#like. to me double life felt a wee bit empty?

[crabbunch]

BITES BITES BITES IM GOING. IM GOING TO BE SICK

[crybabytoy59]

The ultimate backwards way forward….

1. The day had finally come all the hours, days, weeks, months and years even.....That had lead to this one intrepid moment. Tonight He (Mark) stood before Her “Chrissy”....Shaking whilst doing as instructed, he was to put his Big clothes into the black bags in front her. She would decide what if any we’re to be kept. All things related to his Big life went in…

 Next She sat him down in only a cartoon disposable & a onesie ! He sat & listened as she reinforced her Will as the midnight deadline approached !... 

 She spoke very gently, a deep love of genuinely wishing to take him to his “little place”,  Yes his Big had pushed back and fought at times but this was IT her words would be final !  No turning back whatsoever no wriggling out. A new life lay ahead as Chrissy delicately spoke….

2. “Now sweet-pea  all your big things are away and in fifteenth minutes you will be My Bunny, my BabyBoy & I your Mommy I will treat you as a baby always & this you will come to accept through Mommy’s intense retraining of you to become that infant baby again we will take you back mentally & physically to a small child, Mommy’s cute toddler In nappies 24/7 ….

This will not be easy at first but please trust Mommy, she is going to help you mentally to be the baby that hangs on to every one of Mommy’s kind nurturing words….. So Bunny are you ready hmmm, Are you ready my darling baby boy? 

3. Mark took a huge breath but still the words came out at a tremor…..“Yyes am rready Mommy, I realise my fears will at times test you for that I am truly sorry… but I do wish for this deep inside, so any fears I have, I gladly hand them to your care & compassion, to regress and nurture me into who & what we Both wish for…So yes Mommy your “Baby boy” wants this with all his heart.... Mommy hugged him tightly, anticipating the clock in the nursery awaiting for it to strike Midnight !! ...

4. The nursery was a work of art they had both built together a room where Baby Mark was dwarfed by the furniture within the nursery ! .......As the big hand met the little hand of midnight…Mommy began to speak almost in a whisper…“Baby? give Mommy her “Gift” of your submission.”

5. She smiled warmly watching the mirror as her baby began wetting the cartoon disposable, she could see it changing colour through the soft white plastic pants, she stroked his hair soothingly as the nappy began to swell outwards…“Clever Baby All done Sweet-pea?” (he nodded into her soft shoulder welling up slightly in the knowledge that this was his “Gift”, his submission to her, the first act of remaining in nappies 24/7 at Mommy’s will)

The very smell of her soft flesh had always made him feel a Deep want of regression ! But tonight she smelt Devine. Chrissy had taken a shower before this chat, washing her hair with Johnston’s Baby shampoo,  she then oiled  her whole body with baby oil! Knowing the effect it would have on Mark, pushing him over the sensory edge....After all the Hot pulsing between her legs drove her want of complete control over him! …“Clever Boy let’s get you changed & down for the night in your onesie and blue booties, then I'll read you a nice little story”….

6. As he waddled slowly forward, suddenly Mommy barked “And what do you think you are doing Mr? ” ...He was puzzled by this remark & Mommy’s new stern tone? Mommy simply smiled saying “Are you a big toddler yet Crinkle Butt? No, you are not ! All fours baby... Now! As what did Mommy say to you about obedience? (He got down on all fours, as she wished, knowing soon he would have the blue crawling booties on with the nasty studs that made walking near impossible anyway! ) 

That and the ankle cuffs with the tiny locks would make removing them a futile task!)… As he crawled Mommy patted baby’s botty “Much better see you can be a clever Bunny for Mommy! ” Baby jolted forwards as Mommy spanked him full force ! “Pardon Baby? ”...  Yethss mommy ! ...

 “Much better think we just earned our first “redstar” baby Yes?” …. “Wess mommy sworry…” “Clever Baby you can put it on the naughty behaviour chart after Mommy changes that soggy bott bott of your’s ehy? Up on the changing table then Mr, let’s get that wet  nappy off & your special night time dipee on!”

7. As baby got up on the table he could feel the soggy thin cartoon nappy sagging! ... Complete humiliation overcoming him at his new lot in life, a true baby boy status started to hit home. God how he loved this girl so much, knowing he would now no longer be able to touch her in a Big way he felt that new part of the Humiliation was ever looming and yet to come pressing closer. Mommy was very clever, astute and thorough, she would have a lot in store for her new charge.…Mommy tugged the plastic pants down “Someone has a soggy bumbum! look at this wet nappy Mr! (He couldn’t miss it in full view from the mirrored ceiling over the changing station ! This had been Chrissy’s idea as she loved the Humiliation element that it brought! )…“Aaawww don’t fret your going to be doing this all the time now Crinkle Butt!...As Mommy is going to make sure you become such a dribbling dependant little boy”….she chuckled lightly...There seemed to be a glint in her eyes too. 

8. The clean up was very intense & had baby stirring underneath her! She reapplied the thick white cream paying just enough attention to all the right spots then she delicately but quickly slid the night time pluggie in. This was Very large & could be adjusted to vibrate with a very intense level if was required… baby gasped as Mommy pushed it all the way home! As Baby moved she chuckled lightly and playfully spanked the huge night time nappy to a dull thud once she was done! “Mommy's little drum.” she cooed. “ All that padding is going to make sure you will stay safe till morning Sweet-pea… “Now come to Mommy”. He instinctively crawled towards her open lap, she guided him to rest his head in her arms and his back against her leg. 

Mommy stretched across to her right side, reaching for the giant glass night time bottle, full with the formula she had earlier prepared.

10. “Take hold with your mittens Sweet-pea, Mommy wants to see how you do, if its to heavy then I will hold it too” She now began to playfully stroke and tease his nipples as he held the bottle unsteadily! The gurgling was instant behind the milky teat as baby had developed very sensitive little nipples, just as she had designed! Straining in his bulky nappy wiggling gently on the spot between her, the whimpering and soft moans started up as the bottle continued to empty. When baby finished the last drops of formula she began to rub and stroke his back, gently massaging him encouraging those little burpies out... Baby squealed as he nearly had an accident at the same! “Ok Sweet-Pea off to Beddie Byes.” She gently held and led his shaking hand.  “But first please put the star up on Your chart!” Baby took a red star off the pad & put it onto the first square of naughty chart… (The red stars were for a Sunday evening’s end of week  “punishment time” If he had gold stars that would bring a reward) But red !...............Mommy patted the mattress on the double bed sized Cot. “Ok Bunny Boy hop up into your cot now.” He would sleep with Mommy Bear at ni nights time (but unbeknown to Baby, he'd be napping in the day time as well, part of her new routine she had in store for him)! She patted again “Position Baby !”…or do you want a second Red star “!...She chuckled as He scrambled into the cot positioning himself for Mommy!

11. Mommy lifted up the little blue booties to his new horizon line. She took the first swiftly and deftly to his toesies slipping it on his right foot, click the ankle cuffs latched shut. Next was the left, it too had the same bemusing locking system, designed so the Baby (him) could not free himself from the deceivingly cute little slippers. He'd never seen how the locks worked. Click... She smiled at him gently, knowing that the spiked shoes would limit his ability to now stand unaided and maximise her ability to retrain him to a more appropriate babyish crawl. Yes they would make life much easier outdoors too...  “Clever Boy,  almost done, then we can have that chat and Mommy will read you your bed time story after… ok baby?” ( “Wess Mommy” ) Clever boy Mommy does so love those manners Sweet-Pea well done!”

12. Now a little afraid realising he was properly in Mommy’s world. Things would continue to happen now that he would have no control over.  Next Mommy lifted his brand new dummy, he had not seen this one before! It must have been a recent purchase, this one was an extra large sized red yellow and blue primary coloured affair. She knew it had been designed specifically to help him dribble (just a little) and make his big boy words very difficult !! 

Putting it into his mouth she moved to his ear and whispered softly “Mommy wants you to nurse on this dum dum sweetie, I won't fasten it into place just yet unless you show me that you can't be trusted, OK?” It was a rhetorically phrased question that didn't need an answer, but there was that same look in her eyes.

13. “Now Sweet-pea first we'll have our wee chat then Mommy will read you a nice story before ni-nights. Your going to need lots of sleep Bunny Boy as Mommy has lots of adventures in store for you tomorrow ! … Now listen very closely as I will say this only once….Mommy is going to have you fast for five days ....This is to strengthen baby’s immune system and also induce a bit of a body reset, then on day six we will start your new baby food regime… This will be all fruit and vegetables as Mommy is going to have a very health baby… So then Baby,  you can get adjusted to those adorable nappies nice & easily...Your only going to be drinking fluids for the next five days first though, so Mommy is focusing on those soggy bum bums to begin with, then we will work up to your mushies…Your such a cutie for sucking on your new binkie like a good boy. Well done!

14. “She chuckled lightly lifting the story book to begin…

The alternate “100 Acre Wood”......

 God she was so dam hot there and then, in her best condescending cooing Mommy voice. She began “Once upon a time there lived a boy who was very very lonely inside,  he desperately wanted to have a friend. Out walking one day in the woods he found a small bunny, it hopped right over to him and began hugging the boy tightly.....The rabbit started to gently speak to the boy! “Hello Crinkle Butt ....The boy protested to the Rabbit “Am a not a Crinkle Butt!”....But the Bunny simply chuckled “I know who you really are Silly! The boy looked around but nobody was there? As he turned around the rabbit stood beside him again swatting his bottom Thwack !!... “I suppose this isn't your nappy then Crinkle Butt?”  The boy stayed quiet as he felt embarrassed. But the Bunny Smiled gently and hugged him even tighter. Bunny the Rabbit then took Crinkle Butt’s hand ....“Best we get back inside or Mommy will be angry with us & we will get the hairbrush! The boy took the rabbits hand, as he too hated the hairbrush spankings.....“Ok Bunny we best hurry then as it’s getting dark & Mommy will want us fed & then to Nigh nights”.....They both skipped through the puddles getting Mud all over their legs! ...On the porch Mommy was already waiting standing with her arms folded....Babies look at the colour of you !.... She held out her finger pointing to inside, that’s when both Babies noticed Mommy already had the hairbush!”....oh bother.

15. “Now Sweet-pea I think that’s enough for tonight, Mommy can see you are looking tired I'll read you some more tomorrow if your a good boy. She gently stroked his face “Off to sleepies now.....She began to start the lullaby mobile that hung overhead and the cute little noises and lights softly sprung into action and gently soothed her precious little one into the land of dreams...Mommy lifted the plug remote and set it to the night time precycle with the hypnotic recordings ! These would play all night as the monitor recorded his sleep & dream patterns, it would match the patterns playing the recording & pluggie vibes to their best effects.....Night after night she would subliminally reprogram his brain to be a contented infant Baby Boy... To her will... to her wants... to her Deepest held desire over controlling him, but also letting him be the baby he was destined to become! This would be Absolute !! Her new hypnotherapist friend would help with new insertions of “trigger words” that would become instant in there use over him, no matter where, no matter when or who they were with !.....Fuck every inch of her was tingling with her desire to further his regression......

She looked down at him all safe in that cot with an oversized dummy bouncing in and out. Fuck he was already hungrily sucking on that dummy! Her Chest ached with anticipation....This was just the start, she held all the cards, she had everything ready for the morning & for the day’s events......Time to sleep though, putting her arm over his chest a small whimper came......She smiled to herself...Tomorrow he would go through so many trials and emotions. Day by day his emotional state would become much easier to control due to her fasting retraining, first hunger & loss of energy...then as the energy started to peak later on in the week she would simple take a sense from him so as to have more control mentally over his nappies!....awash with thoughts flashing through her mind she settled down to sleep knowing the “Hypno-Mommy” tapes would be working there magic on him....These she would use as she put him down for his afternoon nap too!

[jeonqqin]

man up. [m] | pt. 6

h. jisung x reader | netflix rom-com au

— ❝Even with classes, annoying brothers, and an unrequited crush, you still figured your first year of college was going pretty well. Until you managed to get your first boyfriend, and suddenly your brother and his stupidly attractive best friend were attached to your hip for the whole damn ride.

or alternatively;

Why did Jisung care about you so much, and had his eyes always been that pretty?❞

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

CONTAINS: brothers best friend au, teen rom-com au, sorta crack fic, love triangle au, college au

WARNING: language, eventual smut, heated kissing, minor groping, a wee bit of angst 

A/N: sorry this one was late... like all the others. but hey you can’t blame me for trying lmao

▸ request

CHAPTERS:  01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 +

blog masterlist | ⟲ fic song

© jeonqqin 2020

—UNEDITED

Your head began to spin as your eyes dropped to the text sent to you, the number attached to a name that you least expected. You would never admit to how fast your heart pulsed in your chest as you skimmed the words over and over. Had Jisung said anything to her about what happened?

Was she upset with you for sending her precious boyfriend into a panic attack?

Maybe you were walking straight into a bear trap but you couldn’t bring yourself to decline or ignore her message. The guilt of hurting Jisung was too fresh, so you had a hard time doing anything against him—and in a way, ignoring Hyunae’s messages was just that. You just hoped it wasn’t an elaborate set up where she jumped you and scratched your throat out with her excessively polished fingernails. But even if she did, it was pretty fair to say that you deserved it. 

So after your first class, you were able to hop on the bus for a quick trip to Haven, the thought of your next class lodged in the back of your mind. After the incident in Minho’s apartment, you hadn’t stepped a foot back inside. Granted it had only been twelve hours at the most, but it felt like days when it seemed like everyone was mad at you. Word of what happened traveled fast, and despite no one in your group of friends asking you about it specifically, you knew that they knew. You suspected that Changbin was the culprit, but you really couldn’t blame him. He didn’t exactly know the extent of the situation. 

But it was hard when even Felix seemed hesitant to talk to you. 

Chan was still there to text you every hour, even after you explained most of the situation to him. But he remained understanding and sweet. 

As he was all the time.

When you walked into the diner, a burst of warmth enveloped you and your nose turned up at the scent of comfort food and coffee. It was nice, and eased some of the tension in your muscles. 

Hyunae sat along the inside booths where most of the diners traffic was, close enough to the door that you could run if you needed to. She had her eyes cast down on her phone and your arrival hadn’t been noticed—you could’ve turned around and left then and there, ending all of your messy doubts and fears for the day. But you couldn’t. Your feet continued forward without your consent, dragging you those last final inches to her table. 

With the new presence, she looked up.

Hyunae’s eyes widened for a second, darting over your form as if to double check that you were really there. 

“I kind of didn’t think you were going to come.” She exhaled a small laugh, motioning towards the other side of the table where a still hot cup of coffee sat. 

You took the cup in your cold hands, “Thanks…”

You didn’t know what to say—the ball was in her park and she was in control of where things headed. 

She sighed, leaning back against the booth, her pretty skin flushed with the nip of the air. “I’ll just cut to the chase… I wanted to apologize for what I did—for everything that I did. I’ve been a bitch for a while, and I only realized it now.”

With her avoiding eye contact, you could openly gape at her confession, because—what?

The Hyunae was apologizing to you?

“I don’t—I don’t really understand why you’re suddenly apologizing.” You said, voice hoarse. 

Hyunae tugged her sweater closer to her form, arms curling around her waist as someone else walked through the door, sending a blast of cold air through the diner. 

“You know, for being a complete bitch to you while Ji and I were dating. It was all a jealousy thing to be completely honest. I didn’t actually—”

You blinked, waving your hand out to stop her rambling. You weren’t sure that you could process the first half of her words, let alone the endless ramble that she was capable of spewing. 

“Are…” you swallowed. “Are you guys not together?”

She frowned, brows furrowed.

“Jisung broke up with me, Y/n. Did he not tell you?”

The scratch of a broken record echoed through your head as you nearly dropped the ceramic cup of coffee all over yourself. 

“What?”

She nodded slowly, “I thought you would be the first person he told, considering…”

“Considering what?”

Her briefness and dodging was only making you frustrated, your hand waving in front of her face to finally gain her eyes. You had no idea that Jisung broke up with her, and you had no idea why. Some part of you hoped that the reason had something to do with you, but you just pushed that load of feelings away. It wasn’t fair to think of such things while the girl who had recently been broken up with sat directly in front of you. 

You really were a god awful person. 

She laughed a little, her eyes taking in your complete disbelief. 

“Well I’ll be damned. You two really are perfect for each other, huh?”

Before you could ask exactly what that was supposed to mean, you watched as her cheeks flushed a bright red—this time not at the fault of the air. Again she laughed, all humor aside, and her hands lifted to her face as tears leaked from her eyes. 

“God,” she sniffed, frantically moving to wipe her face with her sleeve. “You both really suck.”

You leaned forward awkwardly, passing her a napkin from the holder with a small tilt of your head. “I’ve come to realize that recently.”

She gave you a look that read, “don’t agree with me” and it managed to pull a laugh from your own throat. Hyunae might’ve been a little bit of a bitch, but it wasn’t without reason. She was insecure and jealous and those two things are away at someone like a virus. It was almost impossible to not feel such things at your age.

You always forgot that you were barely out of high school, the years of petty emotions and fake relationships hadn’t quite yet been erased from your minds. You were all in the same boat.

Just trying to learn along the way. 

“You know what’s funny…” Hyunae smiled, her eyes wet. “I always kind of routed for you two. I didn’t really know it, but it was always in the back of my head.”

You felt your lip wobble, but you bit it down, clenching your jaw. There was no way in hell that you were going to cry. You weren’t going to do that—you had no reason to. Hyunae was the one who just lost her boyfriend, and she was the only one who was supposed to be sad. 

“Every time you and him were together it just looked so right. I don’t know…” She swiped her hair over her shoulder with a sigh. “I honestly couldn’t believe it when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I thought you two had been a thing for a while—” right, you nearly forgot about the time when Hyunae was simply a friend. “—but then he came bounding up with a goofy smile on his face and that was it. It was over.”

Hyunae and Jisung had some math class together back in high school, he didn’t tell you much about her, but you knew enough to think she was a decent person. Back in those days, Hyunae was much different; sporting a thick pair of glasses and dark hair. But still just as gorgeous, as everyone with two eyes could see. 

She followed Jisung around like a lost puppy, and even had to be shooed away by Minho a few times. You were just glad that she listened, since Minho’s temper had been much worse then. You didn’t remember the details but you did remember the day that Jisung jumped back to your house with a big smile and flushed cheeks. It was a time when you were still an angsty teenager and listened to terrible love songs when you were in emotional distress. So that news was a real punch in the face. 

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what else to say, she wasn’t exactly your friend, so you didn’t know how to take in and process the information that she just threw at you. 

Hyunae shook her head.

“Don’t be sorry. I had a feeling before that it was going to happen sooner or later. Who knew it was going to be so much later?”

You sent her a small smile. She wasn’t half bad when she wasn’t completely ignoring your existence and sending murderous glances your way. 

The waiter rounded up to your table—unfortunately, not Jeongin—and proceeded to ask you what you wanted to order. After Hyunae promised to pay for your meal as well, the two of you talked for what seemed to be hours. You didn’t talk about anything at all—going on about classes and professors that you couldn’t stand. Your mind was clear for the first time in weeks and it was beyond refreshing to talk to her about things that only another girl would understand. Being around boys every day of your life had taken a toll on you and you hadn’t realized it until you were laughing as Hyunae ranted about how obviously sexist your communications professor was. 

You could be yourself around the boys, of course. But with her, you could be someone you hadn’t been in a long time. 

With a fry between her fingers, she hummed, leaning her chin on her hand. 

It was only a matter of time before she reverted to what she came to talk to you about, and you tried your hardest to redirect the conversation each time it looked like it was going to be lead down that spiral of absolute hell—

“I think you guys would be cute together.”

You deadpanned, flicking your empty straw wrapper in her direction. 

“Are we really talking about He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named right now?” You quirked a brow, not at all happy with the way she snickered at your question.

“If it makes you feel better, Y/n… I think I’ve had feelings for Hyunjin for a long time as well.”

“Oh yeah, my guilt is cured.”

She nearly snorted her water, sputtering a little bit around her mouthful. You took a bit of pride in that. 

“I actually missed your sarcasm, believe it or not.”

Sighing, you threw all of your remaining trash onto one plate, your belly finally full and happy. “Wow, you actually remember when we didn’t hate each other?”

“You really hated me?”

“A little bit. Your whole lovey-dovey act was a bit sickening.” You shrugged. 

“Because you’re in love with Ji?”

You froze immediately. 

Hyunae couldn’t just drop it? Her constant mention of Jisung was really putting a damper on your mood, and the itch of fight or flight was really beginning to kick in once again. 

And to think things were going so well. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head quickly. “No no, I have a boyfriend. Sort of... I’m not in love with anyone—”

“Y/n, look at me. Please,” she reached over the table to tap your chin with her pretty manicured finger, her face pulling into a soft smile. “Darling, it’s been almost two years since we graduated high school, and nothing has changed between the two of you since then. Even while you were dating other people. He still looks at you like you hung the damn stars and you still blush whenever he calls you those stupid little pet names he has for you. You’re both whipped.”

Your face softened under her stare. Her words hit a cord inside of your chest, but it was just something that made your head hurt when you thought about it. You didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it. 

“Jisung and I have only ever been friends. Yes, we’ve been good friends for a long time, but he has never told me anything about liking me. If he can’t tell me something as simple as this then I don’t think I can—”

Suddenly her eyes were hard set, piecing fiercely into yours. It stopped you in your tracks immediately. 

“Don’t make me get any more upset with you, okay?” 

Hyunae was definitely a force to be reckoned with. 

“Listen,” She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Jisung is the best guy I’ve ever dated and that probably won’t ever change. I want him to be happy, and I want you to be happy too. So please just think about things. I’m here telling you that this boy is head over heels in love with you—that he has been for years. His fault here is the fact that he’s so oblivious to his own feelings that he can’t see yours. He just—” her hands flailed in front of her, searching for her next words. “—doesn’t know how.”

You sighed. “I always liked Jisung when I was a kid. Hell, even earlier this year I could turn to you and say—yes, I am in love with Han Jisung.” 

Hyunae blinked. 

“But who the hell am I to say that I’m in love with someone? I’m not—I’m definitely not.” You sighed, mind wandering back to when things barely crossed your mind for longer than a minute. Things had been tossed around so lightly. “It was frustrating because it was so easy to like him when I was young. There wasn’t this huge word hanging over my head like there is now.”

Hyunae pushes her empty plate to join yours, speaking without a care. “You know that you don’t have to love him, right? You could simply like him.”

You felt the weight behind what she was saying in your chest, you didn’t have to label what you felt for him if you still weren’t sure. The only problem with that was that you knew what you felt for Jisung, and it was stupid. Because how could you look at someone and know how you felt when you hadn’t even seen every side of them? 

You couldn’t remember when he had last been serious with you. Never once had he looked at you with the eyes of an adult and told you about his inner thoughts. That wasn’t who Jisung was, he avoided those thoughts. 

He was only ever happy around you, and whether that was a good or a bad thing, you had no idea. 

“Was Jisung ever serious with you?”

Hyunae was momentarily stunned by your out of place question but she recovered with a small hum. “Well, a little bit. Whenever he was upset or tired he’d get a little snippy, but serious? I’m not really sure.”

That was just how Jisung was.

“Huh…”

“Oh,” she chirped suddenly, her lead raising as if she remembered something. “There was a moment when he was always serious.” 

Your head quirked to the side in question, eyes wide with curiosity. Despite knowing him for years, there was still plenty of unknowns to Han Jisung, and you were curious to know more.

“What is it?”

Hyunae’s mouth opened for a moment, then closed. Many things flashed over her face at once, but it was safe to assume that she was rethinking her words. Your chest fell. 

Her eyes darted away from yours, guilt flashing over her features. “I don’t think I can tell you that.”

“Not fair,” frowning, you pouted. “That’s the worst cliffhanger ever.”

She tisked, small smile pulling to her lips. “Well,” she shrugged. “You could always move forward to find out.”

She was right, you could. 

There were many things you had to move forward with, many people you had to have a conversation with; Jisung definitely being one of them. With a mental list of all the people that you had questions and answers for, everything only just began to clear themselves up. It was small, but it was something. Your head was always busy anyway, having things clearing out was like a breath of fresh air that you could barely reach. 

But it was still something. 

“You’re right. I think I just have to start with someone else.”

Hyunae smiled, “Get on with it then. Hurry your ass out of here.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting this,”

Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to Hyunae. 

Your heart was pounding radically in your chest as you sat straight as a board on the spinning office chair of the notorious recording room. You hadn’t seen it since that day it all began—honestly it had seemed so long ago. The room was cleaned up and organized, all the wires neatly tucked into the back instead of sprawled all over the floor, and you found yourself focusing more on that than the person in front of you. 

You almost had to force yourself to your chair, everything feeling way too heavy for your liking. 

“What do you mean?”

Chan ran a hand through his messy curls. It was only a few days ago that you had wanted to run your own fingers through his dark hair. 

“You and Jisung aren’t very subtle, but uh, I was just hoping you could like me—” he paused for a moment, filing through his mind for the right words. “—as well, I guess.”

“Oh…”

“Hey, it’s fine. Jisung’s a good guy, you guys will be good together.”

Had you stepped into a parallel universe where every ex was supportive instead of filled with rage?

“But—well, I don’t even know if we are going to end up together or anything like that. My head has just been all over the place lately and I definitely never intended to drag you into this mess. I feel awful, god I’m a terrible person, aren’t I—?”

“Y/n.” Chan said, voice firm. 

Your cheeks heated at the realization of your otherwise embarrassing ramble. 

“Sorry…” You squeaked. 

Chan sighed, leaning more weight against his desk. “Don’t be sorry. I just don’t want you freaking out here. You need to know that I’m an adult too, none of this is all your fault.”

You froze for a moment—one stupid moment just looking into Chan’s pretty brown eyes and realizing how weak they made you feel. 

Chan’s mouth curled into a sympathetic smile as a tear rolled down the apple of your cheek. His hand reached forward to swipe the intact droplet with his pointer finger, and a small giggle rippled through his chest. 

“God—Don’t cry, stupid,” he suddenly brushed his hand over your face, an attempt to raise your spirits to the very end. “You’re making me feel bad.”

“I hate you…” You sniffed, swatting his hand away with a quiet sob. 

As his finger ran over your wet cheek to collect the little drops that leaked down, you weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry so you did both, once again crumbling under his touch.

“Hey,” he smiled. “You can’t hate me. I should be the one hating you.”

Your lip jutted out into a pout, one that he wanted so badly to kiss from your lips. 

“Then we can hate each other.”

Chan hummed, watching as your jaw clenched in an attempt to keep your emotions from falling down your cheeks. You didn’t want him to see just how conflicted you were, he knew that much. 

“Okay. We can do that.” 

And he leaned down to place a soft kiss to the top of your head, careful of the affection he gave you. 

But it only made your stupid heart hiccup in your chest, opposed to the way it would’ve raced had it only been days prior. 

With Jisung it was warmth that spread over your body, but with Chan it was like floating in a pool of water with all your clothes on; encasing and safe and just a little sticky. 

You were sure if you wanted to chase after the brief relief that Chan brought to you, it was difficult to tell with the way you were trying to find your answers. Was one more chance unfair to Chan? Even after explaining your inner (and slightly unknown) thoughts and feelings to him about Jisung, could you still salvage anything if you tried one more time?

“Can I… kiss you please?” You asked, neither looking in his eyes or at his plump lips. You really liked his lips. 

Chan smiled, eyes darting down to your little pout. He liked your lips too. 

“You want to?”

You hummed, a small nod to tell him that you were too embarrassed to confirm his words with those of your own. But Chan was understanding and patient. He didn’t push you to do anything as Jisung did—Chan was so perfect, why the hell did you think about Han Jisung?

What was wrong with you?

You didn’t want to answer that question. You wanted it all to go away—the fear, the confusion, everything. And the way Chan was looking at you made you feel it all simmer down to nothing. His eyes were so soft. 

You were backpedaling, you knew that. But it was hard not to when Chan felt so safe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” His lips quirked up. 

You felt bad for not liking Chan the way you liked Jisung. He was better to love and he showed you everything you had missed before. He held you when you were sad, cooed into your ear that everything was going to be alright when it was him who was taking the loss. Why did he do that?

Leaning forward, you all but collapsed into his embrace, finally feeling his soft lips again. 

One thing you loved about Chan was his arms. You loved how they felt around you, and how strong they were. A lot of people liked his arms for those reasons too, you supposed. He may have been your first, but you certainly weren’t his. 

How long were you going to go back and forth?

Reassurance was what you had with Chan, but with Jisung there was time. You took your time with him unknowingly, watching him with your brother as they played video games in Minho’s room. You were yelled at, pushed, and locked out, but you still got back up and pushed back. As uncool of a sister you were back then, you persisted. 

Minho and Jisung would tease you and pick on you all they wanted, but you were still there at the end of the day. Tear stained cheeks and dirty clothes, and you were still there carrying your silly crush on your big brother’s best friend. 

There was time spent building something to stand on, years of pining and banter lead to a feeling that you couldn’t just replace with a kind heart and a kiss. 

No matter how nice the lips you kissed were. 

Chan knew this too. He knew you were thinking of so many different factors at once, and he was still pulling you tight to him, aware that your kiss would be his last from you. What he felt with you was terrifying. 

You both meant to forget. 

His arms held you tight, hands respectfully placed on your waist as you pushed and pushed into the embrace. The kiss was all new and too intense, but there was something screaming at you to just keep going. 

It grew more heated and your emotions mingled as a small voice began chipping away at the back of your mind; telling you that you didn’t deserve it, that you didn’t deserve him. Even as you found yourself lifting to your knees and straddling his waist, the voice persisted, not even silenced by the soft words that Chan spoke. 

“I feel like you’re going to break if I touch you.” He admitted, voice unstable. 

You shook your head in a daze, “I won’t, I promise.”

You wanted the thought of Jisung out—the thought of him touching another girl the same way Chan was touching you. Did he hold Hyunae like this? Did he kiss her like she was the most precious thing to him? Was there a chance that he would with you? Did he even want to? 

You wanted no part of that thought so you pushed further. 

“I’ll be okay, Chan. If it’s you, I’ll be okay.” You murmured.

Chan’s heart thudded in his chest. 

And in that moment, he almost forgot that you were in love with someone else. 

“Okay, I’ll take care of you.”

You smiled, a small burst of heat running over your cheeks. 

“Sap…”

Chan nearly responded with, “but I’m your sap” but he managed to bite his tongue, distracting himself by slipping one hand under the hem of your shirt. His hand was cold but not unwelcome as it felt along your stomach, and for the first time being with Chan your thoughts slipped—his hand was too strong, too rough. It wasn’t soft and pretty like Jisung’s, it wasn’t warm and comfortable like Jisung’s had been around your waist that morning. Chan’s hands were veiny and cold to the touch. Of course ther was nothing wrong with that. But they weren’t Jisung’s.

All it took was one hug from Jisung to stir up your head, huh?

But he had felt so nice against your back, his with but muscular build feeling like it was meant to be there all along. He had hugged you from behind back in high school many times, his chin resting on your shoulder and his breath fanning over your neck. It was hard to focus then, and it had been hard to focus that morning as well. How did you not know it was Jisung?

Sure, he and Chan were similar in height but Jisung just fit differently. 

And when his eyes landed on your neck, it had been the feeling of panic that crossed you. You didn’t want Jisung to see you like that—with another man’s markings over your throat. 

A sudden thought crossed your mind as Chan slowed his lips journey on your neck…

Was it really Minho that was preventing you from dating? 

The look in your brother’s eyes had been one of disappointment, but he hadn’t done anything, and deep down you knew there was no way he would really hurt the person you were in a relationship with. Of course he would scare them away and make it clear that he wasn’t a fan of you dating, but there you were, watching him do it, barely giving your big brother a slap on the wrist—

“Y/n,” Chan called, and you hadn’t even realized that he had taken his mouth off of your shoulder. “Babygirl…”

He tested the name on his tongue.

But his doubts were confirmed as you frowned. The nickname would’ve once sounded like heaven leaving his lips, but now...

He sent you a small smile after studying your features for a moment. 

“Do you miss him, right now?”

Your eyes widened at his words—you did. 

“No. Of course not,” you said, shaking your head with shaky inhales. “Why are you asking me that?”

There was an internal battle behind Chan’s eyes as he watched your face morph into discomfort. He was a little frustrated. 

Chan removed his hand from underneath your shirt. 

“If we’re going to be friends, Y/n… I don’t want you to lie to me anymore, okay?”

The shock that his words gave you made your eyes well up. It was like a punch to the gut to hear Chan scold you. He had never done such a thing before and you knew—you knew for sure that you couldn’t keep lying. 

When you cried, Chan didn’t wipe away your tears, he simply kept his eyes on yours as his hand rubbed small circles on your back. You needed to cry, and of course Chan knew that. 

He was Chan after all. 

“I’m so sorry—” you hiccuped, swallowing air as your palms lifted to cover your eyes. “—this sucks. This really really sucks.”

Chan sighed, feeling the sleepless nights catch up to him as he watched you break down. It was the worst feeling. It wasn’t that you were very obviously in love with someone else despite how his own chest aches for you to sink back into him and kiss the tiredness away, no—it was the fact that it was tearing you apart.  That was what hurt him the most. 

“Go see Ji.” 

Chan topped your head up with his finger, leaving one last peck to your tear covered lips. 

“He’s probably still upset.”

You nodded, laying your head down on his chest with a shaky sigh. “You’re a good guy, Chan…”

“Yeah, I know.”

[novelconcepts]

fic: heading into the dark (and we’ve got to hang on to each other)

Life, as Dani Clayton sees it, is full of darkness. Little darknesses, like a mother who draws away even as she continues to draw breath, and big darknesses, like loss that comes out of absolutely nowhere, and all the variations in between. Life is unpredictable. It’s ugly. It’s cruel. 

Life also grants the laughter of small children, and wonderful dinners prepared by good friends, and Jamie’s hand in hers. 

There is, certainly, no shortage of lights in the dark. 

***

“Teach me,” she says one day, a month or two into the great experiment that is Moving to America with Jamie. “Come on.”

“Teach you,” Jamie repeats dryly. “To incur lung cancer?”

“You do it,” Dani points out, aware that she sounds rather petulant and not particularly caring. Jamie’s smiling the half-smile she gets whenever she’s about to let herself get talked over the edge of something. “Come on, I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Jamie shakes her head, but she’s already lost this battle, and she knows it. Her foot braced behind her on the wall outside their apartment, she turns her head toward the setting sun and exhales a long stream of blue smoke. “Fine, sure. But when you love it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I hardly think I’m in danger of--”

“Shut up and c’mere.” She cups her hand around the half-smoked cigarette, holding it up for Dani’s assessment. It’s awkward, the pass-off between her hand and Dani’s more of a fumble than anything else, and Dani nearly drops the damn thing. Jamie laughs. “Easy, now, don’t go wasting it. Now. Put it--”

“I know where to put it,” Dani laughs. Jamie raises her brows teasingly. 

“I’ll just bet you do. Okay, right, here’s the thing. When you inhale, you’re gonna want to take it slow. Nice and easy, but make sure you’re pulling the smoke deep into your lungs, or it’ll defeat the whole--”

Dani’s already sucking in a breath, and she’s just realized Jamie’s eyes have gone wide when her body recoils from the invasive swirl sweeping into her lungs like a hurricane. 

“Easy, I said!” Jamie pries the cigarette from Dani’s suddenly-limp grasp as she doubles over on a gagging cough. Her lungs burn, her hand groping for Jamie’s sleeve, and even though it feels fucking awful, there’s something so wonderfully steadying about Jamie’s hand rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. 

“Now’s not the time for an old-fashioned I-told-you-so, is it?”

Eyes streaming, Dani tries to fix her with a glare, but Jamie’s outlined in the red-gold of a setting sun, her lips pursed around the cigarette once more, and she can’t find it within herself to do anything but laugh. 

***

“You really don’t know how?”

“Don’t laugh,” Jamie grumbles. “Never got around to it, is all.”

Dani’s leaning forward, practically falling off the beach chair in her excitement. Jamie, she has learned over these past few months together, is not the sort of person who doesn’t know things. She may not be good at everything she tries--she’s a rotten cook, for example, though a passable baker--but it sometimes feels like Jamie’s lived more in thirty years than Dani will if granted twice that time. Sometimes, when Jamie is sweeping a billiards table, or fixing a door hinge, or replacing a bit of questionable wiring in the bathroom without managing to electrocute either of them, Dani catches herself thinking there’s nothing Jamie doesn’t know. 

She can never decide if this is more overwhelming or reassuring, truthfully. 

But this. This is just too damn good. 

“You have to let me teach you,” Dani says. “You have to, come on.”

“I think you’ll find I don’t,” Jamie says, arms crossed over her chest. Dani slides from her chair, darting a glance around. It’s unseasonably chilly for June in California, the sky a mottled blue-gray that suggests a storm could strike at any moment. The beach is blessedly clear, and she takes the opportunity to slip into Jamie’s lap.

“Please? It’ll make me so happy, to get to teach you something, for once.”

She can see Jamie doing the calculations, brow furrowed over uncertain eyes. On the one hand, if learning how to swim had been on her radar, she likely would have picked it up ages ago; on the other, Dani’s arms are around her neck, nails tracing lightly under the tousle of her hair, and this is not the sort of conversation starter that often leads to Jamie saying the word “no.”

“Right,” she says grumpily at last. Dani isn’t quite sure whether it’s the batting of her eyelashes or the scrape of short nails across the nape of Jamie’s neck that gets the job done, but Jamie is hoisting them both out of the white plastic chair. “Fine, then, Poppins. Lead me to the slaughter.”

The rain holds off all afternoon, long enough for Jamie’s uneasy flapping in shallow waves to transition into clumsy-yet-useful buoyancy. When Dani places a hand lightly beneath her back and eases her into a calm float, her brow creases. 

“Hey,” Dani says quietly. Her free hand cups Jamie’s cheek, smoothing salty water into her skin. “Look at me. You trust me?”

“Always,” Jamie replies, the word coming almost before Dani’s question is complete. She opens her eyes, and Dani smiles. 

“I’d never let you drown, Jamie. Promise. And who knows? This might come in handy someday.”

***

“It’s...big,” Dani says, a bit nervously. Laughter explodes out of Jamie like a firecracker. 

“It’s not! It’s wee as all hell, Poppins.”

“Bigger than I thought,” Dani amends. “You sure we can keep a place like this afloat?”

The idea of running a business still seems like something out of an extended fever, if she’s honest with herself. At first, it had been a laugh--a conversation held over an empty pizza box and two spent bottles of wine, with her head in Jamie’s lap and her legs all twisted under a blanket. She’d told Jamie she felt weird about getting back into teaching, about the idea of subjecting any kids to whatever mad road her mind might lead her down. 

“They’ll need to be able to rely on me,” she’d said, a little too drunk to really feel the weight of the sentiment. Jamie’s fingers drifted through her hair, her thumb catching on the shell of her ear. “Can’t do that if your teacher’s in the middle of losing her marbles.”

“You’re not,” Jamie had said, with that soft resolution Dani loved so much in her. “But s’all right. You don’t have to go back just yet--ever, if you don’t want to. We can do something else for an honest buck.”

It was a conversation, a way to make herself feel better about the imminent future and all its secrets...and then, seemingly all at once, it was real. A real little shop, just down the block from their apartment, with a real counter and real shelves and a real back room for custom arrangements. Jamie could grow here, anything she liked. And Dani could bask in the peculiar sensation of having a purpose again, even if not the one she’d expected. 

It’s a lot those first few days--weeks--months, but a year in, Dani finds she’s taken to the shop like almost nothing else in her life. She loves talking to the people who bustle in looking for arrangements for mothers and wives and graduation events. She loves the way Jamie tends to the flowers with a gentle hand, always willing to pop off a fact or insight about any given type. She especially loves the way Jamie looks at closing time each night, the way she combs her shaggy hair back from her eyes and leans over each bud in turn to murmur reassurances. Back in the morning. You all get on, best behavior, until we meet again. 

She slips up behind Jamie, arms around her middle, and rests her chin on Jamie’s shoulder. “I like that you do that. Talk to them.”

Jamie favors her with a soft, tired smile. “Nothin’ ever blossomed without good communication, Poppins.”

***

Dani starts saying I love you so much faster than either of them is prepared for. The first time the words slip from her mouth, they’re standing in the devastation of what once qualified as their kitchen. Batter drips down the side of the refrigerator. There’s flour caked in Jamie’s hair, giving the effect of a grumpy old witch woman whose magic potion rebelled in the most cataclysmic sense. 

“Swear to Christ,” she says gruffly. “I had the damn mixer in the damn bowl.”

The way Dani sees it, there are two ways to respond to this: with scolding, or with hysterical laughter. She settles on the latter almost without conscious decision, scooping up a handful of flour and tossing it into the air like confetti. Jamie’s mouth opens and closes, words not quite enough for the moment. 

“You,” she says, “are irreverent.”

“And you,” Dani replies, skating across the slippery tile until she has Jamie backed up against the postcard-bedazzled front of the fridge. “You’re wonderful.”

Jamie looks like she wants to contradict this statement, perhaps thinking of the cake that now decorates the walls. “This was going to be for your birthday, you--”

Dani is kissing her, hands gripping Jamie’s collar. She hasn’t felt this relaxed in weeks, melting against Jamie when hands settle around her waist like Jamie’s been looking for a reason to give in all afternoon. 

“I--could still--” Jamie’s mouth moves down her neck, more than half distracted from her own words. “--fix it--”

“You’re right where you’re supposed to be,” Dani tells her, or thinks she does; it’s a bit hard to focus with Jamie’s hand sliding around and down that way, with Jamie’s hips bucking lightly against her. 

“It’s like you don’t even want a birthday cake,” Jamie murmurs, biting her shoulder gently through the thin fabric of a co-opted Blondie shirt. “Did I say you could borrow this?”

“Take it back, then,” Dani breathes. 

Later, tucked together against the cabinets, she turns her face against Jamie’s neck. Her hand is trapped between the tile and Jamie’s back, going steadily numb. Moving isn’t even a concept. 

“I love you,” she says. It comes out a little slurred, a little sleepy, but entirely true. Jamie raises her head, shifting to look her in the face. 

“It’s all to do with my grade-A baking talents, isn’t it?”

***

Jamie doesn’t say it back right away. Most of the time, Dani gets it. Doesn’t want to push. There was so much of that in her old life, in what she sometimes thinks of as the Era of Danielle--every step of the way with Edmund felt like someone was standing behind her, hands pressed into her back, shoving her along. Into a man, yes, but more than that: into a preconceived notion. Be somebody’s wife. Be somebody’s answer to the question of who they want to be in the world. Be small, be quiet, be the person who says yes and yes and yes, absolutely, even when you want to scream. 

The last thing she’d ever do is push Jamie, so she doesn’t make a big deal out of it. If Jamie loves her--and Dani’s fairly confident she does, at least on the days when the old ghosts aren’t cracking out of the walls to tell her otherwise--then Jamie will get around to it on her own merit. 

Still, when Jamie does, it takes her by surprise. 

“I’m pretty in love with you, it turns out,” she says, like she’s been steeling herself for this moment for weeks--and, Dani thinks, judging by the single moonflower on the counter, she probably has. Jamie, who pretends to play the game of life with such casual disinterest. Jamie, who pretends it’s all one-day-at-a-time. Jamie, who spent hours in secret cultivating this one tiny symbol that says so unbelievably much about her, just so she could tell Dani all this in the right way. 

There’s a couch in the back room, a wide squashy old beast that Dani had been adamantly opposed to when Jamie first pointed it out. “It’s ridiculous. What are we going to do with that?”

She has to admit, pulling Jamie along and latching the door behind them, that it seems like an excellent idea now. It’s only by the thinnest grace of self-preservation--she likes this shop, likes this life, would very much like not to be run out of Vermont by some old-fashioned jackass peering through their window and seeing too much--that they make it to the couch at all. 

“It’s okay, then,” Jamie says, falling backward onto overstuffed brown leather and pulling Dani with her. “This problem of ours?”

Dani kisses her, the giddiness and desire so powerful a combination, she almost feels drunk with it. Jamie laughs into her mouth, one hand already working the buttons of her blouse, that laugh turning into a low, liquid groan. Dani, fingers slipping between waistband and skin, has already beaten her to the punch. 

It’s in moments like these, she thinks. Moments like these where everything falls into place. Not just being with Jamie, but being with Jamie here, in a place they own, on their own terms. Not just being with Jamie, but being with a Jamie who has been clarifying her love for a year, doing so with hot tea and cool smiles and repairs around the house and gentle reassurances. She said it here, planned out like a proposal, and she’s saying it again and again--”love you, fuck, love you--” as Dani winds them closer together, but it wasn’t the first time. Not really. Jamie’s been saying it since the moment she took Dani by the hand and asked if she wanted company while she waited for the darkness to consume her. 

Jamie rocks under her, making a softly desperate little noise into her mouth, and Dani has never felt so understood. Never quite put it together like this before. That Jamie thought she had to say it a certain way, show it a certain way, is wonderful and absurd and silly. 

“I like this problem,” she says. “Best problem I’ve ever had.”

***

“You like it?”

Jamie’s voice is too-casual. The kind of casual that says, look, if you don’t like it, I’ll understand, but I’ll spend the next six months going slowly crazy coping with that knowledge. Jamie gets this kind of “casual” only so often, and usually, Dani likes to string it along before reassuring her. It’s a little mean, maybe, but the way Jamie always sags against the nearest bit of furniture with a hand over her eyes, groaning, “Jesus Christ, Poppins, you could just be gentle with me” does something exceptionally pleasant to her stomach. 

This time, she’s not even thinking about teasing Jamie. 

This time, she’s just staring. 

“If you don’t like it,” Jamie says, a bit more hurriedly now, “you can say so. I mean. Can’t do much about it, truth be told, but we can work through the issue. Get into some couple’s therapy, talk it out...”

“Stop talking,” Dani says through a shockingly dry mouth. “Please.”

Jamie’s mouth swings shut with a little click. Dani rises from the chair she’d been curled in, feet tucked under as she flipped through a Stephen King novel that hit just a little too close to home. She moves across the living room like a sleepwalker. 

Jamie, expression somewhere between warily anticipatory and genuinely frightened, is still holding the hem of her shirt aloft. Dani pauses, swaying slightly, a magnetism rising between them that she sometimes thinks should fade with time, should logically become less as the years become more. For a long beat, they just look at one another. 

She’s sinking to her knees before she realizes, hand sliding up Jamie’s stomach to grasp her fingers, the shirt hem, clutch both tight. Jamie drags in a breath. 

“Oh. S’like that.”

“Apparently,” Dani mutters, closing her free hand around Jamie’s hip and pressing her mouth to the line of flowers rising from the band of her jeans, coiling around the left side of Jamie’s stomach. Jamie sucks in a breath. 

“Okay, when I was sitting for the thing, I certainly wasn’t thinking, Poppins has a thing for tattoos, but can’t say I’m complaining...”

“How long?” Dani asks, the words muffled around slow, deliberate kisses. Jamie rocks back on her heels, one hand sliding down into Dani’s hair for balance. 

“I know you are not asking me detail-oriented questions while you do that.”

Dani pauses, grins, waits. Jamie groans. 

“How long did it take, or how long have I wanted a bloody tattoo?”

“The latter.” The flowers are blue and white, strung along a twisting vine. Dani is presently making it her personal life goal to kiss each and every one, licking gently upward as she goes. Jamie’s eyes flutter, grip tightening. 

“You are a truly--”

“Tread wisely,” Dani murmurs, biting at her hipbone. Jamie inhales. 

“’Bout a year. Or maybe six weeks. Or maybe my whole life, I dunno, sometimes these things just sneak up on you.”

“Tattoos sneak up on you?” Dani tilts her head back, grinning. Jamie peers down at her, hair falling messily across her forehead, expression soft. 

“Wouldn’t be the first thing.”

She gets more as the years go on--little yellow daffodils, chains of wildflowers, small, carefully rendered roses--almost always in places easily hidden. Each time, the sight of ink on pale skin, the patient way Jamie quietly explains each one in bed, letting Dani map them out beneath curious palms, sets her heart racing in a way she can’t explain.

It’s the permanence, she thinks the day Jamie comes home with a small moonflower on her inner forearm. It’s the promise of the thing. 

It’s the tomorrow of it all. 

***

“How hard can it be to put together a bedframe, Dani,” she mimics. Even to her own ears, her voice is shrill. She’s making too big a deal out of this, and she knows it. 

But for fuck’s sake, sometimes Jamie is hard-headed. 

“I’ll have it done in an hour, Dani,” she goes on, hands windmilling above her head. “I know you’ve got a busy day, so just leave it to me, Dani.”

“Okay,” Jamie says, “okay, I know you’re upset, but in what world have I ever used your name that many times in a sitting?”

Dani freezes, turning slowly on her heel. Jamie takes a step back. 

“Right, correct, this is not the moment for glib.”

“Jamie,” Dani sighs. “You promised.”

“I did,” Jamie agrees, “and I could say I tried, but we both know how I feel about lying...”

The apartment is a little bigger than their last, and everything fits all different. Dani knows it’s going to be good for them--they outgrew the last place far sooner than either had wanted to admit, and this one has a beautiful view of a park. Plenty of space for Jamie’s ever-growing plant collection. Plenty of space for stretching out and warming the cozy little world they’ve built together. 

Still, it’s different, and different has a way of setting Dani’s teeth on edge. There’s something about a new home that reminds her of moving into Bly a lifetime ago--the exhilaration mixing with trepidation mixing with shadows she doesn’t yet know the names of. They've been here a week, sleeping in a blanket fort in the living room, Dani waking most mornings with carpet marks dug deep into her skin. She wants their room situated. She wants to sleep in their bed. 

She wants Jamie to build the damn frame like she promised three days ago. 

“I sometimes have trouble telling,” Jamie says, her accent thicker as it always is when she’s reasonably sure she’s stepped in it. “Am I actually in trouble?”

Dani sighs. “Jamie...”

“Oh.” Jamie edges closer. She’s dressed for battle, Dani notes, in shorts that barely qualify as legal and her softest flannel shirt. The very shirt, if Dani looks closely enough, Dani herself slipped into after a shower about two weeks ago and sent Jamie gaping at her like she’d been hypnotized. 

“Don’t,” Dani warns, remembering all too well the way Jamie had behaved the last time this shirt saw daylight. “Don’t, Jamie. I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“I can see that,” Jamie agrees. “You might say that’s why I’m making this desperate bid for, ahh, not being in the doghouse.”

“Jamie.” Dani manages to turn the word into about eleven syllables, which usually has some effect, but Jamie’s already within the proverbial walls. Her hands are riding up Dani’s ribcage, dangerously high, her smile the kind of charming only a heart of stone could resist. 

It’s cheating, and Jamie knows it, and Dani wants to point this out, but Jamie’s got her backed up against the mattress. The mattress that should be on a nice, well-made, sturdy frame. The mattress they could both be on top of right now, if only Jamie had just--if Jamie had--

“This is incredibly unfair,” she groans. Jamie, busy kissing her throat with slow, open-mouthed abandon, says nothing. Dani grasps at her shoulders with both hands, squeezing flannel between her fists, and lets her weight fall backward. Jamie holds her up, one hand up the back of her skirt, the other testing the resistance of her sweater. 

“You,” she gasps, even as Jamie moves a leg between her thighs and rocks gently, “are still in trouble.”

“Mmhmm,” Jamie agrees, a million miles away. She’s nipping at Dani’s earlobe now, and Dani can feel her grinning. 

“You are still putting the goddamn bed together, Jamie.”

“Sure,” Jamie says, husky, and presses her harder against the mattress. “Later.”

“Honestly, how do you do this every time?”

***

“You sure about this?” 

“Yes.” The answer is kind of actually no, but curiosity is getting the best of her. Anyway, it won’t be like before, the first time she ever tried to bum a cigarette off of Jamie and wound up nearly throwing up into the street. A couple of years and an indeterminate amount of cigarettes later, she’s got the art of it down, though she’s not what she’d call a smoker, per se. 

(She’s not, but try telling Jamie that. Just because she sometimes slips the cigarette from between Jamie’s fingers in a restaurant, or when they’re lounging outside after a long day, or in bed after a particularly effective round of Jamie getting herself out of trouble. Dani finds the act soothing, but only if Jamie has already lit up and taken a puff. Then and only then does it feel like sharing part of Jamie.)

“It’s different,” Jamie warns. “Not saying you can’t handle it, mind, but--”

“Just show me how it’s done, Jamie.”

This challenge, she utters in her lowest voice, and Jamie raises an eyebrow. “I see what you’re doing, Poppins.”

“What am I doing?”

Fact of the matter is, she’s having a very specific kind of day. The kind where her mind keeps drifting. The kind where memory feels heavier than it has in years. It’s not the first time she’s had a day this heavy, nor will it be the last, but it still bothers her. 

She hasn’t told Jamie. Doesn’t feel like she needs to, not yet. This doesn’t quite feel like beast-in-the-jungle territory so much as that old twisting panic, the old sense that she’s missing a test everyone else has studied for. When her mind edges her down this path, all she ever wants--all she can ever do about quieting it--is to hold close to Jamie. 

Jamie, who is giving her a searching look now, even as nimble fingers roll a joint.  “Sure you’re sure? Only, if you’re not up for it, I’m not going to judge.”

“Jamie. Do you trust me?”

Jamie’s mouth turns up at the corners. “Always.”

“Then get it started and hand it over.” She’s laughing a little, a nervous burble laugh that makes her feel more tethered to her own body. Jamie reaches over, closing a hand over her wrist and squeezing. 

“Your wish and all that, Poppins. But do me a favor? Go easy this time.”

She takes the first hit, and then a second, leaning back against the green granite counter and exhaling slowly toward the ceiling. For a minute, it’s enough for Dani just to watch her: relaxed posture in a long-sleeved black shirt, rolled to the elbows to give her more room to make a mess of dinner an hour previously. Her hair is getting longer, shaggier, her makeup reckless in that half-attention way Jamie has of barely caring what she looks like for anyone who isn’t Dani. 

“Your turn.” 

Dani takes her at her word this time, careful to draw a small amount of smoke into her lungs and hold there. Even so, she coughs once, a slow, clean burn sliding outward through her chest. Jamie nods approvingly.

“Did you grow this yourself?” she asks after another careful hit. She hands the joint back, letting her hip press against the counter an inch from Jamie’s. There’s a comfortable heat between them this evening, slow-simmer ease that makes her think of early days. She likes the lingering way Jamie rests her hand against Dani’s on the countertop, pinky finger lightly caressing the edge of her skin, like the world’s most comfortable seduction. 

“Nah,” Jamie says, with the joint between her lips. There’s something about the way she closes her eyes on the inhale, about the way her free hand never leaves Dani’s skin. Warmth works its way through her belly, and she thinks, bad day, maybe, but a good night. 

“Would you grow it?” It’s just something to say. She’s already starting to feel the smoke coiling around her thoughts, her head growing soft, buzzing gently around the edges. She imagines she can feel Jamie’s hand all the way through her body. 

“Not in our shop, if we wanted to keep the place.” Jamie’s eyes twinkle, the joint outstretched. “More?”

Dani shakes her head. The world is very slightly fuzzy, the kitchen warm, and Jamie has never felt more real. She watches Jamie carefully put out the lit end, setting the joint in an ashtray, liking the authority with which Jamie moves. 

She’s always like this, always so focused on the little details that make up a day. On days where Dani feels like she’s coming up from the ground in one horrible jerk, Jamie is always there to root her again. It’s a good feeling, knowing Jamie is there. Knowing Jamie is only getting more there with time. 

Later, she’ll look back on this as the moment. The one where she first decided to do it. The actual question, the actual plan, the actual ring won’t be here for years yet, but this is the moment the spark takes hold. 

It would be different, she decides, as her fingers curl like vines around Jamie’s, bringing their joined hands against her chest. It would be so different than last time. No push. No expectation. Just a promise. Just us. 

She likes being high with Jamie, she decides very quickly. Likes how it makes Jamie’s already-firm confidence firmer. Likes how it makes her already-sensitive skin buzz with pleasure. Likes the way Jamie folds her against the counter, hands gentle on the back of her head, and kisses her like it’s the first time. 

She’s all exposed nerve and heavy limb and giggle as Jamie leads her to the bedroom, eases her down, cups her face between soft hands. For once, the shadows seem to work in her favor, curling around them as they move together, as cloth becomes skin, and she’s sighing, sighing, crying Jamie’s name into the darkness. 

Jamie said once, a lifetime ago, that sometimes you have to drop everything too heavy to carry in order to hang on to one another. Jamie said it with such intensity, it didn’t even cross Dani’s mind to think of it another way. That, if you’re going to march into the dark, having a hand to hold as you go can make all the difference in the world.

The lights are on, for now. The lights are on, and Jamie holds her so tight with hands so soft, and Dani knows it’s not forever. Can sense it, like you sense the return of a childhood bad dream. Can feel it, shifting below the surface. 

Maybe closer now. Maybe a little bit more awake than before. She can’t say for sure. 

What she can say is that a night like this--kissing her way down Jamie’s chest, kissing flowers and bellybutton and that spot just above her hip that makes her writhe with laughter--is a torch. A ward against the monsters. A little light to carry them through the dark. 

She’s got Jamie on her skin, in her mouth, imprinted on her soul, and she thinks it’s the best anyone can ask for. The only thing anyone can hope for. 

And when Jamie clutches her hand right back, flashes that I’m-out-of-trouble smile, drapes one of her worn flannel shirts around Dani’s bare shoulders, she thinks, as long as I can have this. As long as she’ll have me. The shadows can’t possibly swallow me whole. 

[liusaidh-writing]

Scars of Lamentation

One thing that always intrigued me about Outlander was Claire's return to Frank. The book went into their life together, certainly (and the show did a great job of showing a small bit of it, too) but I was always curious - how did that first week or so go for her? How did she manage to cope? This is just a little piece exploring that (poorly). Hope you enjoy it.

--------

Claire felt like she was drowning. Her cloudy sense of time and reality all but kept her in bed most days. She couldn’t keep her head above water - she kept choking on memories that would gut her again and again. They’d resurface at night, when she dreamed, or in the middle of the day when she felt well enough to venture downstairs for tea with Ms. Graham. She refused to speak to Frank, though she knew she’d have to sooner or later. Ms. Graham was her saving grace - Claire knew she understood somehow, that she believed it all. Claire even wondered sometimes if Ms. Graham was a traveler herself, though she never plucked up the courage to ask her outright. The look in the older woman’s eyes was sometimes dreamy, sometimes far away, like she had a secret herself.

The hardest part was night, though. Claire dreaded the dark, dreaded closing her eyes. For one thing, she still wasn’t used to the noises again. Cars would rumble down the street, startling her out of the light sleep she’d allow herself when she couldn’t fight the pull of fatigue any longer. Her mind would race with images of British soldiers atop horses, of unseen threats and real, true fear. She had nightmares of losing Faith all over again. She was always alone in an empty, cold room, and her baby was nowhere to be seen. Claire would wake herself, and the rest of the house, screaming. Frank rushed in the first few times it happened, but Claire refused to let him attempt to help. She’d ball up and cover her head with blankets, shivering with fear and cold and the deepest desire to be anywhere, anyone else.

Frank had made the decision to give her a dose of Nembutal at night to help her sleep. She had quietly accepted them, then promptly excused herself to the bathroom where she flushed them down the toilet.

She hated her dreams, for the most part, but chose not to attempt to quell them for fear of what she’d lose. Jamie would appear in random snatches, like a patchwork quilt - the memories that held him were a balm, a comforting presence, though they were double edged. It was also torture. It reminded her of what she’d left behind when she’d been made to go back through those bloody stones, made her wish with every fiber of her being that she could walk back to them and begin again.

She wondered sometimes if she did so, where in time would she land? Would her heart take her back to Jamie, back on that hillside, back inside the shack where they’d both scarred themselves for one another? Her wrist burned sometimes - like a flame was being held close to her skin. She liked to pretend it meant Jamie was thinking of her - wherever he was now. It made him feel close again, somehow.

Frank had stupidly chosen to burn the dress she’d had on when she came back through, but she’d quietly kept the plaid, locked it away with her undergarments. She’d pull it out at night, wrap herself in the warmth it provided. She could close her eyes and imagine she was on horseback, Jamie behind her, guiding the horse with the reins with one hand as he clutched her middle with the other. She’d recall how she’d lay her hand on top of his, lean back, and enjoy his comforting presence. He would plant quiet kisses in her hair as they rode, whispering Gàidhlig to her, sometimes letting his hand free hand wander lower than was strictly safe.

Half her heart was gone, and she had no idea how to fix it, how to feel like a whole person again. She wondered if the little one she carried would help heal her - though she hated thinking that way - it wasn’t the child’s responsibility. She held within her a piece of Jamie, and she clung to the hope that the baby would be delivered safely, that she could create some degree of normalcy for herself and the wee thing. She knew she had to - she’d made her promise.

The ‘J’ carved into her skin was a testament to her commitment to Jamie, and a scar she’d carry forever. It was small enough that it was not noticeable, except to her - her secret sepulcher for all that had come before it.

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 4

Double feature tonight! Here's chapter 4 as well. Last night I was inspired and I did managed to write a few chapters.

As usual... some Gaelic for you:

A bheil Gàidhlig agad - Do you speak Gaelic? mo charaid - my friend

Some of Elias' words seem funny, but he speaks Scots as well. And he is so damn sexy while doing it.

All the locations I mentioned they are real. Rowan's bookstore it's the only fictional place.

Happy reading!

------

Aelin woke up quite late the next morning. After her fight with Rowan she had spent the day at the marina and wondered around the town. She had felt empty and could not bring herself to do anything. She finally managed to speak with Lysandra and cried. She cried her heart out and her friend had listened. Like she always did. She had gotten home later in the afternoon and felt exhausted. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the living room reading her books. That brought her joy at least, although dreaded going back to shop to collect the last book. She could not face him. Not yet. But that morning she had woken with a renewed motivation. She had prepared breakfast for herself and admitted she missed Maeve’s apple turnovers but could not risk going back there at the moment. She had to put some distance. So she ate her own breakfast, prepared a couple of sandwiches and got her backpack ready for the next adventure. Today she was driving south toward Harris. She had learned that Lewis and Harris were one big islands but Lewis was the Northern part, full of moors and peat land. Harris, was the Southern part, much rockier and with some stunning beaches and a famous road called the Golden road. Ten minutes later she was in the car and ready to go. She set her sat nav and she left. Over an hour later the sat nav announced one last turn to her final destination: Luskentyre beach. She had a look at some photos online and she could not believe such a gorgeous place existed.

She parked the car and opened the door and got out. No internet image had prepared her for the view in front of her. The beach was massive, the stretch of sand never ending and the sand was so white that it almost hurt the eyes. And the sea. It was the purest green mixed with blue that she had ever seen in her life. She was speechless. For ten solid minutes she leaned against the open door of her car and observed the stretch of paradise in front of her, incapable of doing anything else. Trying to burn in her memories the colours. She would take pictures but doubted they would ever do any justice. Finally she moved and grabbed her backpack, locked the car and walked to the beach. Once she reached the sand she removed the shoes. No way she was going to walk on that sand with her shoes on. The sun was up and the sand was warm at the touch and she let the feeling sooth her. Around her there were a few people walking dogs and couples walking hand in hand. A pang of sadness hit her, and absentmindedly she touched the spot where her wedding band should have been hating herself straight after, for missing Chaol. He made his choice. She had given him his freedom. Tears threatened to appear once again but she fought them back and resumed her walk along the beach. She followed the beach and walked in the water ignoring that it was cold. She walked for hours then she decided to sit and eat her lunch. Her sandwich was gross compared to Maeve’s and in her packed there definitely was no chocolate cake. She sighed. A young man was walking his dog and she noticed the animal coming her way. The man called him a few times, but a moment later the dog was at her feet, his tongue lolling from his mouth and was staring at her sandwich. Aelin laughed and gave him a bit and he ate eagerly. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you. You might never get rid of him.” The man was now in front of her and was scratching the dog ears. “It’s fine I was done eating anyway.” And she gave the rest of her lunch to the dog. She lifted her eyes and stared at the man. He was wearing shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. His hair was black as the night and his eyes a light blue edging on grey. Her breath caught and she felt herself blushing. “You are not a local.” He said as a matter of fact. “That obvious?” “Your accent. Definitely not from here.” His smile left her breathless. He had dimples. On both sides. He was quite cute. “Where do you bide?” Aelin looked at the man puzzled “Bide?” “Aye, where do you stay?” Understanding dawned on her. The word must have a different meaning in Scots “I am staying in Stornoway.” “Bonnie place. I live in Callanish. Ye, ken?” Aelin was stuck again. Was he even speaking English? So far all the other people had done their best to speak English with her. “Sorry, bad habit. I didn’t mean to be rude. I meant if you know Callanish.” The man sat beside her on the sand while the dog was running free on the beach. “Yes I was there a couple of days ago. I went to the standing stones. Such a fascinating place.” “I have one of the smaller circles just outside ma hoose.” He confessed turning his head to her “There are actually few more different sites scattered around the area. The main one at the visit centre is Callanish I.” He explained, then he extended his hand “I am Elias by the way. I have been yapping non stop and forgot to introduce myself.” “Aelin,” she said taking his hand. “Aelin…” her name on his tongue sounded perfection “In Gaelic means bright or shining one.” “So, are you a tourist? Visiting friends? Family? Boyfriend?” Aelin giggled “Status uncertain at the moment.” She said, then looked at Elias and explained a bit further “Tourist at the moment, but things might change.” “So, where are ye fae?” She guessed his question and she hoped she got it right “London.” She replied. “Been there for work a few times. I am an engineer and I have been down there for a few conventions.” Aelin was too busy listening at his sexy accent to pay attention to what he was saying and she felt embarrassed when she had to ask to repeat his answer. “Nae worries. I said I am an engineer and I was in London a few times for work.” “Cool what type?” The guy was fascinating and seemed much more willing to chat that a certain grumpy one back in town. “Environmental. I am working with Calmac at the moment. That’s the company that runs the ferry you used to get here if you travelled by sea.” He explained while the dog came back and licked his fingers quite happily. “I am a doctor. I was…. Still am… it’s complicated.” She cut short and noticed the confusion in his face. “Long boring story.” “What type?” “Cardio thoracic surgeon.” He whistled “bad ass woman. Love it.” His grin reached his eyes and she felt heat spread inside her. Definitely more than cute. And those dimples… She was having a good time but she had to keep going, she still had a few things to do. “I am enjoying the conversation but I still have quite a lot to cover.” She stood and turned to him. The main smiled “Of course. Care for some suggestions?” Aelin nodded. “If you are driving south, right after Borve there is another lovely beach. Stop there as well. Not as famous as Luskentyre but amazing as well. Then continue all the way down to Rodel. It’s the village at the end of the road. There is a lovely church called St. Clements. Worth visiting. Once you are past Rodel make your way back via the Golden road. It’s a very narrow road but it’s a pleasure to drive if you want an Hebridean adventure. Once you are almost at the top before Tarbert, make sure you stop in Drinisiader. There is a fascinating wee museum about Harris Tweed. But just hide your purse. They have some amazing stuff and you might want to buy the entire shop. Then you are in Tarbert and from there it’s an easy drive back to Stornoway.” “Tapadh Leat.” She said and Elias gave her a huge grin in response. “A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” He asked and she realised she had to stop trying to use Gaelic. “I just know thank you and good morning.” She explained almost embarrassed. “That’s okay, lass. I am not a native speaker either. I learnt it later on in life. My parents don’t actively speak it, but my gran did. It was the only way I had to communicate with her. My parents were parts of the generation that grew being taught that speaking Gaelic was not proper, so they never did. My mum understands it because of course her mother was a speaker. But she used her dad to translate. It’s a very long complicated story.” He stopped and looked at her. “Looks like we both have a complicated story to tell each other.” Aelin’s stomach fluttered in excitement. He grabbed his wallet and removed a business card from it. “Sorry for being so direct, but you seem quite an interesting person. Call me or message me if you need a guide.” He held the card to her and Aelin debated for a moment whether to take it or not. Lysandra had told her to go to Scotland, enjoy herself and get a Scottish man in the process and forget her ex husband. She took the card “I’ll call you.” “Do it, mo charaid.” She smiled warmly, grabbed her backpack “It was nice meeting you, Elias.”

She was driving along the Golden road and she had to admit that the road was a real adventure. Large enough for a small car to pass, she had to constantly focus on the road to avoid ending in a ditch or in a loch beside the road. But no matter the stress, she was loving it. Until the sheep arrived. One moment she was alone on the road. The next moment she was surrounded by sheep. A massive flock stretched for some length along the road. She got off the car, she took a picture and sent it to Lysandra with the caption traffic jam in the Hebrides. A moment later the phone rang. “Are you kidding me?” “No Lys, I swear I am surrounded by sheep. They are everywhere and I can’t go anywhere. Guess someone will come and collect them soon.” She heard Lysandra laugh “Sounds like you are having a great time.” “I am.” she confessed not entirely convinced. The memory of the fight with Rowan still stung and she was wracking her brain to find a way to fix things with him. She was… intrigued by him. He was brooding, infuriating and handsome at the same time. Plus he was the owner of a bookstore which was not bad. She wanted to be his friend but it looked like he was not interested. He had made that abundantly clear. Nothing I want to give you. Tears threatened to appear once again but she fought, not willing to let sadness spoil such a lovely day. So she had decided to put some distance. She would go to get her book when it arrived and then limit her visits to his shop, for as much as it pained her. He didn’t want to have anything to do with her. Well, she was granting him his wish. “How is going with Aedion?” She changed the subject. “Well, we have only been on a date but he’s great.” “Already planning your wedding?” Aelin joked and Lysandra laughed in reply. “Nah, just imagining having sex with him for now.” “Eew. I didn’t need to know that” “Seriously… the man has amazing hands and I spent the evening thinking what he can do with them. And if all the other parts are just as big as the rest of the body…” “Eewww. Ewwww and eeeeew.” “Since when you are such a prude?” Aelin laughed she wasn’t but she had no interest in listening her best friend talk about her boyfriend’s body parts. “Get a move on finding a man of your own and then you can fantasise about his body parts.” For a brief moment Aelin’s mind thought about Rowan’s hands and… No, stop. She could not go there. That was dangerous territory. “We’ll see.” Was all that she added. “I need you to come back to me happy.” “What if…” she paused for a second “what if I am not coming back?” “What do you mean?” In the distance Aelin noticed a tractor and the sheep began moving again. “Sheep are moving. Gotta go back home.” “Ok. Keep me posted.” She say bye to Lys and she was positive she felt a note of sadness in her friend’s voice.

The sheep finally moved and she spent the journey home mulling over what she had said to Lys. She could not see herself going back to London. Something had broken inside her. Maybe it was her that was broken. With her skills and experience she could easily find another job in another hospital. So why the rejection from one place hurt so much? And Chaol… London was a very big place, the chances of her bumping into him on the streets were minimal. However, they had loads of friends in common. She would have to give up her friends to avoid him. Give up her gym, her favourite bookstore and cafe, because he was a regular in those places too. She would have to give up her life to avoid him and the pain that seeing again would bring. She had felt relieved after the divorce. She still had no regrets. But forgetting almost a decade together was proving more difficult than she expected. She pushed on the breaks quite hard, forced the door open and run to the field near the road. And then she collapsed on her knees and screamed, letting out all the frustration festering in her. Her hands began shaking and she felt the symptoms of a panic attack starting to manifest. Breathing was getting harder. So Aelin stayed in the filed, and cried and shook. Until she had no more tears left in her.

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics Ficlet -- The Future is Near

A/N: A week ago I got a message by @wickedgoodbooks asking for a wee ficlet about her favourite goofballs. Coincidentally, it was only the previous day that I was thinking of these two too! 

So here is a not-so-wee fluffy ficlet. I loved going back to this AU and I hope you will enjoy reading this! 

AO3

(You can find the main story here and on AO3)

                                                      ~~~~~~ 

I liked Saturday mornings in the library the best. It was quiet, beautiful, and it made me feel like the concept of time disappeared and clocks lost their power in this place. With so few people around, I always imagined that the books were snuggling into their warm leather covers, peacefully asleep. 

I opened the Word document on my laptop and blinked at the cursor that was blinking back at me. Having started a few days ago, I was four pages in and had hardly covered one-third of the subject. 

Way to go, Claire.

I checked my notes again, looking for the paper mentioning the case of a forty-two-year-old man with infective endocarditis and proceeded with writing down the modified Duke criteria used to establish a diagnosis of the infection.

Major criteria

Positive blood culture with typical IE microorganism, defined as one of the following:

Typical microorganism consistent with IE from two separate blood cultures (Viridans-group streptococci, or Streptococcus bovis including nutritional variant strains, or HACEK group, or Staphylococcus aureus, or Community-acquired enterococci, in the absence of a primary focus)

Microorganisms consistent with IE from persistently positive blood cultures (two positive cultures of blood samples drawn >12 hours apart, or three or a majority of ≥four separate blood cultures with first and last sample drawn at least one hour apart, Coxiella burnetii detected by at least one positive blood culture, or IgG antibody titer for Q fever phase 1 antigen >1:800)

My phone buzzed against the heavy wooden table. 

Scot: Where are you, Sassenach?

I blinked at the message, double-checking the time. It was nine o’clock in the morning. Which meant that it was four at night in Michigan and as far as I knew, Jamie had gone to bed early last night.

Sassenach: Why aren’t you sleeping? 

Scot: Why aren’t you in your dorm?

What? I stupidly looked around as though Jamie would pop from between the imposing shelves. How the hell did he know?

Seeing as no red-headed towering Scot was to be spotted, I stared back at my phone in confusion.

Scot: Go back to your room. 

Sassenach: And why would I do that?

Scot: Because Mary stopped talking to me and just stares at her hands.

My heart leapt into my throat and I banged my knee on the table leg while jumping from my seat.

Scot: I think she’ll die of embarrassment because we’re less than two feet apart and when she opened the door she almost attacked me with the table lamp. 

I swallowed my chuckle out of respect for the books that surrounded me.

Sassenach: YOU’RE HERE?

Scot: Where are you?

Sassenach: Library.

Scot: COMING

Sassenach: The Bodleian Library.

I took a few deep breaths while smiling like a loon and sat down again, trying to focus on the essay. 

What was I doing? Right. The major criteria. 

Evidence of endocardial involvement with positive echocardiogram defined as…

I was still smiling. And thinking of Jamie instead of infective endocarditis.

I shook my head and tried to focus on the words I was typing.

Oscillating intracardiac mass on valve or supporting structures…

I was sure that oscillating intracardiac mass was bound to mean something, something different than the constant chanting in my mind that went like: Jamie is here, Jamie is here, he is here, here, here. Jamie is hereee. 

Continuing was a lost cause. I packed my notes and my laptop and left the empty library with a wide grin, belatedly realising that Jamie was coming to me and I shouldn’t leave the place. 

Well, I knew the way back home. I would meet him halfway. 

I forced my feet not to break into a run. Or a dance. It was two months since I’d last touched him, since I was engulfed by his arms, since I bit that bottom lip of his just to hear the groan that always followed.

Maybe not a run, but a trot was surely acceptable. I took my phone from my pocket and called him.

“Making calls from the library?” he asked as soon as he picked up.

“I’m not in the library anymore.”

“Sassenach,” he grunted. “I’m heading to the library.” 

“Well, it’s eighteen minutes away and I thought we could split the distance.”

“Yeah, eighteen minutes because you couldn’t just go to the LMH library which is next to your place.”

“It doesn’t feel the same,” I explained and heard him sighing.

“Aye, I ken. Ye’ve said so about one million times.”

I laughed. My love for the Bodleian library was certainly no secret. “I missed you, Jamie.”

“Not for much longer,” he said and I could hear the impatience in his voice. 

“You’re crazy, by the way. What are you doing here?”

“Coach gave me a week.”

“And?”

“And I couldn’t spend it in Michigan, away from ye. Do I take Parks Road or Banbury Road?”

“You’re already there?”

“Aye.”

“Are you running?”

“Well, not now that we’re talking.”

Crazy, stupid Scot.

“I love you. Take Parks. I’ll meet you halfway.” I ended the call and started walking even faster. 

Two months wasn’t that long, considering that we lived in different continents, but my heart was thumping loud and cheerful in my chest at the thought that I would soon kiss him again.

After our epic breakup when Jamie convinced himself that being apart would hurt less than going through years of a long-distance relationship, he’d realised – the ugly way – that nothing could be worse than losing each other and coming back asking for one more chance.

I gave it to him and never regretted it. Day after day, call after call, text after text, Jamie took the pain of those twenty-six days of our separation away and made me believe in him again. He gained my trust with every little gesture, with every big surprise. 

He was there, always. In the good days, in the bad days. In the days I found my purpose, in the days I lost my courage. In the days I was so exhausted I thought reading one more page would make my brain explode. In the days I felt I had chosen the only profession that could make me fulfil my dreams. Jamie was there to listen, to commiserate, to encourage, to love. 

And I hoped I was there for him, too. Life wasn’t perfect but our love was enough. 

We’d found a routine when we stopped being freshmen intimidated by expectations and we made sure to manage our schedules so that we had time for each other. Not that everything always worked out and we never fought or screamed at each other through our phones when reality and distance crushed us. But there was no fight we couldn’t overcome, no obstacle in our path big enough to break us. 

And when I saw him on Parks Road running towards me, I knew that we had chosen each other, each day, each moment.

“Sassenach,” he breathed close to my ear and took me in his arms, spinning me around as though I weighed nothing. “Oh, babe, I missed ye so much.”

His lips were soft on mine, his tongue tempting as it traced my mouth to make me open to him. One hand found its way down to my arse, and he squeezed in a possessive strike. 

“That plump arse will be the death of me,” he murmured against my lips. 

“Not plump,” I corrected even though I knew he kept saying that to tease me.

“Plump, and perfect, and mine.”

“Mine,” I corrected.

“Ye’re mine, Sassenach,” he growled and a bicycle bell rang from the road next to us, to celebrate or reprimand the inappropriateness of our actions, I wasn’t sure.

“Jamie…” I tried, and failed, to stop him.

“Ah Dhia,” he groaned. “Mary in the room, people here. I need to get ye somewhere and have ye all to myself.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I booked an airbnb.”

Before I could reply his mouth was on mine and he was kissing me like a thirsty man who just found an oasis full of springs in the desert. With a hand still on my arse and the other lost in my curls, he pulled me closer until I melted into him, his chest hard, and solid, and warm, and there. Close. Tangible. 

“Let’s go,” he said and withdrew with eyes closed and a pained expression on his face. “God, it hurts not to touch ye.”

“Is it too early for check-in?” I asked and he nodded his assent. “Then you have to be patient,” I murmured. “Coffee?”

He held my hand in his as though it was a lifeline and we started walking down the street towards my favourite cafe.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” I asked with a frown. 

“I wanted to wake you up and surprise you, Sassenach, but you made it impossible.”

“Sorry,” I replied, not looking remorseful at all. 

“It doesna matter.” He grinned and pulled me closer, planting a kiss on my head. “Ye ken, Sassenach,” he started in a hesitating voice.

“Yes?”

“‘Tis Saturday.”

“Mhmm. I’ve heard.”

“And tomorrow it’s Sunday.”

“Aren’t you just brilliant?” I replied with a mocking grin and he made a silly face. 

“And the room I booked?”

“The one you’re supposed to check-in later?”

“Aye, that one.”

“What about that?”

“I booked it for Monday.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “What?” I asked stupefied. “Why?”

“I was thinking… Well, I thought…”

“Jamie…”

“Aye, aye. ‘Tis the weekend and ye dinna have classes, so I thought I could kidnap ye and take ye for a trip to Edinburgh. What do ye say, Sassenach? Jenny keeps nagging that it’s been ages since she last saw both of us.”

“Edinburgh?”

“Aye. I ken ye have the essay ye’re working on, but I thought it’d be nice to go back.”

Edinburgh. It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was a really, really good idea.

“Okay,” I said with a smile.

“Aye?”

“Aye, you insufferable Scot. Let’s go to Edinburgh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jenny kicking your arse.”

He looked at me with wide eyes, feigning surprise. “And here I thought ye like my arse!”

We went back to my dorm where I quickly packed my toothbrush and a change of clothes and ran to the train station. It was a six-hours trip that I was never excited to make, but having Jamie sitting next to me changed everything. The destination didn’t matter anymore – it was the journey and the time we would spend together that was important.

The train rolled on the rails and Jamie wrapped his arm around me, pulling me impossibly close. I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes, the scent of his cologne permeated my senses. We fell in a comfortable silence thick with love and contentment, two ships finding haven in a deserted island. 

When I opened my eyes I was greeted by the British landscape and a small tilt of my head revealed that Jamie had fallen asleep. Locks of auburn hair had fallen on his forehead and a soft smile was curving up his lips.

It was happiness that filled my lungs with my next breath. So simple, so pure.

It seemed that I fell asleep as well and we both woke up because of the commotion when we reached Sheffield. With the confusion granted by awakenings, we looked out the window for a moment until Jamie yawned and hugged me tighter.

“I’d forgotten how long this trip is,” he said in a gruff, sleepy voice.

“At least we were sleeping during the first half of it.”

“Aye. I was exhausted. Didna manage to sleep enough on the plane.”

“Mmm, you never do.”

“In contrast to other people, I’m not mentioning any names mind you, who sleep in airports and almost miss their flights!”

“I happened only once, okay?”

“Are ye sure? Because I remember you running to your gate –”

“Hey!” I interrupted, elbowing his stomach. Not that he would feel anything with the six-pack he’d made for himself through training. “The other two times –”

“Three.”

I huffed in indignation. “Three times,” I consented, narrowing my eyes at him, “These times I wasn’t sleeping. I was just distracted!”

“Still. It counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Ye were reading yer books and got so engrossed in them that you almost lost yer connecting flight. It counts.”

“Fuck you,” I whispered in his ear because there was a mother with a sweet little boy at the seats in front of ours, but I was smiling and he must have heard it.

“Only with you. And I canna wait.” He placed an opened mouth kiss on my neck and I bit back a moan.

“I hate you, Jamie Fraser,” I keened, unable to imbue my voice with the strength the sentiment owed to have.

Jamie, his eyes on my heaving chest, murmured back, “I’m looking forward to ye hating me a bit more.”

“I’ll punish you for that,” I vowed and ran my hand up his tight, stopping exactly where he didn’t want me to.

His groan made a shiver ran down my spine.  

To distract ourselves from images of savouring each other, we bought salt and vinegar crisps, jaffa cakes and hobnobs. Jamie devoured half of them before I had even finished my handful of crisps.

“I thought you professionals had to watch your diet,” I mumbled, still chewing.

Jamie looked semi-embarrassed for a moment, then shrugged. “Cheat day.”

“Okay, if that’s the label you put on your sins…”

“These are totally healthy Sassenach,” he said with a crooked smile. “Vegetables.” He raised the package of crisps and shook it between us. “These have oats and oats are verra nutritious,” he said with a nudge at the hobnobs and these…” he hesitated for a moment.

“Have orange jam so it’s like eating fruits?” I suggested.

“See?” He grinned. “You get me.”

I laughed and took one of the jaffa cakes before they all disappeared into the giant’s mouth. 

I hoped we didn’t smell like oranges when we arrived in Edinburgh.

“I hope we won’t smell like oranges when we arrive in Edinburgh,” Jamie echoed my thought and I turned to look at him, wide-eyed and incredulous.

“Why?” I asked before he had enough time to think what he just said.

“Because Jenny –” he stopped abruptly. “Shite.”

“Oh my god.”

“Ye ken?”

“You know too?”

We gaped at each other, unsure how to proceed. 

“Jenny hates oranges as of late,” I stated.

“Aye.”

“Do you know why?”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I confessed feeling a smile curving up the corners of my mouth.

“I will kill her!” Jamie exclaimed and started typing furiously on his phone before he asked me to pose for an angry selfie.

“She says she wanted to check how long we would keep it from each other!” he exclaimed in frustration a moment later. “That evil…”

I barked a laugh, shaking my head. “This sister of yours is unbelievable.”

“Aye, she reminds me of yer best friend,” he retorted. 

“So this was why you wanted to go to Edinburgh?” I asked and saw his eyes soften and his lips mirror mine in a grin.

“I will be an uncle, Sassenach!”

“I know! It was the best news! Although, now that I think about it, it was bound to happen, sooner or later.”

“She said it wasna exactly planned, but they were so happy when we talked. Ian has even started building a crib because he wants something special for the baby.”

“Ian is the sweetest,” I said and the screen of Jamie’s phone lit up with a new message from Jenny. It was a picture of her and Ian laughing and below it wrote, ‘We love you! All three of us!”

“Do they know we’re on the way?” 

Jamie smiled mischievously and shook his head. 

“Suits them right.” 

We finished eating while speculating about the baby’s sex, Jenny and Ian’s wedding and the possibility of Ian failing in his endeavour to build a crib on his own. 

In eight months, Jenny would be a mum. It felt surreal and yet so right.

The future wasn’t that far away, it seemed.

“I was talking to Maisri the other day. About you.”

“Aye?” His voice was low but I felt the question vibrating through his body. 

“About your dream of getting your own swimming pool and teaching children with intellectual disabilities. When you told me that John wanted to be your partner and invest in your plan once you both come back to the UK, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maisri wants to be a psychiatrist, you know. She said it’s a brilliant idea. She’d read a review published a few years ago that claimed that hydrotherapy shows potential as a treatment method for social interactions and behaviours in children with autism spectrum disorders. And we were thinking that muscle building will also help with balance and mobility.”

“‘Tis still a dream, ye ken that, aye?”

“I know. I’m just reminding you that it’s a great dream.”

Jamie chuckled and gently tucked an errant curl behind my ear. “Thank ye, mo ghraidh.” A soft kiss on my temple. “But first, I have one more year in the US and I want to make it to the Senior Gold Squad of the Scottish Swimming National Squad Selections.”

“Mmm,” I agreed with a kiss on his chest. “I’m sure you will. You’re one of the top competitive swimmers in your uni and you’ve already won medals. They’ll be fools not to have you.”

“And then I will be an hour away, Sassenach. An hour away,” he repeated. “Can you imagine?”

“An hour by plane. Six hours by car.”

“Even so. I will be able to come to see you at weekends. Every. Single. Weekend.”

It was that moment when it hit me. 

“I have to find a place,” I said, frowning.

Jamie mirrored my expression. “Ye dinna want to?”

I was silent, thinking about it, considering my options and the budget I could afford, but apparently Jamie perceived my silence as a denial. “I guess I can book a room when I’m in Oxford if you want to stay with Mary.” There was a bitterness in his voice that he didn’t manage to conceal. 

“No, I don’t. It’s not that. “ He didn’t seem convinced. He turned slightly and gazed out the window. “Jamie…”

“‘Tis fine,” he said in a low voice.

“No, it’s not. Look at me.” When he didn’t, I cupped his face with both hands until his eyes were on mine. “Will you stop jumping into conclusions? I didn’t reply immediately because I hadn’t considered finding a place of my own before. I’ll talk to uncle Lamb.”

“Ye don’t have to if ye dinna want it, Sassenach.”

I could almost taste his disappointment and I wanted to kiss him until he knew that I didn’t have any second thoughts about that. 

“Who said I don’t want it?” When he didn’t reply I pulled his head down so that his lips were on mine. “A place of my own?” I whispered on his mouth. “To be with my stubborn Scot every weekend?” I licked his lips and they opened for me. “Hell yes,” I said and kissed him until we were gasping for breath.

When we broke apart, we were both smiling. The future wasn’t that far away anymore.

[pertinax--loculos]

Update

Gonna try a new thing. I've seen these weekly updates from other writeblrs and it appeals to me because I can blather about writing or lack of writing (if it's been one of Those weeks), I can also include anything else I want, and it's a manageable goal to have for a start.

Tentatively breaking it up into writing, reading OR watching, real life (if applicable), and possibly excerpt (again, if applicable).

So! (Warning: This is long. I seriously babble like nothing else.)

Currently Writing Absent That Night (tagged: WIP: ATN)

wordcount: no clue, it's all on my phone and I've been writing scenes I'd previously written snippets for, so it's a mash-up. (Which reminds me I need to back it all up at least onto my computer.)

Proud of the short summary I did for my pinned post, so repeating it here:

Agent Latrell has been chasing the thief known as Nox for more than three years; but when bodies start turning up at his crime scenes, he’s the only one who believes Nox isn’t responsible. Unfortunately, he’s also the only other suspect. In order to clear his name, he’s going to have to find the real killer; and the only way to do that is to team up with a criminal who, it turns out, he knows absolutely nothing about.

still love love LOVING this WIP. I've got pages and pages of notes, and it is probably getting a wee bit too complex with subplots and suspects etc, but I'm an overwriter anyway so if I end up with a 200k word draft then shrug. More to work with

dunno if I mentioned or just thought it was obvious because I know it so well, but it has an enemies/rivals-to-allies(lovers?) (sub?)plot. So I've been pulling out a lot of threads there

technically I'm up to about halfway between the catalyst and break into two. Definitely not hardcore plotting but I do have an idea of the beats I wanna follow in the back of my head

Nox is still a fucking mess. I should probably stop piling trauma onto him, poor guy

my favourite creation this week is Mark Gault, who is a secondary/minor character who is amazing in every way. He is both essentially a ruthless mercenary and the "I LOVE MY WIFE" guy. (I also keep calling him Grant, instead of Mark, because he's actually the father of a character who first appears in Phase Two of CASCADE. (!!!))

basically happy with how it's all going this week. Regular writing is getting the juices flowing and it's easier to come up with ideas even when I've only got a vague notion of what is supposed to happen in the scene.

guys i am such an overwriter this is ridiculous please send help this scene was supposed to be like 2.5k total and it's turned into 4-5 scenes and is like 10k long dear god--

Currently Reading Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater, book three of the Raven Cycle

I have not just jumped in at book three of a series, I have read the previous two.

in the last week.

I've read eleven books in the last five weeks, so that's... something.

they have all been thrillers except for this series. (And also Girl One, which despite being marketed as a thriller was definitively NOT a thriller. Which, yes, I should've guessed from the tag line, but I'm still mad about it.)

I am in love with the prose. It feels similar to mine, but Better, and I have been unconsciously mimicking it.

(which may be a problem when I finish it and am still writing ATN, but that is an issue for Future Pockets)

ngl I was not a fan of the way the first book ended. Not only did I have to reread the final line multiple times in order to even begin to grasp it, but I kinda think it's a dick move to end on a cliffhanger, even for an established author and clear indications this was gonna be a series

(but you bought the next book, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU??)

very very much enjoying the series, to be concise (ha!). Love the characters and it's all pretty tightly paced. The overarching series arc kiiinda maybe feels a bit slow/irrelevant, and some of the motivations annoy me, but I keep reminding myself it's YA in which the motivations are in character, so

not far into this one yet but so far so good

I wrote this earlier this week and since have begun thinking the series arc is becoming more relevant, but am reserving judgement. Reading slower with work and reading but still enjoying it all

Real Life

continues to be mostly a pain in the ass. Apps in for a second job, research on next year ongoing

update: may have the dream second job, basically waiting for confirmation (fingers crossed!)

one of my housemates is the literal devil, although even that is being quite kind to her. The nice one is moving out because of it. People keep asking how I've lived in this house for three years. I have no answer.

enjoying writing time in evenings and feeling mentally pretty good thanks to exercise

Excerpt Long, nearly 900 words, but a favourite of recent pieces and also something I coincidentally wrote today. Nox and Latrell's third meeting, when Latrell is still, uh... resistant to the idea of working with him:

"Why me?" Not at all the way Latrell had intended to phrase it, but he couldn't take it back. He continued, quickly, instead, jumbled thoughts pouring out of his mouth. "Surely that's the least you can give me. You come to me and ask me to fucking help you after you've made the last three months of my life living hell, you can at least fucking tell me why the fuck that is. You owe me that much. I'm not letting you fucking walk away until you fucking answer me that."

Nox was silent for a long moment. He ran a calculating gaze up and down Latrell, as if searching for something; it wasn't apparent whether or not he'd found it when he said, softly, "And if I don't?"

Latrell was abruptly very aware of the weight of the handcuffs in his back pocket. He would have to move quickly. There was every possibility Nox would see this coming, especially if he'd been arrested before. But Latrell was quietly confident. He inched his hand back, keeping it subtle, eyes on Nox's face.

"In that case," he said, as evenly as he could. His fingertips brushed warm metal. "Perhaps we should try something--"

Everything went white.

For a moment Latrell thought he'd somehow lost consciousness; that he'd underestimated Nox's affinity for violence, that the man had punched him or otherwise managed to incapacitate him without otherwise moving. Then it occurred to him that he was still thinking, which essentially took unconsciousness off the table, and he realised, vaguely, that it was an illusion.

It was very, very convincing.

The entire world was an endless expanse of emptiness. Utterly, absolutely white, a whiteness that could not and should not exist. Latrell was overcome by a sensation of falling, of plummeting into nothingness; he had to concentrate to feel his feet still on the ground, to know he was still upright. He had nothing to orient himself. There was no up, no down, no left or right. Just that endless expanse of a lack of colour. He was hanging in nothingness, or everything.

"You forget who you are dealing with, Agent."

Latrell swallowed down nausea. Nox's voice came from startlingly close, the sound of it somehow wrong, which objectively he knew came from the fact that his brain was convinced it should sound small and insubstantial in this endless void but it sounded normal because he was actually still standing in the alley. It was academic knowledge only. He still felt like he was tipping or falling or rising, weightless and disoriented. He had no voice, no ability to open his mouth.

Experimentally he tried to take a step. He couldn't lift his foot off the ground. Physically, he was sure he could -- he could still twitch his fingers, if he thought about it -- but his mind was convinced that there was nothing to step away from, nothing to step onto. Just nothing, nothing, nothing. A brightness that wasn't a light, a void constructed of the pieces between atoms.

Nox's voice came from his other side this time. "I have attempted to do this civilly, but there are other options."

It was a struggle to concentrate on his words, close as they were. Latrell tried to narrow his focus to only sound, tried to ignore the nothingness he was suspended in, tried to tell himself it was all an illusion. Just something Nox wanted him to see. The Orn, threaded through his eyes or brain or soul, acting upon Nox's orders.

It didn't help. He was still in freefall.

"Do not," Nox's voice came, a bare whisper in his ear, breath brushing Latrell's neck, "Presume to test me."

Abruptly the white disappeared. Latrell was back in the alley, trying to adjust to the change of light, trying to find where Nox had gone. Turning his head made the ground roil beneath him and he staggered, utterly disoriented.

Fingers closed around his forearm, steadying him, and Latrell looked up to find Nox inches away.

"Easy, Agent," he purred. His smile was more a baring of his teeth.

Latrell wrenched away from him, staggering until his back connected with a comfortingly solid wall. He was dizzy, brain still adjusting to reality, but he managed to straighten his spine and set his shoulders. He kept his hands in front of him. In Nox's view.

"Do we have an understanding?" Nox said, still silky and low.

"Screw you," Latrell said, voice faint and alien.

Nox's smirk sharpened. "I thought so. Lovely chat, Agent Latrell." He sauntered past where Latrell stayed pressed against the wall, hesitated at the corner of the alley. "Keep up the good work."

He stepped forward and disappeared from view.

Latrell's breath left him in a rush and he doubled over, bracing himself on his knees. His head still spun, the unpleasant sensation he'd come to expect from vertigo. The backs of his eyelids were painted with a stark blank white. Every time he blinked he was engulfed.

It was far beyond any illusion he'd ever experienced. It was approaching the type he'd only ever read about in scientific articles.

You forget who you are dealing with, Agent.

Perhaps he had. But this assault supplied more than a reminder.

It also provided a piece of the puzzle.

[wafflesetc]

I’ll be there for you, Chapter 6 (previously) 

A/N: This one is long. So buckle up! I owe a kidney to @kkruml​ who has looked at about 6 different versions of this. And to @walkinginland​ and @happytoobserve​ who also read multiple versions, held my hand through  some tough parts, and gave encouragement along the way.  I couldn’t do it without you guys. And you know, the end of this chapter is a little NSFW. I mean, most people are working from home now.. But you’ve been warned.

The One With The First Fight (Part 2) 

Jamie 2:30 AM 

He looked down at the screen of his phone. 

‘Just tell me you are safe.’ 

He had said things he hadn’t meant. He had said things that were sore. He had said words that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.  

He thought back to growing up and having fights with Jenny. His Mam used to tell them to take back the words they had spoken to one another, that they were brother and sister, by tomorrow  all would be forgotten because- that’s what family does.

He closed his eyes and took a sip of whisky. The bar was still somewhat alive, even for a Tuesday night. He could picture her right there almost as if she were standing right next to him: The bright red hair he had inherited from her, her soft grey eyes and that strong brow his sister had. He could see it: her hands on her hips, the small raise of her brow and a glare in her eyes that scared him deep into the marrow of his bones from the time he was a small lad. 

“Ye are not here to help me with this one, mam.” He whispered to himself. 

He knew better than to storm out in a rage, yet this was uncharted territory.  He and Claire had moved so fast there had barely been time to realize that they had yet to set some boundaries in regards to their relationship. And Claire- the stubborn, fierce, strong woman that she was, was carrying newfound cargo- a life that was half of him, half of her. It was a surreal and sobering  thought, the idea of bringing a new life into this world. Someone he’d have to love unconditionally, someone who’d need him for the rest of his. And by some miracle, it was also not just this small life, but Claire that was in it with him. She was no doubt his forever, surely he did have a small say in some matters. 

He took another drink of his whisky, emptying the contents. He raised the glass signaling the bartender for another round. 

Just this one more and then he’d go home. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice in his ear, “Fancy seeing you out.” 

He turned to find Mary smiling at him. He saw the glimmer of a ring on her finger. A small sense of relief flooded through him. It wasn’t that he’d dodged a bullet, but in some ways he was thankful for Mary for letting him go- for she was the reason his daft mind finally made all the pieces click- that he’d been in love with Claire from the beginning. He was thankful she’d seemed to find the same happiness he had found.

“Looks like congratulations is in order.” 

“Ah yes,” She took the seat next to him. “It was rather quick but I guess when you know, you know.” 

The bartender arrived asking what she wanted. “A whisky, neat please.” She hung her purse on the edge of her barstool and smiled, “How are things with you?” 

“Och,” He let out in a small Scottish grunt. “I am sitting alone in a bar in the middle of the night, how do ye think it’s going?” 

“I know you, Jamie…” The server placed her drink in front of her and Mary reached for it, taking the first swig. He looked at her with pleading eyes, a sense of helplessness running through him. 

“You’re a good man- a loyal one no less. I also ran into John at the store a few weeks back, he said you and Claire were finally together.” 

“We are.” He smiled ruefully and took a sip of his own drink. “Happened rather quickly, but we are… And uh, we’re actually expecting too.” Jamie felt the tips of his ears burning. 

“Seems like you sure move fast then too!” Mary grabbed her tumbler and tipped towards him, “Cheers then.” 

“Uh…Cheers.” He attempted to seem like he was in good spirits, but he could tell Mary knew it was just a facade.

“Still, you’re not a man who tends to sit at a bar, alone, in the middle of the week.” 

“And ye are no’ a woman to be here in the middle of the night like this either.” 

She laughed at that and nodded, “You’re right. My fiance’s flight is delayed because of a mechanical problem… If I had gone home I would fall asleep. Figured I would catch a dram before I get him.” She took a swig of her own beverage. “But you, look like you need to talk.” 

“It’s a long story…” He tried to stop there but she raised a brow at him and ordered another round of drinks.

And it came pouring out him-all of it. He hadn’t known he needed to talk about- least of all his ex girlfriend- but apparently he did. He told her about Claire-  how she grew up, how she became a doctor, how he had moved in with her, how they had happened. She listened and listened, and finally once he was done speaking shook his head at her in sheer exasperation. 

“Ye are a smart man, Jamie Fraser, but ye sure are a daft one sometimes.” He saw her laugh at him. 

“I need ye to explain that one, lass.” 

Her breath shook as her phone buzzed on the counter. “You are right- she needs to be more careful and she needs to listen to your concerns… But Jamie, she also is right. She’s a doctor and a good one from what I hear. She won’t do anything that would harm her or your child intentionally, but it’s her body. Only Claire can be the one to know when enough is enough.” 

Mary stood and pushed her barstool in. “Neither one of you wants to concede to the other and I’m not saying there’s a winner in this fight, but Jamie… Giving her space and allowing her to be in control seems to be a big piece of who she is. This is all as new to her as it is to you, except she’s the one who’s growing the human.” 

“So what is it ye are telling me to do?” 

“Weel, I am telling you, that you need to tell her how you feel- but you need to be okay with whatever her decision is. It’s teamwork and compromise. You’ll find your balance, you both will.”

And with a smile she hugged him and was on her way. He felt a sense of peace rush through him, in some ways he thought it was almost relief. He would forever owe Mary for making him realize what he had with Claire. Mary had been good and kind to him, nurturing his soul in ways  that he wasn’t sure he would ever fully understand. Yet, through the ups and the downs there had always been the one constant piece in all of it. 

Claire. Sorcha.

He threw the cash on the bar top and shook his head knowing exactly where he was headed.

Ye wee daft man, ye must go and repent yer words while you still can. 

Claire 4:45 AM 

I heard the deadbolt. 

He turned it slowly and opened the door. I knew he would know I was waiting for him. He always had a keen sense of things like that. 

“And just where do you think you’ve been?” I finally asked once the door was closed.

I watched as he tossed his keys onto the table and shrugged his shoulders, “Out.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question…” I sat up on the couch and wrapped the plaid blanket tighter around me. 

“Sassenach… It’s late. Ye havena had a good night’s sleep in at least two days and I am exhausted. Go sleep in our bed.  We can talk when yer rested.” 

That was the last thing I wanted to hear. Just earlier he had reprimanded me for coming home and wanting to sleep and not talk- now I was the one who wanted to talk and he was telling me to go to sleep.

Circles, we were running around each other in circles. 

It was infuriating me. 

We’d talk, now, whether he liked it or not. 

“James.” I rose from the couch and crossed my arms. I seldom used his full name like that.“You were out all night after getting mad at me when I said I didn’t walk  to talk. I think I am owed the decency of knowing where you were!”  

I could feel frustration oozing out of me. 

I had worked nearly three days in a row. There had been accident after accident, trauma after trauma. I had nearly doubled my surgeries from my last three rotations earlier that week with this weekend stint at the hospital. 

I barely had time to enjoy a cup of coffee, let alone a minute to tell Jamie what was going on. I hadn’t come home to eat, sleep, shower, or give him the knowledge of what was happening.  

“Claire,” He breathed. I could hear a small sense of anger rising in the pronunciation of my name. “I went to clear my head, I stopped at the place down from here, the one that is open late.” 

He took a step closer towards me and came into the dim light. He was still in his office clothes from the day before- he wore a solid white button down with khaki pants, but now he looked tired and worn down. Though the small light from the lamp on the end table didn’t illuminate the entire room, it was bright enough for me to still see a small piece of red lipstick on the outside of his collar. 

I kept my arms folded, standing my ground. The anger and exhaustion was catching up to me. Tears were near the surface.

“Och!” He threw his arms up in frustration when he read the look on my face. “Ye really want to do this, then?”

I pursed my lips and nodded. 

“Like I said,” He hissed through his teeth, “I was at the place down the street, I have receipts if ye must see them!” 

“That’s not what I want to talk about and you know it!” My voice was louder than usual but cracked at the end. It was taking everything in me to remain even the slightest bit composed.

He fisted his hands and took a step closer to me. We were now just a foot apart. I could smell the whisky coming from him. 

“What is it, then?” 

I scanned his eyes and saw he was completely helpless- he really had no clue.

“There’s lipstick- on your collar.” I could feel the tears rising to the surface. It was a mix of exhaustion and hormones, that I was sure of. 

“Sassenach…” He whispered my name, I could hear the plea behind it, “Ye dinna think, that I…. Ye mustn’t?” 

I shook my head and sat down on the edge of the sofa, “No….NO.” I put my face into my hands. “I know you didn’t…” 

“Let me explain.” He took a seat next to me but kept some distance away, but placed a hand on my knee. 

“I was sore, said things to ye before that I dinna mean.” I turned my head and looked at him. His face was earnest and I saw a small hint of a smile. “I went there to clear my head, hoping ye’d get tired enough and just crash… But I see no’ telling ye where I was was no’ wisest choice.” 

That earned him a laugh as I shook my head, “No, you bloody Scot. You kept me up worrying!” 

“Aye, I see that.” He scanned my face and scooted a little closer. “I was finishing up when Mary walked in.” 

That sent a flash of anger through me and caused me to stiffen in resposne. 

“Let me finish.” His voice was shaky but I could hear the determination in it. He closed the distance between us- our knees were touching, my hands in his. “She’s engaged now… And  she was waiting to pick up her fiance from the airport. We just talked. I told her all about you.” 

It still wasn’t enough to make me feel better. 

“I told her about the wee lass.” He reached and put a hand on the small swell of my lower abdomen. “And she helped put things into perspective for me.”

“And just how did she do that?” I was jealous. I had never disliked Mary- she was a kind, smart, well rounded woman. Her helping my Jamie in a way struck a chord in me that I didn’t know I had. 

“She gave me warmth, when I was questioning all of my choices.” He took a deep breath and tilted my face to his so we were eye to eye. “She gave me understanding and a sense of enlightenment when I needed it most.”

Daft man. I laughed out loud and could feel my own fists clenching. 

“That’s what I am supposed to be, for you! You bloody Scot” My voice was louder than usual and cracking.! I took a breath and shrugged my shoulders, “At least, I think that’s the way this is supposed to go!” 

I laughed again and steadied my voice. “This is our life we’re working through. Our relationship, our child, our future! I know we went from zero to one hundred rather quickly.. But you need to talk to me and no one else!”

He laughed at me and I let a tear fall. “Ye are just as daft as I, mo nighaen donn.” 

He wiped the tear with his thumb. “Ye are for me what I am for you, but this..” He rubbed my stomach, “Has turned our world upside down rather quickly and we dinna ken what we are doing, together. We ken what we would do when we were alone and no’ together, but it’s no’ like that anymore.” 

Slowly, I was starting to realize what he meant. 

We had both been overworked, over tired, and stretched thin. He hadn’t been understanding of the requirements of my job and I hadn’t been receptive of his issues, especially since I was carrying our child. Instead, I had walled myself in and closed myself off. I had thought only of myself through all of this, with little regard to Jamie’s concerns at all. 

This was new to me- new to him. We were in uncharted waters and if it was scary for me then I knew it must be for him, as well. But at the end of all of this, I knew there was no one I’d rather navigate treacherous waters with, than him.

“I have you, and we have her.”  He kissed my forehead. “We dove into this head first and havena stopped since. We need to set some boundaries-  and I must be more understanding of  the circumstances of yer job.” 

“And I need to clue you in a bit more…” I turned my face to his, nuzzling our noses.  “And be more cautious of the cargo I am carrying.”

“Aye.” He breathed.

He kissed me, soft and slow. His tongue traced my bottom lip and I reached for his neck, pulling him on top of me.  

Swiftly, his hands were on the waistband of my scrubs. In one fluid motion he had them off and strewn somewhere in the room. It was a flurry of events: my hands were in his hair and then I was scrambling to lift his shirt over his head. I could feel the sense of urgency pulsating through him. The need for reassurance, the closeness we were both seeking. Our lovemaking was always a risk- exposing our most vulnerable parts to each other, yet my soul was safe in his hands. I always knew that.  

His mouth was hot and heavy on my neck as I fumbled with the button on his khakis, “I want ye Claire. I want ye so bad I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?” 

I laughed into his next kiss, surprised he was asking, but finding it oddly romantic, “Yes… Yes I’ll have you.” 

It wasn’t like I was going to say no, bloody Scot. 

He trailed kisses up my chest as his hands found their way to my scrub top. Slowly he pulled it over my head and tossed it into the abyss. I laid my back down onto the couch as I watched him discard his shirt. His muscles tensed and even in the dimness of the room, the moon illuminated his every definition. 

By some miracle he was mine. 

His shirt fell just between the coffee table and couch. My eyes followed the curve of his abs as his hands hastily pulled my undergarments down my legs.

“Mo Chridhe,” he whispered, “Mo nighean donn.”

His hand worked quickly to rid himself of his clothes as I took in his full form. He wanted me, he wanted me badly. 

Jamie lowered himself onto me trailing kisses from the small swell on my stomach until he reached my mouth. He fisted his hands into my hair while reaching for my hips so he could align my body just right. 

He stopped for a moment, his fingertips pulsing against my skin, but his eyes locked on mine. His face scanned mine looking for something. What- I didn’t know nor did I care. 

All I wanted was him. Body and soul.

I was quite literally bare and naked before him- nothing to protect me. Yet while I was in my most vulnerable state, Jamie saw right through me, as he always did. 

Whatever he was searching for he found the answer. He situated himself between my legs and guided himself into me. We were as close as we could be, yet it didn’t seem like it was enough. It never was.

His movements were slow and methodical. He was taking the time to make sure I knew he was mine just as I was his. 

As his pace started to gradually pick up, I could feel the wave building and building. Our eyes met and I saw a small smile form on his lips. We rode it together knowing whatever murky waters we might face in the future, so long as we were together, that was all that mattered.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 3 (Mafia AU)

Summary:  For Rus, things seem to be going from bad to worse,

Notes: Well, I can’t stop now.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warnings: Some violence. A wee bit of unwanted touching and some innuendo.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

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Read it here!

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Since they came to the surface, most of Rus's days were pretty much the same old, same old. He got up, yanked the blankets over his mussed sheets in a semblance of making the bed, and got dressed: uniform on workdays, and his grubs on days off. He’d go to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee in the wheezy old Bunn that Rus found in someone’s trash, tinkering with it in the evenings until he got it working. He’d drink a cup of coffee that always had a faint burnt note to it no matter how fresh it was, leaving the rest for Blue when he got up, and he’d head into the shop to make the floral arrangements for the afternoon deliveries. When his shift was over, currently doubles until they managed to hire someone who wouldn’t either steal from them or quit three days in, Rus would head home and shower away the stink of soil and plant food before flopping on the sofa to fall asleep in front of the tv until Blue came home and made dinner.

He couldn’t say it was better than the Underground, but then, he couldn’t say it was worse either and once the newness of the Surface wore off it was, well, it just was. Such was life and all it meant was Rus tended to cling a bit to anything fresh and different; like a stranger wandering in on his mornings for a single red rose.

He soaked those moments up like fuel for his what-ifs, his little daydreams as he worked with his clippers and floral wire, writing out small cards that declared ‘happy birthdays’ or ‘with love’ or ‘my condolences’.

Same old, same old, sure, with a few bright spots in between.

This week, though, ah, this was a week of first. First time he'd been shot at, for sure, first time a mysteriously gorgeous stranger ever gave him a kiss, even if it was hardly more than a brush of teeth. First time the police ever put up even the pretense of being on his side without an unspoken warning to stay in his place.

Also, his first time at being kidnapped and Rus couldn't say that he was very happy that his second chance came so soon after.

Point of fact, he was fucking terrified.

He'd woken up with a dismally aching skull and his magic still lingering out of reach, unable to see as he struggled against bonds that held him immobile no matter how hard he fought, until the throb in his skill matched his freshly strained joints. From the way it felt, he was tied to a chair and he couldn't see because of a blindfold that didn't budge no matter how hard he shook his pained head. The throbbing pain was worsening, threatening to make him black out again and Rus finally subsided, trying to keep panic at bay as he took a mental assessment.

His arms were uncomfortably bent and bound on either side of him at the wrists and he could feel the smoothness of wood against his bared forearms. His knees were tethered together, the joints straining as his feet were spread apart, each ankle tied to a separate chair leg. More ropes were wound around his upper body and across his femurs so when he tried to move, he couldn’t so much as rock the chair. He couldn't budge an inch in any direction without hurting himself which was probably the point.

Worse, they hadn't gagged him and somehow that seemed more frightening, not less, that they didn't care if anyone heard him scream.

Rus licked his teeth, drying flecks of marrow clinging disgustingly to his tongue. Tentatively, he called, "hello?"

He thought he heard someone move, cocked his head in that direction.

"hello?" he persisted. "is anyone there?” His voice seemed to echo around him, reverberating, “please, this is all a mistake! i run a florist shop i…i'm nobody…"

"Yes, we know."

Rus jerked instinctively towards that voice, stupid, he couldn't see anything around the blindfold. Not even the glow that voice suggested he should, that was the language of the Fire Monsters, a strange combination of crackling and sibilant consonants. Almost impossible for anyone who wasn't flame to speak and the only reason Rus could understand it was because of a childhood friend.

This Monster didn't sound anywhere near as cheery as his old pal. Those brief, smoldering words were the cold burn of near frostbite and there was no echo, only silence followed them.

Rus swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in his mouth, rasping out, “what do you want?”

There was a scrabbling shuffle of unknown feet and a new voice, “He said—"

“i know what he said!” Rus snapped. He choked off more desperately angry words, grimacing. His bro always said his mouth was gonna get him into trouble and yeah, this problem wasn’t one he’d started but better not to make it worse.

“Do you now.” A single step, the scrape of a shoe against concrete. “Well, that is interesting. A flower shop clerk who can understand flame-speak, how…unusual.”

What did that mean? Rus wasn’t sure and he didn’t know if he should explain his quirk with languages. His head ached painfully and so did his nasal aperture where he'd taken that hard punch. Licking at his teeth found one that was a little loose in its socket. He really hoped Blue could heal it. He really hoped Blue had a chance.

From close by came a soft murmur of indecipherable words and the sound of clawed footsteps walking away, a closing door.

An unexpectedly touch between his shoulder blades made Rus stifle a cry and he tried not to cringe as the heat blazed a path down his spine down before drawing away at the back of the chair. “I admit, I was disappointed when I first saw you. His taste has certainly gone downhill.”

There was an unspoken question there that Rus didn’t know how to answer. “please. what do you want?”

His question was ignored. “But perhaps you have,” that crackling voice lowered, scalding hot breath gusting uncomfortably against the side of his skull, “hidden depths. He’s quite enamored of you, isn’t he.”

“who is?” Although Rus was very much afraid he already knew.

The snap/pop of that scoff meant his captor knew as well. “You’d best be careful, if you’re dealing with the Fells.” A swath of searing heat fell across his skull as a large, flaming hand settled on top of it, burning fingers lightly digging in, “When they’re done with their toys, they break them.”

Rus tried to nod, desperate to get away from that paining touch. That blazing grip only tightened, the temperature rising until Rus whined, cooling tears seeping from the corners of his sockets to wet the blindfold.

“You should be thanking me for the warning." The flame monster chided. There was an impression of a large body, moving closer, blanketing Rus entirely in heat as his voice whispered in lowered luminescence, "Well? Thank me."

"thank you," Rus gasped out. The grip on his skull released and Rus sagged against his bonds, breathing heavily. All his clothes were clinging sweatily to his bones, his wrists aching anew from chafing against the ropes. He hadn’t even been consciously trying to struggle, only desperate to get away from that painful heat…wait. Was that shouting he could hear? Some calamity was going on not far away, muffled through the walls and doors that Rus knew must be around him.

It was impossible for hope not to swell in his soul, shriveling back when that aching heat shifted to stand in front of him.

“You do have a pretty mouth.” Thoughtfully, as Rus’s chin was gripped painfully in a simmering grip, a hot thumb smoothed over his teeth. A new, unthinkable fear rose in Rus, one he hadn’t considered; he’d been afraid for his life, not his body, but the implication was unmistakable. “I’d give it a try but from the sound of things, that’s all the time we have together, lovely. We’ll have to play again sometime.” Then louder, he called, “You’re slipping. I expected you much sooner, old friend.”

The grip on Rus’s chin abruptly released and instead an arm slipped around his neck and tightened, his cervical vertebrae squalled in uncomfortable protest at a threatening upward tug. “Ah ah. Not too close, darling.”

“Stop this.” There was no halting the wave of shameful relief at Edge’s rich voice, oceanic and deep. Only to be choked away by the arm around his throat and Rus couldn’t move, but he couldn’t stop trying to thrash away from the pull that threatened to separate his skull from his neck, straining against the unyielding ropes as he tried to rise even a bare inch for some relief.

“What? And spoil the game? See you soon, and do tell your brother I miss him, won’t you? Ta.”

Then that agonizing grip released and the burning presence was abruptly gone, leaving Rus to sag against the ropes, gasping in sweet, cool air.

Rus’s blindfold was soaked with tears and sweat, clinging uncomfortably against his face. More tears felt like they were strangling in his bruised throat, desperate to be shed. It was difficult to hear anything over the aching pounding in his skull and the rattle of his bones as he trembled, but he couldn’t feel anyone close by, had they left him here, bound and helpless to anyone who might wander in?

“is anyone there?” Rus asked pathetically. All his panic seemed to have caved in, collapsed in on itself to numbness that left him empty and spent. Feebly, he tried to twist his hands free again, if he could only get one loose—

“Hold still, you’ll hurt yourself.” Unexpected and gently said, it set a candle flame of hope flickering in Rus’s soul and…no. No more flame metaphors, not today.

The blindfold was suddenly gone and Rus blinked at the flood of light, trying to see anything past a blur. When his vision cleared, he could see he was in a sort of warehouse, one that didn’t look like it’d been used in a long time. There were crates and broken pallets stacked all around them on a dusty floor and the overhead lights were sodium-yellow and dim.

Edge was already moving to kneel at his feet, inspecting the ropes binding him. Somehow, the way he moved, the powerful grace in his long legs as he bent to crouch before Rus was desperately appealing and fuck, Rus really was as stupid as their pop always said. All of this could be laid right back at Edge’s doorstep, he knew that, only his stupid libido didn’t seem to have gotten the message. Rus stifled it, stuffed it down back into the back of his mind with all the rest of the bullshit that usually crept out to taunt him in the middle of the night.

Whatever Edge saw, he didn’t seem to like it; his brow bone pulled down into a frown and he made a low, rude sound before pulling something out of his pocket. Rus couldn’t help flinching from the mellow gleam of metal as a knife flicked out, but there was nowhere for him to go. He could only sit mutely as Edge got to work, the ropes parting easily beneath the sharpened blade until thy lay on the floor around them like thin, unmoving snakes.

A moment or an eternity later and he was loose. His shoulder joints felt sprung and achy, his hands flopping loosely into his lap as Rus tried to work feeling back into his fingers. The bones at his wrists were painfully chafed and bruises were already darkening the bone. He wondered absently where there might be other bruises, his ankles certainly, maybe at his knees, on his upper arms where the ropes dug in so terribly.

Edge stood next to him, waiting, his long coat pulled open by his hands in his trouser pockets. He seemed in no undue hurry, allowing Rus to assess the damages and he only spoke again when Rus finally looked up at him, pouring out all his desperate fears and confusion in one look. There were no answers forthcoming, Edge only held out a single gloved hand in offering.

"Come on," Edge said quietly. His clothing was unruffled, the same sort of obscenely expensive suit he’d always worn to the shop. Even his tie was perfectly straight, not a single snag in the rich crimson silk. He practically exuded calm competence and the only sign he might be feeling anything else was in his eye lights, the dimmed shadow of regret. "I'll take you to your brother.”

That sounded…that sounded like a slice of heaven right about now, to be wrapped up in the blanket of his brother’s love and concern. Rus ignored that extended hand and tried to stand on his own. His legs disagreed vehemently, knees achingly wobbly and he would have fallen to the ground if Edge didn't catch hold of him.

“don’t!” Rus tried, but he couldn’t stop Edge from lifting him into his arms, his weak struggles useless against that strength. All the questions bleating around in his skull –who was that, what was going on, why is this happening— twittered away into a single painful realization, one that Rus’s daydreams never even considered. “you—” His breathing was a ragged sob, “you’re some kind of criminal, aren’t you!”

Edge didn’t deny it. He only walked towards the far side of the room where a large cargo door was hanging open, leading out into a hallway.

He should have known. That scarred face he’d thought was so sexy was as much a warning as a damn sign, only it looked like Rus wasn’t very good at reading what was right in front of his sockets, too busy getting his panties wet to worry about the flashing neon ‘danger’ blinking in his face.

Rus let his head fall against Edge’s shoulder, burying his face against his wool coat and uncaring that he was smearing it with tears and other fluids as he moaned out, “what have you gotten me into? what did you do?”

There was no answer and as they stepped out into the hallway, Rus could barely stifle a shriek as he caught sight of what lay within. There were bodies lying everywhere, splashed with a rainbow’s worth of various bloods, ungainly limbs twisted into impossible configuration and pinned by jagged bone constructs that were slowly dissolving away.

“Easy. They aren’t dead or they’d be dust,” Edge reminded him patiently. Like that was so much better. His footsteps were even, heels clicking lightly on the concrete as he walked towards another doorway with daylight pouring through a broken pane.

Outside was a car with windows tinted almost as dark as the glossy black exterior. Edge didn’t set Rus down even to open the door, holding him close until he set Rus into the passenger seat. For a humiliating moment, Rus’s fingers refused to loosen their grip on Edge’s coat, the heavy material nearly tearing under his blunt fingertips as Edge tried and failed to draw away. Strong hands circled his bruised wrists with care, thumbs working their way coaxingly into Rus’s palms until he finally let go. Edge buckled his seat belt on for him like he was a child and then rounded the front to settle into the driver’s side.

The car pulled away with a near silent purr, smoothly guiding them through narrow alleyways between the warehouses, out into the main street.

There were other cars on the road, driving along without a single clue that there were terrible people out in the world right now, driving right next to them. Reality was slowly settling back in, brutal and implacable, stealing away his blessed numbness. Rus kept his gaze on his hands, tracing the bruises he could see purpling on the bones, unable to keep from prodding at them even as it blossomed hurt.

“i want to go home,” Rus said, pettishly.

Edge’s focus was on the road, both hands on the wheel at a proper ten and two. “I told you I’d take you to your brother.”

Implying that wasn’t the same place and Rus turned his head to stare at Edge mutely, then slumped back into the seat. More fine leather, great, hatefully comfortable as it cradled his aching bones. He wondered how well it would muffle the sound if he buried his face into it and started screaming.

He didn’t bother. Rus didn’t feel much like talking anymore.

~~*~~

tbc

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[hollandgarden]

Gangsta? (TH and HO short)

Description: Tom has to pee and Harrison has a deal to make. What happens when the two mix? It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Warnings: stupidity, slight violence, this is not meant to be taken seriously 

Word count: 2,400

Harrison was more cunning than Tom knew him to be. Harrison was able to afford luxuries that he shouldn’t be able to. Harrison could handle himself in a fight, even with someone double his size. Harrison was out at late hours that weren’t considered normal. There were so many signs, yet Tom never asked. 

He should have. He really should have. 

***

“Harrison, mate, you ready to go?” Tom chugged the rest of his pint and gently slammed it onto the bar countertop. He pulled out a fiver for tip and placed it beside the empty glass. 

Harrison bro nodded. “Yeah.” He pulled on his brown leather jacket as Tom pulled on his black one. They could be brothers if it weren’t for the different last names, and color of hues. 

As Harrison opened the driver side door, he remembered the small thing that he needed to do before they went home. “Aye, mate, I need to do a small errand.” 

“Ace,” Tom replied. “But I’m gonna need to take a piss soon.” 

“Ight, it’ll only be a tad of time,” Harrison chuckled. 

The drive to the warehouse was fairly short from the local bar they’d chosen to go to that night. This warehouse during the day was for a fish market and at night, well, that was only for Harrison and his group to know. Not even Tom knew of what went on behind these doors. 

Harrison pulled up into a spot a few feet away from the front and reached out to stop Tom from getting out. “Stay in the car, Thomas.” 

“What? Why? I told you I was gonna have to take a piss.” Tom furrowed his brows.  

“I’ll be out soon. You can go when we get to the house.” 

Tom eyed his best friend for a moment before sighing heavily. “Alright, mate.” Little did Harrison know, he needed to go so bad that if it was more than five minutes, he was going to pop inside to go wee. 

After Harrison slipped out and through the two deadlock doors, Tom reached out to turn up the volume. He switched the tunes to his workout playlist. Tom rested his hands on his knees and tapped his foot along to the beat. He casually observed the outside of the fish market building; the stench had already seeped into the car and it was hard not to gag. Though the pier nearby definitely didn’t help. The interior probably matched the exterior; he’d never been inside it before. 

The more he thought about it, it was probably worth the wait. But then again, his bladder wasn’t being cooperative. Tom licked his lips before made the split second decision that he couldn’t wait. It had been longer than five minutes. He turned the car off, pocketed the keys, and jogged inside. He didn’t announce himself to not be a bother. He only tried to slip through the small hallways to find the loo; it proved to be more difficult than anticipated. Finally, he was able to relieve himself. It was so satisfying; he felt like a new man. He decided to search for Harrison and came into the open part of the building and there stood a group of men with piles of cash and duffels that were full of something.

What the… bloody fuck? 

Tom’s face fell and his heart began to speed up at the unsettling atmosphere. It caused his skin to crawl. Normally this wasn’t a big deal since it was usually when they watched a scary movie, but this was real. This was a real danger. Seriously, he had no idea what the hell was going on, and he wanted to make his case. But by the look Harrison shot him from below, he kept his mouth shut.  

“I thought you said you were alone, mate?” one of the burly men questioned, taking a step toward Harrison. 

Harrison didn’t falter his stance though, and only pocketed his hands into his trousers. “He’s not a snitch. He won’t cock this up for us. I got your coke and you’ve got my pounds. We’re done and will be on our merry way.” 

He reached out to start stuffing the stacks into the duffels, but the man stopped him with a hand on his chest. “No, we ain’t. We don’t trust him.”

Tom swallowed hard, and took a step back, which then he ran into something hard. He hadn’t remembered being this close to a wall. He turned around and his eyes went wide at the man who blocked his only way out. 

“Listen, I won’t tell. I didn’t even know what’s happening,” Tom shouted. I mean, he could put two and two together, but he wasn’t going to admit that logic. It was clearly not the best time. If they survived, he was going to need a serious discussion with his so-called best friend.

The man picked him up out of his own free will and carried him down the stairs.

“Come on, man! Put me down!” Tom squirmed to get out of his grip, yet couldn’t do a single thing. He was twice his size; it wasn’t like he was the tallest guy to begin with, though he never used that as an excuse. Well, that was embarrassing. 

“Thomas, quiet,” Harrison ordered and returned to his previous act. “Really, Gerard. It’s me. I’m professional when it comes to this. We’ll get this sorted, as usual.”

Gerard crossed his arms with a cocked brow. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

Tom’s burly man smirked grimmly and reached out to rest a hand on his chin. “Think you’d get any more roles without that pretty face?” 

Tom brushed his hand away and straightened out his navy tee. “Yeah, man. But please don’t hit me.” 

Harrison huffed. “Would you stop the American accent?” 

“I’m sorry,” Tom retorted. “I slip into it when I’m nervous.” 

Gerared chuckled, it was low and definitely evil. “Take em, boys.”

It was five against the two of them; which wouldn’t normally be the worst odds in a movie setting, but this wasn’t a movie. Tom did the only thing he could think of and held his hands up in fists. He and Harrison stood back to back. 

“I told you to stay in the cab,” Harrison whispered. “You’d be safe if you did.”

Tom couldn’t stop his eye roll. “Well, I had to pee… You never mentioned you were involved in this… work.” 

Harrison actually chuckled. “You never asked, mate… Trust me, I got this.” 

The two of them prepared for the worst in a fight. Tom had to search deep down for all the training he’d done for Marvel. There was a little bit of Karate. It was mostly harnesses and cardio. This was life or death, so he’d do what he could with his adrenaline. 

The men dealt knives as they surrounded them and Gerard had seemingly disappeared with his coke and part of the cash. Well, that was fucking rude. 

“Are you losers gonna make your move or are you too scared to take old H on?” Harrison mocked. 

Tom seriously would need to have a conversation with Harrison after this. That was if they weren’t having to rush to the hospital on a bus. 

Finally, a man with a goatee made a jump at Harrison. He ducked the throw and sucker punched his kidney, then kicked out the back of his leg. He made a quick decision to grab a net nearby to choke him out. 

Tom’s eyes went wide. “You’re gonna kill him, H?” 

Harrison grimaced between clenched teeth, “It’s us or them, Thomas… There’s no inbetween play… I won’t let you die.”

The man’s face turned a deathly mixture of red and purple as he clawed at Harrison’s hands. Tom couldn’t watch the final moments of it as the guy from earlier made his move. Tom ducked the punch in half circle step, swiftly he had to add, and he dodged around to behind to jump onto his back. He tried the technique he’d seen on screen and tucked his arm under the chin and used his other hand to lock it. He used his own body momentum in an attempt to bring him backwards and off-set his balance. 

The guy who was definitely more experienced than Tom didn’t falter at all, and he reached back to grab Tom by his shoulders and threw him over the table. 

Tom coughed at the loss of air and gripped his ribs area. This was way different than being on set. He knew there was no luxury of time and rolled over to get up as fast as possible. And luckily he had as the man tried to smash his face in with a wooden board he’d grabbed. He did one of the karate kicks he remembered from training, which was a low kick aimed at the ankle and he spun around to stand up. Before he could attack again, another rammed into him. 

“For being Spider-Man, you suck at brawls.” Harrison came in to help and double-spun kick the guy in the face. “I’m not sorry, Lou.” He knuckle punched him into the throat he’d exposed by pulling his hair back. 

“I wasn’t training for real combat,” Tom scoffed. “What can I do?” 

Harrison shook his head. “Keep your distance.” 

Tom nodded shortly and hurried to the side. Then after a few seconds, he found a metal bar to use as a weapon. He didn’t want Harrison to take all the heat for the situation he created. If he would’ve just fucking held his bladder, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Granted, if Harrison wasn’t involved in whatever this was, they wouldn’t be here in the first place. There was no reason to get angry, it wouldn’t fix anything. 

When he was able to gather his bearings and register the surroundings, he realized Harrison had taken out two already and was battling the last three on his own. The other two hadn’t waited until he finished with Tom’s man. Harrison was able to so meticulously counter their attacks with blocks, kicks, and punches. The muscles were not for show; most of the time anyway. He seemed to be taking care of himself pretty well, yet Tom couldn’t stand by. That was who he was as a person. 

Tom battle cried and sprinted at one of the open men. He swung the cool pole straight into his face; the remorse that pooled a weight into his chest wasn’t missable. These men were humans, mixed up in the wrong work. That was the same case for Harrison. Yet, Harrison’s words wrang in his head and he knew that this was a special case scenario. He’d let the guilt eat at him later. 

Harrison and Tom found their sync to battle the final three, which quickly became one who held his hands up in the air. 

“You know what? I don’t like Gerard. He’s a bit wonky.” 

Harrison smirked. “He is a plonker, but so are you.” He ripped the bar out of Tom’s hands, leaving a weird sensation on his hands, and it only took two swift blows for the man to be knocked out on the ground. 

Harrison dropped the metal before he straightened out his shirt and grabbed his gold Rolex from the ground, which must’ve fallen off in the midst of the violence, and clicked it back on. 

“Are we going to talk about this?” Tom questioned as he stayed a foot away from Harrison who took what money was left. 

He thought about it, cocking his head slightly to the side, then shook it. “Nope. You’ve got your work, which has its secrets, and I’ve got mine, which is all secret.”

Harrison knew he’d have track Gerard down for the rest of his payment, which would involve more bodies he’d need to kill. Gerard was known to be melodramatic about all of this; it wasn’t that serious. 

“Come on, let’s go.” 

Tom sputtered out a couple laughs, turning hysterical. “You’re fucking joking? I’m not going anywhere until you tell me all about this work! Tell me everything, H!”

Harrison looked his best friend in the eyes; one of them practically swollen shut. Tom had taken quite the beating, yet stayed in it. He was practically pleading. “I… can’t. Just know I’m okay, yeah?” 

“I want to say no…” Tom observed all the unconscious, bloody men and laughed his breath. “But clearly you do. I’ll leave it alone for now, gangsta Harrison.” 

Normally, it was mobster Harrison and the gang leader of a high drug dealership. Of course, it was all underwraps. He’d take this new one as a complement. 

Harrison smiled cheekily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Gangsta Harrison, I like the sound of it. Never considered myself one before.” 

Tom shook his head. “I can’t believe you do this on the side.”

The two of them each carried a duffel and headed out of the warehouse. 

“Where did you think I went at the odd hours of the nights and mornings?” 

“I don’t know. To go to the clubs… to workout...” 

Harrison snickered. “Sometimes I was.” 

Suddenly, a dread hit Tom. “They’re not gonna find and torture me for payback, are they?” 

His friend thought for a second, then let out a puff of air. “Maybe, but I’ve got you, mate. They won’t if they know what’s good for them.” 

What was good for them. This wasn’t good for H. Tom was worried, yet they were both alike when it came to being stubborn. They didn’t back down from a daring role. 

“I’m glad I’m on your side,” Tom remarked, giving Harrison one last squeeze before he got into the car. 

“I am the good guy in this case.” Harrison cheesed. It was so handsome, Tom couldn’t stay mad. 

He shook his head. “That you are.” Then he opened the passenger side door to get in. After Harrison had got in, he couldn’t resist saying, “The wee was a good one I have to admit.” 

“Thomas, never go wee in this building again.” Harrison started the car. 

“Yes, darling H,” Tom retorted with a laugh. 

 Harrison reached over to whack the back of his head. “Don’t call me that. It’s Gangsta H from now on.”

Tom held back a laugh. “Okay, darling Gangsta H.” 

“Thomas!”

[Masterlist]

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Cry Me A River.

anonymous  asked:

Prompt: Cry me a river, I cried a river over you.

Part TWO:

In the days following their first meeting, Claire did as Jamie had suggested and began reading her uncle’s memoirs the moment he emailed them to her.

One box of tissues hadn’t been enough.

Neither had two.

The bin beside her bed had been emptied a few times by the maid who supposedly was only employed to clean once a week but seemed to be there every day. She would (unobtrusively) appear in Claire’s room. Remove the overflowing bin and return it empty - a task she was certainly capable of herself but had no energy to point out.

As predicted, the draft was funny, sad, motivating and humbling all at the same time. She could pick out Lamb's voice in an instant and it made her sob harder to think that she’d missed these precious moments. There were embarrassing stories written about her, but she found that she didn’t mind them. This was for Lamb, by Lamb and she knew everything he’d passed on to Jamie was something interesting and vibrant, something suitable to be shared. Her past was suddenly coming back to life before her eyes, an easier time (though she hadn’t realised it). Free of the restraints of her family name and the ridiculous entitlement that had gone with it. The words seemed to lift off the page and in an instant she was back in a dusty tent, the taste of her first cigarette still coating her tongue as she coughed and laughed with some of the younger members of the group.

It had been a flurry of thought, her mind alive with images she’d forgotten long ago, an emotional rollercoaster that excited her and punched her in the gut all at the same time. When she reached the end, Claire had returned to the beginning and started again. She read deeper into each and every word, hooked on the sentences as they took her from his early life - a life before her own had even started - through to nearly the very end, until Jamie’s voice became larger than Lamb's as he took the reins of the story.

As the day of the funeral dawned, Claire had yet to even leave the confines of her appointed room. Cleverly, food had been left on a tray outside her door at mealtimes and she had not been disturbed by anyone in the house for anything. There were calls, of course, from the family solicitor and the funeral director to arrange the final details but he had sorted the newspaper announcements in a number of different ways to ensure that colleagues far and wide knew of poor Quentin’s departure.

She had even written the eulogy - but, without thinking, she had incorporated and rewritten some of her favourite adventures from the book. It seemed fitting to use his own words, to add a little of Lamb into his own funeral.

Though without Jamie’s support, she knew she couldn’t use it.

Terror gripped her at the mere thought of asking for permission. Having been absent -her own choice- when she should have been a more conscientious niece, Claire felt unworthy of using the words Jamie had so very carefully hashed out with Lamb during their long days together. Part of her thought *maybe* he should be reading the speech that sent him off to his final resting place. After all, it was him that had seen him the last important years of his life.

She could tell, though, that there was no way he would accept that. Something about his demeanor the day he’d picked her up, unannounced, at the train station told her much of his character. He was selfless, that she could guess. Willing to go above and beyond for the people he cared for - and she suspected he held Lamb in such high acclaim that he’d personally seen to it that she was provided for in every way from the second she arrived as her uncle would have wanted (despite her previous lack of attention).  

Staring at her unpacked suitcase, the remnants of her search for a decent funeral outfit still splayed half across the floor of the small room, she sighed and turned to face her closed laptop once more. The temptation to open it up and re-read the manuscript again was growing by the minute though she knew she didn’t have the time.

“Claire?” A knock on the door brought her out of her longing and she threw the half crumpled summer dress (why she’d packed that, she’d never know) onto the bed with a pile of other rejected outfits.

“Yes? Is the car here?” She questioned, looking at her watch to confirm that it was indeed still too early and that she still had time.

“Nay, not yet. I just wanted to make sure ye were alright. Mary said ye didna eat the breakfast she prepared for ye this morning and I was a wee bit worrit.”

Pulling the ties of her dressing gown closer around her chest, she pulled the door open wide enough for him to see that she wasn’t half starved and languishing on the floor. For the first time in a while an honest smile graced her lips and Jamie’s forehead evened out and the weight of worry fell from his shoulders. “I don’t want her to think I’m not grateful...it’s just that I'm not really that hungry this morning, sorry.”

“Did ye read it?” He asked, changing tac as he pointed to her computer where it sat, positioned haphazardly on the bedside table. He seemed intrigued and the rise of his question gave her the perfect opening.

“I did. It’s...magnificent. So powerful, and funny too. I forgot how much he used to make me laugh.” Her face lit up as she spoke, the deep lines on her brow easing as she sat on the bed causing Jamie to have to cross the invisible line into her room for the first time since she’d arrived. “Honestly, I can’t imagine it not being snapped up - at least by his former colleagues and friends - the moment it hits the press.”

The smile that made Jamie’s face beam from ear to ear made Claire’s heart swell. Genuinely worried about her response, he was obviously pleased that she’d found it acceptable.

“I have a question to ask, if it’s alright with you?” She continued, his relaxed demeanour bolstering her.

“Aye, ask away.”

“I’ve written my speech, the eulogy. Reading through his biography gave me a myriad of ideas, it reminded me of how much light and energy he brought to the world...but I used it to help me in writing my account of him. I’ve tried to put my own memories into my own words, though I’d like to use some of his own -some direct quotes from the manuscript…”

“Can you hold on for a moment, please?” He asked, holding his hand up and then rushing from the room.

Holding her hands together in her lap, she waited, her heart beating double time as she tried to quell the rising panic. If he said no, she’d understand but she would have some quick thinking to do.

She had nothing to worry about as Jamie returned in a flash, a piece of paper clutched carefully between his fingers. “Here,” he said, passing it over, “read this. I think it would be perfect to add to what you’ve already written. It was something we spoke about in passing the last few days and I wrote it down, just on the off chance that it would fit somewhere. No’ knowing, of course, that it might be the last thing we spoke about in reference to the book.”

Happiness fled from his eyes for a second as the sobering reality of what they were about to do set in before he shook the sombre feeling from his bones and placed his hands back carefully in his freshly steamed trousers.

“Oh, Jamie,” she sobbed, the new tears blurring the words as she held the paper away so that they didn’t ruin the script, “it’s perfect...but I think you should read this. You heard his voice, you’ve written what he told you so beautifully that I think he would want it to be you who voiced this in church.”

Grinning as he shook his head in disbelief, he took the proffered notepad back from Claire and placed it in his jacket pocket. “Are ye sure?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Ye should wear this,” he returned, changing the conversation once more as he plucked a clean lined black dress from the unsullied pile on the case. “Ye’ve still got the blazer he had made for you, the one wi’ the tools embroidered on the pockets and down the collar?” He asked, reminding her of a later section of the book, one where he had detailed Claire’s Masters graduation gift in detail including the story of the seamstress who’d adorned the pesky fabric and pinned herself that many times she’d scored the prints off her fingers by the end.

“Yes,” replying through the rapidly falling tears, she pointed to the door where the aforementioned article was hanging neatly on the back. “I still have it.”

“Aye. The dress wi’ that. You’ll look stunning, Claire.”

--

The service went out without a hitch; the church was packed, people having travelled halfway across the globe to share this arduous time with both Claire and Jamie. She’d spoken at length, far surpassing the one sided sheet of paper she had originally intended to stick to, the words falling from her freely. She felt stronger than she had on entering, her eyes glazed and large as she took in the sheer size of the audience, but once she had started, she found it difficult to stop.

Jamie did his part spectacularly, having almost the entire visiting congregation in hysterics. Just as Claire had predicted.

It made the wake a more relaxed affair and she stayed in amongst a group of Lambs oldest friends for the most part, laughing and reminiscing with them about everything she’d been taught by them and Lamb.

Seeing the light hearted nature of the conversation, Jamie watched from afar, talking to people here and there about the anecdotes he had shared during the funeral. She’d been quiet, of course, barely making a sound in the house since her arrival and he’d been cautiously optimistic about her opening up to him sometime soon. The aura of sadness she carried with her had distanced itself, the invisible black cloud dissipating with every breath she took of Scottish air and although she was still a mostly closed book, a small part of him wanted to entice her to stay and heal in Glasgow, on neutral ground, rather than return to Oxford straight away.

“I think that’s the last, Jamie.” Breaking the silence, he looked up to see the empty living room, a few plates strewn around with various elements of discarded food in the absence of life which had once preceded it but no more mourners.

“We should…”

“How about we leave it, just until tomorrow,” she interjected, sliding the last of the food waste into an open black bag, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

“Aye,” succumbing to the extreme fatigue that covered him from head to toe, he grabbed a tumblr and held it aloft, “agreed. How about a wee dram and a private toast?”

“Perfect.”

“To Quentin.” The commencement began with him passing Claire a double whack of whisky before clinking his glass with her own. “A man of honour…”

“...and grace…”

“...with passion and love in his heart.”

“Long may he rest in peace.” Claire finished, slugging back the spirit and closing her dry eyes. She’d finally cried herself out, and though she felt the familiar tinge of sadness building in her chest, she managed to feel somewhat at peace herself at long last.

[peachfyzzy]

mingling with the baddest pt 1 (leone abbacchio x reader +18)

Hey loves! I figured I’d do something special! I’m planning to make this a short multi-chapter fic! I hope you all enjoy, and as always…

nsfw under the cut

You patiently and diligently dried the spotless glass cups that were laid out in front of you. Part of you wanted to tear off your smock, hair net, and gloves and run as far as you could from the trashy little diner, but you had other priorities. Were you happy that you had to pick up another job to support yourself and family?

     Absolutely not. 

     But would you bear it for the sake of them and yourself?

     Absolutely so. 

     So, there you sat, drying and shelving dishes, until… “Y/N.” Your boss’s voice echoed in the bustling restaurant kitchen. You turned to attention, putting on your best ‘I don’t wanna strangle someone’ smile. 

     “Yes, sir?” 

     “Put down the dishes. We need help out serving.” Without so much as another glance, he walked away into the busyness of the staff room. With a sigh, you took off your gloves and headed outside to take orders. You hated working as a waitress. Not only was washing dishes gross, but the customers were rude and demanding. Still, you took it in stride with your chin held high. After a few points from the greeter, you found yourself serving a small table. You almost let out a gasp when you saw them. This diner was notorious for mafia activity and outbursts of anger. Yet, sitting and smiling in front of you, was a gaggle of cops. It was shocking to you- almost jarring. Amongst the shouting, rowdy, and rough mafia members occupying the space tonight…was a group of pristine, beaming cops. You didn’t realize you were staring until one spoke up. 

     “Uh, Miss?” He was handsome- almost impossibly so. Strands of pale hair stuck out from where he tucked it in. You jumped a bit, snapping out of your peaceful daydream. You once again, put on your customer service smile. 

     “What’ll it be, boys?” 

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

     You took in the comforting silence of your closed workplace. It was almost midnight, and the last few patrons had just left and sprung out into the beautifully painted night. With a certain kind of tired reverie, you tore off your work clothes and prepared for the car ride home. As you took one look into the dark abyss of the closed establishment, your heart began to race. You learned that the man’s name was Leone. He was fresh out of high school,  as were you, and he was taking a break from patrolling that night with his buddies. No matter where you were in the restaurant, you felt his eyes skim over you, almost unashamed. You didn’t mind the attention of course and made sure to swing your hips a bit more as you walked past. Pucker your lips a little more as you spoke. Add more of a lithe to your voice when saying his name. It was all casual fun, and seeing as cops were such a rare sight, you enjoyed the attention. Nothing too serious, right? 

     You’d be surprised. 

     You drove home, letting the cool Naples’ breeze pick up your stress and strain it through your flowing hair. It was bliss. You had always loved car rides. Specifically, fast car rides. Without noticing, you began to increase the speed that you were going. In your mundane life of eating, sleeping, working, repeat…something as small as a thrilling car ride brought immense joy to you. You lulled your head back a bit, taking in the sounds and sensations of Naples’ nightlife, until… 

Wee Woo Wee Woo

Aw, shit. 

     You looked into your head mirror and sighed. Your suspicions had been confirmed. You were being pulled over. With a grunt, you slowly veered to the side, gently slowing your vehicle. When you both came to a stop, you took the moments before he came to your door to fix your hair and try to at least act like you weren’t annoyed. Finally, he came to your window, rapping three times. You gasped. To your surprise, it was Leone. He hadn’t looked up from his notepad- you assumed he was writing a ticket- and only looked up at you once your meek voice reached out to him. 

     “Miss, you were doing 50 in a- Y/N?” 

     “Oh..uh…yeah. Hi, Officer Leone.” He looked at you from his comfortable height and tried not to stare down your shirt. 

     “Small town, huh?” The atmosphere around you two immediately lightened as he realized who you were. Soon though, you knew you would be driving home with a ticket that you couldn’t afford to pay off. 

     “Yeah, sure is. Uh…About the speeding-”

     “Look. You seem like a nice girl. If you promise not to do it again, I’m fine with letting you off with a warning.” You had to do a double-take. Relief washed over you, and you nodded. 

     “Y-Yes, of course! Oh, God…Thank you. You don’t know what it means to me. Really…I..” He tipped his hat at you, and you giggled. You found him astoundingly charming. 

     “It’s just what I do, Y/N.” You both shared a moment of comfortable silence before he began scribbling something down. You tilted your head curiously. He ripped the paper from its pad and handed it to you. Scratched across the pre-printed outline for a speeding ticket was his number. You blushed, knowing what he meant. “I’d like to get to know you more.” 

     “Same here, Officer Leone.” You spoke with a bit more confidence. As he began walking away, something pulled you internally. Maybe it was the adrenaline or the burst of confidence you got from a gorgeous man like Abbacchio taking interest in you, but you felt as if you couldn’t let him walk away. In one swift motion, you popped open your car door and grabbed his wrist. “Wait.” He looked down at you with his steely eyes, a more stern expression now crossing his face. “Who says you have to wait to get to know me?” 

     Before you knew it, you were sprawled onto your backseat with feverish kisses being pressed against your warm skin. Abbacchio had long since lost his utility belt, shoes, and hat. You, on the other hand never got the chance as the pale headed man kisses you up and down like you were a prized possession. Finally, you slid out of your work stockings and coat. As you did so, Abbacchio struggled to take off his full uniform in the back of your small car. You bit your lip, anxious to see what such a dignified officer was hiding under his clothes. Soon, his toned and lean body was on display for you, and you couldn’t help but beg and drool. He began to tease, and you didn’t hold back reciprocating. 

    “You like something you see, bella?” 

    “What gives you that idea?” 

    “You’re almost starring as much as you were in the restaurant.” That shut you up, and also earned a bitter laugh from Abbacchio. Not being one to give up so easily, you ghosted your hips down your body, stopping at your panties. You slid them down your leg, aware of Leone’s intense gaze. You both played your game of cat and mouse, teasing and toying with each other’s bodies. Something about him felt safe, and you were sure it wasn’t the uniform. After a torturous hour of praying no driver’s stopped and rolled down their windows, he finally aligned himself with you. In the haze of the moment, you felt your heart beginning to thump. He was staring down at your body, admiring all of your dimples, folds, and humps. “You’re beautiful, bella.” You had no time to return the sentiment as he thrusted in you, leaving you clinging to his shoulders. He gave you a minute to adjust to his length, somehow not letting his stoic exterior slip from him. You huffed out a ‘Move’ and he did so. Instantly, the car began to rock and creak, which only riled you up more. A myriad of sounds escaped your own lips and his as his pace quickened. You thought you might pass out as you reached your personal Nirvana. You had been with men- many in fact. But nothing felt like this. Stars danced in the corners of your eyes as you fell down from heaven. Leone finally pulled out, leaving you feeling empty as ever. After a few hard strokes, he came around your navel. Time stopped as you both looked at each other, and then gears started turning. 

This was the beginning of something new and unfound.

[heroacademiasstuff]

Contact

Also available on my ao3 account dolphins.

5.

"I need a date for my cousin's wedding," Aizawa slammed the door to the staff room open when Yagi was mid-bite of his mushed-up banana. "Hello to you too," he swallowed, feeling his eyebrow raise on its own accord. "She is pestering me to bring a date because apparently if I don't show some sign of getting into a relationship in the next year, she is going to set me up with her god-awful friend." Resisting a laugh, Yagi placed his spoon down nice and slow, the blush raising from Aizawa's face looking awfully pretty.

"Why me? Why not Hizashi or Nemuri?" he asked, genuinely curious by the whole situation. "My cousin knows me long enough to know I am not dating Hizashi... and Midnight will make me dance."

"Okay," Yagi felt a smile start to grow on his face. "When?" Aizawa let out a minuscule sigh in relief. "Saturday. Wear something nice." With that he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. How sweet, Yagi grinned to himself, shoving mushy scoops of food back in his mouth.

"Can we train at the beach on Saturday?" Midoriya asked as they sparred on the training grounds during lunch break. "I want to work on my new leg powered blows." Kneeing him in the side and dodging an uppercut, Yagi frowned. "I'm sorry, my boy, I won't be able to meet you this Saturday." Swinging a low hit to his chest, hiding a smile when it was blocked rapidly and a counter attack struck him in the arm. "How come?" Midoriya paused in his actions, tilting his head to the side and chowing down on his lip.

"As a matter of fact, I am attending a wedding," he smiled, putting his hands on his hips and looking all proud. "A wedding?" Midoriya tugged at his sleeve. "Who? Who?" Yagi shrugged, "Aizawa-sensei has asked me to accompany him to his cousin's wedding. As a- a date, I suppose." Midoriya went quiet all of a sudden and Yagi felt unease grow in his tummy as the cogs and bolts of his student's brain worked round behind his eyes.

"Todoroki was right then," he tapped his lip, mumbling away to himself. Wait what? "Right about what?" Yagi laughed nervously, scratching lines at the back of his neck. "About y-you and Aizawa-sensei dating." Shaking his head like a maniac, Yagi felt his whole face burn with fire. "What? No! Of course not, why would you think something so silly, my boy?" Midoriya studied him, a small smile hinting across his rosy face. "Okay." He didn't even try to pretend like he believed his mentor. Damn kids.

"Midoryia thinks we are a couple," Yagi spat out, rushing to Aizawa's empty home room like a bolt of lightning. Sipping his black coffee, Aizawa didn't even look up from his papers. "Hm," he hummed, scratching at the paper with his pen here and there. "Did you hear me, Shouta-kun?" he was practically hysterical. "People thing we are dating!"

Aizawa looked up at him, blinking with his dark, shadowy eyes. "Why are you panicking? You would be very lucky to have a guy like me," he looked back at his papers, hiding a sly smile in his scarf as Yagi went from hysterical to flabbergasted in all of a few seconds, burning red with all the fires of hell. "I- I didn't say- Shouta now is not the time for jokes!"

"Never said I was joking. I would make a great boyfriend," he dead-panned and Yagi damn well nearly fainted, choking blood out like a hose around himself. "Okay, okay," Aizawa stood, walking towards him with a handful of tissues. "I'll stop," Yagi took the offered tissues gratefully and wiped at his mouth. "Thank you." Of all times Aizawa could develop a sense of humour, he chose now? "There's nothing to worry about. We are just friends- that's plain to see."

Aizawa returned to his chair and Yagi couldn't understand the strange mix of disappointment and unease at his words. 

Saturday came and Yagi has dressed up in a "not ugly" suit, as per Aizawa's demands, and groomed his hair back into a bun. Finally, he had started to fill out a wee bit, all of the high-calorie drinks Recovery Girl had prescribed him and Aizawa's weekly present of some kind of sweet treat was helping him gain some much needed body fat. Looking in the mirror wasn't giving him nightmares anymore and Midoriya had taken to given him little hugs every now and then, poking him in the tummy. 

A car beeped outside and Yagi took that as his cue to go. Aizawa was in the driver's seat, the scent of cologne hitting him in the face as he entered. Fuck. He looked... well, beautiful. Tight, black suit hugging his body, hair swooped back behind his ears in a ponytail, face clear and scar tracing under his eye. Bored expression planted on his face. "Hey," Yagi almost sputtered blood. "Good morning, thank you for picking me up." Aizawa sped off, rolling his shirt sleeves up, "Thanks for suffering through this with me."

Yagi sat back in his seat feeling awfully sweaty and hot and God, he should have doubled up on deodorant and cologne, if only he had known Aizawa was going to smell so... good. He didn't remember a time when Aizawa didn't smell like sleep and coffee. He tugged on his tie.

"I hate weddings," Aizawa bemoaned, fiddling with the dial for the radio and shooting out between classical and rap music. "It might be fun, Shouta-kun," Yagi stared out as rain plummeted from the heavens, the wipers on the car waving frantically. "Hm," Aizawa hummed doubtfully.

At the reception they stood around, sipping on champagne and Yagi fended off advances from all of Aizawa's great aunts and elderly neighbours. "Oh, we have to fatten him up, don't we Shou-chan," his grandmother had Yagi wrapped up in her big arms. "Yes, I know." Aizawa muttered, boredly, seemingly ignoring Yagi's flustering. "How long have you both been together?" A younger lady asked, a hand on her heart. "Oh," Aizawa scratched at his head. "I don't know. It is a fairly new thing." All of the elders scolded him and the young girl snickered. "The youth of today! Romance is dead!" Grandmother looked just ready to faint.

"You are awful at this," Yagi said, cornering him in the restroom as Aizawa dried his hands. "Fake relationships? I am sorry, I forgot you are an expert, apparently." Yagi rolled his eyes, "Very funny. I'm not an expert in real ones, never mind fake ones. In fact I'd say you were still in middle school when I last had a date."

Aizawa coughed. "Don't be so creepy. You sound like such an old man," Yagi raised an eyebrow in semi-flirtation, "I'm sorry, I thought your type was the older men." Scoffing, Aizawa grabbed him by the tie, "Shut it." Oh God. His heart let out a shuddering beat. Blood gushed through heaving veins and arteries. This couldn't be good for his blood pressure. "Come on, I suppose we had better show our faces for a bit longer."

Aizawa began to play the role of doting date, so very well, that Yagi found himself involuntarily swooning. "More wine?" his hand on the small of Yagi's back. "I'm sure you would like to try some cake?" All of it was fake, teasing, but he could tell his friend was revelling in the embarrassed flush on his face at the cooing of his relatives. "Here you are," he handed Yagi another glass of champagne. Stars floated around his head. "Thank you." Is this what Aizawa would be like as a partner? Why was he even thinking about this? 

Soft music began to flutter into the room like waves upon the shore. Bride and groom, gushing with love and their new found joy with one another took their first dance on the hall in front of everyone, enveloping eachother and swaying in time to the music. Yagi watched them and wondered would he ever have something like that? Likely not, with the decline of his health and the rapid acceleration of his age, it didn't seem like he had enough time.

"What's wrong?" Aizawa had been staring at him, the act gone now that his elders had their focus on the lovely couple. "No, nothing. Just thinking," he gave a slight smile. "Thinking about what?" Aizawa pressed gently, twitch of concern pinched in between his brows. Others began to join the wedding party on the dance floor, coupling up and relaxing to the music. "I suppose I was thinking how I will never have that," he nodded towards the couple. After beat, Aizawa raised his eyebrow. "Why would you want to?" Yagi supposed he was too young to understand what it was like to watch your life slipping out from between your fingers like sand. "I don't know, the experience. Of having someone who loves you whole-heartedly."

"That's just the champagne talking," Aizawa muttered, scratching at his trouser leg with more force than needed. "Surely you know you are loved." Yagi smiled sadly, Aizawa cutting him off with an angry snap. "I'm not saying any more soppy things, get that miserable look off your face and come and dance with me."

"D-dance?" Yagi blinked as the man climbed to his feet and held out an expectant hand. "Has the old age made you hard of hearing? Yes, dance. Come on." What was going on?

Aizawa tugged him huffily towards the dance floor, wrapping his hands around Yagi's waist and allowing them to move gingerly to the beat of the music. "This is awful," Aizawa muttered, nose brushing Yagi's cheek. "Worst experience of my life, by far." Feeling a light giggle flutter it's way out of his chest, Yagi sunk into his embrace. "I agree, truly terrible."

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Septics Inverted

 A JSE Fanfic

Look, I love reverse morality AUs, and I mean I love them, so here’s my own take on it for the Septic boys. This was really fun to write, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! ^-^ It is kinda long though, but honestly at this point I’ve just accepted that I write long things.

Edit: There is a part two out now!

Hey uhhh @huffle-dork​ @evyptids​ remember how one time not too long ago in the Discord I went on a long rave about an AU I was working on and you guys were like “yeah I’d read that!” This is the that

Even though The Dish and Glass was a twenty-four hour diner, it almost never got visitors in the wee hours of the morning. This was something that Stacy knew, having been stuck at that job for nearly three years. When she worked the night shift, she expected that she’d be alone with the chef, spending the whole time worrying about the sitter she’d hired to watch the kids. Not like she expected them to be awake from the hours of midnight to six in the morning, but it was better safe to be sorry, and the sitters she got usually gave her ugly looks for making them stay up so late for nothing.

Of course, after tonight, she would wish the only problem she had was nasty babysitters.

It was two o’clock. Stacy was behind the counter, taking stock of the coffee mugs. She didn’t really have a reason to, but nobody was around to talk to except Richard, the chef, and he was busy in the kitchen doing who knows what. She was bored. The bright lamps overhead shone a monotonous white light down onto the red and white booths and tables. The plate glass window showed the blue-black night outside. The city was dark.

The easy listening music that always played in the diner was broken by the pleasant ding! of the door opening. Stacy was pretty sure her shock was showing on her face. Luckily she was facing away from the entrance, or the customer might’ve noticed it. Then they might’ve told the manager, who might’ve fired her for unprofessional behavior, then she’d be alone and jobless with two kids who absolutely needed the best in life—she shook her head. The manager wasn’t even here, he’d gone out for who knows what; nobody ever told her. And looking shocked wasn’t worth reporting, let alone being fired over. She tried to ease the knot of anxiety as she turned around to face the customer.

“Hello, welcome to the Dish and—” Stacy froze. It couldn’t be no it couldn’t not here no no no—

“Lady, you alright? Didja have a stroke or something?”

Stacy shook herself internally, then plastered a smile on her face. “Of course I’m alright, sir! Welcome to the Dish and Glass, can I get you anything?”

The man shrugged. “Coffee. I can seat myself.”

“Sir, that’s not really our...policy...” Stacy trailed off. He’d already walked away and sat at one of the window booths. Honestly, there was no reason to stop him, what with him being the only one in the entire diner. It wasn’t like she’d lose track of him.

As she busied herself with the coffeepot, Stacy tried her best to stare at the customer without him noticing. The resemblance...it was more than uncanny. If it wasn’t for a few key differences, she could’ve sworn she was staring right at her ex-husband. Same brown hair, same build, same blue eyes—actually, eye. This stranger had only one. Where his right eye should have been, there was an eye-patch, one of those white square ones with four strings instead of two.

Something was...off about him, Stacy decided. She wasn’t sure what it was. He looked ordinary enough. He wore a black t-shirt, blue jeans with holes in the knees, and black tennis shoes. A green scarf was wrapped securely around his throat. He’d worn a ragged black backpack into the diner, but he’d taken it off and put it on the table, where he was now rummaging around inside. Still, despite how utterly normal all of this was...he gave Stacy an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was just the resemblance to him that was bothering her.

But she had a job to do. The coffee was ready, piping hot and poured in one of the mugs she’d been counting earlier. She set it on a plate and walked over to the booth where the customer was sitting. Upon catching sight of her, he immediately froze in place like someone had pressed the pause button. Stacy set the coffee on the table, trying to ignore his stare, and asked, “Would you like any cream? Or sugar?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I mean, we have those available—”

“I don’t ńeed̴. anything.”

Stacy flinched at his sharp tone. “Alright, sir. If you do, just call for me.” She forced herself to calmly turn around and walk at a normal pace back to her spot behind the counter. She could still feel the man staring at her. Had he blinked at all during that entire exchange?

She started fiddling with the cash register. It wasn’t her job to count the change, it was the manager’s. But she pretended to be busy. There was no doubt about it, this guy was giving off a vibe that she wasn’t fond of. She could almost feel it, like static electricity. Or maybe that was just the electric humming from the overhead lights. It was usually there, but Stacy noticed it kicked up. Maybe something was wrong with the wiring? If it broke, would they take the replacement costs from her paycheck? 

He was still watching her. She glanced over and saw him sitting unnaturally still, eyes on her. Nope, there was no blinking there at all. Seriously unnerved, Stacy closed up the cash register, double checked that the drawer was secure, then swung open the kitchen door and hurriedly walked through. Richard, the chef, looked up when she entered. He was on his phone. “What’s up? ‘S there a customer?”

“I mean, yeah...he just wanted coffee, though. Now he’s just...sitting there...” Stacy shuddered. “He creeps me out.”

“Really?” Richard strolled over and looked through the tiny round window in the kitchen door. Stacy pushed her head next to his. The man was now rummaging in his backpack again. He pulled something out. “Please tell me that’s not a gun...” Stacy muttered.

“Nah.” Richard squinted. “Looks like a tennis ball or something. Green, round...it’s kinda glowy. Maybe it’s, like, a novelty bouncy ball?”

“He doesn’t seem the type...” Stacy muttered.

“People can be wrong, Stace. Maybe you’re just expecting a creep to walk in at two in the morning, so your brain is tricking you.”

“Maybe...” She was pretty sure her instincts were correct here. The man had stared at her for way too long to be innocent.

“What’s goin’ on here?”

Richard and Stacy jumped, then simultaneously turned around to see Rosa, the manager. She’d just entered through the back door. Now she was staring at her two employees with a combined expression of annoyance and curiosity.

“There’s a, uh, customer here,” Stacy explained. “I was getting a weird feeling from him. Rich says it’s nothing.”

“Let me see.” Rosa pushed her way past them to peer through the porthole. She frowned. “He seems normal enough. That eye-patch is a bit suspicious, but we shouldn’t judge. He order anything?”

“Just coffee.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye on him. In the mean time Stacy, d’you mind taking out the garbage in the kitchen? It’s overflowing.”

“I, uh, yeah, sure.” Stacy awkwardly backed away from the door, heading out. Picking up the garbage on the way, she couldn’t help but think that it was nowhere near overflowing. But Rosa probably had good reason. She just had to...had to remember that.

She threw the bag from the can into the dumpster in the alley, the dim light from a flickering bulb over the diner’s back door barely allowing her to see. For a split second, she allowed herself to slump. This job...she needed it, but god did it suck. Creepy guy comes in the diner? Let’s keep an eye on him, forget that he makes you uncomfortable. By the way, you still have to serve him.

A small sound came from the ground near her feet. An animal sound...? Stacy looked down and saw a cat curling around her ankles. Mostly black, with a few white spots, including four arranged in an almost perfect diamond on its forehead. It wasn’t a small cat, actually it was fairly big height- and length-wise, but it was so thin. Stacy felt a pang of sympathy for it. “Hey little guy,” she cooed.

The cat gazed up at her with big green eyes. It meowed again. Stacy bent over to pet it, and it leaned against her and purred. A faint smile curled around her lips. Animals weren’t allowed in the diner, nor in the apartment building where she lived with her kids. She missed them. “I wish you could come with me,” she sighed. But already she was worried about Rosa noticing she was taking too long. If she came back into the diner with a cat when that was explicitly against the rules, she’d get another warning. And too many warnings meant losing her job.

Oh well. Sadly, she turned around and looked at the cat again..only for it to turn into a streak of dark fur and zoom past her into the diner. “What the hell!” she cried, darting inside.

“What? What happened?” Rosa asked. She and Richard were cleaning the kitchen counters, probably under the assumption that nobody else was coming.

“There was a stray cat, it-it ran inside,” Stacy explained.

“Oh shit!” Rosa’s eyes widened. “We can’t have dirty strays in here. Richard and I will look for it. You go back out there and attend the customer.”

Stacy almost asked to switch places with one of them, but she didn’t want to push her luck with letting the cat inside. She swallowed her words and pushed through the kitchen door back into the main body of the diner.

“—to do next. I’m thinking we get you to safety. I know a place.”

She froze. In a split second, she took in two things and made two conclusions: 1) the diner was still empty except for that one guy, 2) that one guy was talking to somebody, 3) if there was no one else in the diner then the guy was talking to himself, 4) if the guy was talking to himself then he was crazy and possibly dangerous, though that wasn’t a guarantee, but with the feeling she got from him it probably was. Instinctively, Stacy ducked down so that she was hidden behind the counter. She immediately felt stupid.

“Don’t l͠o͝o̵k̶ at me that way, I can protect it!”

She immediately stopped feeling stupid. That voice. That wasn’t...there was something...

Stacy’s attention was caught by the kitchen door easing its way open. The black cat poked its head through. It looked at her and narrowed its eyes in an...almost human way. Then it slipped through the door and headed around the counter and out into the dining area.

The man continued. “You don’t need that toxic shit, do ya? Cause I don’t want to turn right back around and scoop up a bucketful. That a no? Alright, we should probably—” Suddenly, he fell silent.

Time seemed frozen. The electric humming in the lights was definitely getting louder. It grew in intensity. Stacy shrank back.

A series of events happened in quick succession. Richard and Rosa burst through the kitchen door, cried out “Where’d the cat—?!” “Who the hell is—?” The overhead lights burst with an electric fritz and glass sprayed everywhere. It was dark for less than a second, then a flash of violet light lit everything up in startling intensity. The light was accompanied by a shock wave, and somehow Stacy was thrown from her hiding spot. She hit her head hard against the edge of a shelf on the other wall, and everything went black.

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was the sticky, throbbing pain coming from her forehead. She almost groaned, but then she heard the laughing and thought better of it. Her head and limbs were twisted at awkward angles, but she was filled with a weakness and simply couldn’t move them. She opened her eyes. The diner was dark, except for a pulsing green light and a steady purple glow. She couldn’t see much from her spot on the floor, but the kitchen door was ajar and an arm was sticking out. It was surrounded by a puddle of dark liquid.

“ I̴ş ̛̕ţ̨h̸̕a̢҉t͝͡ ̨͞àl͏͝l̵̢ ̀͠҉y͢o̶̶͠u̧͢͠ ҉g̡͠oţ̷͟,̢ ̧̕k̴̨i͡t҉t͞y̛͞ ̶c̨̕a̢̨t?̴”

It sounded like the words were being spoken through a buffering voice call made using a broken app. But the voice itself—the mocking, arrogant voice—was familiar. Stacy finally found the energy to push herself into a kneeling position. Her head was filled with a thick syrup, but the few thoughts that penetrated that syrup were those of curiosity. She crawled over to the counter and peeked over the top.

Someone was standing on one of the tables. Dully, Stacy recognized the scarf a moment before she saw his face. It was the man from before, but... this was impossible. The air around him was fizzing and breaking with distortion, creating shadowy duplicates and an almost glitchy effect. It seemed like the green light was coming from him. He was looking down at the source of the purple light. Another man. He had his back turned to Stacy, so she couldn’t see much... was he wearing a cape? The purple glow was coming from his hands. Stacy thought he must’ve been holding a flashlight or something, but there was no sign of anything like that.

“I have plenty more tricks up my sleeve,” spat another voice. Similar to the glitching man’s but not quite the same. It must’ve been the other one.

“W̛e̕l̸l, ̴Í'̴m ͝sur͢e͝ ͞you͠ d̶o͠,” said the one on the table. The distortion increased for a moment as his head cracked to the side, then glitched back into place. He pointed something toward the caped man, and Stacy held back a gasp. Where did he get a knife?! “W̨hy ͠d͟on̶'҉t ͝yo͏u u͢s͏e th̴e͟m? ̕I͞'́ḿ sur͝e̵ yo̕u're j͞u̷s҉t̸ it́chin̢ǵ ͏to.̨” A twisted grin. “G͡o ah́ȩa̶ḑ.͡ I͝ ẃa҉̧n̵͟͝nà͠͠ s҉̶̥̖e̛̦̳̯e̘̹͍̤̠̞̕͞.”

“I—” Stacy could hear the hesitation in the other man’s voice. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to, more like he did want to but knew he shouldn’t. “N-no-not yet. You’re gonna tell me where you hid it. Do you have it? You’re trying to taunt me into blasting it, huh?!”

“Oh̢ ҉ye̵s,͡ th̴at ́makes p̶̴̡e̢͟r̷̵f́͞é̛ct ҉͡ se̸ns͞e̛.” The words were harsh, biting. “C͝o͠ngŕátul̷at̡i̧ons̛, yo̵u̶'͡v́e҉ ̵f̡i͟g̨ure͟d òut́ ̡m̡y ́p̨lo͞t͡.҉ P͠retend͟ to ̨get̴ ͝t͞ḩem away, only t̶o͝ t͠r̨i҉ck̛ ̸ýou ͟i̴nt̸ò k̶įl̨ling͡ t̷hem̡ ҉yours͞elf. ̵Al͝l ͝t͏h̨is̵ ̡t͞im̀e͡,̢ ̷I've̢ ̷be̕en̡ a ̢ca͞rto͠on ͢vi͝llai̷n w̧it̵h ̢a͢n ̨el̷ab̢o͞ra̡t̀e ҉s̛che̕m̕e̛.͞ O͡h wái͠t̢,̛ ́t́ha͞t's ҉yo͝u ͟a͏nd̕ y̕ou̕r li̧t̀t̨l͝è ̀ g͡ro҉u҉p͡ of̷ fr̛i͞end̸s.”

A hiss. An honest to god hiss, like a threatened cat. “Oh, we’re the bad guys here, aren’t we?”

“H̀m̸m,̸ ͝I do̧n't̴ know. ͡Havę you͏ not́i̡ce҉d̨ t́h͠ȩ ̸w̶a̵l̕ķing̨, ́tálk̷ing͠ èvi͠l d͏octǫr̴ ͡tr͝o͠p͝è ҉y̕ou̷ ̵h͢a͏ņg ̡o͠u͏t wi͠t̸h?”

“And how are you any better?”

“I͢͏͖̖͕̯̩̙ ̴̴̨̢̛̝̰̼̥̜ a͡t̸ l̷eas̨t̀ k̨̛͢n͞ó̢w͏̧́ t̷ha͞t I'̷m fucked̷ ̕i͟n̕ th̢e ͠he͟a̴d.” The caped man let out a horrible screech. A dark violet energy beam blasted from his hands toward the one on the table. The air crackled, and he was gone. Stacy thought for a second that he was gone, only for him to materialize on a different table on the other side of the diner. He laughed, the same one from before. “W̨ow̴,͞ ̶that̴ ̢di̴d ́n̕o͠҉t̛h̨̛in̴̨̧g͞!͠”

The caped man turned towards him, and Stacy could just make out his face. Or rather, the mask hiding his face. It was shaped like a cat, and colored black. Four shapes, two red and two white, were in the middle of the mask’s forehead. Creeping out from underneath the mask were lines on the man’s cheeks—scars, Stacy realized. What the hell...?

Another blast of purple energy. Once again, the glitcher dissolved and reappeared on another table. And again, the same result. And again. This time, the man popped into existence standing on the counter, inches away from the spot where Stacy was watching. She exhaled sharply. The man turned his head slightly and looked down. His one visible eye had changed color; its sclera was black and the iris was acid, electric green. Stacy couldn’t help but stare at it. The distortion, the energy blasts, the creepy voice...that kind of shit was only supposed to be in movies and YouTube videos. Yet here it was, impossibly, in real life.

The man’s eye widened slightly, then he looked back to the masked man. “Y̨o͠u g҉on͟na do ̴th̛is̛ ҉fòrev̧e̡r̴,̡ ̕mag̷ic bo͟y?̷” he jeered. ”P͢lay ͝c̛at an̶d ̧mo͝use̸?́”

“Shut up!” Another blast, and Stacy flinched as it passed so close to her. Just as before, the man glitched away. But now he appeared behind the masked man. Before he could react, the glitcher plunged the knife into his backside, quickly withdrawing it. The masked man roared and let out a spray of purple liquid that burned the walls of the diner like acid. It had no effect, as the other one disappeared once more.

“H̢e̛y͏ lady,” a voice whispered in Stacy’s ear. She let out a small squeak, then spun around. The man was crouching right next to her. His eye had gone back to normal, and the distortion seemed to have lessened somehow. “ Y͡òu need to get the f̴u̴ck̡ out of here.”

“Who—how—what—” Stacy stuttered.

“That’s not important. Come on.”

“Wh-wh-what about Rich and Rosa?” she asked.

“Dead. Ripped apart by the shockforce spell.” Then, as an afterthought, “Sorry.”

“I...” Stacy trailed off. They couldn’t be...this couldn’t be real. It was probably just a bad dream. A very realistic bad dream...

“Oh for—there’s no time for shock!” He grabbed her arm. Before she could protest or pull away, he was running around the counter and toward the exit, dragging her behind him. She cried out.

The masked man’s head whipped toward them. “Hey! You aren’t leaving yet!” Stacy looked toward him, only to see a long whip of violet fire snapping toward her. A lashing agony spread through her arm. She screamed and fell. The glitcher instinctively dissolved to avoid the fire, but he reappeared in the same spot as he realized he’d let go of her. He stopped in his tracks and made to grab her again. A shield of purple fire appeared between him and her.

“Alright, fine, if you’re gonna make me do this.” The masked man rolled his eyes. “Tell me where the eye is, and the waitress can live to tell the police about this disaster. Not that they’ll believe her.”

Stacy’s heart stopped. She looked up at the glitcher with pleading eyes. He stared back at her, considering. “W͞h̀at'͡s yo̸ur g͞ame҉,M͡arv͟in͏?̛” he asked. “Íf ̸I'm ͠t̢he͠ ͠b̷ád ̸g͡uy,͏ ̶w̢h̷y ͟d̵o͏ ҉y̢o̵u th̶in͢k̨ I’d care?̶”

“Fair point.” The masked man—Marvin—shrugged. “Or, it would be if you hadn’t just fucking stabbed me to get her out. If I believe Jackie, you like to play the long game usually.”

The glitcher nodded, slightly. “A̡lri̕gh̀t̵,̷ I̶'l͡l̸ g͝iv̛e̡ you̧ ͠a ch̷an͝c͠e̢.” He turned to Marvin. “Y͢ou can ha͏v͟e͏ them.̧..ìf y̕o͝u͝ ͡can̡ ͡ca̢tćh t͟h̸em͢!” He threw something. A round, green object sailed through the air, over the counter and through the ajar kitchen door. Marvin cried out, then dashed to follow it. With the loss of his focus, the purple fire wall disappeared. “Come on!” the glitcher hissed to Stacy, then turned and bolted out the door. She scrambled to her feet and ran after him.

The city was still dark. Stacy glanced at her watch: 2:18 a.m. Only a little over ten minutes ago, she’d been idly sorting through the coffee cups, and now she was running from an insane fire-thrower wearing a cat mask, following a guy who could seemingly break the world at will. Her arm was burning. Rosa and Richard were dead. Her world was crashing around her.

She looked up to see the glitcher staring at her. The distortions had entirely disappeared. “Yeah?” he sounded impatient.

“Yeah—yeah what?” she stammered.

“He hit you, didn’t he? With the fire?”

“Um...” Stacy touched her arm. A bit of her uniform was burned away, and the wound was letting out a bit of smoke. “...yeah.”

“Well that sucks,” he said casually. “That’s a black magic burn. It’ll keep burning until either you eventually die somehow or a cure is administered. And that means I gotta take you to my place and fix it.” He sighed. “Okay, come on.” He turned on his heel.

“W-wait! I have questions!” Stacy hurried to catch up until she was matching his quick pace. “Who—what are you?”

“I see you corrected that one. Good.” He continued walking. Every so often they’d pass under a street light, and she’d see that she was on his blind side. Still, despite that, Stacy felt like he was staring at her. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? That’s impossible.”

“Is it? Is it really? Well, maybe it is and I’m just not telling you.” He giggled to himself.

Even though he’d just saved her life, that laugh was still really creepy. “And-and that other guy? Marvin?”

“Black magic magician that gives black cats the bad name they have. I stole something away from him and his friends, and they want it back.”

“What? Was it that green thing you threw?”

He grinned evilly. “No.” Still walking, he pulled at his scarf. For a moment, Stacy could see that underneath the scarf there were bloodied bandages wrapped around his neck. And then something glowing, green, and round shot out from where it had been hidden within the cloth of the scarf. It hovered in the air, easily keeping up with them. Stacy gasped. It was an eye. A green-scleraed, blue-irised eyeball with an optic nerve like a tail. The main body of the thing was about the size of a tennis ball. As she stared at it, its iris deformed slightly, curving upward. She got the impression that it was happy. “This little guy is Sam,” the man explained. “I broke into the guys’ main hideout and found them in a tank of green toxic fluid. They were curled up at the bottom and looked scared, so I broke the fucker and lettem out.”

“And...these guys...they want this Sam back?” Stacy hesitantly reached out toward the eyeball. It nudged her hand, then started nestling it like a pet would. It was actually kind of adorable. “Why?”

“Hell if I know. Some of them have major control freak problems, so maybe that’s it. But they sent Mr. Goodbye Kitty after me, so they're serious about getting them back. The thing you saw me throw, that was a ‘copy,’ to distract him. He’ll grab it, take it back to their little lair, and then it’ll disappear. Thought it would buy me time to get you fixed.”

“Why didn’t you just-just teleport me?” Stacy asked.

“It’s not t̢ęl͟e̸ṕort̷ing. It’s...well, you can call it glitching, that’s close enough. And it can’t affect most living things. Sam is somehow an exception.”

“It affects you.”

“Oh? Who told you I͡ w͏a̧s l̷̢͡į̷v̵i̴n̶g̸?” He smiled.

Stacy shuddered. She almost stopped in her tracks and ran the other way, but if he was right about the burn never healing, then she needed all the help she could get. “Okay,” she said quietly. They walked in silence for a moment through the empty city streets. But there was one more question bugging Stacy. “Wh-what-what’s your name?”

“Antisepticeye.”

“Oh.” Weird name...

“People call me Anti, if that’s too long for you. And you?”

“I’m Stacy. Stacy Bro—Davidson.”

He—Anti—faltered, turning to fully look at her for the first time. “Say that again.”

“Stacy Davidson,” she repeated, softer.

Anti stared at her for a moment longer, then turned away. “We’re almost there,” he said, and sped up.

Stacy sped up as well. Why had he been so interested in her name? Did he know something about her? Or about...? She shook her head. Don’t dwell on the past. Dwell on the present. However strange it may be.

And maybe the future too. She had the feeling it was about to get a whole lot stranger.

[alpacannot]

So, I’m finally getting around to rewriting my Reaper Saga books, with the newly renamed “Reaper”. The past, like, four times I’ve tried to rewrite this book, I’ve always stuck with the same general opening chapter, introducing Tris, her work, and the other characters fairly quickly, allowing them to talk about themselves. This time, I’ve tried for a slightly different approach, which I like more. It took me forever to write it though, partly because I’m rusty (I haven’t written anything fiction related since 2016) and partly because I just wanted to skip to the good stuff. It was tempting to just copy in the original prologue, but I’m super pleased with how this new first chapter is starting. It’s not done, and I haven’t proofed it yet, but I was so excited that I just had to share it. So, without further ado, here’s the first, unedited bit of “Reaper” chapter 1:

“Tristan Sieghard—for crimes against humanity and for exposing the Afterlife, we, the Highers and the Gatekeeper, sentence you to death and eternal damnation in the deepest pits of Hell.” The Highest’s voice echoed throughout the assembly hall as several Runners drug her away from the crowd gathered inside the seemingly far-too-small room. Alex avoided her gaze, his brows pinching together. She wanted to shout out, “You could have stopped this!”, but she knew that she had chosen this. It was her neglect that ultimately caused her downfall. But, at least she was brave enough to act, to seek out justice for their daughter. He was by far the worse parent, choosing to do nothing.

******

I awoke with a jolt, sitting bolt upright and drenched in sweat. The same nightmare haunted me, the screeching of tires across asphalt ringing in my ears. My throat was raw from screaming. Glancing to my right, three blinking red numbers drilled into my eyes—4:27 a.m. “Fantastic,” I muttered, dragging myself out of bed and untangling the mess of slightly damp covers from around my legs. My mouth was dry, and my tongue felt like lead. Scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I forced myself into the shower, letting the scalding water beat against my back. No pain was enough to drag me into reality though. I sat there, dead to the world, until the water ran cold, after which I pushed myself up and out.

I coiled my curls on top of my head, giving up on looking presentable. The dark bags under my eyes said what my mouth couldn’t: I wasn’t well. I grimaced at my reflection, at my body’s betrayal. Stumbling towards my closet, my numb fingers clutched at my work clothes: black and white and garish red. I looked like a corpse every day, which was ironic considering I spent every working hour turning other people into corpses. As I fumbled with the buttons, I tried once again to desperately return to reality, but the memories clouded my eyes, refusing to let me escape.

Realizing that the day was already a loss but determined to earn my keep in some way, I gradually made my way to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and left my apartment. Locking my door presented everlasting problems for my still unresponsive hands, but I eventually managed to secure my door. Stopping to collect myself once more, I reveled in the silence of the hall. Still, my peace was short lived as the muffled sounds of music rang out from the adjacent apartment. I longed for the effortlessness with which PJ lived his carefree life. I knew that it hadn’t come easy to him—after all, he hadn’t always been this unburdened. He, too, had had his fair share of trauma and regrets. It seemed like everyone here did.

Trudging down the endless, blank hallways, I finally arrived at the front of my department. The room was virtually empty, save the night security guard, who was unsurprised to see me. He barely glanced up from his book, nodded in my direction, and continued reading. It wasn’t unusual for me to be in the office during the wee hours of the morning. The first few days, he was suspicious, but as the days turned into weeks, he stopped commenting on my odd hours. Always the first to arrive and the last to leave—not because I was an overachiever, but because work was safe. When I went home, my mind was cut lose, free to torment me.

I flicked on the lights, illuminating the long stretch of cubicles. Even during normal working hours, the desks were usually devoid of people—overflowing with paperwork, but not a single living soul in sight. I ruffled through the stack of reports on my desk, mostly reference files that had yet to be signed off and returned to the Keepers. Grabbing my pen, I began to furiously sign any remaining legal work, tucking the death certificates in the back of their respective manilla folders. Neatly stacking the completed files in the outgoing basket on my desk, I rang for a Runner and sat back as I waited for their arrival. As expected, they were waiting in front of my desk in a matter of seconds.

“Two Pink Card files today. The rest are all Blue Card.” The Runner nodded and whisked away the folders, disappearing from view in a flurry of fabric and papers. I ran a hand through the tangle of still-damp curls that had slowly begun their escape from the knot on the top of my head. Now what am I going to do? The new files won’t come in for another hour at least, I thought. As if on cue, Alex came striding through the glass doors.

“Another early day?” he asked, as if this wasn’t a common occurrence.

“Of course. Just like every other day.” With an unusual grace for someone so large, he sat on my now empty desk, folding his long legs. He took up the whole space, making my already cramped office even tinier. I had never felt more miniscule. His long, thin fingers tapped rhythmically on his biceps, drawing attention to the muscles there. If I didn’t know him better, I would have thought he was trying to intimidate me.

“What about you? What are you doing here so early, Alex?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You know, the usual. Pink Card Keepers never rest.”

I choked back a laugh, but it sounded like a strangled animal. “Are you kidding? Pink Cards only cover what Yellow and Blue Cards don’t, which has been like next to nothing these days.” His eyes tightened at the corners—I’d struck a nerve for sure. Just like that, he relaxed, returning to his usual joking self.

“Well, I was called in early this morning—two new Pink Card only files were brought in a few minutes ago. I wonder who could have sent them in?” I feigned innocence, but I felt bad for waking him up. I wasn’t sure why those files couldn’t wait until normal hours. I had just assumed that they’d wait on someone’s desk until everyone else clocked in.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t know they would wake you up for them—they’ve never done that before?”

“It’s fine. You know how anxious they are to get Pink Card work wrapped up, especially dangerous people like those two. The sooner the paperwork is done, the sooner HR can get them in Hell and away from all the innocent souls.” He paused, waiting for me to react, but my numb brain wasn’t truly processing anything. “Well, I better get to work then. Those files aren’t going to seal themselves.” With that, he turned to leave. At the double doors, he stopped, looked back, and winked at me before continuing on his way.

Hours later, other Reapers started filing in. Today’s files were brought by the Runners, although I’d barely noticed them. Honestly, the Runners were like phantoms—there one minute and gone the next. Opening the first packet, I skimmed over the list of humans I would be Reaping today: Bethany Jones—Blue Card, Amanda Howard—Blue Card, Lydia Ramirez—Yellow Card. The list went on and on. No one in particular stood out to me, and I grimaced—today’s Reaping wouldn’t take me but a few hours. I would be home alone with my thoughts for a majority of the work day.

PJ strode in, interrupting my stream of melancholy thoughts. His curly hair was slightly disheveled, a lazy smile on his face. “Whatcha’ think about today’s Reapings?” he asked.

PJ was in charge of assembling the list of Reapings and preparing the proper paperwork—as long as the files were within his level of clearance. PJ was relatively new to this work still, stagnating at Blue Card Keeper since graduation. Together with Chris, my designated Yellow Card Keeper, and Alex, PJ was my behind-the-scenes crew. On the off chance that I worked extended assignments on Earth, he got to read my reports and add them to that person’s file, but I hadn’t worked an extended assignment in years. In fact, I wasn’t sure PJ ever saw the other’s when prepping my work. During extended assignments, he would work closely with Chris, but I wasn’t sure the two had ever actually met before. In fact, I hardly ever saw Chris.

PJ snapped his fingers at me, drawing me from my internal monologue. “Are you listening? I asked what you thought about today’s Reapings.” I shook my head, forcing myself to focus.

“I’m a little bummed out actually. I don’t see anything that will keep me working for very long today, so I’ll be going home early. Which I know sounds great to you considering you’ll be here late working on the files because almost all of them are Blue Card, but it’s a real downer for me,” I explained when I saw him opening his mouth to protest. He grinned at me.

“You owe me. Dinner tonight. Your place. I want to talk to you about this new guy I met the other day!”

“If it’s a new love interest, I’d love to hear about it, although I’m a little miffed about cooking. However, since it’s a short day for me, I suppose I can make dinner tonight. Now get out of here—I have work to do, and so do you.” I playfully swatted at him. PJ always brought out the best in me and made it easier for me to shake off my early morning melancholy.

“See you tonight!” he called out as he all but skipped through the doors.