#piss off december woman shirt

[drreamgirls]

‣✽.  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

MIZUMI (currently ACTIVE) & ISABELLE

MIZU

basics:

full name:  Mizumi Uzui (Caddel) nicknames:  Mizu gender: genderfluid  female sexuality: lesbian pronouns:  she/her aesthetics: I'm only happy when I am on the run, I don't belong to anyone; turns herself into a weapon; the smell of gunpowder and whiskey on the tongue, distant thunder crackling like electricity, blood on your lips,  the soundless running of fingers through her lover’s hair in the dark, a woman held underwater, screaming. age:  30 date of birth: December 21 zodiac sign:  sagittarius residence:  manhattan occupation:  boxing / Kendo instructor (in reality: paid assassin involved in various underground illegal organisations)

appearance:

faceclaim: Mylène Jampanoï height:  1,78 ethnicity: half japanese, half American. build:  toned and muscled, tall and very athletic. biceps all hard with muscle and legs for days eyes: blue hair:  dark brown / wolfcut (wears her hair cropped short) piercings:  0 tattoos:  an X mark and 3 dots on her forearm / sprawling tiger tat on her back style:  excessively masculine, jeans, sleek black suits and white shirts, tank tops and sports bras with low cut jeans. shades on all the time, day and night, leather jackets, combat boots. voice: very deep and rough, like smoking bourbon and thunder.

personality:

traits:  ruthless, unpleasant, bitter, unfriendly, angry 80 per cent of the time. cold, stoic and sarcastic. doesn't give a fuck about you or what you think. loyal. selfish. obsessive. unpredictable. sharply witty and funny. mental health: completely obsessive. major anger issues. physical health:  always bruised up for some reason... (reasons in her bio) likes: music, boxing/kendo/swords/guns. sports. extreme sports. motorcycles and she only rides japanese bikes. dislikes:  talking to people. cooking. fears:  failure phobias:  fire hobbies:  Kendo, fencing, working out, motorbikes skills:  she is extremely athletic. skilled with guns and swords; kendo and box are her lifeline. speaks several languages. quirks:  Always wears her shades even when it's dark outside, she'll take them with her; does not drink. does not smoke. perpetually snarling. pet peeves:  people.

faves:

ice cream flavour: she doesn't like ice cream. she likes lemon sorbet. time of the day / night:  night weather:  fog breakfast food:  hot tea and rice dinner food:  ramen or soba. probably instant unless her girl cooks colours:  blue and black songs:  Paul Wallen feat. Gigi Nally - Smells Like Teen Spirit

other random stuff:

a cherished item:  the amethyst ring isabelle (her partner) gave her. her mother's silk blue scarf which she has given to isabelle. usual mood: pissed off 1 thing they want to do / experience before they die: hurt the people who hurt her family defining moments:  her mother's violent death/murder / her house burning down / losing her entire life in the blink of an eye. & meeting her girfriend.

ISABELLE

basics:

full name:  Isabelle Annesley nicknames:  Belle & Elle gender:  female pronouns:  she/her aesthetics: a venus fly trap closing around its prey, lipstick stains on your collar, leaving red kisses and confusion everywhere you go, watching dusk break into dawn from the small of your window, a lingering whiff of expensive perfume, cold hands, needing perfection, the way light hits cascading velvet. the desperate search for love. age:  28 date of birth: 17/11 zodiac sign:  scorpio residence:  staten island  (in a small flat) occupation:  photographer / part-time waitress

appearance:

faceclaim:  janet montgomery height:  1,68 build:  slim & delicate, she did ballet growing up but hasn't in years eyes: black, bright, tender eyes hair:  long full ebony curls that she's recently cut a bit shorter piercings:  just her ears tattoos:  stars on her wrist style:  jeans & silk shirts, layered necklaces, excessively tightened belts, thigh high boots, loose frothy shirts. always silver and not gold.

personality:

traits:  spiteful, vindictive, arrogant, extremely neurotic, sacrastic / exceedingly witty, charming, loving, passionate. pride issues. easily provoked & annoyed. mysterious & aloof mental health:  hanging in there in spite of the fierce stress of it all. her photography cures her crippling, strange melancholia. the kind of girl to say she's okay when she's not because no one will see her be anything less than perfectly strong & poised. daddy issues galore. quite depressed. physical health:  feeling kind of perpetually tired. likes:  photography, painting, art, the sunset, her sister; car rides with her listening to music, trips to the beach in the winter where everything is quiet and grey-silver and they can read and light a fire and be at peace. dislikes  everything that does not mean something to her. people. liars. lack of control over every aspect of her life. fears:  death, loneliness, loss phobias:  deep water & the dark (she always sleeps with some kind of light shining faintly somewhere in her room) hobbies:  she likes to paint and work with ceramics. her photography of course. skills:  being able to open a beer bottle with her teeth, of course. (photography, painting, enduring Fools and their Stupidity. Exceptional at pool and an amazing kisser.) quirks:  Always wears her mother's amethyst ring; can smell her before you see or hear her: she smells extremely deliciously. Short-tempered, especially when irritated. Almost never wears a bra. Perpetual smirk. Smokes menthol cigs. pet peeves:  people. more seriously; people who are one-uppers. loud voices. Lack of an Oxford comma. Justice for the Oxford comma!

family:

mother dead in a car accident / father absent, has disappeared & made himself a new family, a second chance at getting it right / she's got a 12 year old sister (Chloe) whom she's been raising after turning 18 & adores / much loved aunt (dad's side, who had been the proverbial scapegoat of the Annesley family) who helps as much as she can.

faves:

ice cream flavour:  strawberry & vanilla time of the day / night:  night weather:  moody rain to match her soul breakfast food:  black coffee with cream, no sugar dinner food:  dessert colours:  black & white songs:  bang bang - Nancy Sinatra

other random stuff:

a cherished item:  her mom's old vintage camera & her mom's amethyst ring usual mood: apathetically impassive and detached. Sufferer of chronic, resting bitch face. Optimistic despite all appearances. 1 thing they want to do / experience before they die: to be important to someone (surprise surprise). A family. defining moments:  her mother's death, her father's absence, becoming her sister's guardian, moving to New York hoping for something better for the both of them and to be near her aunt.

‣✽ BIOGRAPHY HERE ! (ISABELLE)

‣✽ BIOGRAPHY HERE ! (MIZUMI)

[boldlyvoid]

Cowboy Like Me | Intro

Summary: Aaron Hotchner ends up in Georgia when he goes into witness protection with his son. Staying in the guest house behind a bed and breakfast in a town no one has ever heard of, run by the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Warnings for this chapter: angst with a happy ending

word count: 1.3k

Masterlist

Her guest house was more like a revolving door, but it was a long time since there had been a kid staying there. She grew up in that house, she built it over the years, turned it into a bed and breakfast, making the food herself thanks to the farm behind the property. She had acres and acres of land, it was a great place to hide.

Aaron Hotchner and his son, Jack, were the newest runners renting out the back room. Her father was a Marshall, though no one knew that. He was a simple farmer, and sometimes his friends would stay with him when they needed help, or so that was how the story went. They were really in Witness Protection, with new names and fake stories, hiding from whatever they had to for as long as they needed.

She loved that her father had a big heart and wanted to help these people, just sometimes, it brought the strangest things to her doorstep. She had a feeling Aaron Hotchner was going to be the one to cross the threshold.

He’s unfortunately handsome, kind, smart, charming, and most of all, extremely dangerous for her. You see, not only is this the second time someone forced his family into witsec but his wife was murdered by a serial killer just because Aaron pissed him off. She only knows all this because her father is a bit of a gossip, especially after 11pm and 2 glasses of scotch.

She didn’t expect him to be so sweet on her. Most of the men she housed in witsec were married, that didn’t stop them from hitting on her at the barn when their wives weren’t around, but Aaron didn’t seem like that type. He liked to make her laugh, he always had a sweet smile when she walked into the room, and he did a lot of extra work just for another thank you from her. He’s a gentleman, he’s handsome, and he’s probably going to leave in a few months.

She’s not the type to sleep with someone and not get attached, and while it would be fun and exhilarating and new for her to have an affair with him while he’s undercover, she can’t do that to herself. She knows herself too well to fall for his games and his smile and think there could be more, but he had a life back in Virginia and she couldn’t expect him to stay for her.

So she ignored him.

She got cold as the winter approached, December marked 2 months with him hanging around and that's when she broke.

She was already having a bad day, her kitchen staff weren’t able to come in, she was frazzled with work and he walked in as if nothing was happening.

“Good afternoon,” he takes his hat off, his shirt sweaty even though it’s only 10° outside, grease on his hands as he runs it through his greying hair.

“Is it?” She snaps back, tossing another plate into the sink and angrily washing it. “I have a full house today and no staff.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I could have come in?” He says like it's a no-brainer.

“Because I don’t want you here,” she pushes back. “Seriously, the agreement was you get to work in the barn and live in my house, not be in my space 24 fucking 7.”

“Okay,” he backs off, stopping at the screen door and looking back, “I don’t know what they told you about me to make you not like me this much but… I don’t know, I just wanted to help.”

She sighs, “I’m sorry,” it’s not his fault but she's too late.

He’s out the door and she knows cause it slams shut against the frame. She wipes her hands on her apron and runs out after him, “Aaron,” she calls, causing him to stop. “I’m sorry. Can I make you some lunch?”

“Really?” His face lights up.

She nods, “I have some apologizing to do.”

“It’s okay,” he walks towards her and she doesn’t move away this time, holding the door open for him and letting him back into the house.

“No, it’s not,” she sighs again. “No one told me anything… I know some of what’s happened to you and it’s not the worst thing, believe me, we’ve had some weird men in my guest house.”

“Okay…”

“I just— I’m not good with feelings,” she feels ashamed, turning away from him and working on the dishes again. “So when a handsome man starts being nice to me, I shut down.”

“Well, you were raised by a single father for most of your life, I would understand why feelings aren’t something you’re used to sharing,” he had a habit of doing that. Of knowing why everyone in town did what they did, she couldn’t ever gossip with him without him explaining why they act like that. Freud was right, that’s all she had to say about the matter.

“Thanks,” she gives him a laugh, “you’re not totally wrong, I’m also just trying to protect myself.”

“Ah.”

She turns around then, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughs, “well… your dad and I had a bet that you were either so uninterested in me cause I’m an old man or because I’m leaving eventually?”

“That fucker,” she shakes her head with a scoff. “And it’s the latter… you’re not that old.”

“I’m 50,” he raises his brows, looking at her like he’s right and she knows it. “I’m old.”

“You have a lot of life left in you,” she doesn’t give in. “So you’ve been asking my dad about me?”

He nods with a smirk, “what’s it to ya?”

“Keep talking like that and people will think you grew up here,” she teases him first. “Because it proves my theory that you’re sweet on me.”

“Oh, that’s very obvious,” he can’t help but laugh. “I knew within a week of staying here that you’d be good for me.”

“So you were a kiss ass in school is what I’m sensing?” She teases, profiling him with no real knowledge. “Daddy issues?”

He laughs, shocked that she said that, “yes— I mean… I can’t believe you said that.”

She shrugs, “you’re rubbing off on me.”

He tilts his head, brows raises as his shoulders go up with them as if to say; I wish.

“You’re disgusting," she couldn't help but laugh.

“Yep,” he smirks, “so… if I told you my team was nowhere close to finding Mr. Scratch, would that make you want to go on a date with me?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because if I end up falling in love with you and you leave, I will never be okay again. I don’t know what my dad’s told you, but I can’t have another man leave me.”

She’s never said that out loud before.

“He hasn’t told me the whole story,” he’s honest. “I knew it happened, 10 years ago… he thought maybe you’d be ready again.”

She looks at him with a soft, pleading expression, “I can’t do it again.”

“my wife died the last time my son was in witness protection,” his voice is low and soft and serious. “My last girlfriend followed her dreams and left me behind. Those are the women I’ve loved, if you want to love me and want me to stay, I’ll stay. I’m safe here, I’m happy here, and if you loved me, then I’d have no reason to leave.”

Her heart drops into her stomach at the thought. He was so smooth, he knew how to talk and what she wanted to hear and most of her wanted to believe it.

“Well then…” she sighs playfully this time, “Sundays are my busy days so Saturday night doesn’t work for me, and you need to be up at the farm early most mornings…. Can you do Monday night?”

“I’ll pick you up from the main house at 8.”

ask to join my taglist!

permanent tag list

@goldensonlyangel @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @shemarmooresfedora @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @blanchardsbk @measure-in-pain @dreams-in-blxck @doc-padfoot @nomajdetective @xoxospencerreid @mggswhorificlover @dinonuggets1967 @meganskane @kya-li @reidsbookclub @muffin-cup @sassymoon @shirleyrose @reidsacademia @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @spooky-goob @strawberryspence @thatsonezesty13 @lonewolf471 @a-mended-pact @ssa-uglywhore27 @hotchandspencearedilfs @venomsvl

@fightingdragonswithreid @mortallythoughtfulgurl @bohemianrhapsody86 @allybatch @crypticcorvidinacottage @reidslibrarybook @mrsobrien888 @malindacath @simplyparker @gspenc @spenciesprincess @mrskatpotter @starrylang

[rubysunnday]

Dear Mother,

A/N: Inspired by the post about what Mrs Shelby’s name is. It’s also inspired by my first ever fic on here, The Letters, since it’s almost been a year since I posted it. 

Her name had become a taboo. No one dared to mention the same of Mrs Shelby - the woman who’d thrown herself into the Cut because she went out of her mind. It was always “Mrs Shelby” or “the Shelby’s mother”. 

Her name had died with her. She didn’t even have her name on the grave. Just mother. 

Y/N Shelby didn’t even know her mother’s name. It was nowhere to be seen within the walls of the house and there was no record of it in any photo album or bundle of letters. 

She was a ghost - a nameless whisper on the wind. 

Y/N never asked about her mother’s name. Her brothers had told her she’d died from an illness - slowly wasted away before their eyes until she was no more. It was the truth, in a way. Her mind had give up and her body had followed not long after. 

She’d thrown herself into the Cut and had sunk to the bottom - like Ophelia when her lover had murdered her father. Left behind was an already broken and bruised family who’s eldest members were about to go to war. 

Y/N didn’t remember her mother. She didn’t remember the screaming, the crying, Tommy trying to shield her, Finn and Ada from their mother as she went out of her mind. 

Committing suicide was no way to go. A mother committing suicide was another thing entirely. How could she be so selfish and abandon her children? 

That was were the fear and suspicion of the Shelby’s had begun. All because of their mother. And they used it to their advantage, quickly becoming the most feared and respected family in Birmingham.

But no child should have had to grow up hearing whispered secrets about their mother and how it wouldn’t be long before the children followed her into the cold, icy depths of the Cut.

Y/N Shelby had no mother. Polly tried her best but she was never a maternal person - the loss of her children had damaged her beyond repair - and Y/N missed the nurturing nature mother’s apparently had. 

She didn’t remember her mother. There were pictures of her in Tommy’s house - of her with John, Arthur, Tommy and Ada. She looked beautiful - like a Hollywood movie superstar. She was picture perfect, smiling at the camera with a loving hand on John’s shoulder and her arm around Arthur’s waist. 

It was a snapshot of a forgotten time - before the demons invaded her mind and ripped her soul from her mind. And it wasn’t a true snapshot, not really. She’d suffered with the demons for years before that image, but it only got worse.

But Y/N took that image of her mother - looking perfect and like a porcelain doll. And she wrote her a letter. She introduced herself, told her what she looked liked and what her favourite things were and put it in her desk draw.

For the next twelve months, Y/N wrote a letter to her mother every day. She poured her heart and soul out to this invisible woman who’s name no longer existed and who’s image was frozen in a dusty photo on her brother’s desk.

8th April, 1923

Dear Mother,

I turned nineteen today, Nothing spectacular happened - I had a nice meal out with Ada and went riding with John and Arthur. Tommy vanished off to London - again - and I didn’t see him all day. Not quite sure what I’ve done to piss him off but, alas. 

Polly gave me your necklace today The string of pearls you bought with the first bit of money Arthur made. I’m wearing them, and your engagement ring, as I write this. I look like a proper lady with my new dress on...

It’s been sixteen years since I last saw you. I’m doing alright without you but it’s hard. I see Ada with Karl and Polly with Michael and my heart aches for that. But i know I can never have it and will never have it. 

I hope you’re alright, wherever you are, mother.

All my love,

Your ever loving daughter, Y/N x

As the days and the weeks went by, the bundle of letters got bigger and more tattered. She told no one about her little ritual - she knew they wouldn’t approve. Her family never dared mention their mother for fear of bringing about a curse.

Y/N was never that superstitious. No curses existed - it was just poor luck and death threats. 

1st August, 1923

Dear Mother,

I feel like I’ve almost caught you up on the past sixteen years. The Great War, Tommy’s wedding, both of John’s weddings and his gaggle of small humans he calls children. There’s almost nothing else to say to you.

Not that you’re actually here, that is. I doubt you were ever really here.

I wrote my brothers letter when they were in France. That was different, though, because they wrote back and sent me little things. I still have the violet John sent me from the Somme. 

I have all your things. No one else wanted them - they say they’re cursed or some shit like that. I was never that superstitious, it’s just life attempting to play God. No one has a say on who gets to be a survivor and who gets to be a martyr. 

I like to think of you as Ophelia. She sang to herself as she drowned, oblivious to her death. I hope you were like that, finally at peace with yourself as you floated down the Cut with the fallen flowers and leaves around you like a halo. 

There’s me trying to romanticise your death. No one even mentions you by name so forgive me for trying to make you seem more alive than apparently you are.

Well, you’re not alive are you. You’re dead. 

You have a grave. It’s up on the hill by the old tree that was used for hangings back in the day. Near Tom’s house. It’s an alright spot, I suppose. Nothing special. No one ever visits you, however. Your name isn’t even on the pebble someone put there as a marker.

We couldn’t afford a headstone. We can now but Tommy would murder me if he knew I did that. He hates talking about you.

No one ever tells me about you. All I have are a few photos that are practically falling apart and your clothes and jewellery. 

Anyway, I need to go. Family meeting and all that shit.

Your ever loving daughter,

Y/N x

By the time Christmas came, Y/N’s desk drawer was full of letters to her non-existent mother. Each letter was bundled together by month with colour coordinated ribbons for each month. February was purple, September orange and so on. 

She’d told her mother everything she’d ever wanted to. Her first kiss, her first love, her first break up, the time she got shot, the numerous times she almost died. 

She had no need to tell her anything anymore. Her mother felt so much more real to her now than she ever had before. 

She made her decision on Christmas Day evening. Everyone else was inside Arrow House watching the children open their last few presents and drink the remaining of the wine and whiskey. 

Y/N slipped outside, grabbed her horse, and rode up to the hill were the old hanging tree had once been. Her mother’s grave sat to the left of the tree - a tiny mound of earth with a pebble as its only marker. Y/N dismounted from her horse and approached the grave, clenching the letters tightly.

Twelve bundles. Almost 365 letters. 

Y/N found some twigs and branches and made a small fire at the foot of the grave. A moment later it roared into life and crackled away, casting an orange glow over her face.

She spread Tommy’s coat out on the ground and sat down, cross-legged, in front of the fire, clutching the letters. For once, she wasn’t wearing a dress belonging to her mother. Instead it was a mismatch of her brother’s old trousers, shirts and waistcoats. 

She started with the first of January. 

Y/N untied the ribbon and pulled out the first letter, the date neatly scrawled on the top left of the envelope. She read it through once, flipped it over to look at the address and then put it on the fire.

The paper curled as it burnt away, the writing fading into nothing but ash and sparks. 

The second of January followed suit before the first of January had even finished burning. 

Each letter curled and burned in the fire, the words and the sentiments becoming nothing more than ash. 

Fifteenth of February quickly followed the fourteenth. 

Twenty-eighth of April was followed by the twenty-ninth. 

Each and every letter was add to the fire until she was only left with one. 

25th December, 1923

Dear Mother,

I’ve told you everything. 

There’s nothing left to say, now. I’ve spilled my darkest secrets and untold stories to you. 

I’ve moved on, now. I still wish I had you around but I’m coping with it. I wish you were more than just words and pictures and jewellery. But nothing is fair. 

I’ve burnt all the letters and I hope the words reach you. I hope their spirit and their meaning reach you and reassure you that your daughter is doing fine. 

You used to be mine but now you belong to the world.

I only wish I’d learnt your name.

All my love

Your ever grateful and loving daughter,

Y/N Miriam Shelby

[mekamechanic]

Soooo, I’m a sucker for angst and I’ve been looking for fics where Hana gets hurt but I haven’t found many, do you know some by any chance , I know I had read one where she was shot while out of her meka but I can’t find it and I’d like to read some good fics during all this . Can you please recommend a list

Hi there! So sorry for the delay in answering this! I haven’t read all of these, some were recommended by members in our server so hope you like them!

‘Stone Butch’ by Havoka (Complete) -  Statues don't typically wake up from stone when they hear a pretty girl  screaming. But if they're *really* dedicated to their knighthood, they  might.  

‘A Dream Come True‘ by AyePatch (WIP) -  When Brigitte Lindholm heard that Overwatch was getting an ambassador  from MEKA, she could never have expected that it would be her idol and  celebrity crush, "D.Va." Nor could she have known that things would only  go up from there.

‘Carbon Fiber’ by ziegler (Complete) -  Brigitte knows better than anyone just how reckless Hana Song can be on  the battlefield, thanks to a suspicious amount of reparations that have  needed to be done on her Meka - but when a mission goes horribly awry,  it forces both women to re-evaluate whether or not they can avoid the  inevitable truth any longer - that the pair of them have fallen  hopelessly in love.

‘After This World is Out of Reach’ by TheDragonsLittleBird (Complete) - Hana makes a terrible decision when fighting the Deadlock Gang and  ends up trapped in a cave-in, with a very limited oxygen supply.Hey, at least she has the best company possible, right?

‘The Paradise Box’ by Ingenueity (Complete) -  Brigitte had been looking for an opportunity to join the Heroes of  Overwatch on a mission of her own. When she lands a secretive dream job  in the isolated mountains of South Korea, she meets Hana, a lonely  military girl about to send Brigitte into a world of uncertainty. With a  great danger looming beneath the waves of the sea, they might not have  much time!

‘Only Human’ by thesmolestnerd (Complete) -  Brigitte sees Hana broken after the events of Shooting Star and tries not to get pissed at her reckless and injured girlfriend.

‘Pretty Pearl of a Girl’ by Star_Filled_Ink (WIP) - Everyone knew that a battle had been raged in Korea's night. [...] She had been by herself when she  plummeted into the sea. However, what no one else knew was that  when Hana was in the water she was no longer alone. She wouldn't have  been able to survive alone, and thankfully the bedtimes stories of  mirthful mermaids that had Hana smitten as a child turned out to be more  true than she ever thought.

‘Agent Down’  by RobinThePhoenix (Complete) -  An easy mission gone wrong has Hana and Brigitte in a dangerous situation, with help not coming anytime soon.

‘LoveStruck’ by Biting Words (Complete) - Brigitte swears up and down that she fell in love on the twenty-third  of December to the tune of Shake it off, riding down the highway at a  speed well over legal and eyes pressed so tightly closed she could see  colors dancing beneath them. Hana says she fell in love on a  Sunday morning when a tall red-headed woman came barreling into the  kitchen in nothing more than a skin-tight blue t-shirt, bright pink  boxers, screaming that she was going to murder ‘that Sixty-year old  millennial bastard!’ Regardless they both agree that it wasn’t a gradual thing.

[marvel-and-mischief]

🎄December Writing Challenge🎄

Day 11 - Sick Day - Javier Pena x F!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, insinuations of sex Words: 1080

December Writing Challenge Masterpost

“Fucking, fuck!” The voice on the other side of the door was frazzled and angry, the sounds of accompanying banging and crashing did little to quell the sense that something was wrong with your best friend. The door swung open and in the doorway stood Javi, shirtless, hair sticking up in all directions, a sheen of sweat on his bare torso. 

“Ah, am I interrupting…?” You asked, trying to subtly look around him to see if he had company. You would never admit that the thought always hurt like a bullet flying through your heart. You tried to school your face into something neutral.

“No,” Javi scoffed, running a hand down his hot face, “I’m fucking ill,” his reply was biting but it wasn’t aimed at you, he was pissed off at himself, his body, for daring to be ill when he had assholes to catch. He was a busy man with an important job who didn’t have time for the sniffles. 

Javi walked over to the kitchen where a full mug of black coffee was sat on the counter. You took that as an invitation to enter, closing the door behind you before following to sit at the island in the middle.

“Why are you here anyway, bonita?” He asked, sneezing between taking sips of his steaming mug.

“You said you’d drop me off in the city on your way to work,” you chuckled, leaning forward with your arms on the island to smirk at him. He really was ill, he never forgot if he had offered to take you somewhere or pick you up on his way home from work. Javi didn’t hesitate when it came to your safety, he knew the kind of men that walked the streets, knew it was dangerous for a woman to go anywhere on her own. 

A deep grumbling sound came from his throat as he mentally berated himself for not remembering, rushing past you to grab a discarded shirt that was meant for the wash basket.

“I’m sorry, I’ll take you now, are you ready?”

“Javi,” you stood from the stool and grabbed the shirt before he could put an arm through, throwing it back on the floor, “you’re not going anywhere,” you insisted as sternly as you could. 

Javi frowned, looking to the shirt that was on the floor again, then back to you. You noticed his eyes were red around the edges, goosebumps were appearing on his skin where he was still sweating and as you reached up to place the back of your hand on his forehead your suspicions were confirmed; he had the flu.

“You need to go back to bed,” you crossed your arms over your chest, hoping he wouldn’t fight you on this, but expecting he would. 

“I have to go to work,” he countered, although he made no move to do anything about it. You realised he didn’t have the strength to physically fight you on this, which you used to your advantage. You pressed a hand into the middle of his back and pushed him carefully towards his bedroom.

“They will only send you back home so what’s the point,” you reasoned, and to your surprise you had managed to get him into his room. His bed was unmade, the blinds were still shut and a cigarette stub was burning out in the ashtray on the bedside table.

Javi was really feeling it now. His eyes were drooping in the darkness of his room, and his bed looked too inviting to deny. He took his jeans off and climbed into the bed and as soon as his head hit the pillow he could feel himself losing consciousness. 

You smiled at the sight, reaching over to pull the covers up to his chin. As you were about to step away his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements.

“Thank you, bonita, I don’t know what I’d do without you” he said, blinking up to look at you so you knew he meant it. 

You had to remind yourself he was ill and simply thankful to have someone taking care of him, even if your heart did skip a beat at his words and you felt yourself hoping, wishing this was hinting at Javi’s feelings for you.

You squeezed his hand and tucked it back under the blanket. 

“Sleep,” you softly replied, refraining from leaning over and placing a kiss on his forehead. That may be too much for best friends. 

When Javi came to a few hours later the covers had been kicked off his bed and the sunlight peaking through the blinds was brighter than before. His head was aching and he smelt of sweat but he had more energy. When he fully woke up he noticed the smell of cooking, making his stomach grumble in anticipation of a home cooked meal. He stood from his bed carefully, not wanting to worsen his headache, and pulled on his jeans.

He entered the kitchen, grinning at the sight of you dancing lazily to the song playing on the radio, stirring a pot of something on the stove. He noted it was the most action that stove had seen in all the time he had been living in the apartment. He leant against the wall and crossed his arms, waiting for you to notice him.

Which you eventually did with a squeal, the spoon you were tasting from clattering to the floor with its contents splashing up your jean covered legs. 

“What are you doing up?” You chastised, frowning at his sudden appearance. 

“I’m feeling better,” Javi chuckled, taking a seat at the island, watching you clean up the mess before going back to your cooking. “What are you making?”

“I just threw together some vegetables and chicken in a stock,” you shrugged, placing the lid on the pot and joining Javi at the island, “I rang work, said you were taking a sick day. I know how stubborn you are though so I didn’t say for how long.”

“I’ll be back in tomorrow,” Javi mumbled. He looked at you, really looked at you and all you were doing for him, and he felt happy in a way he hadn’t felt since coming to Columbia. He also felt comfortable, as though he could come home to this every night, if only you knew how he felt. He promised to tell you when he had a clearer head and food in his belly. 

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog

[deanswaywardgirl]

A Darker Reality

chevyA?N: This is the origin of my OC, Faith Delaney, in case any of you are curious. I don’t remember posting this, but if I did, lemme know. You know, if anyone runs across it or whatever. If not, well, here you go. 

Warnings: Protective Dean (yes that’s a warning because the protective part of him melts me), mentions of abuse, depression, anxiety

"Slut! Get the hell out of my sight!" Faith's father yelled, raising the frying pan to hit her. The edges of her visions darkened as the pan met the top of her head, causing her to cry out before forcing herself to her feet and fleeing to her bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. Tears blurred her vision as she raised her eyes to her Supernatural poster. Moving to sit underneath it, Faith curled up against the wall and closed her eyes, sobbing. She dreamed of either dying, or being a hunter like Dean and Sam. Free, safe...ish. 

No parents hitting you every chance they get. At this point in her life, Faith would rather be thrown around a room by a demon. But then, she was sure everybody would disagree and say she was being overdramatic, which only pissed Faith off. 'How the hell would they know what I prefer, or what I go through every hour of every day?' she thought to herself. Raising her eyes to the mirror, she looked like a horror movie reject. Her shirt was torn by cigarette burns. Her face, arms, and legs were black, blue, purple, and red from the blood running from multiple wounds. She knew her "parents" wouldn't kill her; they wouldn't have anyone to beat anymore. "I'm a real Max Miller," she told her reflection as she stitched herself up. That was when she caught sight of the scars on her wrists from self-abuse. "Without the powers, obviously." Her voice cracked, recalling how Max Miller's story in season 1 of Supernatural had ended, it sending a chill down her spine. It was then she thought about how close she's come to ending her life the same way. Faith put the stitch kit away and lifted a floorboard and pulled out her laptop a friend from highschool had given to her before she'd graduated. She turned on Nightmare from said show, and laid down, thinking of everything Supernatural had done for her. The comfort and feeling of safety it brought her as, everytime she watched it, she felt like the boys were in the room with her, protecting her. It was crazy, but it helped ease her fear of being attacked every second of every day. Licking her lips, she was soon fast asleep, listening to Sam and Dean talk. The volume was up high enough that it sounded like they were in the room with her. 

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

Gasping awake, Faith shot up from her spot on the floor and breathed heavily, waiting for the blow that would never come. She sat up and looked around, growing confused. Her laptop, her 'bed, which consisted of several secretly acquired blankets piled on top of each other, her movies, her poster, even her mirror  were all gone. "What the hell?" she asked nobody in particular. She knew, without a doubt, her father would've beaten her senseless if he'd found her carefully hidden treasures. Getting to her feet, Faith could feel she was the only person in the house. Opening her door, she crept down the stairs and around the house until she was comfortably satisfied with her findings. Opening the front door, Faith went to take a step outside before she was violently thrown back into the house, sliding across the wood floors into the dining room. Shakily, she stood, rubbing her head and her back. Faith slowly approached the door, wondering if anyone outside the house had seen what had happened. It had felt like she had bounced off something. "I think you hit your head pretty hard, Faith, don't start losing it now." Sticking her hands up, she felt something like the outside of a tight bubble, something that was locking her inside. Faith rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, okay, let's try this again." Going to take a step outside, Faith squealed as she was once again thrown back into the house, grunting as she stood up. "This can't be good." As if on cue, the door slammed shut and locked itself. "That damn Stay Puft Marshmellow Man," Faith growled before going back upstairs, done for the day. ******************* Days passed, but Faith never could find a way out of the house. She felt like a ghost in her own house, except she could touch everything in the house. Her sadness and depression soon became her only unwelcome companions, and soon, she was building the guts to take her own life. Tears fell down her cheeks as she put Dean's Samulet around her neck. "Who knows, Faith, maybe your version of Heaven is watching Supernatural with no interruptions, no beatings, no pain and no tears," she told herself as she loaded the gun in her hand. "You'll be safe, you'll be happy." Placing the gun against her chin, she aimed it toward her brain. Just then, the purr of a very familiar engine caught her attention and caused her to put the gun down and crawl over to the window, and gaze down in shock at a car she'd loved the minute she'd seen it, the one car she could see herself riding in every day. A car that was home for her two favorite men in the world. "Baby," she whispered and watched as two men stepped out, both familiar tell-tale men. "Oh my god," Faith gasped, the color draining from her face as she watched them approach the front door. "Oh god," she cried, and backed away from the window. "Okay, Faith, get a grip. This is obviously a dream. Take advantage of it, don't scare them off. Just be cool," she advised herself. As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Faith smiled as she took a deep breath descending the stairs, and another heading to the door. Opening the door, but standing as far inside as she could, she moved her eyes to both of the Winchesters' faces. "Hi, can I help you guys?" she asked. "Hey, I'm Agent Angus. This is my partner, Agent Young. We've been getting noise complaints from your neighbors. Complaints of screaming. Are you alright?" Sam asked. Faith smiled and licked her lips before shaking her head. "I'm fine, Sam," she replied before raising her hands, backing up into the houses, facing down their firearms. "Easy, guys, l'm no demon or shapeshifter or vampire, I promise. Let me prove it," she said and turned to Dean. "Silver blade and flask," she said and arched a brow at him. Dean glanced at Sam before lowering his gun and taking both out. Faith first took the flask and poured a little on her arm before touching the silver blade, handing the flask back. She then pulled up her upper lip so they could see she wasn't a vampire. "Guys, sit down, and I'll explain everything." She gestured to the couch and folded her hands in front of her. "Before I sit, would you guys like a coffee or anything?" she asked, rubbing the back of her neck. Dean looked at Sam and shrugged. "Coffee, please," he replied and gave her a tightened smile, placing his elbows on his knees. Faith nodded and went to the kitchen, soon coming back with two mugs of coffee before sitting across from them in a recliner. "Thank you, um..." Dean arched a brow, and Faith realized he wanted her name. "Oh, Faith. Faith Delaney. You can just call me Faith." "Faith, great. So, go ahead. How do you know Dean and I?" Sam asked, calmly. Faith licked her lips. "I'm Faith Delaney. I was born December 2, 1988 in Dallas, Texas and I've lived...er, existed, to regret that day ever since...until today." Rubbing her thighs, she sighed and rubbed her hands together. "But, I wasn't born a part of this world," she said, raising her blue eyes to theirs, watching as they glanced at each other in confusion, and turned back to her. "Did you really think that was gonna clear anything up?" Dean asked, one brow arching as he pursed his lips. Faith sighed and licked her lips. "Right, okay. Well, there's no easy way to put this, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it. Boys, I know you both because, where I'm from, you're television characters." Dean scoffed and stood up, shaking his head as he turned away from her. Faith swallowed hard and bowed her head, slightly flinching, expecting him to hit her, something Sam caught sight of. His brow furrowed as he filed that away for later. "I can prove it. Sam, what's the date today?" she asked, forcing her eyes to the younger Winchester.

"September 24, 2008. Why?" Sam countered. Faith's eyes moved to Dean, sympathy apparent in her features as she could tell how jumpy he was, his whole body tense and alert. "You just got back from Hell six days ago," she said, gently, and turned back to Sam, who was looking at Dean, Dean looking back at him, shock on both their faces. Sam then turned back to Faith. "Okay, here goes. Sam Winchester, you were born May 2, 1983 in Lawrence, Kansas to John and Mary Winchester. Dean, here, you were born the twenty-fourth of January in '79. Sam, you were six months old, Dean four years old, when Mary was killed by Azazel, the yellow eyed demon. He cursed you with visions of death, but we'll get to that later. John was distraught, completely broken-hearted. And angry. So angry, he became a hunter to get revenge, and so, you and Dean were raised into it. Something your mother never wanted, by the way. Dean, you embraced the hunter life when you were sixteen years old after killing a vampire, well, some kind of monster with your dad. Got the impala on your nineteenth birthday. But Sam," she turned her eyes back to the younger Winchester, "you didn't want any part of it, so you took off when you could and went to Stanford. Wanting to get into law school. There, you met Jessica Moore. From what I could tell, a strong and intelligent blond that ended up stealing that beautiful heart inside of you," she told him with a warm smile and a wink. "Two years or so later, your brother broke into your apartment and convinced you to go look for John, and you both ended up hunting A Woman in White. You never found John. Dean took you back home, and that same night, you lost Jessica. Same way you lost your mother." She swallowed hard and licked her lips. "Both of you hit the road after that, hunting wendigoes, shapeshifters, faced your first demon on an airplane. Phantom traveler. You guys even faced an Indian curse that had to do with bugs. I hated that episode, by the way. You went back home to Lawrence to face a poltergeist in your old house, two of them and one of them being your mother. She saved you both. Skip down the road, you lost your father to Yellow Eyes as well, after he made a deal to save Dean, who ended up in a coma after a terrible car accident. Dean, going crazy with guilt, made a deal to bring you back from the dead a year later. A year after that, you lost Dean to hellhounds. And now, you're back, and here we all are." She sighed and watched the two of them, both uncomfortable about a complete stranger telling them their whole life story. "And boys, that's just seasons one through three. We're just starting season four." Sam sighed and glanced up at Dean, who was obviously not buying any of it. Faith swallowed hard as she watched him, and stood up, her eyes full of sympathy. "Dean, I'm promising you this now, on my soul, I'm not lying to you. I have nothing to gain from lying, and I wouldn't lie to you. Not after everything the two of you have done for me....you two were there when I had no one. Hell, if you guys hadn't shown up when you did, I'd have shot myself upstairs. So, once again, you two have saved my life." Dean felt in his gut, despite what she was telling them being impossible, that she was telling the truth. Licking his lips, he sighed. "Okay," he finally spoke, "let's pretend you're telling us the truth. How are you here now? I mean, I assume that magic doesn't exist on the other side, so how'd you get here?" Faith shook her head. "I dunno. I went to sleep last night watching Nightmare, and woke up to a house that was completely void of people.  My laptop, all of my stuff was gone." Both boys' brows furrowed. "Nightmare?" Sam asked. "The case involving Max Miller, Sammy--er, Sam, I'm sorry." she said and shook her head with an apologetic smile. "Wait,you keep saying things like we saved your life, that you were alone without us, and you'd be a doornail upstairs if we hadn't shown up." Faith turned pained blue eyes up to him. "Were you depressed?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed. "That happens when you have a crappy home life. No disrespect to your parents, guys, but at least you two are free. But really, its all in the eyes of the beholder." "What do you mean?" Dean asked, his eyes moved over her. He saw the stitches, the scars, the bruises. "You were abused." Faith swallowed, pulling her sleeves down past her hands before wrapping her arms around herself, giving him a stiff nod without looking up at him. "He wasn't the only one doing the abusing, he just did most of it," she muttered, her thumb rubbing at her wrist. Dean clenched his jaw and closed his eyes before wiping his hand over his face. 

"Guys, there's something else. I can't leave the house, like, at all. When I first woke up, back in August, I tried walking outside just to get some fresh air and got thrown back in. It felt like I'd bounced off something. There's something wrong with this house, like its possessed or something. And before you suggest it, I'm not a ghost. I have a heartbeat." Faith took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead, exhausted. "I'm tired, stressed, and emotional. I'm all alone, and I'm on the verge of going stir crazy." She looked between the brothers, and watched as they exchanged soulful looks. "Go ahead and talk, guys, just please..." her voice cracked as she moved her eyes to Dean. "Please, Dean...don't leave me here alone. I don't wanna be alone anymore. Just help me leave this place. You don't trust me, I get it. I'm nobody to you, but I'm begging you here...I'm at your mercy," she whispered. Dean swallowed hard as he listened to her, feeling for this girl.

"Okay. Okay, Faith, look at me," he called to her, earning a teary look. "We'll help you, sweetheart." Sam stood and went to place his hand on her shoulder when she jumped back and crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam, its a habit." "No, I'm sorry, Faith." The girl shook her head with a warm smile. "You have nothing to apologize for. It'll just take some getting used to. Trusting people, that is." "Well, we won't hurt you, that's for sure, and we'll set you free. You'll be okay," Dean told her and winked, earning a smile from the girl. ******************* "Okay. So, we think a demon brought you here with a spell, but didn't finish it. And that's why you can't leave this place." "Slacker idjit," she said, and rolled her eyes, then glanced up at Dean who was slightly smirking down at her, then licked his lips. "Anyway, we asked a friend to help us out," he said and opened the door. "Faith, say hello to our little friend," he said with an attempt at an Italian accent. She chuckled and heard the sound of fluttering wings, then turned around to see Castiel standing there. "Hello, Faith," the angel said, simply. "Hey Cas. Good to meet the angel who pulled Dean out of the pit. Nice job with that," she said, her arms crossed over her chest. She noticed the angel give her a curious look before he circled her. "Now, I see why they attempted to bring her here." "What do you mean, Cas?" Dean asked, watching the angel. "Killing a Nephilim is one of the sixty-six seals. And with Faith, you're killing two birds with one stone. If they kill Faith, then not only is Lilith breaking another seal, but she's taking away Michael's second in command in the battle between Heaven and Hell." Faith's brow furrowed as she turned confused and slightly afraid blue eyes to Dean.

"What is he talking about?" she asked and turned to Castiel. "What do you mean by Nephilim? I'm human, Castiel!" she panicked. The angel moved up to her and stared deeply into her eyes, making Faith incredibly uncomfortable. "You have no memory of this? The angel that conceived you must've erased any memories you had. Faith, you're half arch-angel, half human. You're a Nephilim." The color drained from the girl's face as she felt like her lungs had stopped working and her legs had turned to jello. Gasping for breath, Faith searched for something to sit on. "No wonder we could never find her, the Heavenly Hosts erased her memories and put  her in a different realm," Castiel continued, not paying attention to the hyperventilating girl in front of him. Dean turned to his friend, who now stood at the window.

"Castiel, what do you mean you couldn't find her? You've known about her this whole time? Look, we're supposed to be helping this girl, not giving her a heartattack," Dean scolded the angel before kneeling down in front of Faith and took her hand. "Faith, look at me, and breathe. There you go," he said when her breathing started to slow and even out, "That's it, good girl." Faith relaxed in her chair, and forced her eyes from Dean to Castiel who was now staring at her. "If you're sure, then that means I've been from this world the entire time." Faith said and rubbed her forehead. "But why send me to that side of the fence? And why hand me over to those abusive..." Her eyes glowed a bright blue as lights blew out around her, her angel wings speading out behind her, the shadow of them on the wall behind her, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"Faith! Calm down!" Castiel called to her, and saw no choice as he placed two fingers to her forehead, watching as she fell to the floor, fast asleep. "What the hell was that?" Dean growled at Cas before looking down at the sleeping girl at his feet. "Dean, this girl...it all makes sense now. Years ago, there was a rumor that a Nephilim had come into being, but we could never find it. Michael never comes to Earth, so we had no reason to suspect him of such treason. This girl dead will achieve three victories for the demons. One broken seal, she won't play her pivotal part in the apocalypse, and she's the Nephilim child of the highest archangel on the scale, Michael." Dean's eyes widened before they fell back down to the sleeping girl at his feet. Swallowing hard, he gently scooped her up into his arms and laid her on the bed, then turned back to Castiel. "You're sure about this?" he asked. "Yes." "How?" "Dean, I can see Michael's mark on her heart. Its how we tell who the angel father is. Almost like a brand. Nephilim are forbidden by the highest laws of Heaven which explains why he put her somewhere nobody would ever look. But still, I can't believe he'd do this."

"What's gonna happen to her?" Dean asked, glancing down at the sleeping girl. "I don't know." Dean's attention snapped to Castiel. "You're not gonna help her? Why? Cas, she's an innocent girl. She didn't ask for any of this, man, and that includes being created, or to be brought here by the damn demons that want her dead. She doesn't deserve to be killed like a common monster." He sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "We'll fix this, then we'll get her out of here, and take her to Bobby's, and go from there. I'm not leaving an innocent girl, who's not even a hunter, to fend for herself against Heaven and Hell, and everything else in between. Especially after everything she's already been through. As far as I can tell, she deserves better than both Michael and that son of a bitch on the other side," Dean said, shaking his head. *******************

Faith awoke to the purr of an engine that sounded like it was coming from beneath her. Blinking her eyes open, she glanced around the interior of the impala and couldn't help but smile. "You didn't leave me behind," she said, softly, earning Dean's attention. "I made you a promise, didn't I?" he asked her, and handed her a brown bag. "Bacon cheeseburger, no onions. You don't seem like a chick that likes onions," he told her, not taking his eyes off the road. "Good call," she said, glad he couldn't see the red tint in her cheeks, taking the burger out and biting into it, moaning. "Oh god, Dean, that's awesome." Dean smirked. "I have a feeling we're gonna be good friends." Faith smiled brightly and ate her burger quietly, not pushing her limits.

@ellewritesfix05​ @whispersandwhiskerburn​ @chevyharvelle​ @allfandomxreader​

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Once Upon a December

Chapter 3: It’s a Rumor, a Legend, a Mystery!

A/N: This chapter is a little small but has extremely important information, so I didn’t want to write too much and drown out the important parts. Please, if you want to be tagged/I forgot to tag you send me an ask instead of a comment, makes my life so much easier. Hope you all don’t hate this!

Chapter 2 // Chapter 4

Lin couldn’t help but stare at their dynamic.

Despite her initial statement that she had no interest in being close to them, she had to admit that the way they acted around each other gave her a longing feeling. It was the way she had once acted with Lysandra.

Like a family.

Even when discussing what they would do next, if they should leave Orynth immediately or wait a few days, Lin could see how at ease they were around each other. How easy it was for one of them to call the other out, how they kept bickering at each other. Even the ones that looked like complete opposites interacted in the way brothers would.

She was jealous. It was burning hot inside of her and some wretched part of her wanted to scream at them for acting like a loving family when her own family was probably suffering in Inish. She had to bite her tongue several times not to snap at the men.

“I believe that it would be wise to leave as soon as possible, but not tonight.” Gavriel said, always the voice of reason as Lin had quickly realized. He was the oldest one, but his mild behavior was probably what stopped him from being their leader. “It would attract too much attention a group of seven people leaving the capital during the night. You know how the officials are.”

Rowan merely grunted, and that might have been his way of agreement because the matter was settled after it.

“We leave tomorrow, then. Around lunch when it’s not too packed but also not too empty.” Lorcan replied, his arms crossed over his broad shoulders. His midnight black eyes fell upon Lin again and she rolled her eyes when a sneer appeared on his face. “Do you have a passport?”

“Do I look like someone who would have a passport?”

“Your parents never got you one?” His voice was full of suspicion, making Lin roll her eyes again.

“Do I look like someone who has parents?”

“Are you going to answer every single question with another question?”

“Does it bother you?” She asked sweetly, then smiling when Lorcan’s face contorted with anger. She said she would help them, not that she would be pleasant during it. But she also remembered that Lys’s fate depended on these men, so she sighed and added, “I lived my life in an Adarlanian orphanage. They barely bothered giving us names, the idea of an official passport is laughable.”

He nodded, something almost like understanding and empathy shining on his black eyes. “We can get you one. Not an official one, but it will do.” He turned to Gavriel and Rowan. “Go to Faliq and ask for an urgent passport for Lin…”

He looked at her and for the first time, her cheeks heated. “Sirota.”

Most of the kids in the orphanages came knowing their names and surnames. Very rarely an older child needed both a new name and last name, but in those cases they were simply given Sirota as the last name.

An orphan.

In the sense of it all, it was almost being nameless. Kids with the last name Sirota weren’t the kids who had lost everything and went to an orphanage or the ones who had been left there since the beginning. No, these were the kids found when older, the ones who had been abandoned. Problem children, all of them, Clarisse would say. As Lin didn’t remember if her parents had died, she was thrown into that group. Any kid in that piss poor orphanage had a small chance of being adopted, but Sirotas had absolutely zero.

“Moonbeam.” Fenrys said. Lin’s head snapped back to him, and he looked serious for the first time. “Blonde hair and tan skin, we can pass her as our younger sister. No one will believe a girl with the last name Sirota would have a passport, so make her our sister. Lin Moonbeam.”

She was too shocked to form any rational thought, so she only blurted out, “Your last name is fucking Moonbeam?”

Vaughan laughed out loud, and Fenrys gave her a knowing smile. “You weren’t that wrong when you called me wolfie earlier, sis.”

She looked at Connall, but he merely nodded.

And that was that.

———————————

“Which one?”

“What?”

“Which of the cities in the route you need to visit?” Vaughan explained. They were all sitting together in the train station lounging room. No one bothered to approach her, not with six sneering giants hanging around. They all played the role of older brothers just alright— any men or women who looked a little bit too long at Lin was met with the scary stare of her companions.

The cadre, she decided to call them. An easier way to refer to all six at the same time.

When Rowan and Gavriel came back the night before with her new fake passport, they had also brought new clothes for her. Whoever Faliq had been, she was obviously smaller and less curvy than Lin. The linen white shirt was tight around her breasts, and the long and yet simple brown skirt hugged her waist and hips almost uncomfortably. The skirt ended on her ankles, and she tied a thick leather belt around her middle. She was wearing her necklace, but the pendant was hidden inside her blouse.

“What the fuck is the leather thing for?” Fenrys had asked earlier, his brows furrowed.

“It adds form.” Lin answered defensively.

“More?” He replied, faking incredulity. Lin merely flipped him off and went to wait by the castle’s front as the rest of them finished cleaning up. She didn’t tell him that it was also an easy place to store knives and not get caught or hurt. She had two strapped to her right leg and one to her left, but raising the skirt would take too long and putting a knife between her breasts was a stupid idea. Hence the infernal thing around her waist.

“You look like a hot barmaid.” Connall said, being the first one to leave the castle and join her.

She looked him up and down. Grey dress pants, white button down, grey waistcoat and a black coat hanging from his shoulders, Connall looked like…

“You look like the rich brat that would spend hours trying to get the hot barmaid to go home with him.” She replied mildly and he smiled, handing her a leather brown jacket. She shrugged it on, hiding the belt. It was still chilly in Orynth, and the jacket made her feel better. She almost thanked Connall.

Now she was sitting besides Vaughan and Gavriel. The latter was reading a geography book, and Vaughan was just relaxing, asking her questions every now and then. Nothing too personal or invasive, just to kill some time. Lin had the impression that Gav and Vaughan had seated on her side so no one else from the cadre would. It was obvious that the other four didn’t possess Gavriel’s calm or Vaughan’s ability to be civilized.

“Why do you care which city I want to visit?” They had chosen a route with Inish in it, and Lin had almost cried in relief when she saw Lorcan paying for their tickets. There were other several cities in between Orynth and Inish, but Lin couldn’t care less. She was going to see Lysandra in little over a month. That’s all that mattered.

Vaughan shrugged but didn’t stop looking at her. Impulsively, she looked at Fenrys sitting in front of her. “What are you in for?”

“I beg your pardon?”

She rolled her eyes at his tone. “Why are you doing all of this?”

He rested against his seat. His hands rested on top of his stomach and he gave her a lazy smile. “For money, of course.”

She raise an eyebrow at Connall and Lorcan’s direction. Connall was the one who responded while Lorcan nodded. “Same as Fen.”

“Gavriel?” She turned to the older man by her side.

“Money, partially. There’s someone I need to visit in Banjali.” He said calmly, going back to his book.

Lin wisely ignored Rowan, trying to not look at him even though she could feel his gaze burning the left side of her face.

When Aelin turned to Vaughan, he was already watching her. He seemed to hesitate before answering, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Because Connall is going.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion, the frown deepening when she felt all six of them watching her. Fenrys was Connall’s brother, not Vaughan. Unless they were brothers of sort or… Her eyes fell upon the simple silver band on his finger. When she looked at Connall’s hand, a twin band lay there.

Lovers then. That explained why Vaughan watched her suspiciously, as if waiting to see her reaction to his marriage to Connall. She knew that that moment would decide how the rest of their interactions went.

“Being Fenrys’s brother-in-law sounds fucking miserable.” She said flatly. “At least you fell for the nicest Moonbeam.”

Vaughan relaxed and Connall grinned. Fenrys was pouting. “He’s the nicest Moonbeam?”

“He called me hot barmaid. You didn’t. That’s a point for him and none for you.”

“If you wanted me to be a basic asshole, all you had to do was ask, princess.”

For the first time since Lysandra had left the orphanage a year ago, Lin genuinely smiled. It was more of a grin, but it was a good feeling nonetheless. Smiling because someone was jokingly bickering with you.

“Time to dispatch the baggage.” Lorcan announced, standing up. As one, all of them stood up after him, even Lin. He looked directly at her, shaking his head. “During this trip, you are to be as unnoticeable as possible. A 5’8 woman lifting baggage with a bunch of enormous men isn’t exactly inconspicuous. Sit you’re ass down. You,” he pointed at Rowan, “stay with her.”

He turned and left before Rowan could complain. And judging by the look on his face, he was gonna complain a lot.

Alone with him, Lin couldn’t help but analyze his profile. Now that they were in an illuminated place, she could see that his skin was tanned, and that he had a long tattoo that sometimes showed up through his sleeve or the collar of his shirt. She could notice the slope of his mouth, the lines that made up his face. His eyes were of a deep pine green and were watching her as intently as she was watching him. She gave him a lazy smile and he clenched his hands.

“Why do I have the feeling you don’t like me very much, Mr. Whitethorn?”

“I don’t particularly care for you, lady Moonbeam.” His voice was cold and hard as he replied. He used her new surname considering that for the next month or so she was legally a Moonbeam. Well, kind of legally.

“And yet your face almost contorts with anger or disgust when you look at me. That doesn’t sound like indifference to me.” Lin didn’t know why she cared. She had said herself she didn’t want friendship with these men, but something about Rowan’s dislike of her bothered her infinitely.

He crossed his arms, eyes never leaving her face. He looked at her as if she was a puzzle he couldn’t understand and hated himself for even trying. “Have you been staring at me to know my expressions, lady?”

“You do certainly have a pretty face, Whitethorn, so I don’t see the harm at staring.” Her words left her mouth before she could even consider them. They were dripping with sarcasm and venom, and she knew he had picked on the tone when his jaw clenched. Although she liked to believe she was above petty fights, she was also glad to see she could get under Rowan’s skin.

“You enjoy hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“Do you enjoy hearing me talk?”

He had already opened his mouth to respond when a woman approached them, her heels clinking on the wooden floor. Slowly, Rowan and Lin tore their gazes from each other to look at the woman now standing by them. She was a pretty thing. Small, pale skin and dark brown curls, she looked like a doll. Her chestnut eyes were going back and forth between Rowan and Lin.

“Rowan.” Was all she said, her accent sounding a little like his but washed down by years living in Terrasen. “Who is this?”

“Lyria.” Was all he said.

Lin just stared at the two of them. The silence got so uncomfortable that she shifted on her seat, careful not to wake Fleetfoot sleeping by her feet.

When she realized Rowan wasn’t on the mood for talking, something Lin felt that was his usual mood, the woman turned to her.

“You are?” She asked, her tone rude and impatient.

“Lin.” She answered, laying her hand on her lap. “And you would be?”

“Lyria. Rowan must have mentioned me before.” Lyria raised her chin, looking down at Lin. The gesture was so Clarisse-like that Lin wanted to get up and beat the pretty girl.

“Actually, no.” She didn’t add that she only knew Rowan for a day. Judging by how Rowan relaxed slightly, it was the correct answer.

“In what can we help you, Lyria?” Rowan sighed, crossing one ankle over the other. If with Lin he seemed secretly enraged, with Lyria he only seemed tired.

“Your Majesty heard that you and your troupe would be leaving the city and asked me to come see if it was true. And why. You know how Maeve can be, especially after she has asked you so many times to join her inner circle.”

“We are going on vacations.” Rowan gave her a fake smile. “To celebrate.”

“And what would you be celebrating?”

“My eighteenth birthday.” Lin butted in and Lyria and Rowan’s head snapped back to her. “It was a few weeks ago but I was visiting my aunt Clarisse in Adarlan so unfortunately we couldn’t celebrate together. The boys were kind enough to give me a belated present. Isn’t that right, Ro?”

He seemed amused. “Yes. Lin has been a friend for a while now and we didn’t want such an important date to go unnoticed.”

Lyria stared at the two of them silently. Lin honestly thought she was going to ask for more information, but the girl merely walked to her side and sat down where Gavriel had been. Rowan’s features were washed in confusion as Lyria got close to Lin’s ear.

“He can’t love anyone.” Lyria whispered, her voice now empathetic and lovely. Lin was so shocked by her words that she couldn’t move. “I know, I’ve been there. There is something always holding Rowan back. Don’t break your heart because of him.”

Lin then looked at Lyria, and for a moment the girl smiled sadly. Only for a second before that cool mask slipped on again. She got up, nodding goodbye to Rowan and looking at Lin one more time. “If you choose to ignore what I said, I hope you are luckier.”

“What did she say?” Rowan asked as Lin stared at Lyria leaving the station. Lin had absolutely no feelings or attraction towards Rowan, but she couldn’t help but be intrigued by what Lyria had said. Couldn’t help but wonder if Rowan was actually incapable of loving or if his relationship with Lyria just hadn’t worked out. She looked back at him, his existence becoming an enigma Lin’s body was aching to understand.

“That you are a miserable fuck.”

Rowan opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted again by the rest of the cadre coming back. This time, Fenrys plopped down by her side and put an arm behind her. “Ready to go on an adventure, firedrake?”

She snorted, crossing her arms. “Born ready, wolfie.”

———————————

Rowan hated that dog.

He was usually fine around animals, but Fleetfoot seemed to be a little too similar to her owner and had taken a deep dislike on him. They were in one of their cabins inside the train, and he started putting his luggage on the compartment above the seats. However, when he want to sit down on his spot, the dog remained laying there lazily. He motioned to grab her, but she only growled deeply and he wasn’t on the mood to fight with a dog.

He was too busy thinking about Lyria’s appearance to bother anyways. Rowan had dated her for years during his adolescence. She had been funny and lovely and everything Rowan needed at the time. When she said she started working at the palace, Rowan was genuinely happy that she was finally leaving the streets of Orynth to live in the servant’s quarters. In the beginning, everything was fine, but then she started getting more distant, asking more and more of Rowan as she gave him less and less. And then when she was promoted to Maeve’s little inner circle, dating her became impossible. She was always trying to convince Rowan and the others to join Maeve. Every single one of his friends had their reservations about the conqueror queen on the throne, but Lyria should know that he had many reasons not to join that bitch’s reign. Rowan had no interest in helping the woman who had destroyed his life and the lives of the people he loved. Lyria’s blind loyalty to Maeve and Rowan’s complete hate for her was what finally broke the relationship.

Every now and then Lyria would pop up at the apartment he shared with the other five guys, asking them once more if they wanted to join Maeve’s forces. The answer had always been no, but that didn’t stop her from coming back again and again with the same words. Earlier that day when Lyria looked almost curiously at Lin, his stomach had turned.

Lyria’s appearance had unsettled him, and the presence of the woman he was now forced to sit next to unnerved him to no end. She had a mouth too big and a face too pretty and alluring for her own good. For their good.

Lin was splotched against the leather seat, playing with the little pendant from her necklace. It was small enough that Rowan could barely make out what it was, but it looked like a series of overlapping circles. He knew he should just leave her the hell alone, but he found himself saying, “Stop fidgeting with that thing and sit up straight.” Her eyes turned to him and narrowed, making the gold in the center stand out more. “Remember, you’re a princess.”

His last words were filled with sarcasm and there was no way Lin hadn’t picked up on the tone. “And how do you know what princesses do or don’t do?”

He gave her a sarcastic smile. “I make it my business to know.”

“Oh.” She replied, sitting up straighter. She batted her eyelashes at him and Rowan heard Fenrys and Vaughan coughing. “Rowan, do you really think I’m royalty?”

Her voice was filled with mocking, and Rowan clenched his hands as he replied her sarcasm with sarcasm of his own. “You know I do, Aelin.”

“Then stop bossing me around!” She grunted and turned her face to the windows. He heard the others raising a hand to put over their mouths or simply coughing again to mask their laughter. Even Gav reacted at that, marking something on his little journal with a humorous smile on his face.

“She certainly has a mind of her own.” Lorcan murmured, looking at Rowan.

“Yeah,” Rowan said mildly. “Hate that in a woman.”

Lin turned her face back to him to show him her tongue. He had to bite his own so he wouldn’t imitate the gesture. For fuck’s sake, this woman acted like she was five and made him act as if he was five.

“This is going to be a long month.” Vaughan said, looking as if he had found his new source of entertainment. His arm was around Connall’s shoulders and both men were smiling at Rowan like fiends.

“I think I rather like you, firedrake.” Fen said, earning a middle finger from Lin. At least she didn’t dislike only Rowan.

The thought almost made him smile.

——————————————

Lysandra Ennar hated that pub.

She hated the strong smell of cheap ale, the sweat of the bodies of the people mingling around, the terrible music coming from one of the corners of the room.

She had been here for a year and wasn’t even close to paying her debts. Differently from the orphanage where she would have left at eighteen, here Lysandra had to buy her freedom.

And her freedom costed a fucking lot.

Just thinking about it made her throat constrict, and she had to hold her apron a little bit tightly to keep the tears at bay. She wanted to be enjoying the beginning of summer with Lin in Adarlan. Wanted to be with her best friend while they stole alcohol from carts in the market and then drank their asses off.

She missed Lin greatly. Being taken away from her had been like losing a sister, and everyday Lys planned a way of finding her again even if she still didn’t even know how to free herself.

Her mind was wandering to a place where she and Lin lived in peace. A place where maybe both of them would have normal jobs and would find normal loves, maybe even getting married to them in the future. Lys would be Lin’s maid of honor and Lin would be Lys’s. They would be normal girls living perfectly normal lives.

Her daydream was interrupted by a cloaked man sitting on one of the stools by the bar. Differently from everyone else in this hellhole, this one seemed to have money. Tons of it, judging by the fine material of his cloak and the bejeweled dagger by his side. He sat up straight, and Lys felt his shadowed face analyzing her and then the rest of the room. He shrugged to himself and took off his hood.

Lysandra’s jaw literally fell. She took in the golden hair, the sharp jawline and high cheekbones. She took in the nose and the brows and his mouth. And then her gaze landed on the turquoise and golden eyes watching her.

“Holy fucking shit. What the hell?” She breathed at the man who sat in front of her.

The man who looked so much like Lin that they could be twins.

Tags:

@morganofthewildfire​ @alyx801​ @ladywitchling​ @westofmoon​ @rolltide7​ @queen-of-glass​ @alifletcher2012​ @rattlethestarsdarling​ @rowanisahunk​ @bilkul-sharam-nahi-aati​ @faerie-queen-fireheart​ @sweetlyvillainous​ @chemicha​ @jlinez​ @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​ @abookishfreak​ @courtofjurdan​ @acourtofglass​ @maastrash​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ 

[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Can I have a Nathan x Violet angsty drabble with #50 from list one? Thank you, love you!!!

Fandom: Nathan x Violet

Warnings: Violence, gore, swearing, some sexual innuendo

A/N: THIS WAS SO DELIGHTFUL!! And I LOVED writing this. Even though I cheated a bit 😉 Prompt 50: "Holy shit, you're bleeding!"

Nathan curled up in the fetal position on Violet’s spare bed. She was so wasted that the only blanket she managed to hand off was My Little Pony. Either she was hiding a kid, or it belonged to a niece, cousin, or very surprise half-sister. Nathan knew all about them. Now he struggled to cover his upper half and lower half at the same time.

I mean, he was grateful he had a bed to sleep on. Hard metal and a dirty piss smelling cot in a jail cell wasn’t right for any human. Still it was December in the desert. Why had no one told him how bloody fucking cold it’d be? He couldn't sleep in a suit, and Violet was in no state to get to the casino now.

Nathan felt lost without his phone now that he had freedom. Not that he expected there to be any messages. Some new guy answered when he called back in September. He wasn't allowed to call his parents (bridges burned). And after two weeks he gave up hope Marnie would show with the baby. Why should he expect anyone to give a shit? He took the piss outta Simon constantly, poked fun at Alisha’s rotten power, and gave Marnie a one ticket to fuck off, Nathan land. Seriously, mate, you just handed over $10k.

Well first you conjured it in her twat, you dumb cunt.” Nathan raised his hands up in front of his face, “You're only doing good from now on! You cheated Spider-man with Curtis. Take that advice yourself, mate.”

It wasn't his hands that caused chaos during his testimony. It was Violet. She got under Nathan’s skin at first. There were ladies who told him to scrape off, but he eventually wore them down. Eager Irish puppy who never tired of the chase. But this bitch.. Woman.. Woman, she was a woman. Not his usual maybe 18 or 19. She was thirty. That's a mortgage paying, health care, 9-5 working adult.

Nathan’s cheeks burned from the embarrassment of HER taking the piss in front of all those people. He THOUGHT she liked him, but that ice queen indifference to him drove him barking. Do a little magic? She tells him Copperfield is better. Makes himself as presentable and sexy as ever? She calls him a bloody stick bug. He made that cunt’s tongue literally fall out when he slapped Violet’s ass. Even Nathan refrained from those shenanigans tonight. Violet’s reaction?

“You want another pint?” OF COURSE HE DID, AND NOW HE WANTED HER.

Nathan failed his arms and legs and beat them about the mattress frantically like a temperamental child. He kicked the nursery school cover off and rolled out of the bed to continue his rampage of blanket searching. He stumbled into the dark hall and immediately slammed his knee into the door frame.

“Bloody cock fuck,” he uttered.

The pain in his was jarring, but Nathan turned back to his room. He heard Violet rummage around in her room and then caught her stumbling drunkenly past him. She had not adjusted to the dark yet. He stepped out of the room as she swung back around and misjudged just how close the two of them were as he opened his mouth:

“Hey Vi do you have any-” the words didn't get to come fully from his lips.

Violet’s body, one Nathan anger wanked to before the trial (he's still a hot blooded 22 year old!) collided with his own. Soft breasts beneath an off the shoulder tee shirt molded perfectly into his chest. Then his brain registered a searing pain that consumed him from deep inside out towards his limbs and brain. Violet had stabbed him clean through the heart.

Nathan’s mind clouded as Violet started to panic. He was acutely aware of every single beat that strained around the knife. His skin grew warm and a coppery scent filled his nostrils. Blood. It was blood from around the knife.

Not again, he thought. The Virtue disaster. It took twenty minutes for him to die properly. The world upside down. He blacked out before. The shape-shifting wench and a sewage pipe or water pipe that cut through him and stuck out a few feet. He had stood on tip-toes to alleviate some pressure that bore down on his lungs and organs. That time his death came after almost an hour.

Violet’s voice registered in octaves only a dog could hear. Or Jeremy, a fleeting thought. She'd call 9-1-1. She can't call them, he'll be back soon. He always came back.

“NO!!” he felt himself shout.

Violet was startled and screamed she had stabbed him. Hadn't meant to. She could fix it. Him. This situation. “Holy shit you're bleeding! So much.. but the.. “ the rest of the sentence unfinished.

Nathan straightened his spine and held onto Violet's arms. “It'll happen soon, darling.” Maybe that's what he said. “I'll be right new after.” He couldn't remember.

He brushed Violet’s bangs out of her face and a tear from her cheek. He relaxed as a calm washed over him. If he could, Nathan would just become Death and avoid this part all together.

“Sweetheart, I've been stabbed in the heart by women before but never,” he gestured to the handle pointed out towards Violet.

She kept screaming at him, but Nathan’s ears only heard his blood as it pumped slowly out of his body. Down to his stomach and legs. All over her nice wood floor.

“I'm.. immortal,” the words were labored. Christ it fucking hurt. That didn't stop Nathan from trying to get a grip on the hilt. “C’mon, Vi, give us a hand will ya.” Her mouth was agape. “I'll die quicker.”

Now that iron taste was in his mouth. Blood came down from his lips unexpectedly. He was bleeding internally too. Still she listened and pulled the weapon out of his chest slow and steady. Nathan’s legs finally gave out and he slid down the wall. Violet caught him up in her arms, something no one had done before.

It was gobsmacking how long this particular demise was taking. Nathan’s eyes lost focus and sight not long after he hit the floor. He started to shiver as his life spread all over Violet's hallway and her hands. And legs. How warm her hand was as it compressed the wound in his chest.

Violet hummed a song that Nathan swore he knew, but his brain finally started to shut down too. She sang only to drown out the wet gurgling noises that hung in the still air. It was nice to have a lovely face so close by as he faded.

Nathan had one last fleeting thought as he died. Violet's fingers were tangled up in his hair as a comfort. The next time she had her hands on it, he hoped his head would be between her legs.

Tags: @robertsheehanownsmyass @bisexualnathanyoung @immortalled @super-unpredictable98 @joz-stankovich @elliethesuperfruitlover @magic-multicolored-miracle

[hplovefat]

Tracked down a classic

The Waist Lines

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

A Fattening Study

This one's inspired by a real-life actual overeating experiment.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAQr77QMJiw

However, I changed it up so that the participants had to gain way more weight in a longer period of time.

“First of all I want to thank you all for coming. We realize that we are asking for quite a bit of sacrifice on your part, but we want to ensure you that it’s going towards a great study. When I call your name please take your binder. It will contain nutrition guidelines and general information you need to follow for the next nine months.” Said a slender grad student in a lab coat. He’s trying to calm anyone down with cold feet meanwhile the only thing keeping me in this building is the money. “Get paid to eat” that was the subject line of the email my roommate sent me for the application to be apart of this study. Little did I know that it was a study on obesity and that applicants have to agree to gain weight every month in order to get the paycheck. Not only that but I have to be poked and prodded by doctors checking my overall health. But living in the city is expensive and working as a barista paid jack squat. “Thomas?” The grad student called my name. I walked up to the Doctor McDreamy wannabe and received a binder with my name on it. Inside were some general guidelines on nutrition so participants wouldn’t need a coronary bypass, a credit card with our monthly allowance for groceries, and also some rules for the study. For my body type I needed to eat at least 3000 calories a day, just to start off with! I skipped to the back of the binder and was horrified to see by month eight I wouldn’t be allowed to eat less than 9000 calories a day. “I’m going to have to buy maternity clothes.” I muttered under my breath. A man beside me laughed. He must have heard me. I tried not to blush with embarrassment as his name was being called, “Axl?”

“That’s me.” He lightly replied. Axl was slender, as were all the participants for the study. One of the requirements was to be no higher than 11% body fat if you were a man and no higher than 18% body fat if you were a woman. All twenty participants had the same slender frame, including myself. My beer loving roommate Joey wanted to earn some extra cash doing these crazy experiments, but his gut got him rejected from this one, so of course he sends it to me. I looked down at my flat stomach, “I’m going to get a gut like Joey’s aren’t I?” I thought to myself. It sent a shiver down my spine. Axl comes back with his binder, “Hey, I’m Axl. You look nervous.”

“Oh… maybe a little. I really need the money, but I’ve always watched what I’ve ate, y’know?” I replied.

Axl smiled, “It’s alright. The way I see it, even if they kick you out half way that’s still a lot of money. And how hard can it be to shed a few pounds?”

“So what’s your reason for doing this?” I asked.

“I’m a little short for cash too, but also I just broke up with my gym freak of a boyfriend. I need to let go a little. Despite what he thinks my life shouldn’t revolve around my six pack.”

The grad student gave out the last binder to a tiny woman with the narrowest face I have ever seen. “Alright that’s everyone! Thanks so much again. You’ll notice that your monthly allowance for food is probably higher than you expected, but trust me you will go through it quickly. I hope your appetites are good because your nine month journey starts now.” With that, the participants started leaving the building. Some lifted up their shirts, jokingly saying goodbye to their abs. Do people think this is funny? “I think you need to lighten up.” Axl said to me as we leave the building. “It’s going to be a little disturbing, but it’s just getting fat. Is that really a big deal?”

“I guess not.” I replied, unsure of myself.

“Let’s go grocery shopping together, shake off some of the nerves and I’ll give you a ride home.” Sure beats taking the bus, I thought.

“That actually sounds great. Thank you.”

That afternoon Axl and I got our own grocery carts and filled them to the brim with what we had to eat. Our guidelines suggested chicken breasts and coconut milk, but Axl filled his cart with donuts and pastries. I threw in some butter tarts into my cart too, a secret indulgence of mine, but now I was free to eat the entire box. Axl dropped me off in front of my apartment. My arms weighed down by the bags upon bags of high calorie food I needed to eat that week. I squeezed my way through to the front door, my roommate Joey waiting for me. “So how was your first day man?! You look fatter already.”

“I haven’t started yet you knob.” I laughed, “I have to eat all this by next Monday.” Joey took a glimpse upon the mountain of food I was storing away in our kitchen.

“Aw man, I can’t wait to compare beer guts with you!”

I made tortellini that night with the heaviest cream sauce I could find at the grocery store. I had to eat the entire pot to make my quota for that day. As I shoved the last morsel into my mouth I could see Joey staring at me with the utmost delight. He thought this was hilarious. His skinny roommate Thomas was going to get as fat he was. I put my hand over my bloated stomach and tried not to think too much of it.

One week into the experiment and I could feel a difference. I could not remember what it was like to not be bloated. In order to meet my daily calorie intake, I had to gorge myself with a huge breakfast of pancakes and sausage immediately followed by my shifts at the café. Joey all the while laughing everyday at the feasts I have to prepare for myself as he sits on the couch drinking beer. I know for a fact he’s sneaking into my groceries, picking out bacon and pastries for himself. After my shift at work I went down to the grocery store to restock. “Hi there stranger.” It was Axl. “Need to stock up again eh?”

“I do. I didn’t think it was possible, but I ate everything in my cart last week.” I looked up at Axl. His face was fuller. You could even see button down shirt straining on his build. “Wow you’re really taking this seriously, you’ve filled out a little since I last saw you.”

“Ha!” He replied, “Believe me it wasn’t easy. Listen, you don’t have to stock up at the grocery store every week, there’s more than enough money in our allowance to eat out.”

“Is it allowed?”

“Of course silly! Me and a few other participants from the study are getting pizza and beer tonight, you should join us. Getting down those last few bites is a lot easier with help.”

“That sounds amazing, I could really use a break from my roommate.”

That night I met Axl and few of the other participants at a bar downtown. Everyone seemed to have a story about their first week. One guy named Andrew said he ate so much the first day he puked. Another girl named Jessie was doing this to get back at her ex who said she wasn’t curvy enough. It seemed the one thing in common with everyone is that they were enjoying this gluttonous time. The beer felt bottomless and it felt like our group ordered one of everything off the menu. I scarfed down as much pizza as I could, but I was bloated beyond belief from the beer. Axl and Andrew looked at me and then looked at my final slice. They immediately ran over to me. Andrew held my bloated stomach and Axl lifted the pizza off the plate. “C’mon you can do it.” yelled Axl. “We believe in you!” joked Andrew. It might have been the fact I was piss drunk, but I was excited for this help. I slowly but surely swallowed bite by bite of the pizza Axl fed me as the rest of the group cheered on. After the last bite there was a loud “huzzah” from the group and I rest my hands on my stomach. My face was red and sweaty from the endeavor. I just ate an entire large pizza by myself. “Thomas just doubled his quota today everybody!” screamed a drunken Jessie. Another loud “huzzah” came from our group. Double? I thought. If I keep to my quota I should already be gaining quite of bit of weight. I unbuttoned my jeans and looked forward to the next month.

A month goes by and I meet up with the rest of the group at the research building to get our monthly checkup. Joey insisted he come with me to my first weigh in. Axl finally got to meet him today after a month of me ranting about my drunken roommate. I change into skintight boxer-briefs for the weigh in and body fat test. I walk into the room and Joey’s face lights up with a horrible grin. “What?” I ask.

“Dude look at that!” he points to my stomach. It had been protruding more and more over the past month, but I didn’t think it was that bad. I started to pat my newfound gut, shaking it up and down. “As least it’s not as big as yours.” I lifted up Joey’s shirt his furry beer belly flopped down over the waist of his jeans. “You’ve been stealing my food haven’t you? You’ve definitely gotten chubbier too.” Axl then walks in, just finished with his checkup. “Are we comparing bellies?” Axl lifted up the front his shirt revealing a soft paunch. The outlines of a six pack were faded and his pecs were softer too. “I gained 21 pounds this month. Doctor says that’s the highest of all the participants so far.”

“My god!” I exclaimed. “Is that normal?”

“The first month is supposed to be a little extreme. And it looks like you’re not far behind me buddy.” Axl patted the top of my belly and watched it jiggle. The doctor walked and Axl, Joey and I pull down our shirts. “Alright Thomas, first thing I’m going to do is weigh you. You’re friends can stay as long as you don’t mind the company.”

“No way I’m missing this.” Replied Joey. The doctor and I both look at him. “They can stay. I don’t mind.”

I hopped on the scale and I could sense the doctor observing my paunch and my ass for signs of weight distribution. “At the beginning of the experiment you were 160 pounds, today you are… 179. Very interesting.” Joey and Axl burst out laughing. “I’ve gained almost twenty pounds? In a month…” I responded. “Yes.” The doctor replied, “You and another young lad are tied for second for rapid weight gain.”

“Number one being me.” Axl boasted patting his stomach.

“You realize that you will have to increase your daily calorie intake…” The doctor exclaimed as he began to measure my waist, “both of you.” Pointing to me and Axl. “As for you.” Looking at Joey, “You should consider switching to light beer.”

The three of us walked to the lobby to pick up our paychecks. Joey left leaving Axl and I waiting in line with the other participants who had just gotten out of their examinations. “My boobs have gotten so big.” One girl exclaimed. “I can’t even button my slacks.” Said another guy. I picked up my check and I’m immediately bombarded with invites to go out and eat. I couldn’t resist the company of these people and Axl was buying.

For my second examination, I had to schedule the day after everyone else’s due to a work emergency. I didn’t get to see Axl or the rest of the expanding gang. This month I was forced to eat no less than 4000 calories a day. Apparently I had no trouble because I managed to get up to 193 pounds. I had gained over 30 pounds since the experiment started and I wasn’t even halfway done. A portion of this month’s paycheck had to go into buying new clothes. None of my pants could button and the black polo I wore to work was riding up. If I wasn’t wearing an apron people would see the underside of my gut. When it comes to any humiliating aspect of this process, naturally Joey wants to come along. Joey took the doctor’s advice to heart this month. He switched to light beer. He’s just as drunk, but not getting any fatter. Good for Joey… I guess. I squeezed my ass into a pair of 34’s lifting up my paunch in order to get better a view of the button. Joey waited outside the changing room with his devilish smirk, holding my bags of medium to large shirts and enjoying himself a little too much. “Did you say those are 34’s?” asked Joey.

“Yeah.” I replied, “But there a little snug, I think I’ll go up a size, maybe some room to grow.”

“That’s kinda funny.” Joey smirked, “Because 34’s are what I wear buddy. You’re just as big as me!”

“There’s no way.” I replied.

“Wanna bet?” Joey pulled me to the change room mirror. He lifted up his shirt and gestured for me to lift up mine. Low and behold, my gut was almost as big as Joey’s beer belly. His was remarkably more furry, but the size was undeniably close. “You’re still a little bigger.” I exclaimed.

“Yeah maybe, but you’re catching up pretty quick tubby.” He replied patting my gut.

After I got home, I quickly changed into my comfortable size clothes and headed to the grocery store. I found it harder and harder to follow the nutrition plan while still consuming enough calories. I had to resort to donuts and bacon and other super fatty, sugary goods on top of the chicken breasts and potatoes just to make the quota. I pushed my overloaded cart to the checkout aisle when a familiar face walked up to me. “Hey man I haven’t seen you in a couple weeks.” Axl was behind me with his cart. He gut protruded a little more, but he didn’t look much bigger. “How was your checkup? Any big changes?” I asked.

“I only gained 11 pounds this month. I had a little bit of a cold. Slowed down my eating. But look at you, you’ve got a proper gut there!”

I could feel myself blushing, “Yeah I know. I had to buy new clothes today.”

“Oh my god. I need to get some new jeans stat.” Axl lifted the front part of his shirt to reveal that his jeans were only done up to the second button. The rest strained to support his belly. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Listen, you should come by my place. I’ll cook dinner and we can catch up.”

I took up on Axl’s offer and went over to his apartment for what I imagine to be a feast of a dinner. The second I walked in the door he threw me a beer. Axl laid out a platter of meat and cheese and told me to dive in while he was cooking the pasta. I stuffed myself with almost every bite of the fettuccini. “I feel like I’m going to burst. I can’t possibly eat anymore.” I exclaimed. Axl, put down his fork finishing off his meal. Axl’s pants had become completely unbuttoned during the meal to make room for his bloated stomach. “C’mon, we’re almost at our quota. Here, let me help you.” Axl hoisted himself out of his seat and waddled towards me. He bent down and unbuttoned my new jeans. “There. Now you have some room.” I felt the zipper sliding down from the pressure of my bloated gut. Axl then grabbed the last forkful of pasta and lifted it up to my mouth. With a great amount of strength I swallowed the last morsel and sighed with relief. Axl and I sat on his couch watching TV burping and letting the meal settle. I headed home around midnight that night. When I got through the front door I turned on the light and to my surprise Joey was sitting on the couch. “Oh hey.” He says with a muffled tone, “I thought you were spending the night at Axl’s.” Joey was shirtless his mouth, chest, and beer gut covered in crumbs and smears of chocolate. “You’re eating my food? Joey, the reason I bought this stuff is because it’s all super high in calories in fat. I need it for my diet.”

“I dunno. It seems like you’re doing pretty well without it.” He responded pointing and my unbuttoned jeans.

“Yes. Axl stuffed me with pasta tonight. Now move over.” I collapsed on the couch beside Joey, my medium black t-shirt riding up over my navel. I took an éclair out of the box and started scarfing it down. “I thought you said you were stuffed?” asked Joey. “I said I was stuffed… about an hour ago. I’m hungry all the time now.” Joey looked at his gut and than looked at mine. For the first time since the experiment started, Joey’s smirk faded away. “Dang dude. You’re… you’re going to get fat.”

“I know.” I swallowed the last bite of the éclair and immediately grabbed another from the box, “believe me dude I know.”

Third month’s examination was more intense than the first two. Blood tests and fitness tests were included. I had to wear track shorts and an under armor shirt I hadn’t worn since the experiment began. I wheezed running on the treadmill as the doctor waited eagerly to check my vitals. He could not stop staring at my belly, which hung on my waist, the underside exposed by the tight shirt. After being poked and prodded I was given a towel and was told I could wait in the lobby for my paycheck. Joey was waiting outside wearing the same sweatpants for the past week. A lot of his pants barely close ever since I started letting him eat from my groceries. He handed me a hoodie to cover up my protruding belly, but it gets swiped away from Axl who just got out of his physical. “Hold on there buddy don’t cover up just yet, I haven’t got a chance to look at you yet!” Axl pushed my shirt up towards my softening pecs to expose my gut fully. He cupped the bottom and started chuckling. “Great process buddy! Where are you at now?”

“I broke 200. Doc says I’m overweight now.” I replied.

“Ha! I broke 200 last month, but good for you it means you’re still qualified for the money! A couple girls and one guy dropped out. Couldn’t handle embracing the lack of vanity I guess.” All the participants were getting just as fat as I was. Girls’ breasts and hips were bulging out of their sides, stomachs protruding out of their shirts, while the guys’ paunches were turning into solid beer guts. “Just gotta keep thinking about that paycheck I guess.” I exclaimed.

“Yeah the money’s great, but I’m loving this.” Axl lifted his sweatshirt to reveal his belly, pushing it out to emphasize its roundness. It hung over his the waistband of his tight sweatpants. This month I spent a lot of time with Axl. I would go over to his place for meals or he would come visit mine. We go out to eat with the other participants or sometimes just with each other. No matter what, however, Axl would always end up feeding me after I felt like I was going to pop. I never had to do the same for him. Axl had a ferocious appetite and it was rubbing off on me.

Two months later into the experiment and even though I had to buy bigger clothes again, I was really enjoying my time with Axl. My weight gain had steadied putting me at around 215 pounds at my last examination. Axl who was a couple inches taller than me weighed in at 234 pounds. No matter how many times we compared guts his was always bigger. It felt like I was never going to catch up. Joey and I got to the examination early. It was evident that we both had gotten noticeably bigger as we squeezed through the turnstile doors. I changed into my boxer briefs and waited for the doctor to arrive. I sat in the chair and let my belly sit on my lap. Joey sat across from me, eyes glaring. “See something you like?” I asked.

“Dude, you’re really fat now. Like… it’s not even the gut anymore. Your face is rounder and by God your thighs are getting enormous. I think you’re bigger than me now.”

“Joey, I let you eat my food. You must have gained 20 pounds since I started.” I got up and felt my gut shake. I pointed to my protruding belly. “This is a desperate attempt to get some cash. This however…” I lifted up Joey’s shirt. “This is from being a total pig.”

“Vent all you want dude.” Joey replied pulling his shirt down over his furry beer gut, “That’s not going to change the fact that we are the same height, but I weigh only 215 pounds when you clearly weight more than that.” The doctor walked in with his morning coffee. “Hello Thomas. You’re making quite some progress. It’s not a race you know.” I looked down and my swollen pudge hanging over the waistband of my boxerbriefs and laughed uncomfortably. Joey smirked as I got on the scale. “229 pounds.” Said the doctor. “Told ya you were bigger than me.” Joey exclaimed. I had gained almost 70 pounds since this experiment had started. I changed into my sweat pants and a large hoodie and was about to leave when Axl popped his head into the doctor’s office door, “Hey! Sorry are you done, I was little late to my physical today.” I smiled and nodded as I let Axl into the room.

“You can stay if you like.” Axl said as he started stripping into his underwear. “I’m not shy.” Axl stood in the doctor’s office with nothing but skin-tight boxer briefs. He must’ve had them when the experiment started because they barely covered his ass.. The doctor gestured him to hop on the scale. “230 pounds.” Everyone’s expression dropped. “I lost weight?” Axl asked.

“It appears so.” The Doctor replied, “Have you been consuming enough calories?”

“And then some.” Axl responded, “Just ask Thomas.”

“Believe me he’s been eating just as much as me.” I replied.

“This happens a lot, especially with young men. Your metabolism has kicked into overdrive and it makes it harder to put on weight. Unfortunately, this is an overeating and obesity experiment and it requires all participants to gain a steady amount of weight for nine months. If you plateau we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“C’mon doc!”  I exclaimed. “Look at him. Feel the size of his gut, look how big his ass has gotten and his second chin is coming in. He’s gained a ton of weight and now you’re kicking him out ‘cause he had bad month?”

“Axl has been on our watch for the most rapid body fat percentage increase… If he gains weight this month… we can keep him in the experiment.” Axl and I sighed with relief. There’s no way I could continue on without my encourager. “Thanks buddy.” said Axl as he put his jeans and t-shirt on. “Don’t mention it. And don’t worry we’re going to help each other. I going to get you busting out of those jeans before this month is over.” That night Axl came over to my apartment. We ordered a mountain of thai food and then I stuffed him full of donuts that I swiped out of Joey’s hands. There was one more donut left. “Thanks Thomas, but I couldn’t possibly eat another bite.”

I bent down and unbuttoned Axl’s jeans and watched the force of his swollen gut push down the fly. “There. Now you have more room.” We both smiled as I lifted the last donut to his mouth. That night Joey, Axl and I passed out on my futon.

A month of almost daily encouragement later, I took Axl out for a large, heavy breakfast before our weigh in, just to be safe. The diner beside the research building had great pancakes and waffles. We ate like pigs, but I made a special effort to stuff Axl. The button on his jeans haven’t been able to close for the past week, as I had promised. As we were about to leave we bumped into Andrew and Jessie, “Hey guys! We haven’t seen you in a while. You got… big” They said as they were getting up from their table. They both had gotten noticeably fatter, Jessie with her wide hips and double chin and Andrew with his ball belly, but it was true, no one could compare to Axl and I. We walked into the research building together. Joey was waiting on bench outside the doctor’s office. “Where were you guys? I’ve been waiting.”

“Sorry Joey, we got breakfast for one final stuffing session.” I replied.

“And you didn’t invite me?” He asked.

“I don’t think you need any more big breakfasts pal.” I poked Joey’s beer belly that was pushing out of his extra large plaid shirt. “You’re not even getting paid.” Joey sucked in his gut the best he could and tried to adjust his shirt out of embarrassment. Andrew, Jessie, Axl, and I decided we would do our weigh ins together this time. Even Joey wanted in on the action. We walked into the doctor’s office and stripped. A big “woof” came from everyone when I took of my shirt. I did a quick truffle shuffle, my newest and now most common party trick. The doctor walked in slightly shocked by the small group of half naked fat people in his office. Axl was the first to get up on the scale. Everyone gave his gut a slap for good luck. “248 pounds.” Said the doctor. Axl cheered and immediately gave me a hug. I our bellies pressed together and I could feel my breakfast coming up so I pushed him aside so we could get to my turn. “251 pounds.” Said the doctor. For the first time in six months I was heavier than Axl..Joey walked over to me like a proud father. “Look at that monster! I remember when this one freaked out when we had the same size jeans. Now look.” He shoved his gut up against mine. Mine was definitely larger and I got love handles and a bigger ass to boot. After everyone was done getting examined – Joey weighed in at 230 pounds – I changed into my jeans. They were a stretched out size 38. I squeezed the button close and let my belly flop over the waist. I looked at myself in the mirror. I grabbed my gut and shook it up and down. I was able to lift the entire thing with my hands. I turned to look at my love handles that had become more prominent as well as my beefier thighs and ass. Axl stepped beside me and started to do similar things. “Yep, They’re real.” He joked. He gave my gut a good slap and left the doctor’s office. I put my sweater on and looked at myself in the mirror again. When I pictured myself fat and I imagined something more horrifying than what I saw in front of me. I thought it was going to be gross, but I liked my larger frame. I like how soft my man boobs felt, I liked the way my gut protruded out of everything I owned. I walked into the lobby letting my gut relax, showing off what I had accomplished in the past 6 months. I was surprised to see a mountain of pizza boxes. The researchers decided to give us a little extra thanks this month. For the next two hours I watched 15 overfed, overstuffed participants pig out on pizza. I was forced to unbutton my jeans and have everyone come up to me asking if they could feel my gut.

The final three months of the experiment were not easy. Axl and I had to eat up to 10,000 calories a day. Luckily we had each other to help. Joey grew out a scraggly beard, went back to regular beer and took up the same eating habits I had. He was constantly trying to best Axl in eating contests, but would always lose. The pigging out really impacted is waistline. Joey was fatter than ever and he didn’t even get paid for it. For the final examination the participants were encouraged to wear the clothes they wore on the first day. I waddled into the building jeans unbuttoned and below my ass. The shirt I wore on my first day barely covered my navel and would roll up underneath my supple man boobs. Joey was behind me wearing track pants and a t-shirt that barely covered his huge, furry gut. “Let me take a look you… one last time.” He told me.

“I’m not going to be able to lose the weight over night Joey. You’re going to be seeing this for quite a while.” Joey grabbed my gut and started rubbing it.

“I know dude, but I just feels like yesterday that this monster was just a little guy and now look at it!”

I lifted Joey’s shirt. “Yours isn’t bad either pal.” Joey looked down and started lifting his beer belly up and down, feeling the weight. Axl then walked in wearing the same jeans that were not completely unbuttoned and rided below his ass. He also wore a button down shirt that only buttoned in the middle exposing his massive gut. All the participants wore similar things, exposing all the places they gained weight. It was clear everyone was obese as the experiment entailed. Axl came up to me, gave me a kiss, and immediately started lifting my gut up and down. “You’re looking good Thomas. Still nervous?”

“Nah. You look good too buddy.”

“Hey lover boys!” yelled Joey from the doctor’s office. “Research guy is waiting for ya.” I hopped on the scale. While I waited for the numbers to adjust I noticed the grad student who handed me my binder on the first day was weighing me. His face was fuller though and he had a small gut protruding out of his button down shirt. “Gained a little weight too eh?” I asked jokingly.

“Yeah, a little. You folks have been rubbing off on me.” The numbers finally stopped.

“Thomas your final weight is, 304 pounds.”

“I broke 300?!”

“First one today. You proud of yourself?” The grad student asked.

I smiled and hopped off the scale. After some more tests I found out I had tripled my body fat percentage as well. I looked at myself in the mirror as I pulled up my impossibly tight jeans. I had become a genuine fat ass. It was Axl’s turn to get on the scale.”Axl your final weight is 315 pounds.”

“I put on 150 pounds?”

“Yep. Heaviest so far.” Exclaimed the grad student.

Axl started to chuckle, his belly shaking simultaneously. Afterwards everyone moved into the lobby for a few photos. Everyone was laughing and comparing bellies. The grad student got up and started to make a speech. “I want to thank everyone here again. I’m so glad you were able to treat this entire process with a great sense of humor. And to show my support I will confess that I’ve gained 20 pounds as well.” The grad student lifted his shirt to show off his paunch and the entire group cheered. He pulled down his shirt and continued to speak. “I also have some good news for anyone who is interested. I know some of you are eager to hit the gym and to shed these extra pounds, but the lab is offering an extended research participant contract to anyone in this study who is obese, which luckily is all of you.” Everyone looked at each other puzzled. “You would continue to get paid and all you would have to do is maintain or gain weight for the next year. Any takers?” Axl’s hand shot straight up. Mine quickly followed.

[heresathreebee]

Garrote part 12

[Starz Power Diego Jimenez X Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]

Summary: Healy and the Jimenez’ are gearing up for war. Jazmine’s getting antsy waiting for something to go horribly wrong. Previous Masterlist Next

Rating/Warning(s): Mature (+18 or I call the police). post-coitus fluff, swearing, anxiety, time skip, canon typical violence (I think...?), all plot, gringo using google translate Spanish and half remembered high school classes (sorry in advance), mentions of grooming/pedophilia (don’t worry, Porsche’s OK)

Word count: 2.2k words

Author’s Note(s): yeah so I wrote this back in December and just didn’t have the heart to put it out. I wanted to try and finish the other chapters (thinking I’m gonna wrap up at seventeen chapters) and I couldn’t. I have a problem with finishing anything I start, it never feels strong enough. I’m gonna try not to let that stop me though, promise. 

Waking up in Diego’s arms, Jazmine never expected to feel so calm. Truth be told she didn't really wake up, but drifted in and out of sweet harmonious consciousness to find Diego, whether he was cradling her or sitting up or rubbing her back. She finally managed to convince herself to get out of bed and by then it was already 2 in the afternoon. Diego had his pants and shoes back on but nothing else, so she relaxed a little. 

"You need to eat," he whispered, "come on, get dressed." 

Jazmine blinked slowly. "I need a shower. Maybe a wheelchair, too." 

She didn't miss the proud smirk that suddenly graced his handsome features. As he put on his shirt, Jazmine glanced past him at the open door of the closet. It was empty inside save for a few hangers, but it left a bad taste in her mouth and a lump in her throat. Diego followed her line of sight and said nothing. He let her shower, never more than five feet away (which is exactly how far the shower curtain is to the bathroom door). They ate somewhere family friendly, a pancake house she barely remembered the name of. Her legs still suffered from tremors and her pelvic region ached, but they were good feelings and she tried to make them last as they put a smile on her face. 

~

It's been about a week and Jazmine has seen neither hide nor hair of Haagen and it's starting to worry her. 

The only relief she had been able to accrue these past few days had been Healy's announcement that they had made a huge connection and were in the process of setting up task forces to take Haagen down. Alicia was confident that Haagen knew nothing and was continuing on with business as usual (or so she heard through the grapevine), and even Diego seemed to be relaxed about it. 

That was another thing that bothered her. Diego, relaxed. Diego doing more hands on business and clubbing at all hours of the night. He'd barely said two words to her after coming to the rescue and fucking her silly in front of Haagen. 

Sitting alone in the penthouse, Jazmine scratched at every itch and tugged on every baby hair like her skin was diseased. She didn't want to go outside, she was too afraid of Haagen's next move. She had been texting her mother regularly again just so she wouldn't call and have to explain why she sounded so nervous. It would have taken LaShawn all of ten seconds to realize something was wrong: so why couldn't anybody else see it? 

Maybe she was overreacting. Jazmine drew a hot bath in the jacuzzi sized tub and turned the jets on, finding bubble bath solution and a pink rubber ducky to cradle. The bathroom had a dimmer switch she turned down to near zero and let silky smooth R&B from the 90's wash her worries away. Her fingers worked to squeeze the ducky like a stress ball, and a traitorous part of her brain whispered longing thoughts. 

I wish Diego was here to massage my back.

She shushed her thoughts: at least the bath is perfectly hot. 

She washed her body and spent the better part of the day deep conditioning her hair and shaving her legs just for the hell of it. The music never stopped, it simply rolled from R&B to classic rock and then back again. Miguel checked in only to make sure she ate, and Jazmine managed to convince him to eat with her and play a co-op mobile game for a few hours. She plucked at the listening device in her ear for the thousandth time and decided to just call Healy. 

"Hey can't talk right now," were all the words she got out of him on the second call and then an immediate hang up. 

Jazmine growled and crossed her arms, suddenly reminded she was still wearing nothing but a bathrobe. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a tank top, and feeling bold, she marched up to Diego’s room and swiped a black button down that smelled like him. She tucked it unbuttoned into her pants and swanned up to the penthouse roof with a bottle of wine and one glass. 

She knew she would miss this level of extravagance. Never worrying about paying for rent or for food or selling her time and labor for someone else and next to nothing pay. Jazmine wondered what Diego would say to becoming her sugar daddy after this whole human trafficking business was over, but shook her head and topped her drink off. 

Probably overstayed my welcome, she thinks, that’s why Diego’s been distant lately. 

~

Jazmine was unnaturally quiet on her end, though Healy recognized the tinkling sound of bottle to glass. Probably on her fourth drink if he was counting correctly. No matter– she was safe for now at Diego’s penthouse suite and there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Brasa was leaning over each and every agent sat in the boardroom as if to intimidate them into obeying her every command. She was a good detective, really she was, she just needed to work on trusting the people who trusted her. Her partner Holbrooke was no help at all– selective mutism was a nasty habit to overcome. Brasa had not breathed a word of thanks in Healy’s direction, but he had expected that. This wasn’t about the praise– it was about justice. 

When he could finally break away for coffee and a piss, he sent a text to Alicia. No doubt los hermanos Jimenez would be thrilled with the intel– but what would happen next? 

The safest place for Jazmine right now is Diego’s place, he thought, but for how much longer?

~

An address and a transcribed photograph of the documents they came from. Healy had told them that the most likely scenario for Porsche’s whereabouts was ‘adoption’ by people who did not want any adoption documents to surface later on. The family probably has prestige, they may have lost a child recently and are looking to replace it like a goldfish and hope no one notices. 

It didn’t stop Diego’s trigger finger from inching closer and closer to his gun at every small pump of the breaks. 

“Tranquil, hermano,” Alicia soothed. “We’re almost there. We can kill them after we get la pequena back.” 

Diego sniffed and hopped out of the car as soon as it finally parked. Alicia was right behind him, checking her peripherals on the well lit streets of this upscale neighborhood. It was them two and one guard each, a second car bearing two underlings coming in from the back door and four cars with heavily armed back up around the corner in case things went south. Brother and sister climbed the porch steps idly, slipping their guns back into their hidey spots before knocking on the front door…

~

“Fuck.” 

Jazmine’s phone battery flashed at 3%. She didn’t remember finishing the bottle, but she did really have to pee so she stood up from the pool’s edge to relieve herself. Miguel was asleep on the white leather couches in the living room, mouth open and drooling with his gun on the table. The woman’s steps were a little unsteady and her vision came in waves, but she felt that fuzzy warm buzz and decided she had better not drive. 

She shook the young man awake with a sigh. “Hey, I left something at my apartment. Can you drive me?” 

Miguel pursed his lips. “I don’t think jefe would want–” 

“Please,” she said, “it’s important.” 

Miguel relented, swiping the keys to a Ferrari from the rack by the elevator and handed Jazmine her coat. Just a few more items she couldn't live without. The way Miguel drove meant they were there in no time at all, and every light they passed by in the dark somehow made Jazmine feel lighter, less jittery and anxious. She had Miguel drop her off by the backside of the apartment and climbed the steps alone after insisting she would only be a minute. All of her doors and windows were locked, the place looked exactly as she had left it. 

“Thank god.” 

She had to search for her charger, a sparkly teal thing with a cat and an alligator charm on it. She found it hiding under her bed, then found her way into the bathroom to check on her face in the mirror. Jazmine fingered the black hickeys on her neck, smiling to herself. She caught sight of something white hanging out of the trash and dug it out: her Chicago shirt. Stuffing it into her back pocket next to her phone charger, Jazmine took one last look at her apartment and blew a kiss to it. 

“Bye,” she whispered, peaking into the dark and lingering on the memories she was about to leave behind forever until finally the lock clicked into place. Oh shit, this was the wrong door. Miguel was waiting out back– 

Pop-pop-pop

Gunshots rang out from behind the building, the returning fire was short and stilted, overwhelmed by the repetition of an automatic. Jazmine took to the stairs at the far side of the building and ran down them wishing she was in something other than slippers. Her heart began to pound in her chest and her breath billowed in heavy clouds before disappearing. The second she stepped off of the last stair, she tripped. Her flimsy footwear slid on the thin layer of ice and she fell, her eyes and ears following the clink clink plop noise of her phone literally going down a storm drain. 

She barely had time to scramble back to her feet before she heard tires come screeching around the corner down the street and she stumbled into a run. 

Jazmine wasn’t sure how far she’d gone, and she can’t recall how many streets she turned on, or even if she was being chased at all. Every sound made her jump, and every car coming her way made her anxious. Her lungs burned for air as she finally collapsed against the window of a minimart. There were tears streaming down her cheeks as she pushed the door open to hide among the tiny rows of snacks and gum and cigarettes and refrigerated beverages. The store owner was wearing headphones and didn't bother looking up. Deep breath in. Exhausted, shaking breath out. Jazmine curled tightly around herself to try and calm down before her heart exploded in her chest. 

~

Alicia and Diego have the father on his knees and bloodied. His wife and children are being held upstairs in one of the bedrooms, terrified. Diego wipes at a small spot of blood from his sister's face. 

"Donde esta el bebe?," Diego said, grasping the man's ear and dragging his head back to look at him. "I won't ask you again." 

"What baby?" The man coughed dryly, his eyes nearly swollen shut but still glimmering in fear. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Alicia kneeled down in her white pantsuit. "The baby you bought from Jeremy Haagen, Mr. Fletcher. A beautiful little girl with dusky hair and big brown eyes. A baby that belongs to us." 

Fletcher squirms under the murderous gaze of los hermanos Jimenez but doesn’t break. 

“You know, Diego,” Alicia said leaning on her brother’s shoulder, “I didn’t see a fourth bedroom.” 

Diego pursed his lips. “So?” 

“So the contract specified a room for our mariposa, and he already has two children. Where’s the other room?” Alicia’s heels clicked as the gear turned in Diego’s head. “I bet la senorita Fletcher might know.” 

“No, please,” he begged, “leave my wife out of this– she’s got nothing to do with this!” 

“So you do know what we’re talking about,” Diego’s aha motion garnered a vague threat with the point of his gun– gold plated, of course. Emeralds in the hilt this time. 

“Secretly adopting a baby girl,” Alicia tsked, kneeling before Fletcher and brandishing a knife, “when you have two perfectly healthy girls of your own? Ay dios mio, what’s the matter? Three’s your lucky number, but your wife doesn’t put out anymore?” 

Fletcher stumbled hard over his words and made next to no sense. One thing that did make it clear through the haze of nonsense struck a nerve with the Jimenezes: “I didn’t know she’d be that young!” 

Alicia exchanged a queasy look with her brother. She had heard of it before: grooming. Usually starts when a girl is anywhere between nine and eighteen. Fletcher continued to ramble, about hiring a nanny and raising the baby anyway since Haagen didn’t do resales. He was probably just trying to get the baby off his hands…

Before Diego could pull the trigger, his phone rang. So did Alicia’s, both projecting the same number from a burner phone and three emojis to designate the caller: Healy. Alicia answered for Diego, jerking her head towards the door and mouthing, ‘I’ll take care of it from here.’ Diego reluctantly slipped outside, glaring at the nosy neighbors in the window who disappeared in a flash. He put the phone to his ear just in time to hear:

“– I need you to get to Nassau now: Jazmine’s in trouble.”

@mental-bycatch @kid-from-new-zealand @1zashreena1 @girlpornparadise @nicke0115 let me know if I missed anybody, I’m sorry it’s been so long

[atths--twice]

Chapter Nine  9/9

The Kosher Deli December 25, 2017 One week later

Mulder looked up from an email from Cera, as the bells on the door jingled, announcing an arrival. It was not Scully, but an older man and a little girl wearing hot pink furry earmuffs and a matching coat. They walked past him and he watched them approach the counter, smiling as the girl looked at all the cookies, as she decided on which one she wanted to buy.

He looked back down at his phone, at the photos she had sent over and he shook his head. The night she had been attacked in the amusement park, she had captured pictures of Elinor, unbeknownst to her until a couple of days later.

Elinor had not appeared as a ghost, but as a slightly out of focus person, getting clearer the closer she came to Cera. Not an angel in a graveyard, but a vengeful woman in her wedding dress. Mulder shook his head at the physical proof of an apparition that he held in his hand and all he could think was that it had nearly cost Scully her life. Not worth it.

Nothing was worth that.

“Hey,” Scully said, suddenly beside him and he jumped as he turned to look at her, locking his phone and putting it into his pocket. “Scare you?” She smiled as she sat down carefully, taking a chip from the bag in front of him.

“What have I been telling you for the past few days? I don’t get scared, remember?” he lied, his heart racing in his chest.

“Hmm,” she hummed, eating the chip and taking another. “Couldn’t wait for me?”

“You said twenty minutes and it’s been... at least thirty. So, I needed something to tide me over.”

“I believe the new established understanding is, if it’s longer than twenty minutes, bacon is involved. All the bacon.”

“Jewish deli, Scully,” he quipped, looking around and she laughed softly.

“Touché,” she said as she stood up just as carefully as she had sat down, brushing off her hands, and sliding off her coat and leaving it on her chair. “I’ll go order for us, you wait here and keep the table.” She stared at him and he raised an eyebrow. “Pastrami on rye, extra mustard, pickle on the side.” He kept staring and she smiled. “Coleslaw, unless the potato salad looks homemade.”

“Ahhh, Scully…” he said, more than a little aroused.

“Twenty five years, Mulder,” she said, shrugging and walking away.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Twenty five years.”

He sighed as he watched her waiting in line, seeing her unconsciously rubbing gently at her chest. Knowing it was the ache of the bruises that covered the skin beneath the black sweater she wore, he shook his head, rubbing at his mouth.

They had only arrived home yesterday afternoon, after Scully had spent a couple of days in the hospital, making sure she was all right after nearly dying at the Boudreaux house. The ambulance had arrived not long after she had passed out and taken her to a hospital nearby, him following behind in the car.

He had not been allowed back until she was in a room, no matter how he had raged or flashed his badge. When he had finally been allowed back, he had walked into her room, believing she was asleep and causing him to pause in the doorway. But then she had opened her eyes and reached her hand out to him. He had walked over to her, grasping her hand and kissing her forehead, before resting his against hers.

“Thank you,” she had whispered, her thumb rubbing over the top of his hand.

“Scully,” he had whispered, pulling back to look at her.

“Stay with me. Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She had tugged at his hand, trying to move over, groaning as she did. “Hey… careful. Let me help you.”

He had helped her shift over a bit, took off his shoes and suit jacket, and slid beneath the blankets beside her. Lying on their sides, she had nestled into him, his arms wrapped around her, and her hand grasping at his shirt.

“Mulder…” she had sighed, her breath warm against his neck, falling asleep almost instantly.

In the next few days, she had quite a few visitors for someone who knew no one in the area. Sheriff Lavonne had come to take their statement and her eyes had flicked to Mulder’s as he stood in the corner of the room, listening to her doctored version of events.

She had already told him what had happened, or what she thought had happened, shaking her head as she had said she did not know what was real or imagined.

“You think you imagined it, Scully?” he had asked, and she shook her head with a sigh.

“I don’t know, Mulder.” She had looked at him with a shrug, looking down as she rubbed the blanket between her fingers. “How can I explain to others that I believe I was trapped inside of a mirror with a woman who died over 150 years ago? I can barely comprehend it. How can I explain that without ending up in the psych ward?”

To that question, he had no answer.

Arielle, Davis, Cera, and Adam had come to see them, eager to tell their story of what had happened.

The four of them had met up, sharing the stories each had heard over the years concerning Elinor and Mary. When they had hit a dead end, they had done the same as Mulder, scouring past records for any information. They had called family members, friends, and friends of friends, asking if anyone they knew had ever mentioned or knew of stories related to Mary and Elinor.  

They had found a person related to James Cormier, a man who had heard his mother tell stories that she had heard about lost loves and being sure to choose the right person as your life partner. To never settle for the most beautiful or wealthy because both will fade. But love, it lasts and remains forever, no matter a person's social standing.  

“Better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable,” Arielle had said and the others had agreed, but then debated that being happy and a bit rich would not be so bad. They had all laughed and then they continued the story.

After they had spoken to Reese, James’s distant relative, they knew what they needed to do.

“Truth be told,” Davis had said, shaking his head. “The minute Arielle showed me the pictures Cera had taken a few years ago, I knew what we had to do, but I was terrified to actually do it.”

“I was too,” Arielle had said, taking his hand and looking at him with a nod. “I felt nauseous at the thought of even being there. But then, we went and saw Farrah and Tyler in the hospital, something I had been unable to do until then, and I wasn’t scared anymore. I was fucking pissed.” Davis had nodded in agreement, clenching his jaw.

They had driven out, stopping at a hardware store for sledgehammers and protective eye goggles, gaining curious looks, but no comments from the gum chewing young girl who had rung up four people buying such items in the middle of a storm.

When they had pulled up to the church, Arielle and Davis both had a moment of hesitation, breathing hard and shaking in the pouring rain.

“But then Cera…” Arielle had said, tears in her eyes as she reached for her friend’s hand. “She grabbed my hand and that was all I needed. She nodded and we walked together in the rain, determined to end it.”

Knowing exactly where it was, Cera leading them, still holding Arielle’s hand, they had each taken a sledgehammer and put on their goggles, lightning flashing and the rain making it harder to see, but not impossible to get their task finished.

Simultaneously, they had hit Elinor’s headstone and the large statue of Mary that had been ordered to be erected there by Mary’s mother Elizabeth, years after Mary’s death.

“Hany, the slave girl who had been befriended by Mary, had also been entrusted with letters Mary had written when she was the most ill regarding her concerns about Elinor, that were to be given to her mother after Mary’s father had died,” Adam had explained. “Mary did not like her father and he did not seem to care for her either. After his death, Hany came back to that house she had lived in as a slave, and told the truth she had kept secret for years. Mary’s mother had the statue made as a sense of revenge: that Mary would always be there no matter where Elinor was. So… that bitch had to come down.” The other three had nodded vigorously and Mulder had looked at Scully, impressed by the little group of badasses.

Not stopping until both were piles of rubble, they had fallen to the ground, everyone but Adam crying, feeling free, the rain washing them clean.

“I didn’t even feel cold,” Arielle had said, crying and wiping her eyes. “For the first time in nearly two months, in the pouring rain, I didn’t feel cold.” She had looked at Mulder and he had nodded with a smile before glancing at Scully. She had wiped at her own eyes and looked at him, understanding that their actions had not only saved them, but had been what saved her as well.

When Scully had been released from the hospital, they had gone to see Farrah and Tyler, who were now awake and making a slow recovery, much to Doctor Audrey’s relief.

“It’s going to take a long time for them to heal,” Scully had said, taking a deep breath as they walked down the hallway, slowing her steps for a second. Taking another deep breath, she had placed her hand on her chest, giving him a nod. “I’m okay. Just some bruising.” He had stared at her, knowing he had been the one to put the bruises there, in his desperate attempt to keep her heart beating, and she had shaken her head.

“I’ll take the bruises over the alternative any day,” she had said softly and he had nodded, placing his hand on the small of her back as they had continued out of the hospital.

“Food should be up soon,” she said, sitting beside him, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Great, I’m starving.”

“Maybe this will help tide you over until then?” she asked with a smile, placing a black and white cookie in front of him on a napkin. He nodded as he looked at it, breaking it in half horizontally, two pieces of equal amount of both colors.  

“Look to the cookie, Elaine. Look to the cookie,” he said, quoting Seinfeld and he handed her half. She laughed and nodded as she took a bite and he did the same.

“Order for Fox? Fox, your order is ready!”

“Really?” he asked, staring at her and shaking his head. She shrugged, not meeting his eyes until he started to get up and she looked at him, her eyes shining. “I’ll remember this, Miss Scully, mark my words.”

“I’m sure you will… Fox,” she giggled and he shook his head with a smile as he walked up to the counter.

“Fox?” the girl at the counter asked.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he muttered, and she nodded, sliding their tray of food toward him.

“Thank you for coming in today, Fox. And Merry Christmas!” He looked at her and nodded.

“Happy Holidays to you,” he said, picking up the tray and turning around. He shook his head as he saw Scully grinning at him as he walked back to their table.

“Did you get the food okay then, Fox?”

“You best watch it,” he said, setting the tray down as she took their plates off of it, and he moved the tray to the side.  

They ate in silence, sharing food back and forth as they always had, and he found comfort in the comfortable. Glancing at her as she stopped eating to take a deep breath, he shook his head needing to tell her something that had been on his mind.

“I know I’ve joked that I don’t get scared anymore,” he said quietly, setting his sandwich down, and wiping his hands clean. “But… I was more scared than I have ever been when I couldn’t bring you around. You were so cold-”

“Mulder-”

“I thought I’d lost you, Scully. I really did.”

“Your panic face was showing?” she teased and he looked at her, his expression serious.

“I’m not joking. I’m not-”

“Mulder,” she said quietly, covering his hand with her own and squeezing his fingers. “I know. I… I was scared too. Very scared.” He nodded as he looked into her eyes and they spoke the best way they knew how; silently. He squeezed her hand with a deep sigh and a nod and she squeezed back.

Not saying anything further, words unnecessary, they sat quietly holding hands, in a busy Jewish deli on Christmas afternoon, her head resting on his shoulder, as life bustled on around them.

[sisforsammi]

Home for Christmas

For @padfoot-prongs-and-polaroids, I hope you enjoy it!!

Written for @siriuslychessi​‘s Potterverse Gift Exchange

Marlene had chewed off what, judging by the sting, was most of her thumbnail by this point. Nail biting had never been a particularly bad habit of hers, but it was one she was seriously considering taking up. That or day-drinking. 

Sirius had said that he would be home no later than four — that was when Dorcas was going to relieve him. It had now gone eight — either something had happened to hold Dorcas up, or something had gone very wrong. Marlene was finding it difficult not to get worked up, after all, he’d been late home from a mission before, and he’d been fine that time. He would been fine this time. He had to be, it was almost Christmas. Yet, she couldn’t help but pace his tiny flat. She’d wear tracks into the carpet if she kept it up. 

She’d tried to cook for him — the shepherd’s pie looked like sludge — though at least she could now blame its inedibility on the fact that he was so late… That would surely hide the fact that it had tasted terrible to begin with…

Her appetite and decreased with every passing second that he wasn’t home, she wasn’t sure she could eat even if dinner was edible.

Sirius would be fine. 

Marlene sat down on the living room windowsill and looked down at the muggle street below. It was still busy, cars passing, noise from a Christmas party in the pub opposite. The latter made her feel quite alone. She shouldn’t have waited here by herself, she should have gone home, or gone to Lily and James’s. She couldn’t even get excited by the snow falling outside. It must have been going on a while without her noticing, because it had settled quite thick on the pavement.

She couldn’t remember if she’d told him she loved him before he’d left. He knew it, of course, at least she hoped that he did. But she should say it more. She’d have to make sure that she told him as soon as he got back. 

And then, looking perfectly, wonderfully unharmed, he was outside. She hadn’t heard the faint pop that would have accompanied his appearance at the side of the pub — she wouldn’t have been able to from here even if all noise wasn’t currently being masked by a drunken rendition of Wizzard’s (a band name had endlessly amused her) ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’ — but he was home. 

Marlene bolted to the front door, down the stairs, and out into the cold December evening. A car blared its horn at her as she shot across the road, but she didn’t care. She ran straight into Sirius’s arms, colliding into him with such force that she was surprised that he didn’t slip on the snowy ground. 

“Where’s your coat? Where are your shoes?” He added with a laugh, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Marlene lifted her forehead from the crook of his neck to get a better look at him.

“Never mind me, are you alright?” She asked, pulling back slightly, trying to check him for injuries — not an easy task when he was holding her so close.

“It’s not mine.” He said quickly when her eyes widened at the blood on his shirt. He was moving with her now, carrying her back across the road and up to the flat. “Nor anyone on our side.”

“I love you.” Marlene said quickly as he set her back down beside the kitchen table.

“I hate you, Marlene McKinnon.” Sirius grinned, hooking his arm back around her waist and pulling her closer for a kiss. 

“Shut up.” She mumbled against his lips, before shoving his face away. Her heart always fluttered when he told her that he loved her, even when it was hidden in their little game of ‘I hate you.’ 

“You cooked?” He asked, sounding so apprehensive that it was offensive. He peered skeptically into the dish that had never really contained anything that could have reasonably passed as a shepherd’s pie, a small smirk pricking at his lips. 

“Well, it’s no good now, you were supposed to be home over four hours ago.” Marlene protested defensively.

“Marley, this was no good four hours ago.” He teased, prodding it gingerly with a fork. She resisted the temptation to hex him. He was home, and he was taking the piss. He was clearly okay. 

“Shut up.” She muttered again, vanishing the food with a wave of her wand. 

“It was sweet of you to try.” He said placatingly. “I’m starving though and there’s no way I’m cooking now, let me just change my shirt and we’ll go and get something.” 

While he changed, Marlene pulled on her socks, boots and coat. She was freezing now, and she realised, starving as well. Her appetite had returned with a vengeance, and she was half tempted to break into the box of chocolate cauldrons she had wrapped for him under the Christmas tree. 

“I’m surprised I didn’t come home to find you’d opened all the ones for you.” Sirius said, leaning against the doorframe and watching her eyeing up the presents. 

“I do have some impulse control.” She huffed, taking his hand as they left the flat and descended back into the cold evening. 

“Of course you do.” Sirius laughed, then, catching the look on her face, clearly decided it was better to change the subject. “That chippy on the corner should be open.” 

“They still wrap the food in newspaper don’t they?” Marlene asked, sure that was the one they’d bought fish and chips from not long after Sirius had moved into the flat.

“It just tastes better after it’s been wrapped in newspaper.” Sirius protested as they approached the little takeaway. 

“You don’t need to convince me, Lily sold me on that one years ago.” Marlene laughed. The little bell jingled as they opened the door and she sat down on the bench by the window while Sirius went to order. “Don’t forget the curry sauce.” 

“Sometimes I forget that you’re actually from the West Country.” Sirius muttered, and while she couldn’t see his face, she knew that he’d rolled his eyes — even if the woman behind the counter hadn’t been grinning at them. 

Sirius was home.

It was four days until Christmas and neither of them had any missions until after. They could enjoy the time together without any worry, well, without any more worry than the usual level of worry that they always had. Sirius was safe, and it was Christmas, and they were going to have a wonderful time. She would make sure of it. 

[scapegrace74-blog]

Lost Kitten

A/N  Another fic in the Metric universe.   This story takes place in 2016, so after The Beginning and Breathing Underwater, but long before Lazy Dancer and Calculation Theme.  Previous fics are available on my AO3 page.

Oh, and the song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

December 7, 2016, Brick Lane, Spittalfields, London

It was pissing rain in that persistently dreary way perfected by London.  Scottish rain at least had the decency to change its speed and trajectory every few minutes, but this was perpendicular monotony.  Jamie tugged his coat collar towards his jaw and leaned into the night, looking forward to a warm shower and a dry bed once he got home.

He couldn’t say what instinct caused him to raise his gaze at that precise moment, but Claire Beauchamp was walking towards him when he did.  Even swathed in a black pea coat, singular eyes cast on the slick cobbled street, she was unmistakable.  

They’d crossed paths a few times since his aborted revelation at the hospital the previous year.  Twice at the same pub where they’d met (a meeting she still didn’t remember) and once at a charity fundraiser for Crisis UK.  He wouldn’t say they were friends, but they were more than passing acquaintances.  By his estimation, that formed sufficient grounds to greet her, rain be damned.

“G’d evenin’ tae ye, Nurse Beauchamp.”

She stopped and peered at him through a curtain of curls, corkscrewing madly in the damp air.  Her expression was a mixture of consternation and woe, calling to mind a lost kitten he’d found hiding in the barn at Lallybroch once.

“Hello, Jamie.  I didn’t see you there.  Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Oh, aye.  Perfect for a wee ramble in the neighbourhood.  Are ye on yer way home from work, then?”

A taxi hissed past, and they both stepped to the edge of the street where a closed shop awning provided poor shelter.

“I would be, were it not for my own idiocy,” Claire responded.

“Lost, are ye?  Weel, ye follow the lane until Heneage, then take a left...” he teased, amused by her disarray.

“Very droll.  I haven’t lost my flat, only the keys to... wait a second.  How do you know where I live?”

It was Jamie’s turn for discomposure.  He hadn’t meant to invoke that first night, when a drunken Claire had captivated him, but he’d slept with her friend instead.

“I, err...” he could feel warm blood pumping against the chilled skin of his cheeks.

“Right.  Geillis.”

They both cleared their throats and peered off into the gloom, but neither made any attempt to leave.

“Speaking o’ Ms. Duncan, canna she let ye in?  Tae yer flat?”

“She’s out on the town with her latest suitor.  I don’t expect her back before dawn, if then.”

“Ah.”  A rivulet escaped one of his curls, dampening his under-jaw.

“Sorry,” she interrupted his thoughts after some moments.

“Wha’ for?”  He’d been trying to locate his misplaced courage.  Perhaps it had run off with Claire’s keys.

“For mentioning Geillis’ new man.  I know you and she...”  She made a vague gesture with her gloved hand.

“Nah.  Dinna fash.  I was only thinkin’...   Did ye wanna come home wi’ me?”

Before he could continue she took two steps backwards into the lane, her face transformed by astonished anger.

“I bloody well think not, Jamie Fraser!”

“That wasna what I was implyin’ at all!” he jumped to explain.  “What kind o’ man do ye take me for?  I was merely offerin’ a warm, dry place tae wait out the night, but ‘ave it yer way, ye obstinate woman!   G’night tae ye.  Claire.”  He pronounced her name with as much rancour as he could inject into a single syllable.  

Truth be told, it was himself he was angry with.  He’d made a right mess of the situation each time he crossed Claire’s path, regardless of his intentions.   Perhaps he should take the universe’s advice and leave her well enough alone.

“Jamie,” her voice called from where he’d left her, standing in the rain.  Despite himself, he stopped and turned.   Her arms hung loose at her sides like a grieving Madonna.  The streetlight reflected off the raindrops caught in her hair, making them glisten like diamonds.  It didn’t matter what she said next; he wouldn’t be leaving her here.

“I’m sorry."

***

Jamie’s flat was in a converted warehouse just off Commercial Street.  A wall of windows overlooked a concrete lot dotted with parked food trucks and picnic tables.  Water cascaded down the gritty glass, obscuring the view.

“Is your flatmate away?” she asked as Jamie opened the lights and began noisily preparing the kettle for tea.  It was after midnight.

“Aye, inna manner o’ speaking.  He moved back tae the Midlands, where he’s from.  Couldna stand livin’ in London.  Do ye take anything wi’ yer tea, Claire?”

“Honey, if it’s no bother.  Otherwise, black is fine.”

She looked around the open living area.  There was a comfortable-looking couch facing a flat screen TV mounted on the wall.  Several gaming console controllers shared the low coffee table with a stack of magazines.  A large metal shelving unit took up the opposite wall next to the kitchen, holding groupings of books, picture frames and the occasional potted plant.  Christ, there was even art on the walls.  What kind of bachelor lived like this?  She’d been expecting empty take-away containers and hastily concealed porn.

“Will you stay on here?” she asked, curious.  “It’s a lovely space, but I can’t imagine it’s cheap.”

“Ach, no, it isna.  I’m in the market fer a new flatmate, if ye know of one.  There’s usually a lad at the station lookin’ fer lodging, but I find I’m gettin’ particular in my auld age.  This last one snored somethin’ fierce, so as he always reminded me of a con-”

“... congested hippo,” Claire finished for him, startled.  Jamie stared back at her until the whistling kettle broke the silence.

He returned from the kitchen with an earthenware mug in each hand.   Taking a long sip, she smiled at the saccharine kiss of honey.  Jamie sat at the far end of the couch and watched her through the rising steam.

“Ye remember meeting me, then?” he asked cautiously.

“Not until that very moment.  You wanted my beer,” she combed her mind for the buried memory.  “I made you beg.   God, I was an absolute ass,” she grimaced.

“Aye.  Ye were.  But under the circumstances, ye deserved tha’ lager more than I,” he conceded.

“You were pretty ungracious in defeat, from what I remember.”

“Tha’s constitutional, no’ personal.”

They both smiled, then turned their attention to their tea.  Jamie eventually offered her the first shower.  Once clean she changed into jogging pants so long they encased her bare feet in warmth and a worn cotton t-shirt that slipped off her shoulder like a caress.

The second bedroom was bare except for a single futon.  Jamie had lain out a duvet and spare pillow while she showered.  Exchanging awkward goodnights, she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

***

The strobe of lightning woke her from within a dream.   She counted to nine slowly before the old bones of the city shook with answering thunder.  London seldom experienced thunderstorms, but she’d loved them as a little girl travelling abroad.  Snuggling under the covers, she listened for the approaching crescendo.

A bright pulse lit the doorframe, now filled with a towering shadow.

“Christ, Jamie, you fucking scared me!   What are you doing?”

The shadow shifted, but didn’t reply.   She knew it was him.   She’d recognize those shoulders anywhere.

“Jamie?” she asked more tentatively, wondering if he was sleep-walking.

“Go back tae sleep, Claire,” he murmured.

That wasn’t very likely to happen while she was being observed so intently.  Something about his voice sounded off.  Strained, like he was speaking around a clenched jaw.

She rose and approached him slowly, assessing the situation.  Another flash, followed shortly by a deep snare drum-roll.  This close, she could see the terror in his blackened eyes.  She’d treated enough shell-shocked soldiers to recognize the signs.

“It still haunts you, doesn’t it?” she asked during the next lull.

“Aye.  No’ all the time, mind.  Bright flashes.  Sudden loud noises.”

“So, pretty much every shift you work as a firefighter,” she remarked.

He chuffed.  “Pretty much, yeah.”  Then continued, subdued, “I’m sorry, Claire.  I didna mean tae scare ye.  I jus’ thought if I could see ye sleepin’, I would ken I was fine.”  He shook his head.  “Tha’ doesna make any sense.”

“It’s alright.  Let’s go into the other room.  Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”

Sitting facing each other on the couch, Claire led Jamie through a meditation exercise she'd learned in Afghanistan.  Counting upwards from one to ten, he touched his thumb to the end of each finger in turn, taking a deep breath for each number.  Then slowly back from ten to one, reversing the sequence.  Outside, the storm began to abate, and inside as well.  By the time the skies were quiet, they were both dulcet and calm, eyes smudgy with sleep.

“Thank ye, Claire.  Truly.”  He stood at the threshold of her room.

“Think nothing of it.  It’s the least I could do, after you brought me in out of the rain.   Goodnight, Jamie.”

“G’night.  Claire.”

This time, the door remained open.

[softspeirs]

Anyone fancy a Lewis Nixon drabble? I’m in my feelings about that man once again. Surprise, surprise. My urge to write this coincided with @inglourious-imagines asking for some angst ending in fluff.

Disclaimer: No disrespect intended, as always! My portrayal of Nix is based on the show and not the real man or his family. I don’t own HBO or Band of Brothers.

Somewhere on the ship back to New York, Lewis Nixon tries to reckon with the idea that very soon he’ll be a train back to New Jersey to see his family for the first time in three years. 

It’s what soldiers are meant to do, he figures, though really he has no interest in seeing his father. His mother he’s a little warmer to, and his sister, certainly.

And then there’s her.

He wonders if she’ll even care that he’s coming back.

His marriage and subsequent divorce to Katherine was a constant source of misery for them both, but especially for him. 

He replays that last conversation over and over again.

.

They meet in a park downtown. It’s a warm summer evening, dusk, and he feels his heart squeeze when he sees her, the setting sun making her look like she’s on fire.

He’s been putting this off for days, and he’s been worrying about talking to her all day. His shirt is slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, suspenders askew on his shoulders.

“You’re late,” she says when he gets close enough to hear her. “I was starting to think you stood me up.” 

He tries to smile, but it comes off more like a grimace.

“What?” She notices right away. “What’s happened?”

“I’m getting married.” He blurts. He meant to work up to it, to telling her that he’s betraying her in the worst way, but there it is.

He thinks it would hurt less if someone shot him straight through the heart. Standing here looking at her trying to digest what he’s just told her... he’s never felt like a worse person. “Say something.”

She looks up, her face pale. He recognizes the fire burning behind her eyes, however. “What do you want me to say?” 

He runs his hand through his hair, resisting the urge to start pacing in front of her. Truly, he has no idea what he’s expecting, but he expected something.

Hands on his hips, he tries to steady himself. “I don’t want this. You have to know that.” 

She laughs. Laughs. “Do I?”

“I’m no good for you. You know that. This is the only choice.” 

“For who? You?” She’s angry. Downright pissed. “There is no choice. You’re making it for me.”

“I have no choice either,” he hisses, stepping closer. “It’s practically an arranged marriage. My family--”

“Your family?! Stop hiding behind them.” She’s right in front of him now, and he can see the tears brimming in her eyes. “You’ve never done anything you didn’t want to do in your entire life.” She wipes her eyes hastily. “Why don’t you tell me what this really is?”

He makes a face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t be stupid.” She snaps. “I’m not good enough for them, for you. I’ve always known that. I just never thought you’d...” she trails off, and he can see the fight leaving her. 

He hates himself.

“I’m sorry.” He croaks. “The way I care for you... I never expected to feel like this,” he says, trying to get the words out. “Maybe... maybe we could still...” 

The slap is expected, but the sting of it takes him by surprise. 

“How dare you.” The tears spill over onto her cheeks now. “I won’t be the other woman.” 

They’re both quiet. She doesn’t look at him, and he feels his heart cracking in half. He never planned this... he thought they were just having a summer fling. But the feelings grew and grew, and then-- Katherine. 

He didn’t want to marry Katherine. He wanted to marry her. But the match was made, the arrangements were set, and he faced getting disowned if he didn’t... he stops his train of thought.

“The wedding will be in December.” He tells her. 

“I’m sure it will be beautiful.” She says. Suddenly, she stands. “I hope you’ll be happy, Lew. Sincerely.”

He just stares at her. 

She leans down, kissing his forehead. “I love you, Lewis Nixon.” 

She’s gone before he can tell her he loves her, too.

.

He steps onto the platform and scans the crowd, and spots his sister. He grins, and she’s flying into his arms before he can even put his bag down, sending him staggering back a step.

“You stopped writing! You idiot, I thought you were--”

“I’m sorry,” he says, cutting her off. “Things were... towards the end...”

“It’s okay. I’m just so happy to see you.”

Over her shoulder, he sees a flash of bright hair, and breaks away from his sister long enough to crane his neck and see if he’s imagining things -- but no, there she is, greeting someone he doesn’t recognize, dressed in the same Class A uniform he is.

He’s moving before he can convince himself to stop. He calls her name, and she looks just as surprised to see him as he is to see her.

“Lew,” she says, the nickname rolling off her lips like it hasn’t been years since they’ve seen each other. She eyes him carefully, and then straightens, “- or should I say, Captain Nixon?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, smiling at her. “Lieutenant, huh?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Couldn’t let you go off and have all the fun.”

He can’t believe she’s here. She looks well, but she’s got that look he recognizes all too well - she’s definitely been in the shit just like him. He has a thousand questions. Where did she serve? A field hospital? An aid station? How close were they this entire time without knowing it?

“You’re okay?” She asks quietly.

He nods. “As okay as I can be.” 

She looks around and frowns. “Your parents--”

“They’re not here. Just Blanche.” 

“And Katherine?”

He exhales. “That’s... that’s done. Wrote to me while I was in Austria.”

“I’m sorry, Lew.”

“Don’t be.” He says, firm. “Don’t be,” he repeats, softer. “I--”

“Not here. Not-- I can’t do this again.”

He knows his sister is watching, is wondering, but he doesn’t have it in him to care about family responsibilities or decorum anymore. He’s seen enough to know how short life is, and he doesn’t want to waste time. “Meet me tomorrow. Please.”

He thinks she’s going to refuse, or slap him again. He wouldn’t be surprised by either response.

He gives her a weak smile, and leaves before she can answer. If she shows, she shows. If not... well then he’s got his answer.

The next day, he’s there first this time. He’s fidgeting, and he doesn’t think he’s felt this nervous in months. When she shows up, his heart starts to pound. “I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“I wasn’t sure I should.” 

“Look, I’ve had so much time to think about this, and I need to just say this, because I’ll hate myself more than I already do if I don’t get it out now.” 

She looks afraid, and surprised, and he can still see her heartbroken face from the last time. 

“I love you,” he says, “I have for a long time, and I never should have let my family pressure me into something I didn’t want. It wasn’t fair to you, but it wasn’t fair to Katherine either. She knew my heart wasn’t there. We didn’t-- it was a marriage of convenience. I think I tried to love her, but I never could.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Yes I do.” He stands, moves closer, takes her hand. “I’ve thought about you every day for the last three years. I hate myself for hurting you. I never meant to. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I love you, Lew.” She says softly. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I was so hurt. But part of me understood. I just-- I can’t do this again knowing that your family will never accept me--”

“I don’t care what they think.” He says fiercely, “I promise you that. I have-- this war made me realize what’s important to me.”

When she smiles, she looks years younger. Less burdened. He wants that for her desperately. He wants her to be happy. “We have a lot to talk about, Lew. Let’s start there, okay?” She reaches for him; twines their fingers together.

“Let’s start there.” He echoes, softly. 

He squeezes her hand.

[thesurielships]

the perp

@acotarauweek, day 7: free au.

This is a police au that I hope will grow into a multichapter fic. But as I seem to suck at writing those, there will be no promises.

Ps: there is so much dialogue I legit had to look up “synonyms for say” hahaha

Word count: 1.7k

Part 2 | Masterlist

“So, ladies. How tall was this man?”

“I’d say… 6 feet?” Dora answered.

“He had to be at least 6’3”,” the woman at her right –Stella, Feyre read on her badge– corrected.

“He was just the right height for the perfect hug: his chin on the top of your head, your nose nuzzling the crook of his neck.”

Feyre gave Clover a weird look. It wasn’t every day that the victim swooned over the criminal. “How about his physique? Was he of average build? Lean? Overweight?”

“He looked like the kind of guy who could fuck you standing up with nothing but those muscled arms holding you,” Stella smirked.

Feyre choked on air. “So he was well built?”

“He looked like he worked out,” answered Dora, her primly folded hands in her lap a stark contrast to the glazed look in her employee’s eyes.

“Oh yes, he definitely does,” Stella sighed dreamily. “He probably has the stamina of a stallion.”

This time, Feyre chose to ignore the comment. “What color was his skin?”

“Brown,” “Olive,” “Caramel,” the three ladies answered at once, then started laughing at their different replies.

“I wouldn’t call his skin tone brown,” Clover said in a soft voice. “It makes it sound dull. His skin was shiny and seemed well moisturized. It was olive.”

“Caramel, I say,” Stella contradicted. “Exactly like The Morrigan’s skin. You know, the famous singer?”

Clover leaned forward to look at Stella. “The one who sang Girls like Girls like Boys?”

“The one who interrupted her conservative father mid-speech in his presidential campaign to come out of the closet?” asked Dora.

“Yes,” Stella nodded. “It was dope.”

“The song or the coming out?” Clover inquired.

“Both, of – ”

“Ladies,” Feyre interrupted, ignoring Stella’s glare. “Let’s focus on our perp, shall we?”

“Of course, officer,” Dora replied, her hands still firmly folded in her lap.

“So, our perp was tall, well built, with brown skin,” Feyre summarised, her pointed look warning the women against any frivolous interruption.

They nodded.

“What color was his hair?”

“Black,” Dora replied immedialtely.

“It gleamed blue in the sunlight,” Clover put in.

“I thought the perp broke into your shop at night?”

“Well, yes,” she conceded, her face flushing. “But it looked like it would glow blue in the sun.”

“I agree,” nodded Dora. “It had a blue tint that I would kill for,” she added in her monotone voice.

“Yas, girl,” interjected Stella. “I was so jealous. I would’ve given him all my money in exchange for his hair. And did you see his brows?”

“They were on fleek,” replied Clover.

“No way he doesn’t wax them,” affirmed Stella.

“I’d say he threads them,” said Dora.

Feyre jotted down groomed brows under tall man, muscles, brown (caramel) skin and black (gleams blue??? lol) hair.

“What about his eyes?”

The three women all seemed to zone out at the question.

“Ladies?”

“His eyes were like the night sky on the winter solstice, seen from my grandmother’s cottage in the countryside,” Clover said with a sigh.

“They were blue,” Dora clarified.

“Blue? More like deep violet, the color of my favorite vibrator,” Stella said in a sleazy voice, winking at Feyre.

Feyre frowned. She was honestly starting to feel a little sorry for this guy.

“Any other characteristic features? A special scar? A tattoo, maybe?”

“Yes! He did have a tattoo,” Dora replied.

“It peeked out the top of his shirt,” Stella said.

Clover nodded. “Black whorls that spanned the top of his chest. They looked like marks of an ancient language.”

“Okay. That will be all for the physical description. Now tell me about the break in.”

“We already told detective Tamlin all about it.”

Feyre shot Stella a sweet smile. “So you did. But I am the primary officer on this case, and detective Rosetool is on another case of his own, so I’m going to need you to answer some of my questions.”

“No problem, detective,” Dora said quickly, subtly pinching Stella’s side. It was not at all subtle as Stella almost jumped off her seat with a loud yelp.

Feyre and Dora paid her no heed.

“It happened yesterday. On Saturday, December 11th, to be precise. Correct?”

“Yes. We closed the shop at 9pm, like we always do, and stayed inside to clean up. At about 9:30, I heard a loud noise.”

“Something crashed in Dora’s office,” confirmed Clover.

“We immediately thought it was a thief who wanted to steal money from the safe. I keep weapons here – ”

Feyre lifted a brow.

“Nothing too lethal,” Dora reassured her, though Feyre didn’t miss the faint smirk pulling at the edge of her lips. “A few baseball bats, Tasers, pepper spray…”

“And a gun in Dora’s office,” added Clover, avoiding her employer’s glare.

“Anyway,” Dora went on. “We each grabbed a baseball bat, Stella took the Taser and Clover got the pepper spray –”

“You only had a baseball bat?”

“Of course not. I always have a knife strapped on my thigh at all times.”

Feyre suppressed a smile. “Naturally.”

She could just see her co-worker Amren nodding with approval. “What kind of woman doesn’t have an axe?” she had once asked her, and if that wasn’t Amren in a sentence, she didn’t know what was.

Dora’s chin rose slightly in defiance. Her hands were still folded in her lap. The woman’s stillness was unnerving.

“We ran into the office, screaming, hoping to scare the thief into a heart attack.”

This time, Feyre couldn’t stop her smile. “I suppose that tactic didn’t work for you?”

“Not one bit,” nodded Dora. “But he did drop my purse.”

“He was holding your purse?”

“Yes. Would you believe it? The safe was right there, wide open –”

Feyre was incredulous. “Why was the safe open?”

“Why would I close it? It’s in my office, and I always lock the door.”

“Of course,” the detective murmured, flabbergasted.

“He completely ignored the safe, and was instead looking through my purse.”

“Was there something valuable in it?”

“Aside from my mostly empty wallet, my chap stick, my car keys, my home keys, my safe keys, my dog house’s keys, my ex’s spare car keys –”

“Aside from the keys,” Feyre interrupted Dora’s monologue.

“my daughter’s bedroom keys,” Dora went on, “and my Swiss knife, nothing worth stealing.”

Feyre nodded, quickly scribbling all of the information down in her notebook. “What did he do when you caught him?”

“He said hello –”

“He didn’t say it, he purred it,” rectified Stella.

“He purred hello,” Dora amended, “and apologised for inconveniencing us. Then he jumped out the window.”

“And disappeared into the night, swallowed by the shadows,” Clover finished in a dramatic undertone.

“What did he take from your purse?”

“Nothing. I searched all of my office and nothing was missing.”

Feyre’s gut was starting to hum with anticipation, excitement buzzing through her at the prospect of an intriguing case. “Interesting. You gave your purse to forensics, right?”

“Yes, but you won’t find any fingerprints on it because he was wearing gloves.”

“Leather gloves,” Clover put in.

“Do you have any surveillance cameras in the shop?”

“Yes, but they were off.”

Feyre wanted to scream. “Why?”

“I’m camera shy,” mumbled Clover.

“They always get my bad side, for some reason,” Stella added.

“And I trust my customers and my employees,” finished Dora.

“Great,” Feyre said, standing up. “Thank you for your assistance, ladies.”

They nodded in response.

She looked at Dora. “Madam, I’ll keep you updated about the details of the case.”

“Thank you, detective,” she replied as she shook her hand.

***

Half an hour later found Feyre back in the precinct. She was practically giddy with excitement. Rare were the cases that required her to sketch a perp, but when it happened, it was always her favorite part of the investigation. Imagining the details of someone’s face based on multiple opinions was fun, because it wasn’t so much guessing as calculating the correct features to make a harmonious face. It was also very based on instinct and trial and error, as it could take her hours and multiple attempts to come up with a drawing that felt right. This perp, with his allegedly blue hair and violet eyes, would be a great challenge to tackle.

She got off the elevator, humming a crooked tune. She found Tamlin standing at her desk, hands planted on his hips, his expression stern. “Feyre, you’re late.”

Her mood soured. “It’s Detective Archeron to you, Rosetool.”

“Feyre, that’s enough. How much longer is this phase going to last? I already bought a house and it’s ready to welcome you as its mistress.”

“Tamlin,” her voice was quiet but full of venom as she had to repeat what she’d already told him multiple times since their break up three months earlier, “being in charge of a household does not interest me, especially not yours. And stop ambushing me in the precinct. I do not answer to you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Quit the charade, sweetheart. What else are you gonna do with your life? Be a cop?” he snorted dismissively.

Feyre’s anger flared. “I am a cop,” she said as she twisted his arm behind his back and slammed him against the wall near her desk. She pressed her gun at the base of his spine and whispered in his ear, “You would do well to remember that.”

She kept him there for a few delicious seconds; savoring how his pulse quickened against the fingertips she dug into his forearm.

When she let him go, he collapsed on the floor, hand on his heart as he struggled to catch his breath. His glare was a hot brand on her back as she sat at her desk and grabbed her sketchbook.

She didn’t spare him a glance as she said in a level voice, “Piss off, Rosetool. There is some police work I need to do. And next time, stay off my cases.”

How long it took him to leave, she would never know. She had already started drawing the mysterious man and she watched, enraptured, as stroke after stroke tendrils of darkness swirled around his feet and wings grew out of the shadows behind his back.

Tag list:   @joyceortiz13 @bailey-4244 @quakeriders @standbislytherin @mariamuses @ignite14 @1800-fight-me @velarian-trash @rhysands-highlady @queenblueoffire @rowaelinforeverworld @feeoly @buckybvrnes @dayanna-hatter @shadowstar2313 @goldfishh20 @sleeping-and-books @crackedship @your-high-lady @thesirenwashere