteps were heavy and frantic overhead.

Havilliard, looking much too relaxed, took a sip of his coffee and asked, “Should someone answer that?”

“That’s not our knock,” Aelin answered, pulling a pair steak knife out from a drawer and handing one to Rowan. “Bane?” She asked her cousin.

Shaking his head, Aedion looked at his phone. “No one could’ve gotten past them.”

Barreling down the stairs, Westfall ran into the room with wide eyes and a gun in his hand. “What’s happening? Are we being attacked?”

The knock turned into a slam, the person on the other side obviously not happy about being left waiting.

“Oh fine,” Havilliard sighed. And then, with a surprising burst of speed, he slipped past the four of them and bee lined it for the door. “I’ll see who it is.”

“Dorian!” Westfall hissed. He reached for his friend but was too late.

Opening the door without a care in the world, Havilliard greeted the stranger. “You’re just in time!”

“What,” Chaol took in a deep breath before continuing, “the fuck, Dorian?”

Rowan stepped forward to see a young woman standing across from Dorian. Her hair was whiter than snow and she barred her teeth at them in an iron-like smile.

“Rutting hell,” Aedion swore, looking pale.

Aelin stepped forward, a glare on her face, and said, “Manon.”

[lyricalimerence]

10 Things I Hate About You • 001

masterlist • 001, 002, 003... coming soon

Chapter One — The Rule

summary: jj & rafe talk w/ the dean, regular expositional stuffs

word count: 1618

warnings: a singular swear word, sexual innuendos & use of euphemisms for terms used in writing smut, allusions to underage drug use.

a/n: i hope this chapter isn't boring 😔 but yALL IM BEYOND EXCITED TO START THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA KDJD

The Kildare County High School of the Outer Banks in North Carolina is a tale of two cities. The Kooks and the Pogues each have their metaphorically crowned Princes and Princesses, and separate castes in their social hierarchies walking the halls. As one Kook Princess, Kacey Brooks, violently rips a poster advertising the Spring Fling dance off the bulletin board, the Pogue Prince, JJ Maybank, and the Kook Prince, Rafe Cameron, are just about to run into each other in the doorway of the Dean’s office.

The Dean is a thin woman with a raspy voice. She’s snappy, vulgar, and in the midst of writing plotless, and pointless, smut into a novel.

JJ is sat on the opposite side of the Dean's desk, starting at the HP emblem etched into the back of her computer, the clacking of the keyboard keys echoed through the office. He knew why he landed himself there, he just wished she would let him go already. She wanted him gone, he wanted him gone, cut out the middleman and let him leave. The Dean wanted to write out graphic ( and disturbing ) sex scenes, and JJ wanted to get to the quad where he could watch Gracie Brooks from afar in between second and third period.

The Dean carefully closed her laptop, her thin, almost witchy fingers treating her creative medium with more respect than she's ever shown the students of Kildare County. Tapping her thick, pink framed glasses up the tanned bridge of her crooked nose, her eyes settled on JJ. He leant backwards in his chair, tipping precariously on its back legs. He looked the same as he always did when he came face to face with the Dean; a heather grey Coors t-shirt with the sleeves cut off draped over his shoulders—the emblem on the center of his shirt was problematic in itself—, navy blue cargo shorts hung relatively low from his hips, but not enough that he was showing anymore than anyone wanted to see, and his black combat boots left black treds on the tile flooring from the rubber soles. Tousled blond tendrils of hair were more or less disheveled than usual as they curled around his forehead, shading his cerulean eyes that were watching the Dean expectantly.

“Alright, Maybank. You’ve been absent the past week.” She picked up the file that was placed next to her closed laptop, a single piece of printer paper sticking out of the manila folder. her eyes scanned the corner of the paper, just soaking in the most surface level information as to why JJ Maybank was sitting in her office—again.

He nodded slightly, just barely dipping his chin in acknowledgement. “Yes, Ma’am. Do you wanna know—” JJ knew their conversation wouldn't last much longer. The Dean wanted him in and out. She had to mark that the student was in her office as part of her job description, but she didn't actually have to offer them advice or discipline.

“That’s enough. I’m sure this will happen again, just don’t be so obvious next time.” The Dean, who JJ knew by first name ( they were that well acquainted ), stood out of her chair to shoo the blond out of her small workspace she grew to call… her imaginative corner. The needy, shit-for-brains teenagers that were in and out of the place all day were ruining the “aura.”

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya, Ma’am.” JJ replied as he turned on his boot-clad heel through the doorway, only to come face-to-face with Rafe Cameron. Rafe Cameron, the Kook Prince in all his Ralph Lauren polo glory. It wasn’t that JJ was short—he wasn’t at six feet tall—, but Rafe had two inches of height up on him. Even in a metaphorical sense, Rafe seemingly always had the upper hand. Whether it was from a financial, familial, or even school performance standpoint.

So, with a pointed glare ( that was returned by Rafe ), JJ stepped through the doorway, eager to rid himself of the Cameron boy's presence before he threw a punch for no reason besides intuition.

The Dean looked up as JJ walked away, leaving Rafe to turn in towards the interior of the office, a smirk that was bound to stick on his face like a silly childhood white lie, pulling at the corner of his lips. “Rafe Cameron,” her scratchy voice drawled as she dropped her clipboard about a foot onto her desk, letting the clattering sound echo. Rafe didn’t bother with the formalities of sitting down, he, like JJ, knew he would be in and out before he could say the words, “Outer Banks.”

“I see we’re making these visits a weekly ritual.”

“Only so I can see you, Ma’am.” His smirk widened into a sarcastic grin. Despite being so, outlandishly different, Rafe and JJ were uncannily the same. Even in ways they wouldn’t be caught dead with another person knowing about. “Should I play our collection of Frank Ocean songs?”

“Very clever, Rage.” She exaggerated her calling him Rage, his name was so close to the word and the word described almost his entire personality. The Dean relished in the irony. She picked up another manila folder, flipping through the papers inside she looked back towards the boy with disdain. “Says here you snorted coke in the cafeteria?”

Rafe sighed, what it said was absolutely the truth, but he couldn’t get by without putting at least a little effort in. “I was joking, I was pretending to do a bump when it was just salt.”

“Salt?” The Dean walked towards Rafe ready to push him out of her office, although the snorting of coke started turning gears in her crude brain. “That had to burn going down didn’t it? Next time, do it in the bathroom. Now, adios!”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Rafe left the Dean’s office, where she was opening up her laptop once more, muttering to herself, “Snorting coke...high sex? Bump, sounds modern.”

. . .

In the heart of the quad, as the wind picked up, blowing the remnants of an oceanic breeze across the grounds of the high school, JJ fell into step with his best friend—John B. Neither had materials needed for class. John B had a piece of paper stuffed into the back pocket of his shorts, and JJ was going off maybe having a pen or pencil in the amalgam of beer bottle caps and the paper with which he handrolls his joints jingling in one of the various pockets in his cargo shorts. Groups of people stand in their own, small congregations. There are the basic beauts—the Kook girls and guys that have nothing going for them besides their looks. Their parents make good money, enough to stay on Figure Eight, the rich side of the island, but not enough for them to be extraordinary in any feat. There are the surfers; they are Cut’s pride and joy. They adorn their lockers with stickers and listen to reggae music in the halls. One of the only groups in school that intermingled between social classes, that is to say the only group that blurred the line between Kook and Pogue, are the stoners. Lots of smoking weed, but sometimes someone can rope in something stronger. Normally, it was cocaine, considering the expansive market for the drug in the Outer Banks.

John B and JJ found another one of their close friends, Pope. The three Pogues were in their own little world, talking amongst themselves about possible storms heading in that would create surges perfect to surf when Gracie Brooks and her best friend, Arianna Chavez passed them. JJ’s attention was immediately caught. He was like a fish and whenever he talked to Gracie, saw Gracie, hell, whenever he interacted with her in any way, he would take the bait on the fishing rod. She was like a magnet, albeit, she didn’t quite return his feelings.

Gracie is one of Figure Eight’s finest. Her mother split a few years ago, and neither Gracie, nor her older sister Kacey Brooks, have told anyone why. Steve Brooks—Kacey and Gracie’s father—is an obstetrician, and one of the very few on the island. That in itself racks in quite the salary for the two Kook princesses to spend.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, as the two girls passed him.

Gracie continued to preach the differences between “like” and “love” via the analogy of her high-top Converse to her Doc Martens. Arianna nodded her head in agreement. While there was just something about Gracie, whether it be her cookie-cutter looking exterior in short dresses or her allusions to a deeper meaning behind her relationships with her shoes, there was also something about Arianna. Before she became best friends with Gracie, she was more outgoing, more talkative, more eloquent with her words, but Gracie’s influence changed that, and if the universe was any indication, it seldom sure that Arianna would revert back to her pre-Gracie self after her influence is gone.

“Dude, you know the rule.” John B said, tugging on JJ’s shoulder as the blond sixteen-year-old almost followed Gracie, like he couldn't help but just be pulled into her wake. It was true, JJ did know the rule. It was widely known that the Brooks sisters Do Not Date. In Kacey’s freshman year, the rule was widely condemned by the male population until halfway through the year something snapped. She was no longer just another Kook Princess with preppy sundresses and vintage Reeboks. Now, all the fuss was on Gracie. Every guy was vying for her attention. She simply relished in the attention, and all JJ could do was pine quietly until graduation. Or, he could meddle. There was always that.

tags: @perkily @mortifiedposts @poguequeen @abigailpankow @curlybrownhairedboys @steverogers123 @outerbankslut @jayjaymaebank @jjssarah @whOreforharry @wowitswondergurl @anonymous0writer @kodi8314 @outrbank @aestheticcraze @kylosleftbuttcheek @x-lulu @dailygrace06 @calswildflower95 @insanitysparkles @prejudic3 @ilovejjmaybank @apoguecalledjj @xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooo @calumbroutledge @rudys-pankow @bxllasanosa @write-from-the-heart @thelocalpogue @fandomsinapile @starkeymarkey @lovingxjj @beatement-l @drew-starkey @beckester @butgilinsky @kayak-huesgen

if your user is in italics then it didn't let me tag you—shoot me an ask or a pm if i typed it wrong or if tumblr is just bitching ✨

if you want to be tagged in the upcoming chapters for this series click here

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 2: where grass was green

SUMMARY: Obadiah is off to Washington to assist with the war in Vietnam, and Peggy and Maria grow closer, as Maria learns something she wishes she didn't. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 [2] 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

November 15, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment

Struggling to find ways to pass the time after the war, Peggy frequented my apartment. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (or, S.H.I.E.L.D., as everyone says to save precious time) has been involved in the fight with Vietnam for a few years now. Obadiah left for Washington right after the Stark Expo to give weapons consult in the war, and I haven’t seen him in almost three months. We would write letters sometimes, and phone even less. I moved into Obie’s apartment to take care of the place while he was away for an indeterminate amount of time, and Peggy crashed in the living more times than she would care to admit.

“Did you love him?” I ask, fixing the two of us another round of Old Fashions. The empty Chinese carryout containers are scattered across the coffee table before us. There’s a good restaurant between the S.H.I.E.LD. Headquarters and the apartment, and Peggy will frequently grab something on the way here.

“I only knew him for a couple months,” Peggy replies, taking the glass. I curl up next to her on the couch, our heads leaning in towards each other. “So it’s hard to say. It could have been. We were both young, thrown together during some of humanity’s darkest days. We were all looking for something to believe in.”

She swirls the glass in her hand, lazily watching the whiskey fall back down the side before continuing.

“What about you and Obadiah? Is this love?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” The corners of my mouth curl downwards on their own. Peggy notices. Peggy always notices.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s more like paradise when he’s gone rather than when he’s here.”

“Why is he your boyfriend if you don’t even like him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I take a large gulp of my Old Fashion, the whiskey burning the back of my throat. “He’s my fiancé.”

Peggy sits up, and my head slides off her shoulder to the cushion of the couch.

“Your what?” She takes my left hand into hers and finds my ring finger bare.

“I keep it in my sock drawer. Whether out of safekeeping or embarrassment, I’m not sure.” I sit up.

“When did this happen? And why did you say yes?” She looks at me with a tight expression, concern and worry on her face. Her red lipstick is all but gone, a faint imprint of it left on the rim of her class, and her usually tight curls hang loose around her neck and chin. If she weren’t so upset, I’d reach out to tuck one of them behind her ear.

“The last day of the Expo. He… He’s comfortable. We have our routine. We play chess together, I straighten his ties, I smile at the men he wants to invest in his company. I get some of the profits for my charities, and we make each other look good.” I frown at the empty glass in my hand and contemplate fixing another.

Peggy sets down her unfinished drink and looks at me. She has a way of effortlessly shifting her gaze from disapproving to comforting in a second. I never know if I’m going to be talking to the “unrelenting founder of S.H.I.E.LD.” Peggy or the “let’s go shopping and day-drinking” Peggy.

“I’m sure there’s a man out there that complements you and makes you feel good. You just-”

“-haven’t found him yet,” I finish her sentence. I’ve heard it from everyone – my parents, coworkers, strangers who learn I’m 23 and still unwed. 24, I remind myself; my birthday was on the fifth, less than two weeks ago. I feel the effects of the whiskey settling in, my eyes growing heavy and my weight shifting to my stomach. “You’re lucky to have experienced two great loves.”

“Daniel is far from a true love, hence why I stay with you the majority of the week. I’m also fourteen years older than you and have had more time to find them. I was 24 when I met Steve; there’s still plenty of time.”

“There doesn’t seem to be many men like Steve left.”

-

Peggy was gone without a word the next morning, and I am left alone with a pounding headache. By the time I wake, its well past noon on Saturday, and the mail’s already been delivered under the door.

I rifle through the envelopes once my toast is done, the coffee pot almost full, and the majority of the mail is addressed to Obadiah. Bills and letters of interest from inventors that I’m supposed to forward to him in DC. There’s a letter addressed to me in his precise, meticulous handwriting, but the one that interests me most is from Roxxon Oil Company, a large, thick packet with “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped across it. Naturally, I open it.

Maybe it’s the lingering hangover or the knowledge that Obie would forgive me for anything under the sun, but I rip open the envelope as I sip on my morning coffee, pouring all its contents out on to the table.

Most of the information doesn’t interest me, talking about drill efficiency and rigs and pipelines, until I find the balance sheet and investing information. I did get my master’s in accounting, as Obie tends to forget as he relegates me to a trophy wife. As I drift back into sobriety, the pieces start falling into place. Roxxon isn’t investing in Stane International; Stane is investing in Roxxon, and they were already profiting, working together, inventing together. The copies of the blueprints are of Obie’s design, seeking to create clean energy to replace gasoline down the road. In the last two years, Obadiah has made hundreds of thousands of dollars, with deposits and withdrawals from countless accounts, and reinvesting it, the paper trail deliberately as confusing as possible. I’d call it embezzlement if it weren’t his own company.

I get a scratch piece of paper and start doing the math. It isn’t adding up. Nothing is adding up, the dates and locations, let alone the cash, with several documents addressed from Russia. I sit up, my heart in my throat, pulsing so hard it feels like the world around me was shaking.

Obadiah is not a sneaky man by nature. I knew that he was interested in me before he realized it; I knew when he was going to ask me to go steady with him; I know when he is on the brink of a great new idea. He tries his best to hide things, but every move of his body betrays him. I’ve caught him sticking things in the back of his closet and under his bed more times than I could count, and I’ve never had the opportunity to check with him there. But seeing as he’s away…

Kneeling, I fumble underneath the bed frame until my fingers find purchase on a briefcase, and I slide it out. I wrestle with the knobs until I realize there’s a four-digit code keeping it locked. Before I mess with the dials, I notice the number. 0213.

“Oh, Obie. Do you have to be so predictable?” February 13th was our first date; he chose the day before Valentine’s Day because he believed the holiday of romance should be reserved for people already together, and he made a spectacle on 14th because we were together at that point, by his logic.

The top of the briefcase pops open at my touch, and inside I find numerous telegram slips, copies of both those sent and received. I sift through them quickly, none of them really catching my eye, filled with code words that I didn’t have the motivation to try to decipher. One of them caught my eye, and this is one of the only times Obie’s over-organization paid off because the telegrams were in chronological order.

RECEIVED

September 21, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., I am glad to hear you secured the trust-fund. Let me know what day you’ll tie the knot, and I’ll tell you where to wire the funds. I might just send you a gift to celebrate.

NEFARIA, G.

SENT

September 28, 1957

To: Nefaria, G.

I’ll be traveling for work extensively the next four months. Please send files to Location 2. She can’t know anything.

STANE, O.

RECEIVED

September 30, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., safe travels. Remember the end goal – the reactor that threatens our future. It cannot be manufactured by anyone but us, for our sake.

NEFARIA, G.

Prior, my heart had felt like it was running a mile a minute; now, it feels still in my chest. Dead in the water, like a stunned minnow tossed in to attract larger fish. “The trust fund.”

I had been courted before for my parents’ wealth. In college, a boy had pursued me relentlessly. He made me feel beautiful, special, and like the only star in his sky. He had convinced me that love was this roller-coaster rush of emotions, one collision after the other, until his dormmate clued me in on his intentions. That’s why I try to keep Obie in the dark about what I’ll inherit, how big my trust-fund really is. Growing up, I was unaware of how good we had it; all my friends in boarding school were from the same social and financial class, we all vacationed at the same spots and shopped at the same boutiques. It took a lot of eye-opening experiences at university for me to realize life was different for others, and it honed my ability to detect insincere motives. Too little, too late, but I won’t let it happen again.

With shaking hands, I put the papers back in their order, and I snap the briefcase closed, pushing it back under the bed with a force. I return to the kitchen table where I had spread the other documents out, collect them, and place them back as they were. I’m not sure if I need to try to seal it to make it look unopened, or if I should destroy the whole thing. He hadn’t asked me about forwarding this one specifically, so he might not be expecting it. Under the documents, I find the letter addressed to me again. Obie’s handwriting hits me differently now. How well do I actually know the sender?

Mar- (God, I hate it when he calls me Mar.)

I am writing to you with success here in Washington DC. We have made valiant efforts with the war. We expect Vietnam to concede soon. Our troops are vigilant and the best America has to offer, and their farmers pose no threat to us or the hope of victory. I expect to return home to you Friday the 15th of November. I’m sorry, darling, that I missed your birthday, but perhaps I can make it up to you.

See you soon at home,

Your Obie

Friday. Today was Friday.

The living room was a mess. Peggy’s and my drinks and dinner dishes scatter the room, the mail on the table, and I look equally disheveled. I know Obie would be disappointed, as the apartment is always speckless when he’s here.

I am a flurry around the house, collecting garbage in the bin and dishes in the sink. I tie the heaping garbage bag and leave it by the door, and rush to check my appearance in the bathroom. A scarf around my hairline will make the windswept, frenzied style look intention, and I change into a simple blue sundress. Obie didn’t have a dishwasher, so I put an apron on to protect my dress from the dishwater.

As I was setting the last glass out to dry, a knock resounded from the front door. I could feel it reverberate in my chest, and my heartbeat pulsed in every finger in my hand. Shaking, I set the glass down, wiped the water off my hands, preparing myself to smile and wine-and-dine the man I’ve already committed myself to.

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels

Member: Yunho

Genre: mellow, lofi cafe feels idk, long-forgotten romance??

Word Count: 1.9k

your eyes were fixated on the laptop screen, a daily cup of white chocolate mocha steaming next to your laptop on the surface of the table. you stretched and took a deep breath.

the holidays were here, snow was falling like cotton outside, but you were sitting here in your favourite cafe, comitting yourself to your work that, though drained you, was inviting enough to keep you occupied in this season. the sight of couples strolling outside was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by the children running around and making footprints in the snow piled up against the sidewalks.

your eyes drifted back onto your computer screen, when the bell that hung on the entrance door of the cafe jingled. the scent of roses drifted through the air, and you weren't sure if you were just being sensitive with your sense of smell, but you started to wonder how come nobody else was reacting to such a strong scent.

It wasn't a scent that not many wore, much less a man who had just entered the cafe -- your eyes reacted to the scent faster than your thought process, finally realising who it was.

you lifted your hands off the table, leaning back in the seat as your eyes traced the shape of his forehead, his browbone, his nose, his lips. you looked back at the screen, then tried to steal a look at him through your lashes, just that this time, he was looking at you too.

"Latte macchiato with spoon of cocoa powder," you heard him order.

Hmm. you hum. still the same order after five years.

He walks over to the table warily, his hands jammed into his coat pockets and his hair now longer but neatly combed up to expose his forehead, browner with more dye. "Still the workaholic you were when you left, i see."

"i was going to stay a workaholic regardless of the people i was with," you leaned forward and offered him a small smile. he pulls out the chair opposite you and sits down.

he smiles back with his eyes. "five years."

"five years," you almost whisper in response. you take a sip out from your own cup. "if you still think it was easy convincing myself to leave back then--"

"no, i didnt think it was easy," yunho shakes his head. "i just wish... i had more power to keep you here. i just wish whatever we had was enough to make you stay, but i guess i was wrong."

he looks you in the eye, gently blinking his tired, jetlagged eyes.

*flashback

you trudged your way back to the apartment, your mind elated but your heart heavy in your chest as you thought about the conversation earlier that day.

"i'll be sending you over to paris to work with chanel on their promotions."

"Huh?" You raised a brow, your hands held behind your back as you watched your boss pack her table and shove some files back into the shelf behind her.

"you've been producing quality work. so, i'm choosing you to go to paris and be our representative to work with chanel on a new contract."

new contract?

"this isn't a one-time business trip?"

"no, it's not. chanel's picky about the collaborations they offer other companies, and the one we got is based on a 7-year contract. If you accept it, you'll be staying in paris for the next 7 years."

you sucked your lips between your teeth and blink at your boss upon hearing the offer.

"i know you're in a serious relationship right now. but you deserved this offer, which is why i raised the topic in the first place. whatever you choose to do with it is up to you." your boss had her palms flat against her desk as she leaned forward and scanned your facial expression.

reality yanks you back to current time, when yunho gets the door of the small house open before you even reach the walkway.

"Oh, you're back! i was about to drive out to get you--"

"yunho," you breathed, picking up your pace as you turned into the walkway. "we need to talk."

yunho blinks at you, unconsciously wrapping his hands around yours as he pulls you through the door.

*now

"do you regret the decision?" you rested your cheek in your palm, looking at yunho's facial features. five years had zero impact on his looks. he still looked as good as the last time you saw him.

"of letting you go to paris?" yunho raised a curious brow, taking a sip from his latte. you nod.

"no," he shakes his head and licks his lips, resting his forearms on the table top and rests some weight on his arms. "you told me at the start of our relationship that your career was top priority, and i said i respected it. i still do."

there he was. the man you fell in love with. his maturity and ability to understand you on a different level was what made you so attracted to him in the first place.

"we both know i wouldn't have been able to stop you anyway."

your brows tilted backwards on your face, and you cocked your head to the side at his words. you felt shitty the week you left yunho, but all you could remember was him telling you to do your best, and that this was what you had been working for. 'you deserve it', he said. he might have been mature enough to respect your decision to pursue your career, but you were the one who chose to leave him, the only man whom you truly loved and wanted to be with.

"yunho, i--"

"no, please," yunho shows you his palm. "don't apologise."

you look down at your closed laptop, rubbing your eyes and running your hand through your hair. yunho finishes his drink and notices that your eyes were a little red, probably from staring too much at your screen.

"where are you staying now? i'll send you. how long are you staying for?" yunho hands you a napkin.

"hotel rendezvous. about 10 days." you take the napkin, knowing that he's already noticed your tiredness.

"okay. let's get you back to the hotel. you're already exhausted," yunho stands up. you remember this tactic of his. it was a power move that made you anxious, that made you pack up and leave with him, so you did just that.

the drive to the hotel was quiet, but strangely comforting. The car was filled with yunho's scent, so you felt like you had just been thrown back five years to when you first started living with him.

time seemed to pass, even when not many words were spoken. it was almost like god was punishing you for choosing your career over yunho. you fumbled through your wallet for the keycard, pushing the heavy door open and holding it, gesturing into the room towards yunho.

"are you sure? You're exhausted, you should be resting and not entertaining a gue--"

"Oh, shut up and get in," you chuckle, leaning forward and pulling him in.

you got your bag off your shoulders, carefully placing the laptop on the table next to the bed. yunho looked around the small, but elegant room while you pulled off your coat and your earrings.

you leaned down to the corner of the table, reaching for the socket switch to turn on your charger as yunho walked to the large sliding door a few steps away, looking out at the snow falling gently onto the balcony.

"how does it look like in paris?" he asks quietly, the warmth from his breath creating a small cloud of vapour against the glass. you stand straight again after checking that your laptop was charging before walking over to the sliding door, shoving your hands into the pockets on your butt.

"oh, gorgeous. especially when it snows. it's beautiful."

you hear yunho give a small laugh through his nostrils.

"you know, i thought about it. i thought about flying to paris to look for you, because i was never able to let you go."

you purse your lips and gulp, a strange feeling creeping up on your chest. it felt like when you first crushed on him and you had no idea if he would reciprocate. it was a feeling of anxiety and uncertainty.

"can i ask you something?"

oh, no.

"okay."

yunho finally turns to look at you, his height suddenly extremely in your face because of the lack of space between the two of you. you were dangerously close to him, so much that the only thing you could smell was the scent of him mixed with the rose cologne nobody else wore.

"do you still love me?"

you freeze at the question. your eyes try to look away, but yunho shifts his head to meet them. you slowly look down at your feet, only for him to tilt your chin upwards to look at him.

"i just need an honest answer."

you sigh, feeling your heart and presence completely melt at his touch. it was light, and gentle, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss it.

You'd be lying straight through your teeth if you said you didn't still think about him every other day, even when you were in paris.

yunho realises that you've gone quiet for a very long time, and he is aware that the only time you do that is when you know a truth you refuse to admit.

yunho closes the gap between the both of you, pulling you closer to him by your chin and kissing you lightly on your lips.

a feeling of nostalgia, warmth, and love overwhelmed you all at once. It had been five. long. years.

yunho pulls away and looked you in the eyes, knowing that there was no other person who could read you better.

"i do," you breathed, as yunho's hands shifted to your cheeks, his cold fingertips right below your earlobes. "i do, and i always will."

a small smile pulls his lips up his cheek, and you could see his eyes welling up with tears before he pulls your face to his again, this time, pressing harder, pressing longer, allowing the both of you to reminisce the taste of each other's lips.

"i'll never let you go again. i let you go once, i'm not letting you go again." yunho presses his forehead against yours, then pulled you into his embrace and burying his nose in your hair. you shut your eyes tightly, grimacing at the warmth and presence nobody else besides yunho could provide you.

"yunho," you were trying your best not to cry.

"hmm?"

"i'm assuming you still love me then?"

you felt yunho laugh a little into your hair.

"i'll love you for the rest of my life, and in the lives after this. no matter where you were, no matter where you will be, you will always have my heart."

A/N: i may or may not have busted a big fat uwu writing this, this might be the softest one shots ive ever written.

[ms-rampage]

WIP-in a day

Tagged by @redangrypears

Tagging: @mc-flurrie @athenalillystar @queenofhollandvalley @mrsladydiana @hoesephseed @gamer-purgatory @oorah22 @thewanderer-000 @strafethesesinners

I enjoy writing alternate universes/timelines with my OCs and other canon characters.

**************

Working at a prison wasn’t always an easy job, maybe not for Katella Winchester because she’s very well liked throughout the prison and with its inmates. 

Because she was always very sweet, and humble with them, and they loved her for it.

She was working at the Montana State Penitentiary in the Psych Ward where she was loved throughout the prison before she was transferred to the Arizona State Prison in Buckeye. Her home state, and she was relieved to be back home, and only an hour drive away from Phoenix, her hometown. 

After a few weeks of working at the prison, she was given a list of patients since most of the Doctors were given a roster to do their rounds, and check on the inmates.

They got transfers of new inmates that day, and Kate along with her fellow colleagues got their updated roster list.

She walks in through the employee entrance being greeted by the two guards. They scan her ID card, and buzz her in. Going over their usual protocol.

She walks down the hallway to the administration office to sign in on the sign in sheet, and her boss, Warden Cromwell approaches her.

“Doctor Winchester?” he calls her.

“Yes Warden?” she responds, turning to face him.

He hands her a beige paper folder, “Your updated roster. Since we're getting more inmates in this morning”. 

She takes the folder from his hand, “Thank you” she responds. 

“I noticed your roster is a lot bigger than the other Psychologists” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Kate lets out a short laugh, “Yeah I noticed that too. Probably because the inmates really like me, and how I do my sessions”.

“Well whatever it is, keep up the good work, and maybe these people won’t go back to their old lives if they get released”.

He’s about to turn around, and leave when Kate stops him.

“Warden?!” she softly exclaims.

He turns to face her, “Yes?”.

“Would it be okay if I have next Friday off? It’s my daughter’s birthday” she says.

“If you can find someone to cover your shift then it's fine with me” he responds. 

He turns around and walks down the hallway towards his office. 

A few hours go by, and Kate is working with her next patient. A new inmate who was just transferred from Montana State Penitentiary.

She walks into the room where she condones her sessions.

A metal table that is almost 4 feet in width, to give a safe distance between her and the inmate. 

Her sessions are always monitored for her safety, but no audio is heard from the guards point of view. 

She enters the room, and takes a seat at the table, waiting for her next patient.

She checks her roster, her 10:30am-11:30am session with a new inmate. 

Flipping through the pages of her folder to check her new patient, and she feels her heart drop when she sees the name.

“What?!” she whispers, feeling like she’s gonna vomit, “No, no this can’t be happening”.

John Seed is the name. An old lover to Kate. They had broken things off a few years back when she was living in Hope County, Montana. 

Him, his brothers Joseph, Jacob and sister Faith ran a cult called The Project at Eden’s Gate. 

To make all this short and less painful, they killed and kidnapped people into joining their cult.

Kate dated John for 7-9 months when she lived in Hope County, then she moved back to Jackson, Wyoming, and when her older sister moved to Hope County, Kate moved back to Montana, where she had another encounter with John, and it wasn’t as good as it was the first time.

A few weeks before him, and his family were arrested. 

They had sex for the last time, and unknown to her at the time. John had put a hole in the condom he used, and impregnated her.

So her daughter Daenerys is the spawn of John Seed, and her 1st birthday is next week.

The last thing she wanted to see was that psychopath, but she’s a psychologist and it’s her job to see those types of people.

She reads through his file. 

Name: John Seed

Age: 34

DOB: 07/27/1986

Place of Birth: Rome, Georgia

Height: 5’10

Weight: 165

Transfer from Montana State Penitentiary.

She gets thrown off when the loud buzzer goes off, the red light, and the metal door on the opposite side of the room opens loudly.

John steps in, wearing an orange prisoner jumpsuit, his hands cuffed together with a guard behind him.

He looks over, and his eyes light up when he sees Kate. He never not once looked away from Kate’s eyes. Like they were locked together.

She can feel her heart pounding against her chest, her palms turning sweaty. Shaking her leg in nervousness. Her anxiety through the roof. The guard releases one of John’s hands from the cuffs, and locks him to the table. 

“I’ll let you take it from here Doctor” he says to Kate.

She nods her head in response, a slight smile and the guard leaves. Leaving the two former lovers together. She looks down at the file, trying to figure out what to say to him that is relatable to her job.

“I never thought I’d see you again Katella” he purrs, leaning over the table towards her.

She clears her throat, “I could say the same about you”.

He leans back in his seat, and chuckles, “Doctor huh?”.

She nods her head, “Yep, okay so, Mr. Seed I’m gonna ask you some questions, and I want you to answer them as honestly as possible. Okay?”.

“John” he says, “You can call me John. We both know who we are. I mean I took your virginity and made it mine”.

Ignoring his last comment, “Okay John, tell me how are you feeling today?. Any negative thoughts?” she asks, going through her usual route with the other inmates. 

“I’m doing great now that I’m here with you” he flirts, "Negative thoughts? Maybe about the lustful things we did in the past". 

Trying her best to stay professional, and not be rude. 

“That’s great to hear. How are you adjusting to your surroundings?” she asks.  Nervousness, and shakiness in her voice.

He cocks his eyebrows at her, and leans forward.

“Let me ask you a question. Is this what they’re paying you for? Sit around and ask questions?”. 

She takes a deep breath, and says slightly aggressively “Just answer the question”.

He raises his eyebrows, and smirks at her, “Feisty huh?. I like that”.

He places his hands on the table, “I’m adjusting greatly. I have my own cell. A comfortable bed, I get 3 meals a day, and I get to see you for an hour everyday”.

Kate gets goosebumps throughout her body, her stomach in knots and she feels like she’s gonna vomit.

She looks down at her questions in her folder, “How do you feel about being here? What could you have done to prevent yourself from ending up here?”.

John laughs softly at her questions, “Katie, darlin, my love. You should know why I’m here. You were there when they took me away from my brothers and sister. There is nothing I wouldn’t have done to keep me out of here”.

Kate sighs, scratches her eyebrow. Looking down at her folder.

“How do I feel about being here?. Hmm? Let me think” he says with his finger to his chin, scratching his beard, “I hate it here. That’s how I feel about it, but the thought of me seeing you everyday makes me love it here”.

Kate is about to ask her next question when John gives her a question of his own.

“How’s the little one?”. His eyes staring intensely at her, almost piercing through her. If looks could kill she'd be dead.

She stops what she’s doing, and looks at him in confusion.

“What?!” she asks, acting like she has no idea what he’s talking about. 

John lets out an exaggerated sigh, “If I can remember. I knocked you up before I was taken away. So how's our little boy/girl?”. 

Stammering over her words, “Oh I-I uh I lost it, at 3 in half months” she lies, her eyes wandering away from his gaze.

Kate was always a really good liar, but she was never able to lie to John for some reason. 

“Bullshit” he snarled at her, “You claimed to be a good liar, but you were never able to pull it off with me sweetheart. So let me ask again, how is our child?”.

She feels herself go pale, her hands go numb and sweaty at the same time. Scratching the back on her neck.

“That must be a lawyer thing” she chuckles, "Detecting lies".

John stares at her with those intense piercing blue eyes. Those same eyes that their daughter had inherit from him.

“Daughter” she mumbles, looking down at her hands.

‘What was that darlin?” he teases, leaning closer towards her.

“We have a daughter, her name is Daenerys, and she turns a year old next Friday” she says. 

He leans back in chair, staring at Kate, and asks “Who does she look like?”. 

A little off that, that's his first question regarding their daughter, “Like me, but she has your eyes” she responds. A slight smile appears on his face. 

“I notice you don’t have a ring on” he says, “Single mother?”.

Kate nods her head in shame, she wasn’t able to keep a relationship because of her job, and with her daughter, they were both her number 1 priorities. She was okay with being a single mom. Her best friend Morgan helped her out, watching over her when she was at work. Sometimes her mom, or her sister Paige, Sarah, Alissa or any of her friends watched over Daenerys.

On her days off she spends time with her daughter, sleeping in and catching up on her tv shows.

He sighs loudly, catching her off guard. “We would’ve been perfect parents. The best parents, our little girl would be spoiled rotten. Maybe along the way I could fuck our next child into you. I do miss feeling that tight little pussy of yours, and you begging me to fuck you into the mattress. Making you sore, and unable to walk properly”. 

Kate clears her throat, feeling a bit uncomfortable, and a bit turned on at the same time. She hates herself for it, she hates herself in general.

She hesitantly asks her next question, “How would you better yourself for those you care about?”.

John raises his eyebrows at her question, and scoffs “Really?. That’s your question?. Okay” he shrugs. Going along with her "little game".

“I would better myself by being myself. But since you asked for those I care about. I would better myself by being a less shittier person, and maybe if I were to meet our little girl. Then maybe I will better myself for her, and maybe for you." He pauses for a moment, and Kate is about to continue with her session asking more questions, and John interrupts her.

"Just to keep in mind, I think I’ll touch myself tonight, thinking about you. I wasn’t planning on it. Imagining me destroying that pretty little tight pussy of yours, making you scream and beg for me”. 

Kate sighs in annoyance, she knows this session is gonna be a long hour of John flirting with her, telling her all the things he would do to her. 

Finally an hour later, 11:30. John's session is complete for the day. 

A buzzer goes off, followed by the red light on the wall going off, and the locks on the metal door make their loud clanking sounds informing them that they’re being unlocked. 

John looks Kate in the eyes and says, “If there were a prison riot, and all inmates ransack the joint. Keep in mind I’ll be coming after you, and I won't stop until I find you, and do God knows what to you. I know how you like it rough, and hard".

He winks at her, before getting taken back to his cell by the guard. Leaving Kate in the room by herself. 

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

Hey you! Ok how about Pedro’s characters and the first time they wink at you. ILY and thank you 🙈

Hey babes! I simultaneously love and hate you for this ask because jfc winking irl is so fucking skeezy but, as with a lot of things I previously thought I despised, when Pedro does it I get a little weak in the knees lol. So now I have an excuse to comb through every gif of him winking. You know. For research. For SCIENCE. (Under the cut, cause fucking HELL. This got loooooong.)

(Gif made by @djjarindin )

Whiskey- On your very first day as a Statesman you make the dubious acquaintance of Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels. You’re standing at the window of your new office, flipping one of your knives in the air idly, when a handsome man in tight blue jeans and a black Stetson saunters in without so much as a by your leave. His grin is lazy, charming, and you acknowledge, in the deepest recesses of your hind brain, incredibly enticing.

“Well howdy there, darling,” he greets, thumbs hooked in the front of his belt, drawing your gaze to- is that a flask on his belt buckle? His mustache twitches up on one side as he notices that your eyes landed exactly where he had intended.

“Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doing playing with those pig stickers? You could hurt yourself with knives like that.” He steps closer to you, one hand leaving his belt to brace against the window next to your head so he can lean further into your space.

“Probably the same thing you’re doing playing with those pistols you’ve got under your jacket or that lasso at your hip,” you reply coolly, not backing away from his intrusion into your space. His raises his and he huffs a laugh through his nose.

“Well touché, kitten.” He bends a little at his knees to catch your eyes better and suggests softly in a voice that 90% of you demands you to listen to, “How’s about you and I get outta here and I can give you a tour of the place? Maybe, show you the ropes?” And he then winks at you.

That last 10% of your willpower has something to say to his blatant attempt at getting into your pants.

You slap him.

Javier Peña- You had been warned by more than one person that feminism hadn’t really made its way to Columbia yet when you accepted the portion to field agent and transferred down to the DEA office in Bogota. It was 1990 however, and you kind of expected the Americans you worked with to at least be a little more on board with the times.

That was on you, men were men it seemed, American or Columbian.

The tall blond who introduced himself as Murphy seemed nice enough, he was friendly and a little distracted, and he sounded almost apologetic as he led you further into the office to meet the other member of your team.

“Well hello there, sugar,” a man a couple of inches shorter than Steve greeted you from where he had been leaning on a desk by the door. He stood up straight and sauntered- there was really no other word for how pants that tight made a man walk- closer to the two of you, a wide smile stretched his mustache over his handsome face and showed off the dimples in his cheeks.

Oh lord. One of those men.

“Javi this is-“ Murphy started, clearly trying to diffuse a potential situation but the man interrupted him, and his hand reached for yours, holding it a little longer than necessary.

“A girl too pretty for your married ass to be talking to, Steve.” He still had your hand in between his two large warm ones and you filed that information away for use at a later, much more solitary time. He had the audacity to wink at you and you sighed and rolled your eyes. Ah well.

“I’m your new partner.” Guess feminism still has some strides to make no matter what the nationality of idiot male.

Ezra- You had been stuck on this interminably brown moon for a week and you were going stir crazy. You and your still new partner had landed in a manner that was less than gentle or correct on this nameless rock, and not only was your landing gear bent at an angle a university mathematician would have trouble describing, Ezra couldn’t get the damn thing to start again. 

You weren’t any sort of mechanic by nature, that was one of the things he brought to the table, so until Ezra managed to repair whatever was wrong with this hunk of junk the two of you were still paying off, you were stuck sitting on your hands doing nothing. You had no particular desire to go traipsing around this rock by yourself, protection was one of the other things the man added to your partnership, as you had learned early in your mining career that that generally did not end well for people like you.

So there you sat, bored, listening to the click and clank of Ezra’s tools as he did whatever it was that you needed to do to get an impulse engine working enough to take off and dock to an FTL vessel. And listening to Ezra’s constant talking.

He was currently telling you a rather long winded, even for him and that was saying something, story about how an old partner of his woke up every morning and sanitized the floor of their pod with antibac spray before he would let any of the other four men set foot on it.

“The gentleman in question was a rather odd duck, badger,” he called out to you from half way inside the pod. “Why, in all my years and in all my travels in the black, I must avow never having seen someone so resolved on keeping the extremities of his associates so unsullied. I never cognized if his time running the stars had finally fractured his wits and this was the inevitable concomitant of a life lived as we do, or if it was a tic peculiar to him for all of his life. Still and all, one advantage I did discover at the conclusion of that particular venture: the bottoms of my socks never have been cleaner.” 

An unexpectedly loud guffaw punched its way out of your mouth and you dropped the flat rock you had been attempting to balance on a piece of the aforementioned broken landing equipment. Unfortunately, Ezra decided at that exact time to shimmy his way out from under your craft and instead of falling harmlessly back to the ground where you had found it, it bounced off of his rather distracting ass on its way down. 

He stopped moving and you were about to apologize, you really hadn’t meant to basically throw a rock at him, no matter how much he annoyed you at times, when you heard his voice float up to you again, a little amused, and a little something else that you had had occasion to notice a few times before but had never thought to classify.

“Badger, did you just take your hand to my ass?” You felt your face flush and wondered if this planet’s atmosphere wasn’t as hospitable to humans as you had thought. 

“What?!” You squeaked, voice cracking when it hit a pitch normally very much out of your range.”No! I just dropped a rock!” You heard him chuckle from your feet and refused to look at him as he shuffled all the way out from under to pod and stood to his full height in front of you. He chucked you under the chin and finally you looked up into his eyes. 

“Because darling, I strongly advocate any physical contact that you might desire to have with any part of my body you so wish, at any time of your choosing,” he told you with a wink.

Catfish- You had moved to Texas to take up residence on the ranch your grandfather had left you, not out of any real desire to take up the cowboy life. You hated how hot it was, you hated how slowly everyone talked, you hated how big the entire goddamned state was, and if one more goddamned truck managed to take up three goddamned parking spaces at the grocery store one more time you were going to throw a temper tantrum that would make all their southern asses wish they had managed to secede. 

That was how you had met Catfish (”No that isn’t my real name; no one but my mama calls me Francisco”). He had been the next asshole in a truck to take up more than what your space conscious Yankee ass had deemed his due. 

“Listen ma’am-”

“Don’t you “ma’am” me, how old are you implying I look?!”

“Sorry, miss, if you’re gonna holler at me, could we step a little further away from the truck? I just got that baby to sleep, and if she wakes up starts cryin’ again, I think I’m gonna start too.”

After a meet cute like that, it was inevitable that the two of you would hit it off as well as you did, and so a year later saw you still in a state that you were convinced was trying to kill you (hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, Republicans, and rattlesnakes???), stretched out on Catfish’s beat up couch, more than a little drunk, and a lot happier than when you had left New York to come here. 

Catfish set both new bottles of beer down on the coffee table in front of you and smiled down at you with that big grin that summoned both the dimples in his cheeks and made you feel like your heart was growing four sizes larger inside your chest. He took off his ever present beat up baseball cap and tossed it on your lap. His hair was simultaneously flattened and a mess and you were sure he couldn’t look more handsome in this moment if he had an army of Hollywood stylists attack him. 

He reached down to he hem of his grey Henley and started to pull it up. 

“Whoa there cowboy!” You exclaimed with a grin, sitting up and plopping his hat onto your head for safe keeping. “I didn’t realize I was getting a show when I came over here!” He stopped with his shirt half way off his torso and looked down at you with an eyebrow cocked. 

“It’s hot as goddamned balls in here, baby, and I’m wearin’ two of these things. One of ‘em at least is comin’ off.” He pulled it off the rest of the way and straightened his first layer that had attempted to escape with its compatriot before reaching down and grabbing his hat off of your head and flopping onto the couch next to you. 

“Hey Fish, how long do you think we have before the baby wakes up?” He shrugged, his head rolling on the back of the couch o face you. 

“I dunno, darlin’, why do you ask?” You bit your lip and smiled up at him, playing with the fingers of the hand he had settled on your thigh. 

“Oh, well, you know how watching you nearly get stuck in your shirts really does it for me.” He groaned and slapped your leg lightly as you laughed. 

“I think we’ve got time for whatever you want baby. Helicopter pilots can go straight up pretty fast you know.” He told you with a wink that you were sure was supposed to be alluring. 

Oberyn Martell- The first thing you consciously noticed about Dorne was that it was hot. This was a kind of inescapable heat that permeated your entire body and made you feel like you were cooking from the inside out. You had never before given much thought to what it would feel like to be put into an oven and roasted alive, but without a doubt this is was that feeling. When you went back home to White Harbor you weren’t ever going to complain about the cold ever again.

The second thing you noticed when you put into port in Sunspear- a city quite a bit smaller than most of the cities of the upper six kingdoms the Manderlys sent your father to trade with- was that no one seemed to be wearing a lot of clothes. Which you supposed made sense because you were positively dying in yours.

You quickly changed into a pair of your brother’s breeches and a loose shirt before practically running off the ship and into the dusty warrens of the Shadow City below the walls of the Martell’s castle, eager to stretch your legs after weeks at sea and eat something other than hard tac and salted meat and fish. You figured you had at least a few hours before you would be expected to accompany your father to the castle to haggle about prices for wood and iron and silks and citrus.

The air only got hotter the further from the sea breeze you walked, and as you meandered the twisting and winding bazaars all you could smell were foreign spices and perfumes. Your head was on a swivel trying to take in the sights and sounds of a market radically different from any you had seen before when you walked into a silk covered shoulder. The shoulder belonged to a man nearly a foot taller than you and you wouldn’t have stood a chance at remaining on your feet if two strong arms hadn’t shot out and wrapped around your waist, dragging you back from your rather embarrassing descent to the dusty street and into a warm solid chest.

“I normally have to put in at least some effort in order to sweep someone off their feet, it must be my lucky day that you seem to have decided to do all the hard work for me,” an amused, accented voice said from above you. You felt every word from where your ear was plastered to the bare skin of his chest, his yellow and orange robes belted loosely enough to leave most of his golden skin exposed. You felt your face flush as you shuffled your feet, trying to get them back under you in a way that would allow you to stand and not fall on your face. The man set you back from him gently and you finally looked up

Your savior was beautiful. There wasn’t any other word to describe a face with deep set, smiling eyes that were so deep a brown you really had to look to distinguish his pupils. His nose was curved and prominent, his jaw covered with the same black hair that was cropped closer to his head than you were used to seeing in the North. And his lips were too pretty for a man. They spread into a smile as his eyes met yours, dimples appearing in his cheeks and you were smiling back before you realized it.

“Now,” he said, eyes still laughing. “You are either the worst pick pocket I’ve ever encountered or clearly too taken with the sights around you to be trusted to walk unescorted.” You hoped he never stopped speaking. His voice was deep and rich and at the same time soft and musical and no one in the woods and wilds where you had grown up spoke like he did.

“Uh, yes,” you stuttered and felt your ears burn as he smiled wider, eyebrows in danger of disappearing into his hair. “I mean, no, I’m not a pick pocket! I just, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, my apologies.” You stuttered stepping further back from him, hoping maybe some more distance would restore your ability to not make an ass out of yourself in front of this handsome stranger. “Thanks for you know,” you featured vaguely at the ground.

“Oh, you’re very welcome for ‘you know’,” the man replied, somehow injecting a completely different meaning to your innocuous words than you had intended. Your face could have been used to light a campfire by now. You needed to get back and get changed before you did something truly stupid.

“Okay, well, um, sorry, again, for walking into you,” you said, backing away. “But uh, I’ve got to, uh, go...” You sort of waved and took off back the way you came, taking care not to run into any more handsome strangers.

You made it back to the ship in time for your father to lecture you about how dangerous it was to just run off in a “city full of wild Dornishmen! Don’t think that because you’re dressed like a man you’d be safe! That ‘sort of thing’ is common here, daughter!” while you dressed in clothes more suitable to both your station and a meeting with the ruling house of the kingdom.

It was somehow cooler within the sandstone walls of the castle, and you amused yourself on the walk up to the raised dais by listening to the different sounds your company’s boots made on the marble floor.

There was a woman sitting on a carved wooden seat and a tall dark haired man standing behind her, leaning indolently against her chair at the top of the steps you and your father stopped at. You listened to your father make the appropriate greetings, hoping that they could come to favorable terms of trade for items and goods they all wanted. And you felt someone staring at you. You looked up at the young woman in the chair as your father introduced you and you smiled and curtsied less gracefully than your mother would have liked. Your father turned his face to the man behind the chair and began to repeat the introduction when a familiar laughing voice interurrupted,

“Oh, I believe we’ve met already, haven’t we, little pick pocket?” Your eyes snapped up from the marble floor to lock onto those dancing brown eyes from earlier this morning. You felt your jaw drop and your face turn what you were sure was a very unattractive shade of crimson as Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne grinned and winked at you.

Din- You had been flying with the Mandalorian and his tiny green baby for about a month when you decided that hyperspace was boring and if you wanted any amusement you would have to take a page out of the little man’s book and make your own fun. You knew that stealing pieces of the ship and hiding them would not be as cute as when the baby did it, so that was out. You weren’t a tall person, but you were still bigger than the green terror so playing hide and seek was pretty close to useless. You were grasping at straws until suddenly it hit you like one of the utensils that the tiny monster liked to levitate around the cabin.

You were going to get Mando to laugh.

You had absolutely no idea how you were going to accomplish this, or even any idea at all what a near silent warrior monk that you were still not a hundred percent convinced wasn’t a droid would find funny, so you decided to just do what you did best; you opened your mouth and let the word vomit out. 

You didn’t shut up. If you were awake and not actively hunting someone, you were talking. The baby seemed to enjoy the new amount of noise and animation, but thus far you had only gotten a few sighs and what you thought were exasperated glares from your adult companion. At least, you figured they were glares. His helmet turned to face you and frankly, you were beginning to even get on your own nerves, so he was almost definitely glaring at you under that beskar. 

This went on for four days straight until one day the three of you were sitting in the cockpit, watching the stars zip by, and you decided to narrate yourself drinking a glass of water. You had just gotten to the swallowing part and were attempting to put into words what that felt like when he turned around to face you. 

“If one more word comes out of your mouth I will cut into into small enough pieces that the baby won’t notice it’s a human that he is eating for dinner tonight.”

You choked. And you definitely spat water all over the visor of his helmet. 

You coughed and stared at him, terrified, not sure if these were going to be your last few seconds as a breathing creature, but sure that if they were you at least had the image of the Mandalorian with water and spit sliding down the front of his helmet to console you. 

All three of you sat in silence for at least a minute before he leaned forward very slowly. You leaned as far back as your seat would allow. 

“That was a joke,” he told you, voice warm despite the crackle of his modulator. “You can’t see it, but I just winked.”

Screw making him mad. You were going to kill the Mandalorian. 

Tovar- This was officially one of the worst ways that you could think of to die. You sure that if you were given a few more minutes, and a few less spears pointed in your face to distract you, you could surely come up with at least five different ways that were, in fact, worse, but right now, this seemed pretty awful and didn’t seem likely to get any better. 

“I need you to trust me,” your companion murmured in your ear, his hand on your wrist, stopping you from drawing one of your long knives. You cut your eyes quickly to his normally laughing brown eyes and then back to the soldiers in front of you. 

“That never works out well for me, Tovar,” you remind him in a quiet hiss. He moves his arm from his side to around your shoulders and draws you close and tight against his much taller body. 

“Good day, gentlemen!” He calls jovially to the five armored men blocking their way on the road. You can hear the wide grin that must be plastered on his stupidly handsome face and you send up a fast prayer to God that he doesn’t manage to get you into worse trouble than you were in already. Or that at least William can manage to get you out of it again. 

“Halt,” the spear man in the middle orders, and Tovar stops walking, forcing you to as well, still tucked into his side. His left hand strokes your arm casually (you note its not his preferred sword hand which gives you some hope that he might actually have a plan), and he leans a bit more of his weight on you than you think is really called for. Is he pretending-

“Why whatever are you fine men doing in the middle of the road? Don’t you know there’s a war on! Shouldn’t you be off fighting that fierce some mercenary army?” You want to stab him. His entire left side is open and unguarded mere inches away from your favorite knife, you could slide the blade in right there between his ribs, you could have the pleasure of puncturing his lung and watching him slowly suffocate. Maybe he would finally stop talking. 

“No one is allowed past this point,” the spear man informed you, still glaring. “Who are you and what is your business here?” The other four soldiers inched closer and you stiffen. 

“Don’t,” Tovar ordered you through his clenched teeth, smile still in place. “I can get us out of this, I just need you to play along.”

“If we get out of this I am going to personally castrate you,” you inform him, a clenched tooth smile of your own on your face.

“Anything to get your hands on my cock, eh?” You elbowed him in that unprotected side you had been eyeing before he tried to bargain with the guardians of the road.

“Oh but surely sir, you wouldn’t hinder a poor man trying to get home to his farm?”The soldier looked extremely skeptical.

“If you’re a farmer, I’m the King of England.” Tovar shrugged.

“Alright, so I’m not a farmer. This rather attractive filly is, however, only paid for for another hour, and I had meant to have my way with her at least twice before my time was up. Surely you can understand my need to make all haste now?”

Nope, not castration. Castration and then you were going to make him watch as you fed his balls to goats.

“Don’t bite me please,” was all the warning you received before Tovar looked down at you, winked, and kissed you, lips surprisingly soft, and incredibly distracting. Maybe the castration could wait for a few hours.

Max Phillips- When the higher ups bring in a handsome new manager to boost sales and productivity you aren’t entirely surprised that every employee gets called one by one into his office for a “chat”. He’s new, it tracks that he’d want to get to know everybody.

You are both anticipating and dreading your own 2:30 appointment with the new boss man, you’re positive that out of all your coworkers your performance has been the most consistently decent since you were hired two years ago, but who knows. This was a new unknown element. His goal might be to shake things up to keep people on their toes.

You hear a ‘come in’ after you knock firmly on his closed door three minutes earlier than your scheduled time, and you find him working at his computer, jacket off, a pout on his lips that were frankly too pretty to be on such a distinctively masculine face, and his shirt sleeves artfully rolled up.

He doesn’t glance at you as he waves at a chair in front of his desk. You sit as instructed, and try as you might, are unable to help staring at him as he finishes whatever it is that requires such attention. You take in the tiny tattoo on his left hand with a little surprise. And you try very hard to ignore the shift and play of the muscles of his forearms under his lightly tanned skin. This is your new boss get a grip, you scold yourself, tearing your gaze away to rest on the shelves behind his head.

He sits back with a sigh and his palms hit his desk.

“I am sorry about that. I honestly hate computers, they’re just so impersonal, don’t you think?” He asks with a winning smile, eyes and attention totally on you now. You return his grin with a small, polite twitch of your own lips and raise your eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Anyways, I just wanted to get to know everybody here, you know? Know the real person behind your employee file! Find out what makes you tick, what gets you excited!” You’re only half paying attention to his spiel, but he garners your full and complete concentration when as he utters the word “excited” and he grins salaciously and winks at you.

You’re a little taken aback. You know you should call HR. At the very least that was thoughtless and at the worst, utterly inappropriate.

You are unfortunately intrigued. You know you won’t be calling anyone about this.

Maxwell Lord- You’d been working for Lord Enterprises for about a year before you were moved up to the top floor. You liked to think you were good at your job, you were a quick typist and resourceful, and you were excited about the bump in pay that accompanied your new position.

After a week of following one of the other girls around and learning the ins and out of the executive offices, you were turned loose and given your own duties and assignments. The very first of those were to take a pile of files from the desk of the most senior of the secretaries and make sure it ended up in the possession of Maxwell Lord himself. You hadn’t heard much about the the big boss one way or another, so you squared your shoulders and after knocking firmly, opened the door and entered his office.

Lord was seated behind a dark wood desk that you thought was probably a bit bigger than strictly necessary. He was in his shirt sleeves, waistcoat stretched over a bit of middle aged spread that he nonetheless wore well. His hair was thick, blond, and immaculately styled, and he was talking animatedly on the phone, gesturing with his free hand and you could see his body vibrating slightly as he bounced his leg up and down quickly.

He was a handsome man, and a lot younger than you had expected him to be. And when he looked up at you as you walked further into his office and smiled brightly at you his attractiveness only increased. His eyes were a deep, dark brown and they shone when two dimples appeared in his cheeks with his grin.

You held up the stack of folders in your hand and raised your eyebrows in a question. He gestured to the desk in front of him and you moved closer to set them gently down in front of the man. You observed him check you out from your hair down to you shoes as you walked closer and were a little surprised when no chauvinistic comment popped out of his mouth. This might have been the 80’s, but you were a secretary and knew that women’s rights only meant that you could earn your own paycheck now.

You nodded at him as you set them down and he mouthed ‘thank you’ as he continued to listen to the droning voice you could now hear over the telephone.

And then he winked at you.

Maybe this job would turn up some opportunities for you after all.

[everamazingfe]

You Can Ride On My Rocket 69 - Chapter Eleven

A Song About Memories

Fic Summary: Jeremy has recently awoken in this strange world, 210 ten years after he was put to sleep, and is now the lone survivor from his vault. Trevor's a radio host from Diamond City who's barely left the station, lonely in his own right and isolated from the rest of the Wastes. When they meet, Trevor finally gets a chance to see the rest of the wasteland like he's always wanted, though Jeremy becomes more of his bodyguard than Trevor does his companion. They meet various people along the way, some being friends like the odd throuple they meet in one of the neighboring city, or foe like a certain Diamond City guard. Both are wary about bringing up their pasts, but the wasteland has a strange way of bringing people together.

Chapter Summary: Jeremy remembers something he immediately wishes he could forget about all over again. Trevor gains a memory he never wants to forget. This chapter's song is "Happy Times" by Bob Crosby.

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Words in this chapter: 4817 Pairings: Jeremy/Trevor, Michael/Gavin/Lindsay, Jeremy/Matt Warnings for this chapter: Minor violence, references to Ian

Notes: There’s a link to the first chapter of this fic as the source of this post! Click it to go read this fic over on A O 3, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site! Also, I still need to go back and edit chapter 10, however I have made the decision to change Detective Nick Valentine into Geoff for this fic.

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Convincing Jeremy to leave the Third Rail and actually go to the Memory Den was a hell of an undertaking, even though he had only had a single drink. He simply did not want to relive any parts of his past, and he wasn’t sure that there was anything *to remember while he was on ice. As far as he was concerned, it was the longest shot in the world, and his aim had never been that good. But the bar eventually had to open up, and the crowd began to file in for Lindsay’s show. He could no longer sit in quiet contemplation as Trevor talked to the trio, so decided to finally listen to the man’s pleading and go. Ultimately, what choice did he have? If he couldn’t remember anything else, Geoff wouldn’t be able to help him and he’d just be back at square one.

“I’m really not sure how I feel about this, Trev.” They were standing inside the entry hall of the Memory Den now, and even in the dim mood lighting Jeremy looked visibly nervous. His hands shook and he was starting to draw blood from how hard he was biting his lip.

“I know. I’m not sure I feel that good about it either, but… What else is there to do?” Trevor asked, leaning back against the wall as he looked over at the other. He was sympathetic, he certainly wouldn’t want to go reliving his own past either, but this had all been Jeremy’s idea in the first place. What had been the point of it all if it just amounted to nothing? “If we learn anything, we’ll know where to go from here.”

Jeremy scoffed quietly, shaking his head. “Where we’ll go is back out into the wastes for days and days of wandering.” That’s all this journey had been so far, and it was wearing Jeremy out. His eyes were gaunt and dark from a lack of restful sleep, and his body ached all over. Trevor wasn’t in much better condition either, even after his week of rest. He could just tell that he was starting to get tired of all of this, and honestly he couldn’t blame him for it. “Okay, you know what? I’ll do this, on one condition.”

Trevor frowned, crossing his arms as he looked down at Jeremy. “What’s that?”

“You do it too.”

The suggestion made Trevor’s frown turn into open-mouthed surprise, and he looked downright offended by the suggestion. “Absolutely not!”

“Then I guess I’m not doing it,” Jeremy said after a moment of contemplation, seemingly unbothered, but Trevor was less than pleased. 

“Why should I have to? I’m not looking for anyone, he’s your husband, and I don’t have some cushy pre-war life to look back on.” Trevor was a child of the wasteland, born and raised in a world that had actively tried to take him out of it from day one. He didn’t have any happy memories to remember, and he made sure to let Jeremy know it. The rant continued for several moments before he was interrupted, cut off by Jeremy turning away and walking down the hall. “Where are you going?”

He paused, letting Trevor catch up to him before speaking quietly. “I was only fucking with you. I wasn’t actually going to make you do it.” It was a poorly executed joke, he should have known that the past was a sore subject for him. 

“How was I supposed to know that?” 

“I don’t know, I just-... You know what? Nevermind, it was stupid. It was a stupid joke.” He paused and took a few breaths, counting to ten. “I’m sorry. Let’s just get this over with so we can get the fuck out of here.”

“Finally, a plan I can get on board with.”

They turned the corner into the Memory Den proper together, surprised to see Geoff already there, speaking to a woman lounging luxuriously on a couch in the back of the room. Her dress was beautiful and clean, something that was rare these days. It came in stark contrast to Geoff’s dingy and tattered trench coat. She waved as they approached, the detective turning to face them as she acknowledged their presence. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Geoff here was just telling me all about you two.” Her eyes scanned Jeremy up and down, and she let out a soft laugh at the way he squirmed. “I was most interested to hear about you, though.” Her voice was sultry and sweet, but she had no interest in seducing anyone into anything but sitting in one of her chairs.

It was Geoff’s turn to wave her off now, hissing a quiet, “Knock it off,” before clearing his throat. “It’s about time you two showed up, what kept you for so long?” he asked, trying to hide his displeasure, but it was hard to do. Early models of synths didn’t have a great handle on hiding their feelings like humans did, they weren’t quite that advanced yet. When they felt something, it showed, and seeing Geoff look so displeased made both Jeremy and Trevor hang their heads in shame.

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you were gonna be here, it kinda seemed like I was on my own until I could remember more about what happened. Plus, I stopped at the Rail to pick up Trevor, and you know how Gavin likes to talk.” The beady and bright eyes of the synth made it very easy to feel like Geoff could see right through his story, like he could just tell that that wasn’t all of it. “And I was uh… I was having some doubts,” Jeremy confessed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he turned his gaze to the floor. 

“Doubts?”

“Like… What if I can’t remember anything? What if this was just a big waste of time?”

The woman behind Geoff laughed again as she stood, approaching Jeremy with swaying hips and tipping his chin up to make him meet her eyes. “With the amount of caps I’m paying her, Dr. Amari better be able to make you remember something. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” She patted his cheek. “You’ll find her downstairs, Geoff’ll show you the way and make the introduction.”

“Yeah, c’mon boys. Let’s leave Irma to her very important work of watching over empty loungers. We’ve got a man to find.” He walked off before the woman could retort, Jeremy and Trevor hurrying to follow.

The basement wasn’t nearly as posh as the main area, furnished with some big computer equipment along the walls and two loungers in the middle of the room. There were some items that made it look like a sort of living area, a bathtub that seemed out of place and a couch held up by burned books, but ultimately it was dingy and dank. Dr. Amari herself was standing at a terminal in the back of the room, looking very professional in a lab coat and slacks, and too focused on her work to even notice them until Geoff started to speak. 

“Amari, I’ve got two new clients for you, but this one,” he paused and clapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, “Is gonna be a tough nut to crack.”

“Oh? Is he now? Please, the two of you, have a seat.” Dr. Amari motioned to the pair of loungers, but Trevor just shook his head quickly, hiding himself behind Geoff. Jeremy himself wasn’t as resistant, walking over to one of the open chairs and walking circles around it to inspect it. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t figure out how it worked, but it looked complex. “Do you not want to?”

“Uh, no, not really,” he answered, following behind Geoff as he moved towards the couch. He sat down next to the synth, hands folded in his lap and eyes on the pods. “Remembering the past… It’s not really my thing.” 

Dr. Amari frowned, but nodded in understanding. “It’s not for everyone. Remembering can be painful, if you have things you’d prefer to leave buried.” She was used to stumbling across rather surprising and upsetting memories, it came with the territory of poking around in people’s heads. But if someone didn’t want those memories to be stumbled upon in the first place, who was she to argue? 

Jeremy gave Trevor a quick smile after he gave up on his inspection of the pods, taking a seat in one of the loungers. The seat was old and worn in from many people sitting in that same position, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Still, he didn’t know what the remembering process itself was going to be like. “This isn’t going to hurt at all, right?”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she began to tap at the keyboard. “No, not at all. You won’t feel anything. Maybe a slight headache, I am probing around in your brain after all, but no worse than a mild hangover. It will fade fast.” With that, the hydraulics hissed and the cover to the pod shut overtop of Jeremy. There was a small television in front of his face showing the ‘please stand by’ symbol that lingered on every channel now, and every sound that came from outside the chamber sounded muffled. Trevor was speaking to Geoff, he could see their lips moving, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. The only voice that came through clearly was Dr. Amari’s, and that was only because she had a mic that broadcast right into the chamber. “How are you feeling?”

Jeremy shifted a little, uncomfortable as he looked out of the chamber at her. “A little cramped… I didn’t know this was part of it.” It reminded him too much of the cryopods, and he’d just never been a fan of tight, enclosed spaces in general. At least he had hope that he would come out from the other side of this having found some answers, though. “I didn’t think it would close like this, I sorta hoped it was just… Not part of it.”

Geoff said something and Trevor laughed, but Dr. Amari cut them a look that had both of them shutting up. “I apologize. I did not realize that you would be claustrophobic, but that should not matter soon.” 

Before he could even ask what that meant, Jeremy’s vision was filled with a white light. It was so blindingly bright that he thought it should hurt, but it didn’t. It was just like if he’d closed his eyes, but instead of black, the back of his eyelids were pure white. When his vision cleared again, he was inside Vault 111.

“Can you hear me?” Dr. Amari’s voice seemingly came from all around him, and he turned around to search for her. “Ah, good. You can. The simulation seems to be stable, but the memories are quite fragmentary. This is the best I could do. Geoff told me what to look for, it only took a little digging. We got lucky with this one.” It felt weird and disorienting to be seeing a memory he hadn’t even known that he had, and Jeremy was certain that when he came out of this he would be feeling a lot worse than if he just had a hangover. “You weren’t awake for long, and the failure of your life support made certain that your conscious mind could not remember it, but your subconscious? There was quite a bit to find in there. You are very lucky.” 

He could see the pods, he could see himself and his husband inside of them, but most importantly, he could see a trio of people standing in front of his husband’s cryopod. “What the fuck?” There were two people, presumably scientists, dressed in lab coats and other protective gear. One of them was a woman, the other a man. There was another man as well, who wasn’t dressed like the two scientists he had with him. He wore something akin to raider leathers and was bald, like Jeremy. The most distinct feature was a scar across his left eye, clear as day. Over the speakers, Jeremy could just barely hear Geoff say, “That’s Kellogg,” but he was far too focused on the man himself for his ears to properly register it. 

The man, Kellogg, pointed at the pod that Jeremy knew held his husband. “This is the one, here. Open it.” The scientists didn’t hesitate in following their orders, the man hitting the manual override as the other got ready for... something. Jeremy couldn’t quite tell what she was doing.

As the pod opened, the man inside coughed as he came back to life. But as one pod thawed, so did some of the others. “Is it over?” he asked, gruff and confused. Hearing his husband’s voice knocked the air right out of Jeremy’s chest. He hadn’t heard it in so long. “Are we okay?” The man stepped out from the pod slowly, and Jeremy could only stare. It really was him, probably in the last moments he was alive. His hair was still as long as the day they’d gone into the pods though the colorful streaks of dye had long faded, and his glasses fogged up from the sudden temperature change causing him to squint behind the glass. His beard had small icicles hanging from it, but they quickly began to thaw and drip water down the front of the vault suit.

The woman smiled kindly, offering a hand of help out to him. “Almost, everything’s going to be fine.”

“Come with us,” Kellogg ordered, his voice considerably less kind than hers. He sounded annoyed and impatient, though he had only just arrived in the vault. 

“What? No, I’m not leaving. I can’t go.” The man looked at the pod across from him in panic, where Jeremy remained in stasis, frozen solid. Or so he thought. “I can’t leave without Jeremy.”

“You don’t really get a choice in that. Now, come with us.” Kellogg spoke as the other scientist reached out, her hand of assistance now firmly on his arm to start pulling him away from the pod despite the insistent protests that only grew louder. “We’re only gonna tell you once.”

“And I’m only going to tell you once. I. Am. Not. Going. With. You.” 

There was no verbal retort from Kellogg, he instead only huffed in frustration before he hit the man over the head with a stun baton. He crumpled in an instant, knocked out cold and bleeding from the impact. Luckily, the scientists managed to catch him before he hit the floor, but only just.

“Let’s go,” the one said, glaring at Kellogg as he adjusted his hold to help support his weight. “At least we have a backup in case you hit him too hard. We weren’t supposed to hurt him, you know.”

Kellogg only shrugged, turning around now to look at Jeremy that was still in the pod. “Doesn’t matter now. Like you said, at least we have a backup. Let’s get out of here. And when’s that other team coming in?” 

“You might as well be one of them, god.” They both cast him looks of disgust before turning, slowly making their way from the cryo-room with the unconscious man in tow.

The scientists were no longer paying any mind to Kellogg, but he didn’t seem to care. He was just as done with them as they were with him. His eyes were also no longer on the empty pod, instead he’d turned around to look at the one across the way. “You… You’re going to come in handy someday, I’m sure. Or you’ll just be another thorn in my side.” He tapped on the glass with the stun baton, tilting his head to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “Let’s make sure you go back to sleep, shall we?”

The robotic voice saying ‘Cryogenic sequence re-initialized’ echoed loudly in Jeremy’s head, and he closed his eyes and covered his ears to try blocking the sound of the pod re-freezing out, though it was unsuccessful. The sounds weren’t really coming from around him, they were coming from inside of his head.

“That’s the end of the memory. But… Wait, there’s something else here.” Dr. Amari spoke now, and when he opened his eyes back up, he was still in the vault. 

There were two scientists at his husband’s pod again, but instead of opening it up to take him out, they were now putting him back in. But he knew now that it wasn’t him. It was a decoy. A fake to convince anyone who came searching that he was still in there. 

That same robotic voice came over the loudspeakers again as the pod sealed back up, but it wasn’t saying the same thing. This time, it was saying ‘Critical failure in cryogenic array. All vault residents must vacate immediately.” 

Jeremy watched as the two scientists looked at each other in confusion, about to write off the announcement as just another piece of vault weirdness, until the pod behind them hissed and clunked as it began to open up. 

“That… That wasn’t supposed to happen, he told us everyone in this vault was dead!” the one said, watching as a cloud of fog covered the floor, the ice hitting the warm air of the vault and instantly thawing much faster than anticipated. She looked to the other in fear, trying to figure out what to do, but this was the only pod that was opening.

“They are,” the other one hissed, busting the manual controls to ensure that the now sealed pod could never be reopened. It didn’t take him too long to regret his words though, as Jeremy fell forward onto the floor, barely able to catch himself in time before his face hit the concrete. He coughed and heaved, lungs suddenly filling with air and every system in his body forced to jump-start all at once. “Shit, go, go!” He grabbed the arm of the other scientist, all but dragging her out of there before Jeremy could get his bearings and stand up. 

“Get me out of here,” the real Jeremy said, his voice strained as he fought back tears. “Doctor, please… Get me out of here.” Trying to process everything that he’d just seen, the truth of everything that had happened in the vault to him, to his husband, but he didn’t feel any better for knowing it. Instead, he just felt worse.

“Are you sure? If there’s something else you’d like to see-”

“Get me out!”

“Amari, please. Just get him out of there.” Trevor’s voice was in his ear now, and he sounded concerned. Scared, even. It made Jeremy’s heart ache as much as his head.

Outside of Jeremy’s brain and outside of the memory chamber, the three of them had been watching the memories unfold through his eyes on Amari’s terminal screen. Geoff had a notepad out and had been jotting down thoughts and observations on the whole ordeal, unphased by Kellogg’s cruelty, but Trevor was quite the opposite. He was in a similar boat as Jeremy, unable to process what he’d just seen but knowing that it made him uneasy. He bit his nails as he listened to keys clacking on the keyboard beneath Amari’s nails, eyes fixed on Jeremy's face to make sure he would actually wake up. The second the pod was open and Jeremy could sit up, Trevor all but launched himself at the other, wrapping his arms around him. Jeremy was in no shape to push him away, just clinging to him and hiding his face as his body began to tremble. 

“That was… That was horrible,” Trevor whispered, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

Jeremy just laughed, but it was dry and without any humor. “Yeah, I… I wish I didn’t remember now.” He lifted his head to look at Geoff, who was still jotting down notes. “Did you find out everything you needed?”

“More than,” Geoff said, flipping his notepad shut and meeting Jeremy’s tear-filled eyes with a smile. “I know exactly what our next step is. Kellogg, he used to own a house back in Diamond City. It’s been abandoned for a while now, but… I think if we can get ourselves in there, we can figure out where he went.”

Trevor stood up then with a soft huff, offering a hand to Jeremy to help him stand as well, pulling him close once they both had. “Doubt it. It’s probably been picked clean by Crazy Myrna by now,” he muttered, “She’s always looking for stuff to sell.”

“Maybe so, but I know he had someone with him when he stayed there that fits the bill of the missing husband. Pretty tall, long hair… Most guys tend to keep it cropped pretty short these days, and no one that tall has come through the city in a long time.” Geoff laughed quietly. “Trust me, it’s always a spectacle when they do. I’ll meet you back there. You two… You two take your time. I’ll talk to security, make sure someone gets stationed there to keep Myrna, and everyone else, out until we can get a look.” He waved at the three of them and thanked Dr. Amari before heading out. 

Diamond City wasn’t exactly far from Goodneighbor, but Jeremy felt like garbage after all of that, and he was sure that Trevor wasn’t exactly up for the journey after all of that either. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed, or maybe get another few drinks at the Third Rail. He couldn’t make up his mind, so he settled on both. “I’m gonna go get us a room at the Rex, can you go get us a few bottles to go from Gav?” he asked, fishing a small pouch of caps from his armor and offering it to Trevor, who swiped it from him without hesitation. They both could use a few drinks.

“Gladly.”

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

They were several beers in each before they decided to call it quits, pocketing the caps and dropping the empty bottles to the floor to join their discarded armor with satisfying clinks. Jeremy wasn’t really feeling much better, his head was still swimming and now his stomach was churning from the alcohol, but at least it was harder to focus on the day’s events and on the newly uncovered memories. And Trevor was definitely having a good time, singing along to the songs on the radio that he knew every beat of by heart. He could’ve listened to that forever without complaint, elbow resting on his knee and chin on his hand as he sat cross-legged on the creaky old bed, eyes closed as he listened to him. 

“Hey Trevor?” he asked softly, opening his eyes slowly. The singing stopped, and Jeremy almost felt bad for interrupting it, but he felt like he had to say what he had on his mind. “I know… I know I was kind of a dick when we first met, and even earlier today, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay-”

“No, it’s not. It’s not okay. You said before that you have no happy memories, that you have nothing you want to remember, and… And I’ve definitely contributed to that, but I also want to change that. Everyone deserves happy memories.” 

Trevor smiled softly, though the words would have been a lot more endearing if they weren’t half-slurred together. But Geoff had always taught him that it was the thought that counts. “What’s your happiest memory, then? I gotta know what to strive for here.” 

“My happiest memory? Shit, I don’t know. Probably… Probably my first kiss? It happened later than it should’ve, not ‘til I met my husband and I was *old by then. Not as old as I am now, but… Older than most people have their first kiss. And he was a real shit kisser at the start too, but… It was still sweet.” Jeremy smiled fondly as he thought about it, swaying back and forth from the good feelings it filled him with. “Pretty much any memory I’ve got with him is my happiest… ‘Til the end, at least.”

He nodded slowly, letting out a soft sigh. “Should’ve seen that coming. Dunno why I even asked.” 

That made Jeremy frown. Trevor never seemed to like it when he talked about his husband like that, but it wasn’t like he was going to stop. His life pre-war was still something near and dear to his heart. “You’ll have that too, one day.”

“Doubt it. Best I can do so far is Ian, and… He’s not really a catch,” he muttered, huffing as he laid down on the bed. It groaned under the shift in weight, and the pillow smelled musty beneath his head. It was a miracle this place didn’t have bed bugs. “But it’s fine, you know? Not like the wastes are meant for finding love. If you make it past twenty without getting bit in half by a Deathclaw or beat down by raiders, you’re doing pretty good. And I think I’m doing pretty good.”

“People aren’t meant to just do ‘pretty good’ though. You can’t survive off of just ‘pretty good.’”

“Can’t I, though?” Trevor asked, propping himself up on an elbow to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “I’m doing fine. I don’t need some pre-war ghoul telling me how I should live my life. Things are different now, Jeremy. If someone’s doing ‘pretty good,’ it means they’re a hell of a lot better than everyone else.” 

They stared each other down for a few minutes, the tension building until Jeremy was the first to look away, reaching down to the floor and grab one last beer. He popped the cap, holding it out for Trevor. “I’m sorry.” The peace offering was rejected, and Jeremy just tucked it into his own pocket instead. “But I still meant what I said. Everyone deserves happy memories, even you.”

“Maybe. But saying that won’t magically give me any.” 

Doing and saying stupid things while he was drinking was a staple of Jeremy’s personality, whatever thought processes that made him only do slightly dumb things while he was sober seemed to disintegrate after a few beers. After four in quick succession, it was just gone entirely. So maybe that was why he set the bottle aside and leaned in, a rough and calloused hand cupping Trevor’s cheek oh so gently as he leaned in and pressed their lips together in the softest kiss he could muster. It lasted for only a moment before he pulled away, smirking a little. “Won’t it, though?”

“God, Jeremy, just… Shut up,” Trevor stammered, sitting up fully now and leaning in to kiss him again. He let his eyes slip shut as Jeremy held his face with both hands, not to forcefully keep him in the kiss but to just hold him, to give him the soft and loving touch that he didn’t even know he’d needed as badly as he did. 

The kiss lasted for quite a while, but it didn’t go further than that. Neither of them wanted, or needed, more than that. Trevor got his happy memory, Jeremy got the satisfaction of knowing the other man now had at least one to look back on, and they both got the affection that they’d desperately craved.

“We should get some sleep,” Jeremy whispered, his forehead against Trevor’s as he reluctantly broke the kiss. He could feel the other’s breath fanning over his face and could see that his cheeks were now bright red, and he was sure that his own were the same way. “C’mon,” he urged gently, moving to lay down and guiding Trevor to lay down with him. 

Trevor was practically in a daze, his mind had begun to shut down as he waited for the kiss to turn forceful and for the other to start pushing him for more, but it never came. Jeremy was nothing but gentle, even as he made him lay down, and they shared a few more sweet kisses before agreeing that it was time to get some sleep. Jeremy’s arms wrapped around the other securely, holding him close and making him feel safe, and Trevor had an arm slung over Jeremy’s middle, face tucked into his chest. It was, hands down, the best sleep either of them had gotten in a long time, the bags under their eyes receding and bodies aching a lot less than they had the night before. Neither of them would acknowledge the other’s reluctance to move away in the morning either, because they both just wanted to stay put. They’d needed this. Better yet, they’d earned it.

“Geoff’s just gonna have to deal with us showing up late again.”

[luminousbeansarewe]

terra infirma

ch 1: courage

characters: original characters, original clone trooper characters, captain rex, anakin skywalker

tags: none

chapter list

tagged: @yourbitchystudentartist​ @vultures-and-scavengers​ @tupdidtherightthing​ ​(message me or reply if you’d like to be tagged!)

*************************************************

Coruscant, Galactic City, Republic Center for Military Operations, 21BBY

Rex was standing in the hangar bay with the sheer exhaustion of war hanging from his very bones. His men were filing out of the shuttles they’d taken down from the massive cruiser that hung in high atmo with a fair amount of its out hull peeling off like an onion skin. But the repair droids were hard at work, he was sure, and the 501st was due for some R&R after chasing Grievous halfway around the galaxy. He was sure the Jedi were getting as tired of tailing the craven cyborg general as he was. 

He’d counted the losses. They’d been less terrible than he’d thought, but still more than he liked. Then again, the only number of KIAs he ever liked to see was zero, and, well. That would have meant no fighting had happened at all. He tucked his datapad away, taking a deep breath as he pulled his bucket off his head and tucked it under his arm. 

If he’d been the type to pray, he would’ve said a prayer at that moment for the longest run of R&R days he’d ever had. But he expected no more than a few at most, at this point. His body would continue, but his spirit was a little burnt out.

Skywalker was approaching him from the shuttle, the last of the troopers having made their way out. The Jedi should’ve been as weary as he was; he’d been losing sleep over their quarry for some time now. But he looked alert, even charged with frustration— no. It was anger. Anger at how many men Grievous had cost him. Anger at how it was the least satisfying goal of his entire career to chase an enemy who had no qualms with simply running away. It might’ve been his ego getting bruised a bit, too, and Rex wouldn’t blame him. It wasn’t very Jedi-like, but the best thing about General Skywalker was that he seemed more like a person who understood other people than one of the distant, inscrutable monks. 

“The siege of Ryloth continues,” Skywalker said, “And Geonosis.” Yes, he was definitely energized, Rex thought. The clone captain tucked his own exhaustion away, for the moment.

“Are they asking us to redeploy soon, sir?” 

“Not yet,” Skywalker replied. “Better get your rest and relaxation in quick, though.”

“Relaxation? I’ll be happy with just the rest part, myself.” 

“Get as much of it as you can. I know this is wearing the men down.”

“Morale does seem a bit low, sir. But I’ll do what I can.” 

“I know you will, Rex,” Skywalker said, finally throwing that sad little soldier’s smile they all knew so well at the captain and clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“Anakin!” came a voice from behind a vocoder from several yards down the bay. The Jedi furrowed his brow as five troopers in matte gray armor sporting red paint detailing started in his direction. As they drew closer, Rex saw that it was commando armor, and they all bore a red teardrop shape on their chest plates amid the other decoration. He also saw that one of them was unusually tall, for a clone, and another one unusually short— and bearing a sergeant’s pauldron. 

“Yes, trooper?” Skywalker asked, unsure if they were the ones who’d spoken to him. The voice hadn’t sounded very much like a clone’s, but nobody else in the crowded hangar was paying any attention.

When the short one removed her helmet, though, the voice made sense. Beneath the bucket was a young woman with very dark tan skin, golden eyes, and a shock of white hair falling out of its bun. Even her brows and lashes were white, which was a little startling. What was more startling was that she was obviously not a clone, despite wearing commando armor. It was also startling that she was beautiful, but Rex wasn’t even processing that part yet. 

“Did you miss me?” she asked, grinning slightly crooked at the General. 

“Sol!” Realization had dawned on Skywalker, apparently, and he returned her smile in kind. “Force, I wondered if I’d ever see you around here again. How are you?” 

“Not bad. Let me introduce you to my squad!” she said, turning to gesture at them. As if on cue, the clones behind her doffed their buckets, too. “This is Stone, Swift, Twofer, and Grip.”

“Hello, troopers,” Skywalker said with a nod. “It’s good to see your faces. So, a commando unit, huh? And you’re Sergeant, I see.”

“Well, the Jedi wanted me to be commander of the 707th, but these guys bullied me into it,” she replied, and her grin became more charming by the minute. The larger clone, Stone, who had long hair tied up into a bun and a faint scar running across his clean-shaven face, smiled and nudged her in the back playfully. Swift, who was bald with a shadow of scruff on his chin and a tattoo of tiny wings on his cheek, rolled his striking blue eyes. Twofer, sporting cuts in his eyebrow, and Grip, who looked the most clean-cut of the lot, just looked at each other and grinned. “We’re Cronos Squad.”

“You’re Cronos Squad?” Skywalker asked, face lighting up with surprise and excitement. “The squad that sabotaged the seismic driver on Dantooine? And took down the Quarran base on Mon Cala? And arguably ended the fighting on Atraken that started a kriffing year ago?” Rex was surprised too, blinking as Anakin named their feats one by one. Oh yes, he’d heard of Cronos Squad. They were right up there with Alpha Squad and the Muunilist 10.

“I will say, it’s not that arguable. We definitely ended things on Atraken,” Grip said matter-of-factly. “And it was long overdue. Our poor vode down there had it rough.” 

“Yanno, I thought General Windu’s showdown on Dantooine would’ve gotten more press than us,” Twofer said, glancing over at Swift, who shrugged. 

“Oh, it got plenty, but the clones seemed more impressed with you lot,” Skywalker said. “Speaking of which, where are my manners? This is Captain Rex of the 501st Legion,” he added, turning towards the clone in question to clap his hand on his shoulder again. “He’s my right hand man. And my left hand man, too, to be honest.” 

“You don’t have a bad rep yourself, Captain,” Swift said. “I hear the 501st is the place to be.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” Rex said a little limply, his eyes flickering between Swift, Skywalker, and Sol. He was oddly nervous. “We certainly do our best.”

“Rex here won’t brag about anything unless it’s to the shinies,” Skywalker chimed in mischievously. “He says bragging inspires them, and annoys everybody else.”

“Is he wrong, though, sir?” Grip asked, his smile good-natured. By now Rex was keenly aware that Sol’s eyes had made a run up and down his figure, lingering on his helmet. 

“Captain Rex,” she began, “may I ask you how you acquired your jaig eyes? That is a rare honor.”

“Oh, uh, well,” Rex stammered, feeling his cheeks start to warm. “They were granted to me by a Mandalorian sergeant on Kamino after the Battle of Thrule.” 

“For an exceptional act of courage, I’m sure.” Her face had gone oddly soft, all of a sudden. “My mother was given jaig eyes, before I was born.”

“Now Sol,” Stone murmured, “we can’t tell the Captain your whole life story right now, or he’ll never make it to the barracks.”

“Um, well when it’s story time, count me in,” Skywalker said, looking with feigned indignation at her. “You never told me anything about your past, Sol.”

“Well, you were always so busy,” she replied rather impishly. 

“Excuses, excuses,” Skywalker tutted. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to the command center before Master Obi-Wan kills me. But I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.” And just like that, his very own general had abandoned Rex to his sudden and inexplicable awkwardness in front of a famous commando squad. Worse, one of them was a pretty girl. 

“Actually, Sarge, we should head up to see General Windu,” Swift said, leaning over towards Sol. “He’s expecting us.”

“That’s too bad,” she replied, still smiling at Rex. “Maybe we can all meet in the mess sometime. After all, you have a year’s worth of stories, Captain. We only have about two months.” 

“Well, I’m—”

“Or we could play bolo-ball, if we get the time,” Twofer suggested, raising his cut brow. Clearly, he’d heard of the 501st’s reputation regarding the one major recreation activity favored by almost every clone.

“Aye, that’ll work too,” Rex said with a relieved sigh of a laugh. He took some reassurance from the insertion of an activity he felt very comfortable with. Not all commandos were this amiable to their non-commando brothers. “My boys are on R&R for a bit. You’re welcome to come down and find us, if you happen to get a break, too.” 

“Count on it, Captain,” Swift said, throwing him a lazy salute. Cronos Squad was also famous, it turned out, for being lax on that sort of protocol. Normally Rex would’ve bristled at that a bit— but this time, he didn’t. The men turned; Sol lingered for a moment. 

“It was nice to meet you, alor’ad,” she said, giving him a nod that reminded him very much of the Mandalorian who’d bestowed on him his jaig eyes. “That just means captain,” she added. 

“Believe it or not, I know that one,” Rex replied with a smile. “But you could just call me Rex, if you wanted to.”

“Rex,” she said, as though she were testing the name out. “Ret'urcye mhi, Rex.” 

And then she turned, trotting to catch up to her squad, one of whom immediately punched her playfully in the shoulder. She pushed him back, then skipped ahead to avoid his rebuttal. Rex watched them vanish through a pair of doors into the complex.

Then, he realized his heart was beating doubletime. He thought he must be ridiculously tired, to have a brief social encounter like that put him in such a tizzy. Immediately he turned on his heel towards the transit tunnel that would take him to the barracks, a ‘fresher with a nice hot shower, and a bed he could collapse onto. He hoped his eyes were shut before he even landed on the mattress.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Fifteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

what’s this?? a chapter for lpg, not 10 day after the last one?? bet your bottom dollar!!

thanks so much as always @thestarwhowishes!! and thanks to all my marvelous readers. i love you all so much. thanks for taking a chance on my weird maladaptive fantasy and sticking around<3

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December 20 - Year of

Nesta hadn't realized Emerie's shop was closing for Solstice, and apparently, Emerie hadn't realized Nesta wasn't celebrating.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, eyebrows raised, as Nesta entered.

"Working."

"The Commander left last night."

"So? I'm not his keeper."

"You don't...you're not going for Solstice?" Emerie frowned, like she couldn't understand.

Nesta shrugged. "I did not grow up with this holiday. I don't care about it."

"But it's fun," Emerie said, bewildered.

Nesta rolled her eyes as she began rehanging coats. She certainly did not classify an hours-long sit-down meal with her sister's in-laws as fun. Last Solstice, in fact, was a contender for Least Fun Night of Her Life.

"Your sisters probably bought you presents," Emerie said, pestering, which was quite unlike her. It was this obsession with Solstice, this worshipping. Apparently, her employer was infected with it as well. "Don't you like presents?"

"I prefer to buy things myself," Nesta said. She never did get the point of surprises. If you chose something yourself you couldn't possibly be disappointed, which she told Emerie.

"You can ask for something."

"Why do you have to wait for Solstice, then?" Nesta said. "If you want something, just buy it. If you have money. And if you don't, you can't celebrate anyway."

"Solstice isn't just about gifts."

"I don't worship your gods," Nesta said carelessly, making her way behind the front desk. She rifled through some of the papers she had on file—they ought to start thinking about spring wear, if they wanted to stay ahead of everyone else. "We should order lighter wear in January. Start putting things on the racks in February. Judging by how much we've sold this month—"

"I'm not very devout," interrupted Emerie.

Nesta looked up from the papers. Emerie's dark eyes were unblinking, her brown face schooled in a different expression from her usual indifference.

"All right," Nesta said.

"I don't go to any temple on Solstice."

"Fine," Nesta said. She didn't care. She had never been to a temple in her life.

"I still celebrate."

"Fine," Nesta said again. "I think we should order lighterwear in January."

"You should come to mine for dinner tomorrow evening," Emerie said.

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

"I was just going to go to the bonfires," she said. "But we could have a proper dinner."

"You're not spending it with your mother?"

"No...I eat breakfast with her."

Eugh. Breakfast with the whole family. Nesta cannot imagine any day deemed worthy of waking up early and then immediately being barraged by people.

"Fine," she said. "Will you look at this? My predictions for February..."

Emerie wasn't religious, as she said. This wasn't a dinner of worship. Or insufferable so-called family—Emerie never pretended to be Nesta's adoptive sister. Just...someone whom she got along with.

That was fine. This wasn't...instead of something else. It was just dinner. She'd had dinner with Emerie before. Before...before she'd started having it with Cassian every night.

This was fine.

December 15 - 1 year after

Their beautiful new archivist walked like a queen: back straight, chin set, stormy grey eyes surveying all that she saw as if considering everything in her path. All that went away when she picked up a book to read, melting like sugarberry ice in the summer, and it was Zeyn's favorite way to see her.

Her posture changed. Nesta always stood like she had a broom tied to her spine—did it not hurt, he wondered, to be like that all the time?—and when she found herself a quiet corner of Sugar Books, she folded into herself, unaware of her surroundings. Sometimes she would even mindlessly tug on a lock of her hair, tug it right out of the precise braid, and it would curl downwards, playing on her lashes—

"You're staring at her again," Maz snickered.

Zeyn snapped his head back to the book he was supposed to be working on. "I am not."

"Hush, Maz," Leyla said. "He's in love. It's sweet."

"It's creepy."

"I am not in love with her. And keep your voice down," he added, lowering his own dramatically. He risked a glance towards Nesta. Whether she was ignoring them or truly couldn't hear, he could not tell.

He wasn't in love with her. He had only just met her. But how could he not stare? She was so perfectly beautiful. Like she hadn't been born, like she'd been expertly made, sculpted by gods.

"You only think she's beautiful because she's High Fae," Maz said, sounding a bit sour.

"That's ridiculous," Leyla said, cutting in before Zeyn could himself. "Nesta is beautiful. But don't worry, Maz, we think you are, too." She winked as she picked up her crate of books and left.

Maz's eyes followed her out of the room.

"I'm sure she meant it," Zeyn teased.

"Oh, shut up. Go back to staring at Nesta."

"I wasn't staring."

"Were so..."

There was no point in arguing. It sounded pathetic, and it felt it, too. But it didn't need to be that way, right?

"Oh, great, there he goes," Maz muttered under his breath as Zeyn stood. "Off to swoop in on the scary pregnant lady."

Zeyn sincerely hoped she hadn't heard that. Nesta didn't appear to like to talk about her pregnancy much. She didn't like to talk to anyone about anything much. She was private to the point of secrecy.

"Good book?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"It's all right," she replied, not looking up.

"Never did read any human-authored stuff much," he said. What was that flicker in her eye? "Maybe you could recommend some to me."

"That's my job."

He laughed. She didn't.

He cleared his throat. "So," he said, trying to find something else to talk about. "Are you excited for Solstice?"

That got her to look up. "You have Solstice here?"

He laughed. "Of course we do."

"No, I mean...the holiday?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't we?"

Nesta looked back down. She closed her book, though. "They don't have it everywhere. In the Summer Court," she added. "They...only celebrate the one in the summer."

"Oh," Zeyn said. "Well...we like to celebrate whatever we can in Sugar Valley." He grinned. "I suppose you've already seen the list of Solstice festivities." Erest, the town councilhead, had been proud to announce it at last week's town meeting. He had hung it on the notice board at the inn, and she was still staying there—although not for much longer, he thought, as Adil definitely had some sort of plans to find her somewhere else.

"I have not," she said.

"Oh. Are you...going back for Solstice? To Prythian?" Perhaps, because she had not realized it was a holiday here as well, she had made plans to leave.

"No. I'm...I don't have anything planned." Something was sitting on the tip of her tongue, behind her red lips, pursed shut. But she didn't let it out.

"Well, you should come to one of the town's celebrations!" An idea clicked into his mind. "I mean, you'll have to come to ours, right?"

"Ours?"

"The Sugar Books celebration. We have a staff party. Solstice Eve."

No one did anything on the day before Solstice, did they? So when he announced to them that they all had to come and pretend like it wasn't only for Nesta, they wouldn't—well, Maz wouldn't be too cross. He doubted the rest of them would mind. Miri would probably even help him plan it.

"Oh. I didn't realize you were...so close."

"We are!" Well, they got along. For the most part. That was enough. "It'll be a lot of fun. You'll come?"

Nesta's eyes darted around the room. She smoothed her hands over her skirts—always a shade of grey, always modest. But not so form-hiding that he hadn't noticed the slight changes in her body over the past month or so. Early pregnancy flattered Nesta. "Sure," she said.

Zeyn bit back his broad grin, not wanting to scare her off. He couldn't stop the excited twitch of his ears, though.

December 21 - year of

This Solstice, Emerie thought, was shaping up to be even less festive than last, which was saying something, because only a few short months before that one, various males in her family had died on the front lines in the war against Hybern.

She had shared a quiet breakfast with her mother, who hadn't spoken too much. Mostly just shot her wary glances. Probably because of the demonic scent all over her.

And now she was preparing dinner to share with that demon.

She didn't blame her mother. Nesta's scent was sweet in the same warding way of venom. Any living being innately knew to stay away from it. And Nesta didn't exactly have a winning personality that encouraged otherwise.

But she did good things for her shop. Emerie liked her for that enough.

Nesta Archeron wasn't a bad person. She didn't deserve to have Solstice alone, even if she didn't celebrate it.

The hair on Emerie's neck prickled when she heard her short raps on the door, but she ignored them. She wasn't scared of her Other employee.

Emerie didn't have much finery, but she did make an effort on Solstice. She wore shoes that were prettier than they were sensible and her hemlines sparkled. A glittering pin kept her braid at the side of her head—her usual hairstyle, but the ornament was only ever worn a few times a year.

Nesta made no such changes to her wardrobe, but she didn't need to. She wore her hair in crown-like knots and braids every day and no matter how drab the grey she wore in her dresses, nothing could dull her beauty.

She had even, Emerie noted, filled out a bit in the weeks she had been here. Her frame, once pitifully thin, had sparked gossip when she had first arrived at camp. Emerie remembered hearing rumors about how the Commander did not feed the High Lady's terrifying sister...

"Happy Solstice," Emerie said.

Nesta grimaced.

Emerie turned so Nesta wouldn't see her roll her eyes. "Wine?" she said, looking over her shoulder.

Nesa's jaw clenched. Her eyes closed. "No," she gritted.

All right, then. Emerie thought perhaps it would be better if she didn't have any, either. She put the bottle down and said, "Don't suppose you saw any of the shows last night." Some of the males put them on—flips and tricks, flying through the air.

"No."

"Neither did I," she said, and she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. That was another thing she liked about Nesta Archeron. She genuinely did not care about anything Emerie's people did. She hadn't liked it at first, but now, seeing her disdain for some of the most respected people in the camps, the absolute apathy she had for the cruel ones who mocked females like her on what was supposed to be a sacred day...

Well. She supposed she had a few reasons to be glad Nesta had decided to enter her shop the day she wandered around their camp alone.

December 18 - 4 years after

It takes an enormous amount of power to winnow all the way across the sea, so on the agreed-upon date, Feyre is to fly to Sugar Valley. Along with her husband.

Things have been much better with her sister over the past month—both of her sisters, actually. Feyre has visited a few times, and Elain came to stay for a whole week. The children had loved that, as Cassian had also managed to spend a few days then.

But she has still not seen Rhysand since that day in September five years ago.

She assumes they—Rhysand and Morrigan—will summon the strength they need to mind themselves in her presence. She doesn't ask for much. Only quiet.

Nicky bounces with excitement all morning, rattling off to Ollie a list of all the things they're going to do "across the sea", courtesy of the stories his aunts and father have spent the past few weeks filling his head with. Avery keeps tapping Nesta's legs and asking when they're going to leave.

Nesta lets them amuse themselves, for the most part, as she double—and triple-checks their bags. Presents for the children that she was instructed to take and keep as surprise until Solstice evening by various townsfolk (some for her as well), clothes, medication for Ollie's lungs—he hasn't needed it in a while, but it never hurt to have it along—some favorite toys, books, the purple cup Avery needs, jars of jam...

All of this, of course, to keep herself busy. Until half past ten, when she hears the knock on her door.

Steeling herself is not particularly easy to do with her children's cries of "I want to open the door!" chorusing around her, but she manages.

Nicky gets there first. He lifts his chubby hand high above his head to reach the doorknob and throws himself at Feyre when he sees her.

"Hey!" she says, laughing as she catches him. "Oh, hello to you, too, Ava!" For Ava has also launched herself at her aunt.

Ollie stays safely behind her legs. He had been excited to see Feyre, but Rhysand, standing behind her, throws him off. He looks up at her, and she smiles down at him reassuringly.

"This is your uncle, Rhys!"

Nesta cannot stop her lip from curling upward. She might deny the relation on her side, but Cassian obviously has not on his.

"Hello," he says, smiling along with Feyre. "Nicky, and Ava...hello, Nesta. You're looking well."

"Hmm."

"And you must be Ollie," Rhys says, bending to his knee, to meet him at eye-level. "Hi. I'm Rhys."

Ollie looks up at Nesta again.

"It's all right," she says to him quietly. "But you can stay with me."

Nesta pulls Avery and Nicky into a hug and tells them she'll see them soon. Rhys holds onto two of their bags and then swoops the pair of them into his arms. With a nod at Nesta, he disappears.

"Ready, Ollie?" Feyre asks him, picking him up and holding him close to her chest.

He nods against her and leans on her shoulder. Nesta grabs the other bags and links her arm in her sister's.

"Let's go."

And they do.

It is, as usual, a most disorienting experience, and Nesta loses her sense of self for a few moments, but Avery's laughing voice brings her back.

She sees Cassian first, holding Ava and Nicky. Ollie squirms out of Feyre's arms to run to him, too.

She feels an arm on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Nesta?"

"Fine," she says to Feyre.

They're in her home, the third one, on the banks of the Sidra. One of the living rooms. Nesta recognizes the stained glass windows, the midnight blues—and, of course, the painted pictures of everyone. Herself excluded, obviously.

She remembers when Feyre had shown her the house. She hadn't mentioned the original Archeron decor, but she hadn't needed to. It had been impossible not to notice, and it still is. Had she expected her to say anything? To ask why?

Perhaps it had bothered her then, but it doesn't now. Nesta has her own house. Contrary to what her sister believes, not everyone you know by blood or happenstance needs to hold an intimate place in your heart, a spot of honor on your walls.

"Nesta? Are you sure you're all right?"

Nesta looks up at Cassian. His smile from seeing the triplets has dimmed. "I'm fine." She clears her throat. "Where can I put our things?"

"Oh, well, actually...we'll take a carriage."

She could swear Cassian bites his lip—in nervousness?

"All right," she says, giving a little shrug. The townhouse doesn't include much better memories than this place, but she guesses it'll be better. At least they'll have their own place, at least she won't have to be around all of them for the whole time. "Let's go."

Feyre and Rhysand help them bring their things down where the carriage is waiting for them.

"We're all the way across the sea, Mummy!" Nicky exclaims, rushing to clasp her hand in his.

"We are, angel."

"And we're...we came the whole way!"

"The whole way."

"For Solstice!"

"Mm-hm," Nesta says, keeping an eye on Avery pulling Ollie along.

"Where are we going now?"

"We're going to take a short ride," she says, lifting him up into the carriage. "Now you Avery—yes, sit tight. We're going to take a short ride to where we'll be staying."

"Where are we staying?"

"With our aunts?"

"No, we'll—"

"Actually," Cassian cuts in, placing Ollie in, "we're going to my house."

Nesta gives him a sharp glance, but he doesn't meet her eye as he helps her in.

"I didn't know you bought a house here," she says, low so the children can't hear her.

"Yeah, I...I mean, do you want to stay at the townhouse? That's empty now."

"No, no, I'm sure yours is fine. I mean. Is it—have you—?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got beds for them...and you...and there's...I think you'll like it. Close to a park."

No matter how low they talk, all three of them pick up on that.

"We're going to play in the park?"

"Are our aunts coming too?"

"All right," Nesta says, a bit loudly, over them all. "We're going to go to Appa's house first and eat lunch and get settled and then we'll go to the park."

She hides a smile at their answering cheers.

"Where is it?" she asks Cassian.

"Near the Rainbow."

She doesn't particularly like the hustle and bustle of Velaris' city center. Too many people, too loud. Sugar Valley residents can be plenty loud, sure, and all the forgotten gods know that town meetings can be ridiculously stifling, but there are not so many people that Nesta does not know them all by face if not by name.

But she sees the house—Cassian's house—is not too close to the Rainbow. In fact, it's closer to the Sidra. A nice bank, shallow waters. There are some families with small children playing there.

It's styled like most of the houses in Velaris—in fact, it looks a bit similar to the townhouse. She likes the novelty of her blue-boarded house in Sugar Valley, but the maple brown of this one is nice, too.

"Here we are," Cassian says, getting out first, to help them all down. He takes the bags in one hand and Ollie in his other. "Let's go."

The sparsely-decorated inside reminds her a bit of his home in Illyria, but perhaps with a bit more child-proofing done. There are no sharp edges in his living room; the chairs and tables are all rounded, so she doesn't stop the children from rushing off to explore the rooms on the top floor.

"Wow," Nesta says, looking around.

"Do you like it?"

She peers in through a doorway. "You have a proper dining room." She's not jealous. She loves her home. Just...she wishes she had one. It might be nice, one day, when the children are older.

"I haven't got much for it yet."

"I can see that." Beige appears to be the predominant color, which is...interesting. "Why...were you waiting for my sister's Solstice gifts? To match the decor to?" Feyre gives them all paintings every year—or at least, she used to.

Cassian laughs. "No, I was hoping...well, I don't know. I've never decorated a house before."

"You realize how insane that is?" she asks him. "You're nearly six hundred years old."

"I'm not nearly six-hundred years old..." he trails off. They've had this conversation countless times—teasing, gentle, mostly. And then one time, very much not.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. "This is the ground floor. Living room...dining room...kitchen...do you like the cabinets?"

He must be more anxious than she thought. "They're great."

"Do you want to see the upstairs?"

"Sure."

There are four bedrooms. "These two are smaller, so...oh, there you all are!" For the children have made their place in the room clearly meant to be theirs, with little beds corresponding with the colors of the ones in their home in Sugar Valley. "Right. Here's...the master..." He dumps their bags unceremoniously on the floor.

"Nice view," Nesta says, looking out onto the park. She can see the Night Court's mountains in the distance.

"You can stay here," he says. "You know, while you're here."

Nesta turns to face him, blinking. "What?"

"If you want."

"It's your room. It's your house."

"I can sleep in one of the smaller rooms."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I—please, just take it."

She blinks again. "All right." If he wants her to...

"Mummy!" Avery calls as she runs in. "Mummy, can we have lunch and go play?"

"Yes, ah—you have...do you have food?"

"Yeah, I've gone out and I've got the kitchen stocked...I'll get started, why don't you...settle in?" He leaves her with a parting smile, Avery trailing after him.

Get settled, she thinks. She's not quite sure what that entails, but she decides it includes a few minutes to herself before the overwhelming onslaught of Velaris crashes over her.

---

Chapter Sixteen

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 17 - prt1

17

Keeping up with the tradition, they all wound up back at Lance’s house. Keith and Pidge were bonding with Blue, his cat a ho when it came to pats... on her terms of course. Keith seemed mystified over what to do when a cat sat in your lap. Blue was a traitor, bunting up into Keith’s chin because she was a traitorous whore with no taste. In the kitchen with Hunk, Lance nursed a mug of warm wine mixed with blood, as Hunk baked. He couldn’t stop himself. He needed to unwind and Lance was happy to provide his kitchen for that

“Did you really break your phone, man?”

Lance looked over the rim of his mug

“Yep. Dropped it on my bedroom floor. It shattered on the spot”

“You said we’d talk... I’m feeling kind of left out man”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel left out”

“Ever since Keith came along, you’ve been acting weird. I know sometimes Pidge can be full on, but I thought we were tight”

“We are tight”

“Then what haven’t you been telling me? I’ve told you things I wouldn’t think of telling Pidge”

Lance felt as if Keith had gotten his wish and staked him through the heart

“It’s not like that...”

“Then what is it like?”

The vampire didn’t have a whole lot of options. He could confess he was a vampire and give Hunk a heart attack. He could keep lying, which was clearly hurting Hunk. He could claim Keith was threatening him, but then Pidge and Hunk would want to take things into their own hands... Fuck... He didn’t want to hurt Hunk. Lying really did hurt. His friends were so special to him that he hated having to distance himself... semi lies were as bad as the real thing

“Okay... okay... the truth is I’m not really over being sick. I’m still feeling sick most of the time and I’m not used to having company all the time. I didn’t want to tell you because you worry about me so damn much. I’ll recover, good as new, but I’m supposed to have spent this last week resting up as much as possible. I can’t help myself, I love hanging out with you and Pidge, so when you invite me I can’t say no. I pushed myself a little too hard to fast, but I promise I’m working on getting better”

Hunk’s eyes immediately welled with tears

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because all I need is to catch on some sleep. You and Pidge are my best friends. I want to make as many memories with you as I can. I also had a call that wasn’t great, so that’s been on my mind too”

“A call?”

“A work call. The woman was strung out of her mind, I had to call in a welfare check on her. It’s been exhausting, but nothing a few good nights sleep won’t cure”

“Man... I wish you’d told me. We could have gone back home...”

“It’s okay”

“It’s not okay. If you’re sick, you need to be resting. I’ll tell Pidge while you get ready for bed”

“Dude, I’m okay”

“Please, stop being stubborn! Pidge and I both know you’ve never been really well. You’re always so pale. But you never tell us anything. We’re your friends, we want you to rely on us”

He’d been told that by Hunk before, playing it off as a low immune had bought him about a years worth of silence on the matter

“I do. I love you guys like family. That’s why... that’s why it’s so hard. We’ll watch what Pidge filmed, then head to bed”

“Absolutely not. I’ll have dad come pick us up. Keith can crash at mine for the night”

“You don’t need to do that”

“I don’t need to, but I want to. Let me help”

Passing Keith off was a terrible idea. Keith didn’t mix well with others. If he snapped anything was likely to come out... but what Lance wouldn’t give for a night without having to worry about waking Keith

“His brother Shiro should be swinging around tomorrow to pick him up. It’ll be fine, it’s only one more night. Plus, if we don’t watch the film now we won’t be able to watch it all together as a group”

Sure, most of Keith’s face was hidden behind the mask but Lance could tell all his expressions from the way his muscles moved. His brain told him that at any rate. His imagination must have been filling in the blanks automatically based on what he knew of Keith’s personality

“You need rest”

“I’ll be resting on my chair. Nothing strenuous happening, other than being in trouble with Pidge for talking. We’ll watch the video, pick out what to keep and what to edit, then I’ll go straight up to bed”

Hunk sighed, picking up the closest tea towel off the kitchen bench as he did

“You better. I’ll still have dad pick us up. And you need to answer your phone”

“I only have my work phone and the home phone”

“Exactly. Two other ways of calling”

“I can’t promise I’ll hear them, but if I see you’ve called, I’ll call back. Deal?”

Holding his hand out, Hunk took it, his handshake firm

“Deal. Don’t go around worrying me like that, man. I’m still recovering from tonight. Did you see that grey stuff?”

“It was the light off the camera. From having the viewfinder open and in night mode. That’s my bet. That combined with dust. Anyway, anything haunting that place would have made themselves scarce thanks to Pidge. I wouldn’t want to be a ghost and on the wrong side of her”

“I thought she was literally going to blow steam from her ears. She was so cranky”

“Especially when Keith tripped. I thought she was going to go turn him into a ghost on the spot”

Lance snorted as he smiled. Keith would be the dopiest ghost. He’d probably actually turn into one, but go around thinking he was human

“So did I. Our little gremlin is viscous. How long do the cookies need?”

“10 minutes. Go on ahead, I’ll be in soon”

“Alright, buddy. Don’t forget to use the dishwasher instead of doing the dishes by hand. Tonight was hard on you too. You deserve to kick back and relax”

“Yep, will do”

Pidge had Lance’s laptop on her lap when Lance headed into the living room

“Pidge! You’re not supposed to be on there!”

Pidge jumped at being sprung in the act

“I was ordering you a new phone. What kind of idiot doesn’t use a lifeproof case?”

“Me when they’re not very lifeproof. You know there’s sensitive files on there”

“Relax. All I did was open the browser. I don’t want to know about your cases”

“That’s beside the point. How you feel if you were one of them. And, it’s not like I can’t buy a new phone from the post office”

“You can, but I’m picking out a good one”

“Nope. No. I just need a cheap one where I can message you guys, take photos of Blue, and watch cat videos”

“Pffft. No. Trust me, you need to embrace the future, no more living in the past. Now, what colour do you want?”

“I don’t care about colour”

“You’re hopeless! Here’s one for $1500”

“Absolutely no way. I can’t justify spending that much on a phone. No. I’m fine with a $120 cheapie”

“You’re not fine and those things are an insult to technology. Help me out Keith”

Keith’s expression said he was in for trouble. Keith would do anything to mess with his life further, including taking revenge by making Lance pay out an unreasonable amount of money. Give it enough time and everything flashy would become standard for much cheaper

“I don’t know if he’s allowed something, or if he’d just wind up breaking it”

“Damn! Nice one. Okay, I’m ordering your phone now...”

“Pidge!”

“... and it’s done. You can thank me later with a shitload of photos of Blue. She’s such a diva. You should make her her own socials”

Lance didn’t love socials. He didn’t love the fakeness. He wished people could see and love the things in them that they might hate because society had made them feel like shit. He only had socials because of Pidge and his Mami. Most of what he posted was of Blue and her perfect little toe beans... with the occasional, less than lady like, tongue blep as she glared at him. He wasn’t putting pressure on Blue to be perfect for an audience

“Seriously?”

“Yep. A new case is coming too. This one should be Lance proof. Do we need to think about putting child safety devices in place?”

“I don’t know, Pidgeon. Do I need to think about digging a shallow grave when I see the price?”

“Maybe... is it for me, or for you?”

“I don’t know yet”

“Then I don’t know either. Hurry up and sit down already, you can have your precious laptop back. I don’t see why you need the desktop set up and a laptop. Both are practically antiques”

“You did both builds last year”

Pidge moaned

“Exactly, antiques. A painful reminder of my youth”

“Keith, do me a favour and punch Pidge in the arm for me. She’s being an idiot”

Keith ignored him, scratching the base of Blue’s back where it met her tail, Blue purring. Everybody in the room sucked. If it worked and did what it was meant to, Lance was fine with it not being the latest and greatest

“Ha! He knows better than to hit me”

“Yeah, because he’s as scared of you as the rest of us”

Pitch ditched a cushion in his direction, that missed him completely

“Rude”

“Merp”

Keith simply snorted at the both of them, Blue was taking up too much of the hunter’s attention. Still, he was going to be the bigger man, no wet food for Blue until she came back and loved him again.

*

The next week of Lance’s life passed slowly. Very fucking slowly in parts. His thirst wasn’t getting better, Keith wanted to fight every day, he didn’t have the energy to keep up with his work, feeling like he was letting all his clients down. Something in his gut was trying to tell him something, and Lance wasn’t sure what it was. He hadn’t heard from Shiro. Keith’s answer to that problem was that Shiro would come back when it was safe. But “safe for who?” was a totally different question. Lance had found that gradually he was getting used to Keith’s presence. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like this kind of uneasy peace. Keith grudgingly ate Lance’s cooking. The idiot had burned toast... in the toaster. It didn’t take a degree to be able to put two pieces in and pull down the lever, but somehow he’d done it. He’d set off the fire alarms, waking Lance, who immediately went into panic mode. Smacking his arm on the wall, he’d burst the blood blister building beneath his skin, smearing blood on the wall, as he swore. Rushing into the kitchen, the toaster was on fire, Lance ripping the cord out the all and dumping the lot in the sink.

Swapping the washing from the machine to the dryer, Lance closed his eyes and counted to 10 before opening them again. He could hear Keith shuffling around in the kitchen. He could hear his phone vibrating on the bench. The way his coffee machine slowly came to life told him he had all of 5 minutes before Keith would be all up in his face demanding that they fight. He could be in the middle of vacuuming and Keith would still pop up and demand to fight. He seemed to be working out a style for himself and organising his thoughts as he did. He still hadn’t decided on Keith, but he had to give him some credit. He kept trying and he kept getting back up... He was still to get an actual blow in that Lance hadn’t allowed. Maybe he was sick from Keith continually beating him up? And maybe he was kind of enjoying things more than he let himself believe. Or maybe his defences were lower than normal thanks to still being sick.

“Lance! Message!”

So Keith was his answering service now? Where was that in the terms and agreements of having his house hijacked?

“I know! I heard! Some dick didn’t bring all his washing out!”

“That’d be you!”

Like fuck it was. His lapses didn’t count when it was his house and he was going through stuff. Watching Keith try to wash and live in two sets of clothes was painful, so now he had three sets, plus underwear and socks of his own. He had a whole damn drawer in the spare bedroom, the Hunter basically moved in

“Fuck off!”

So much for his calming breath.

Heading into the kitchen, Keith had coffee made for the both of them. Yeah, Lance would have preferred tea but Keith seemed adamant on conquering the coffee machine

“Who was the call from?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t check it”

Lance raised an eyebrow

“I thought that was your thing, snooping on people’s calls?”

“Very funny old man. You look worse than you did yesterday”

“Isn’t that good for you?”

“No. I can’t learn anything if you’re half dead”

“If only I’d known that all along. I would have been off the hook long ago”

“Ha ha fucking ha”

“Shut up drink and your coffee”

Snatching his phone up, Lance’s chest went tight, his stomach dropped and his knees nearly went with it

“What’s wrong?”

Opening the message recorded, Lance held it to his ear as his hands shook

“Hi, Lance, it’s Sally here. Your grandmother’s taken a bit of a fall. She was awake when we found her, but we’ve transferred her to Platt General hospital. I’m sorry to drop this on you. If you want to give them a call, they might have more information for you...”

Lance’s phone slipped from his hand, Keith catching it before he could break another one

“Lance?”

“I’ve got to go”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t concern you... fuck...”

He was getting teary. His Mami wasn’t as strong as she’d once been

“Hey...”

Brushing Keith off, Lance started scrambling to get ready, his head already dreaming up worst case scenarios. Had his Mami fallen or had it been something more? Had something happened? Was she not telling him something?

Racing out the front door, he made straight for his car. The key didn’t seem to want to go into the ignition, Lance screaming at it in frustration

“Move over, I’ll drive”

Lance nearly told Keith to fuck himself. He didn’t know why he’d followed him out. Sliding across the bench seat, Keith climbed into the drivers seat

“What’s happened?”

“It’s... I need to get to Platt general”

“You’ll have to give me directions. What’s going on? Who’s in hospital?”

“My Mami...”

Whatever smart reply Keith had for that died on the man’s tongue. Giving a nod, Keith got the key into the ignition, the old bronco starting with a rumble.

The drive to Platt was horrible. It passed in a blur as Lance prayed to whoever was out there that it wouldn’t be something major. Barking directions at Keith, Keith copped all his bad mood and worry, the hunter barely parked before Lance was rushing to get out the car. He hadn’t even bothered to clip in his damn seatbelt for the drive

“Lance, take a breath”

“Fuck you”

“Your teeth are fucking showing”

Oh... he was making a vampire face... fuck... he felt like he was about to throw up across his feet. He needed to see his Mami, and Keith’s presence was the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself. The hunter deserved a break

“Do you know what ward she’s on?”

“No. They didn’t say...”

“Okay, we’ll find out together”

Lance should have known Keith knew all about his family. Keeping his hand on Lance’s good arm, to keep him from running off, Keith talked to the woman at the front information desk, finding his Mami’s room with more patience than Lance had. He’d been here before with his Mami, so he should have remembered the way up to the floor, Keith nearly getting them lost because Lance couldn’t stop the flood of tears rolling down his face over the fact his Mami wasn’t dead. Finding the right ward, the nurse at the desk looked up at them like she was perplexed by their presence, telling them that only family was allowed to see his Mami. With choked words Lance explained that he was her grandson and emergency contact, which was apparently Luis on the hospital side of things. It wasn’t supposed to be him. Lance lived the closest, and he was the one who always made time for his Mami. When the woman looked to Keith, Lance explained that he was Mami’s other grandson, Keith not at all comfortable with the sudden promotion to family. Signing in, the nurse led them to his Mami’s room. She’d fractured her hip in the fall, and done a bang up job on her face, Lance nearly face planting as his emotions grew further out of control.

Propped up on pillows, Lance let out a fresh sob at his Mami’s face. Keith telling the nurse he’d call if they needed anything. His Mami looked so frail, far too frail, her complexion washed out, but when she saw him, she was raising her arms towards him

“Oh, Mijo...”

Walking over to his Mami, Lance wrapped his arms around her the best he could

“I’m okay. It’s just the silly head of mine. I got a little muffled”

“I was so scared”

“I know, you’ve always had a sweet heart. But you know it takes more than a fall to stop me”

Lance snorted a laugh, well aware he was snotting on his Mami’s shoulder

“I was still scared. Sally called to let me know”

“She’s got a big mouth, that one. They say I’m off to surgery soon, time for the good drugs”

“Mami!”

His mother chuckled, her strength wasn’t what it was, so Lance reluctantly drew out of her embrace to sit beside her

“Now, enough of that face. It’s a fractured hip, I’ve still got plenty of life in this old bird”

“You’re not old”

“Says you”

“Touché... fuck... I felt like...”

He felt as scared as when his Papi passed

“You didn’t lose me just yet. My face is sorer than the leg. I’m a tough old duck”

“That doesn’t make me feel better”

“That’s because you worry too much. Now, who is your handsome friend here?”

Right. Fuck... He didn’t know if his teeth were still showing... but this was his Mami and he’d never been that great at keeping secrets from her

“This is Keith... he knows...”

“Nice to meet you “Keith He Knows”... I’m hoping you did the driving and not Lance”

“Uh, yes, Ma’am”

His Mami laughed, her slight wince in the corner of her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Lance. She had to be in a lot of pain, despite what she was saying and how she was acting

“Gracious. Where did he find you. Miriam is fine, dear. Now, I know my son is a worrywart, so could be a dear and find him a cup of tea for his nerves?”

“I think I can...”

“Thank you. It’s nice to see Lance is making friends. He’s so insistent that he’s fine alone. I hope you’re a good friend to him”

Keith took the the opening to flee, Lance didn’t blame him. They weren’t friends... he didn’t know what they were

“Mijo, I’m okay. Where did you meet Keith “who knows”?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does when my baby boy is making friends... or is there something you’re not telling you Mami”

Lance groaned

“You sound like Pidge”

“Ah, she’s a smart girl. Sooo... you and Keith?”

“Aren’t like that... He’s a human for one thing”

“And?”

“And a single drop of my blood could change all that, plus, I’m pretty sure he actually hates me”

“Ooooh, my little Mijo is growing up!”

His Mami must have been high

“Mami, he’s a hunter”

“I can see how that could make things difficult... Is he here to kill you?”

How could his Mami sound so blasé about his death?

“He wanted to. But things happened. Now he’s annoying houseguest”

“I hope you’ve been treating him right”

“Mami!”

“Good chinaware and fresh sheets...”

Lance groaned

“Mami, it’s not like that. How can you be so calm?”

“Because I can tell he’s not going to kill you”

“How?”

“Just call it a Mami feeling”

“I think Mami’s feeling high”

“A bit. A bit annoyed this happened before bingo. That Andy Jefferies always wins the good stuff. His walker might have to go for a walk”

“Mami!”

“I’m just saying... oh, never mind. Luis should be here soon”

Fucking Luis...

“Don’t make a face like that, Mijo. He is your brother”

“I know and someone changed me from their emergency contact here”

“Well Luis and Lisa are thinking of making the move here...”

“I’m already here”

“I know you are, dear. But you can’t chase after your Mami forever”

“I’m pretty sure I can. I mean, vampire and that”

Lance injected scoff into his tone. He didn’t want to seem as jealous as he was. He’d always thought he’d had a special bond with his Mami, and the rest of his family all had families of their own... except for Rachel. She’d had a troubled life, thanks to him

“You know what I mean”

“I do, but you don’t get to think that you’re rid of me anytime soon”

“I wouldn’t dream of such freedom”

His Mami was viscous

“Now, give me hug. This old body doesn’t always like cooperating”

[turnupbrock]

Perfectionist- Chapter Two - Colby Brock

This was a requested series by @black-colby-pink “ dude you should write a series, I would read it. “ So that’s what I’m doing. I really hope you guys like it because I like writing it so far and I have interesting plans for it in the future.

Tags list: @absolute-randomness-forever @scottybrock @black-colby-pink @softboybrock @now-imagine @azurebrock @sweetxplr @rewindfridaynight

(Let me know if you want to be tagged :) )

 “What do you have so far?” Reggie asked from across the counter in your kitchen. You and Reggie have been up for the past 48 hours working on getting into the footage and drive for Boarders’. You’ve made some progress on getting into the bouncers list but you weren’t having much luck with security footage. You groaned and dropped your head into your hands, “I’ve tried every hack, numerical formula, letter formula, and both numerical and letter formula to ever exist and nothing has worked yet.” You replied taking your head out of your hands and re-doing your messy bun. You sat silent for a moment thinking about everything that you and the group had went over and the things that you and Reggie had went through. As you sat there, trying to piece all of the parts of evidence that you’ve collected so far, something clicked. “Wait-” you blurted out quickly, rushing back to your computer that you had just stepped away from. Your fingers were quick the fly across the keyboard to bring up the last document you had open. “What? Did you find something?” Reggie’s voice was eager as were his motions. He jumped from his seat and was next to your side in less than a second. 

“Remember the address of Boarders?” You asked as you hurriedly pulled on Colby’s teal jacket that he has had for years that was laying on the counter. “ Uh yeah-” Reggie started before booking it back to his computer, “ 1652 N Cherokee Ave,” he said looking up from his screen and meeting your gaze. You nodded and continued typing when the front door of your apartment opened, Colby and the rest of the friend group filed in. “Anything new?” Colby asked grabbing your hips and pulling you back against him. You didn’t say anything, too concentrated on the computer screen in front of you. “ I’m not sure, she has been glued to that screen for the past five minutes. Asked for the address for Boarders,” Reggie replied over Cassie’s shoulder as he enveloped her into a hug, burying his face in her black hair. Colby looked over your shoulder to see what you were so concentrating on. “What did you find baby?” he asked resting his chin on your shoulder. A small smile crossed his face, “Nice jacket babe,” he whispered. You let out a breathy giggle and nodded you head, “I love this jacket,” you replied. Just as you said that, what you were looking for jumped out at you. You gasped and pushed back against Colby so hard that he almost fell back. He caught his balance on the counter, his eyes wide, “What the hell?” You ignored his question and grabbed your computer bringing it closer to the edge of the counter. 

“ Guys look,” you sputtered out quickly, pointing to your computer screen. Everyone quickly swarmed around you, “What are we looking at?” Devyn asked from behind you. “The address is 1652 N Cherokee Ave right?” Murmured agreements sounded from around you. You waved your hand in front of you in a ‘keep going motion’. Sam’s eyes widened and he snapped his fingers then pointed them at you, “ Kian Lawley,” he said. You nodded your head, “Yes!” you exclaimed pointing at Sam, “ He owns that club and his sisters friend, Noah-” “CHEEKO!” Katrina and Colby screeched out. “Exactly!” You yelled back. “So we go talk to Kian and Noah then, “ Corey said checking the time on his phone. “It’s only 10 pm, we can make it before Kian leaves,” “Okay, be right back. Don’t leave.” You ran into your room without waiting for a response. You quickly slipped on a pair of black leggings and grabbed your phone off of the charger. You ran back to the kitchen, fixing Colby’s jacket that you’re wearing. “Ready?” Everyone nodded their heads and you all took off out of the apartment building. 

 Pulling up at the Night Club three days after the murder was eerie. Not only because you all knew that a gruesome murder had taken place there not too long ago but because of the bright yellow caution tape that was wrapped around the entire perimeter of the Club. Colby threw the car into park as did Corey with his black mustang. You opened the passenger door and stepped out, hugging yourself to try and calm the chill that washes over you. You felt a muscular fall over your shoulder, looking up you can see Colby’s beautiful blue eyes staring back at you. A small smile crossed your face. Colby’s pink lips turned up into a tired smile as he caught sight of your smile. He leaned down to connect your lips for a second, your eyes fluttering closed at the contact. His soft lips danced with yours for a couple of seconds, it was almost as if they had remembered the exact movement to make against one another. All of the worries and chaos that has been taking over your lives for the past three days all melted away. As they did with Colby, neither of you worrying about a murderer, if you guys could find anything, or even if you had slept. Colby had been worrying about you the most. If knew that this freaked you out the most because of the way you were raised. With someone that turned out to be a murderer in your small town. You shared a house with someone that went on to kill over 10 people in two years. Colby knew all of it, he knew that finding out that your own brother had turned out to be a murder had screwed you up. He knew that your brother was one of the only people you trusted and that after you found out that he killed so many people that it had screwed you up. You knowing that when you and your brother, Drew, would go out to get frozen yogurt or to lunch, that killed he someone the day before, an hour before, or was even planning one.

  It was now hard for you trust anyone, to let anyone in. It took almost a year for you to trust Colby and his friends. Sam, Colby, Kevin, Corey, Jake, Reggie, Mike, Aryia, Griffin, Aaron, Katrina, Tara, Devyn, Xepher, and Cassie. They all worked hard to get your trust and to get you to take them in as friends. They are so happy that you let them in because these past 5 years of friendship meant the world to them. But Colby was the happiest of them off. He swore on everything that you were the love his life, you were the person he was going to marry. You were the only girl that he ever imagined marrying. He wanted you and only you for the rest of his life, no matter how long he had to work on proving that to you. You had the same thoughts as Colby. You wanted to marry him, you wanted him forever. He was your forever and you knew that. Colby even knew that too. With how many times that you sat on the beach at night and confessed how deeply in love you were with him. Colby knew that when you told him that you loved him, that you meant it. They all knew that if you told them that you loved them, that you meant it and it never meant anything less. You loved them with everything you. They were your new family. After your brother was arrested, you wanted out. You didn’t ever want to associate with your family again. So you cut all ties. Moved out, moved into an apartment in L.A with a friend that stole from you. You met Colby, hung out with him more, met your now closest friends, and just like that, your whole life was turned upside down and into the best thing that you could have imagined. 

“ We need to talk, Kian” your voice was low, dangerous. “I don’t have shit to say to you. Everything that I know, the police knows.” Kian spit out, his lips scrunching up into a scowl. “You know, if you had nothing to hide, you would be cooperating with us,” Colby spoke, moving to stand next to you. You were pressed against bar, eyes glued on every movement that Kian was making. He sighed again and dragged a hand through his short brown hair once more, “ Ok ‘Mystery Incorporated’” Kian started using air quotes around ‘Mystery Incorporated’, “I bet you guys pulled up in ‘The Mystery Machine’, why are you guys so invested in this whole investigation anyways?” he asked throwing the white towel over his shoulder. You narrowed your eyes at the man in front of you. “Kian just tell us what happened here three nights ago and then we-” your cut off by a door slamming causing all of your head to snap over to the entrance of the building. There stood Noah Cheeko. His eyes were wide and his hands were shaking as he looked at all of you standing around the empty space. “What are you doing here?” Kian asked from behind the counter of the bar. You turned your head to look at Kian, his face was hard and his were flashing at his friend. What the hell does that mean? “Uh- I didn’t know that we were having people tonight,” Noah choked out still standing at the door. “I texted you,” Kian said through gritted teeth. 

 Colby furrowed his brow as he looked from Noah to Kian. His eyes widened when he spotted a red substance on Noah’s hand. He studied it from afar and from what he could see, it looked fresh, wet. Running down his fingers just to drip on the white tops of his converse. What Noah didn’t know was that Sam, Corey, and Griffen all saw it too. Colby made eye contact with each and every one of them. He silently gripped your wrist, pulling you to him. To protect you if anything were to go down and so the two of you could slip into the back hall that led to the bathrooms, so he could tell you the newly found information. Just as Colby was about to pull you away, the now familiar static blare filled the room. You looked around to see that all your friends, along with Kian and Noah’s eyes were all wide. “No, no, no!” Cassie exclaimed. You pulled out your phone, looking at the ‘Public Service Announcement’. You winced as your eyes ran over it. “Newly found murder on Hollywood Blvd. Age, sex, and gender of victim will be foreclosed for privacy. Police and F.B.I forces are working on the case. Stay Safe.” you read aloud. Colby’s eyes narrowed at Noah as Sam, Corey, and Griffin circled around him, blocking the door. 

“Have anything to tell us, Noah?”