#today she told me i need to make sessions more entertaining by providing more things for the kid to play with .

[bastardbvby]

i miss my old supervisor so god damn much :(

[alldayangst]

gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words. 

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet. 

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book. 

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly. 

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball. 

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?” 

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.” 

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two. 

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true. 

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it. 

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

Masterlist

Upcoming Works

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines Lights The Dark

Chapter 4: On My Mind

Fourteen hours and three days. That’s how long it had been since Penny went to the evening party, how long it had been since she had met Whitley, and how long the thought of him had made her feel odd. That night she went home told her dad about the events that unfolded at the evening party. Everything was fine until she got to the part where she saved Whitley then things got hazy. It was so strange she remembered everything clearly but when she tried to vocalize her thoughts on the boy she would start to stutter and her temperature would rise, turning her face red. At first she thought it was some sort of glitch in her speech and temperature gauge but her dad checked and said there was nothing was wrong and that her body was just reacting to her mind and her soul processing her emotions. Flustered is the word he used for the reaction, he said quote “It’s a perfectly normal reaction for a sweet young lady like you to have when meeting a handsome young man.” Though that answer did not resonate well with Penny for a few reasons. Firstly the reaction itself made very little sense to Penny as why would meeting an attractive person make another person behavior in such so oddly. Secondly Penny had already met plenty of young men in the military most of which were very handsome and she hadn’t reacted in this way at all. And lastly Whitley was not handsome, his features and overall demeanor aligned more with the definition of beautiful or pretty as they held a more elegant and delicate nature compared to the more rugged and brash nature of the word handsome. When asked the different the best way Penny could describe it was that he was less like someone you’d see in the training center but more like someone you’d see at a library sitting in an armchair next to a window, sunlight beaming down on him as he reads some complex text.

Penny: I wonder if he likes the classics or more modern literature. Historical fiction maybe? Is he the type of person who likes to have a snack or drink while he reads or would he not risk the chance of damaging the book? Though judging by the look and feel of his hands they are very nimble and steady so it’s very unlike he would spill anything. But maybe he’s the type of person that worries too much.

Penny continues to get lost in her thoughts, seated at the control panel for the training room. She was immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Winter entering the room nor did she notices Winter sneaking up from behind and get down to her level. Winter positions herself to be leaning right next to Penny’s ear. She taps her a few times first, when that fails to get her attention Winter decides to go with plan B.

Winter: penny…Oh Penny…..PENNY POLENDINA!

Penny: Eeep!

Penny squeaks in sear fright when she realizes it’s Winter she quickly turns around, jumps from her chair and salutes Winter.

Penny: Good afternoon Winter Schnee! How may I assist you today?

Winter: Well first you can stop your silly daydreaming and focus! Second you do your job and get the training room ready for my session-

“Ring” “Ring”

Winter’s scroll rings cut her. She takes the call, stepping out of the room into the hallway. After a minute and fifteen seconds she returns.

Winter: Call someone to take over your post. I need you to come with me for an errand.

Penny: Right now?

Winter: Yes.

Winter walks out with Penny trailing behind her. Penny quickly asks the nearest center staff member to take over the training room then dashes after Winter. They keep walking for a while until they reach a small building hidden behind the rest of the facilities. Penny know about this building, when she was restored one of the first things she was told was if there was ever an emergency and this building was in danger of being damaged or destroyed to protect she and any other soldiers in the area were to protect it with their lives. The second was that she could never enter without either General Ironwood’s or Winter’s presence and permission. Now why would one small building amongst so many military facilities have such strict rules? Because it housed something crucial to the safety of the entire nation and the world.

.

.

.

.

This morning had been an interesting one. After spending a few hours in conference with Ironwood, the details of they’re deal had finally been ironed out.. It was fairly simple agreement, the Schnee’s would provided support in the military’s investigation via invitations to formal events, etiquette lessons, and they even offered some financial assistance if necessary. In exchange Ironwood would back Jacques in his future political endeavors. Both would be sworn to complete secrecy on the matter for the sake of both parties public images. It was a simple exchange of resources a common practice in the business world however there was an additional clause in arrangement that had Whitley a bit on edge.

As they exit the reception room Jacques is preoccupied with his scroll while Whitley was pondering on what to do about the clause. It had added on in the last few minutes of the conference thus there was no time to debate or discussed it further then a yes or no. Knowing there was little to no chance of changing it outright Whitley decides to question Jacques on it to see if he could find some kind of trying and reason him into changing the conditions of this clause over time. He waits until they are far out of ear shot then speaks.

Whitley: Father?

Jacques: Yes, Whitley.

Whitley: I understand that we have to be cautious when dealing with the military but was it really necessary to add that last clause to the agreement?

Jacques: Of course it was necessary. I can’t just hand over my best tutors to those barbarians, they’d either be scared off by one of the mongrels he calls soldiers or return as his spies and I won’t stand for it! The lessons have to happen here, in the manor, that way I’ll know exactly what their little military hound is up to.

Whitley: Yes I do agree the change in location was but that’s not the problem. What I’m struggling with is the very last adjustment. The staff will be present and will be monitoring her every move while she’s in the manor so is changing her instructor really necessary?

Jacques stops in front of Whitley, he turns around, looks down at Whitley, and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Jacques: Whitley, this situation is nothing like any deals I’ve made before. This isn’t hosting an out of town guest for the evening nor is entertaining a group of businessmen. I am granting access to the manor to one of Ironwood’s soldiers for an undisclosed amount of time. If it were only going to be for a week I’d be less strict but possible months! Not a chance in Hell. And with that filth Klein betraying us I can’t chance give my trust to someone just to have them do the same. No, this task can only be handled by someone I know would NEVER betray me. Do you understand?

Jacques squeezes Whitley’s shoulder tight, the skin under his shirt and vest begins to redden as Jacques digs his nails into it. Whitley winces in pain but Jacques holds firm. He won’t let go until he gets the answer he’s expecting. Whitley takes a deep breath to compose himself before he finally speaks.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques: Good, now since there’s nothing left to discuss, go to the library you have a business statistic lesson in thirty minutes.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques pulls his scroll back out again and walks off without another word. While Whitley, holding his now bruised shoulder, starts heading towards the library and sighs. What a useless conversation, there was really no changing the situation all Whitley could do was prepare, the girl will be starting her lessons and he needed to be ready. Though it wasn’t like he really had anything to fear from her besides her physical strength and military training she had come off as a fairly awkward and meek girl with little to no social awareness. But still he could help this unnerving feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. Why did idea of her presence make him feel so uneasy?

“????:….I….want….I want to see her….I want to see her smile again.”

The memory of the unknown voice plays in Whitley’s mind. He still hadn’t figured out what caused the deviation of the dream nor what the voice was or where it came from. What he did know was that it wished for him to see that girl, Penny, again and regardless of his wishes, it looks like it was going to have its way.

Whitley: This isn’t what I was hoping for but there’s no going back now. I’ll just have to push through.

.

.

.

.

.

After several security checks and the removal of all their weapons Penny and Winter finally reach their destination, a kitchen with a door at the other end. Winter goes to speak the cook while Penny stands behind her confused by what’s happening. They had come to the most secured building in the entire center base just to go to the kitchen. When she done talking Winter goes back to Penny and points her towards a tea set, kettle, and stove.

Winter: Go brew some tea. She likes camomile , no cream, a teaspoon of sugar, a three drops off lemon juice.

Penny: Yes Ma’am

Winter turns around grabs a tray of food of the counter, and walks through the other door. Penny does as she was told and starts making tea. She had already learned how to sometime again before she had ever left the lab. She’d brew coffee and tea for her dad and Ciel during breaks, long nights, or when it got really cold out. Back then Penny couldn’t feel things like warmth or cold but hated to see them shivering or struggling to stay awake in the middle of the night so she’d make warm drinks, get them blankets, and clean up after them if they were too tired to do it themselves. Those times had made the act of brewing tea quite therapeutic and calming for Penny and since she gained the ability to enjoy the practice to its fullest she had only gotten better at it. But at times like this she was also reminded of her former attendant Ciel.

Penny: (Sighs) It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Ever since that day.

Ciel had be like an older sister to Penny, wise, caring, and always there for the people around her. They’d been fairly close before they went to Beacon but after the tournament and Beacon’s fall Penny hasn’t seen her again, she asked for her a few times right after she was restored but she never came. Supposedly she was still working in robotics but was reassigned to mecha production and maintenance.

Penny: I would ask Dad where she is and how she’s doing but I don’t think she would want me to find her. Still I hope she’s doing well.

The whistle of the kettle pulls Penny out of her thoughts, the water was ready. Penny pours the hot water into the tea pot over the tea leaves in a circular motion. She lets it sit to set and cool a bit then pours the tea into the cup and adds the sugar and lemon. She puts everything on a tray and heads towards the door. As she gets closer Penny can feel cold air brush past her, she keeps going only to find the door has a layer of frost covering the edges. She pulls the door open to see what looks like a hospital room. There’s nothing particularly odd about the room aside from the many paintings that decorated the walls, the large window close to the ceiling, and the GROWING FROST AND DROPPING TEMPERATURE! The floor and a few feet of the walls have been covered layer of ice, Winter is standing by the bed where a frail elderly woman lays looking rather upset, the ice seems to emanating from her hands. Winter tries to get the women to cooperate with her but the woman just shakes her head as the temperature continues to drop.

Winter: Freya please stop being so stubborn, you need to eat now. It’s almost time for your medicine and you can’t it on an empty stomach.

Freya just shakes her head, unwilling to listen to Winter commands. This wasn’t too shocking as the elderly in Atlas were notorious for their attitudes. Anyone over the age of 50 was either the sweetest old person you’d ever met or the most stubborn and unruly. For the stubborn ones only the most patient of people could handle care for them. Luckily for them Penny was one of those people.

Penny continues to walk towards Freya, increasing her body’s temperature to keep the tea heated as she gets closer. Once she’s at Freya’s bedside she bends down to her level and gives her a warm smile.

Penny: Ms. Freya?

Penny stands over smiling silently as she waits for a response. Freya eventual turns her head towards her and groans. Still smiling Penny extends the tray to Freya.

Penny: Would you to have your tea first or do want your lunch first instead?

Freya groans again but motions for the tea cup.

Penny: Okay tea it is then. But you have to eat your lunch afterwards then take your medicine. Is that okay with you?

Freya nods and reaches for the cup, Penny pushes the cup towards her hand and help guid to her mouth. Once Freya’s got her cup of tea the ice stops forming and Penny turns to Winter.

Penny: Do you need me to do anything else?

Winter: (sighs) Please go and reheat her lunch.

Penny: Yes Ma’am!

Penny does as she’s told and reheats the food and brings the food back out. After Freya’s fed and medicated the girls begin gathering up the dishes and talking.

Winter: Thank you Penny, taking care of the Maiden can be taxiing at times. Especially when she gets in modes like this.

Penny: Is that why you told me to come with you on this errand?

Winter: Yes, I thought given your physical abilities and personality you’d be best suited to help keep her calm or in the worst case scenario hold her down with lower risk of major injuries.

Penny: Thank you?

Penny looks around again this time noting the paintings in detail. The all had a similar style, some looked older then the others, and there was an easel and cabinet full of fresh paints and brushes.

Penny: Winter? The paintings here were they all made by-

Winter: Yes, Freya was a talented painter before she became the Maiden, the large one on your right was the last piece she made before she fully devoted herself to being the Maiden and retired from her art career.

Penny: Oh.

Penny looks up at the paintings. It’s a silhouette of a little girl holding up a ball of light, the background is a starry night sky over snowy mountain range. The vocal point of the painting seems to seem to be the girl and the light. The light swirled outward blending into the other whites of paintings and while only being a silhouette the girl seems to looking at the light her expression unknown. What does the girl see in the light Penny wonders. She stares at for long moment trying to find meaning in the art piece. But soon Winter calls her back to the kitchen. Penny waves goodbye to Freya and takes one last look at the paintings before leaving.

Once they’ve cleaned up they leave the facility and go their separate ways to continue their work days. From there Penny continue with her day, her mind wondering back and forward between thoughts of the painting, Ciel, and Whitley until she finally finishes up her work day and goes home. When she opens the front door Penny is greeted by the sound of rustling of paper bags and the scent of pre cooked food. She goes to kitchen to see her dad setting a brown paper bag on the table. Pietro looks up to see her sporting a curious look as she inspects the bag.

Pietro: Welcome home Sweetpea.

Penny: Hi Dad, what’s in the brown paper bag? It smells quite good.

Pietro: Well, I was going to cook but I’ve been on phone on conferences all day and forgot to take anything out. So I ordered us some takeout instead.

Penny: Takeout!

Pietro: Yup, it’s stuff you haven’t tried yet to!

Penny: Yay!

Pietro opens the bag and pulls out three containers. He opens them to reveal a large amount of delicious looking food.

Pietro: We’ve got some soup dumplings, spicy wontons, and Yang Chow fried rice courtesy of Ms. Ling’s.

Ms. Ling’s was a popular family owner restaurant in Mantle Penny passed by almost everyday on patrol. The scent from the front door alone was enough to make her want to go in and order as much as she could have in one sitting but she never have the time or money to make quick trip. But tonight she would have her fill!

Penny runs and grabs two plates and forks. She hands her dad his then makes her plate, four soup dumplings, a couple spicy wontons, and a helping of fried rice! Pietro chuckles as fulls up her plate. Once her plate is full she sits down, and just as she about to take her first bite her scroll rings. Penny pulls out her scroll with her free hand and begins to read her messages. She tries to read and eat at the same but once she gets to a certain point she drops her fork.

Pietro: Penny? What’s wrong? Did something happen?

Penny: I-It’s m-my briefing a-a-and n-new sch-schedule. T-they j-just s-s- sent it a- a-a-and.

Pietro: And what?

Penny: The ten-tenth p-page l-last paragraph. I-it says it says-

Penny holds up her scroll for her dad to see and puts her head down on the table. Pietro tips his glasses a bit as he begins reading the section she mentioned.

Pietro: “ The formal etiquette lessons shall be held at the Schnee Manor Monday through Friday during the scheduled times. Penny Polendina will be chauffeured from the designated transit station to the Schnee Manor and back via a private chauffeured car. The lessons will be instructed by the Schnee Dust Company Heir, Whitley Schnee with up to five manor staff personnel present during each session. This schedule will go into effect tomorrow morning, please arrive on time and be appropriately attired.”

Penny: (high pitched squeak)

Pietro: Hmm, there’s a Note from the Instructor at the end. “ Good evening Ms. Polendina I’m looking forward to seeing you in the afternoon for our orientation session. I’m excited to teach you what I know and hope this will be a wonderful learning experience for both of us. Sincerely Whitley Schnee.”

With that Penny put her scroll down on the table and puts her hands in her now red face and starts squeaking at in even higher pitch while her dad just sits there and awkwardly pats her head. Tomorrow is going to be a very Very VERY difficult day.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 4 - AO3

           Lunch with Dupain-Cheng was surprisingly pleasant. She was a talented girl, having no trouble detailing her various accomplishments, designing for Jagged Stone and winning his uncle’s hat contest, but remaining humble all throughout. Almost too humble, amounting some of her success to luck and good timing. She seemed used to undervaluing herself, but there was away to find out for sure.

           “Dupain-Cheng, I find myself impressed by your skills. While this is not public knowledge, my mother’s birthday is soon—” It was not, but she didn’t need to know that—“and I would like to commission a dress from you. How much do you charge for a consultation? If I have enough on my person, we could do it now.”

           She paused, surprised. “I… don’t. usually I make my friends things for free, let alone charge them for a consultation.”

           Felix frowned. “As… odd as a business practice that is, I cannot allow you to work on my behalf and not pay you for it.”

           “Really, I must insist.” Her smile wavered.

           “And so do I. Which means, we are at an impasse. Perhaps we can save the discussion for a later date?”

           “My answer’s not going to change.”

           “Perhaps, but… the time will give me a chance.” Felix looked at her, resolved. “You seem to be under the impression that I am like the other… simpletons in your class. Allow me to reassure you; that is not the case. From previous statements, it can be assumed that your classmates have taken advantage of your generosity before, correct?”

           “I wouldn’t call it that…”

           “Yet that is what happened. Supplying presents for birthdays or occasional gifts is one thing, but you make it sound like you’ve been regularly providing your craft for free.”

           “They… can’t afford commission prices all the time. I can understand that.”

           Felix scoffed. “Francis-Dupont is a private school, yet they can’t afford commission prices that, based on your behavior, are actually far lower than someone of your skill should be paid? If they can’t afford to buy something, then they shouldn’t ask for it. It’s common sense.”

           “Friends do things for free sometimes!”

           “Don’t you mean all the time? And despite my previous lack of friendships, its to my understanding that these things are supposed to be small, like babysitting once in a blue moon or bringing snacks to a study session, not working on clothing that has stolen hours of your time and effort.”

She faltered for a moment, her eyes growing wide. “You’ve never—” She shook her head. “It’s not like they’re asking for entire wardrobes or something!” She snapped. “Besides, they haven’t asked for anything since… since Lila convinced them I was bullying her.”

           “Good for them. But that is not the point I was trying to make. The point is that I am not the type of person to take advantage like that.”

           She glared. “And what kind of person are you then?”

           Felix smirked. He liked it when she got angry. It was so much more fun than her sadness. “The kind that appreciates good work. And that is willing to pay for it.” He smirked. “Now, your consultation price?”

           Dupain-Cheng was not happy—no, that was easy to see with her glare—but she resigned herself to letting him pay for the consultation, though there was no doubt in Felix’s mind that she’d put up another fight when it came time to actually pay for the piece. Felix… liked it. It was so rare that he got to properly outtalk someone who had a chance at winning. Even working past her being taken advantage of was exciting; he barely even noticed he was helping her.

           That in and of itself was concerning, but not to a greater degree. There was no hardship in this—at most he was just talking to her. He was protecting a future investment. There was no doubt in his mind that Dupain-Cheng would be a fantastic fashion designer one day, surpassing even his uncle. And if she felt kindly towards him…

           They finished the consultation with ten minutes of lunch to spare, having decided on a stylist beaded jacket. Their dishware was deposited in the downstairs kitchen where M. Dupain was frosting a dozen cupcakes and they began their short walk back to the school. It was a productive lunch, one of the better ones in more resent weeks. Before the change in schools, Felix often ate lunch quickly and relocated to the library for work. During the two months he was out of school taking care of his dying father, he ate lunch alone in their manor, with his mother often too busy to make time for the midday meal. But now, here in Paris… he figured he could get used to lunches like this, if Dupain-Cheng continued to be entertaining.

           Together, they walked into class only to be met with a crowd surrounding the crying Lila girl. The girl looked up as they entered and her face morphed into a smirk before falling back into self-made despair. “M-Marinette!!” Felix sneered. She couldn’t even studder correctly. “How could you say those mean things about me!”

           Dupain-Cheng sighed, already resigned to the situation. “What things?”

           “You! You don’t even remember!?” Lila choked on a sob. Her face wasn’t even wet. “You cornered me in the bathroom at lunch and said—” A sniffle—“And said you were going to make me lose all my friends! How could you!?”

           “Yes, Dupain-Cheng, how could you?” Felix repeated, sarcasm clear in his voice. Dupain-Cheng whipped around to glare at him. “Teleporting back to school during our conversation to threaten someone, made even more impressive by the fact that I only took my eyes off you for a second. The gall. The audacity.”

           The crowd seemed shaken, as if they’d not remembered watching Dupain-Cheng leave out the front door. Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps the liar made them so incensed they didn’t care. Either way, doubt seemed to seep into the students, with a handful—a red-headed boy, a pink-haired short girl—throwing suspicious glances at Rossi.

           Still, one had to admire Rossi’s ability to regain everyone’s sympathy. She pointed a shaky figure at him. “Y-You’re covering for her! I hear you talk to her as she left; you were probably guarding the bathroom door!”

           Felix scoffed. “Yes, because I have nothing better to do than play lacky to someone I met today and skulk outside the woman’s bathroom.” He brushed past Dupain-Cheng, heading towards his seat. “Perhaps if you used your brain, you would have asked if anyone had seen me leave with Dupain-Cheng. And, in fact! Someone has.” He gestured towards Adrien, who’d stayed silent up until this time. “So, dear cousin, want to tell anyone where I’ve been lately? Or does that require growing a spine?”

           Adrien shot him a dirty look, but addressed the class. “He’s telling the truth; I saw them leave together for the Dupain-Cheng bakery.”

           The wind was taken out of the class’s collective anger and they started to disperse, a few even apologizing to Dupain-Cheng as she returned to her seat next to him. Rossi looked furious, as the Lady Wifi girl tried to comfort her by saying she probably mistook someone else for Marinette and it was going to be alright. Felix was sure she was going to start another tantrum when Mme Bustier entered the room to continue school.

           Felix was ready to start taking notes in his leather-bound journal when a piece of paper brushed his arm. Dupain-Cheng had poked him with her spiral notebook, the only thing upon the page being the words “Thank you.” Her writing was rather beautiful, Felix noticed distantly. He met her eyes and she smiled, small but sweet. He nodded in return, pushing the notebook back towards her.

           It was nothing to thank him over, he told himself. He just couldn’t stand such obvious lies.

Taglist: @graduatedmelon @novicevoice @dur55 @kris-pines04 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @moonlightstar64 @bee-a-garbage-shipper @sol-o-shade @kittyotakunoir666 @tinyterror333 @allieoftheenemy @marichat00 @xgxmxtx @two-faced-biatch @feliciakainzofspades @evil-cricket

Please ask for specific stories if you want to be tagged. Don’t just ask for “everything” because I won’t remember.

[bnha-and-more-imagines]

Progression [Bakugou Katsuki x Reader] Part 1

A/N: This was getting really long so I split it into two parts! Hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 2,501

Request: No

Warnings: Swearing

Bakugou Katsuki hated the weak. 

He especially hated how they’d strive to be stronger, but would ultimately fail. The weak were born weak, and the strong were born strong was his mindset.

That’s why he detested (Y/N) (L/N), Recovery Girl’s new assistant. 

She wanted to become a pro-hero with her healing quirk. But she was too fragile, too soft-spoken, too shy, too weak. It pissed him off. Sure, her quirk was useful, it was a rarity among quirks, but what good would it be in the hands of someone like her. She wasn’t even in class 1-A, just in a General Department class. 

While some of his classmates, like Deku, fawned over her rare quirk and its possibilities, Bakugou scowled and thought of how utterly useless it’d be in battle. What would she do against an incredibly strong villain? (Y/N)’s quirk needed her to be near whoever she was healing. The aftermath of a battle was when she’d be most useful. When the dust would settle and the wounded could be treated without interruption. But she could do that as a nurse in a hospital, where she belonged. She didn’t belong in the hero business,

He’d told her as much, too. He was never one to keep his opinions to himself.

They had been alone in the nurse’s office one day. He had been injured during a training exercise and she had been healing his arm. He was already in a foul mood, but something about her soft smile and flushed face just sent him over the edge. Having to rely on someone below him to treat an injury caused by his own weakness infuriated him.

“You’re never going to become a pro-hero, so just give it up.” 

Her smile turned into a frown and her brows furrowed as she looked at him, yet she didn’t move her glowing hands away from him or stop her work, “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re not fucking strong. How could you ever hope to be a pro when you can’t even defeat a villain? You’re going to be useless as a pro, go work at a hospital or some shit. The hero business isn’t for the weak. You need to snap out of whatever goddamn delusion you’re in.” He glared at her.

He was half expecting her to start crying. Instead, she finished healing him quickly and quietly. Right as he was about to shut the door behind him he heard her voice, “Sometimes being the strongest person doesn’t mean being the best fighter, Bakugou-san.”

He scowled but said nothing, not wanting to entertain her nonsense. He slammed the door behind him.

The rubble and dust made Bakugou’s lungs scream as he breathed it in. His leg was completely useless, broken in several places. The Nomu had destroyed nearly every building, and even with a few of his classmates fighting that thing was still at near full strength. Most of his classmates had injuries. Deku had a broken arm from using his quirk at a stronger level than usual. Kirishima and Yaoyorozu had a few cuts around their bodies. And Iida had a deep gash on his shoulder. They were all exhausted.

Bakugou grit his teeth in frustration as he was the only one with no mobility. As they had been out on the town, all of them were in civilian clothing. The attack had been a surprise one. They weren’t at full power without their gear.

The rest were strategizing and fighting ahead of him, completely forgetting him in the back. It pissed him off. He felt useless.

While seething in his thoughts, he failed to hear someone running towards him until they called his name.

“Bakugou-san!” 

He snapped out of his thoughts and glared at whoever was talking to him. (Y/N) stood there in her civilian clothes, no doubt having been out on the town too. “I’m going to heal your leg.” She stated.

He was about to tell her to piss off when she cut him off.

“Now is not the time to argue. They need your help. I’m healing you.” She said in a stern voice he’d never heard her use before. She glared back at him, daring him to argue back. He closed his mouth, begrudgingly knowing she was right. 

She healed his leg faster than he’d seen before. His leg was brand new. 

Once she was done she ran towards the rest of his classmates.

“Anyone with a severe injury come to me now!”

Bakugou didn’t stay to see what happened next, already blasting off towards the Nomu. His adrenaline higher than ever.

As he and Kirishima were landing blows on the Nomu, Deku came out of nowhere and landed a heavy blow with his newly healed arm. Iida right behind him, now having easier mobility with a healed shoulder.

They managed to hold off the Nomu long enough for the pros to arrive and provide the much-needed help. 

Once the battle had finished, (Y/N) came up to Yaoyorozu, “Yaoyorozu-san, can you make some bandages for me? I need to start treating the injured civilians. Deku-san, Iida-san, I might need your help in moving rubble trapping people.” She continued to give directions while Bakugou watched. 

He saw her healing injured civilians.

He saw her take the role of a leader. 

He saw the smiles on people’s faces as she healed them. And her smile at the crying, injured children, making them realize that all would be alright.

He saw a hero.

For the first time, Bakugou acknowledged her and he understood her words from before.

By the end of the day, once the pros had made sure everyone was alright, she had used up all of her energy and was too exhausted to stand. Her quirk used her energy. His classmates surrounded her, asking if she needed help.

“I can help you to the dorms, (L/N)-san.” Deku offered. “It’s the least I could do.”

“No, that’s alright. I just need some time to res-” She was interrupted by Bakugou pushing his way past Deku. 

“Get out of my way.” Without another word, he picked up (Y/N) and put her on his back. He started walking past everyone, ignoring their shocked faces. He started making his way towards the dorms.

(Y/N)’s own face was shocked, too. A blush adorning her face. After a moment of silence, she shyly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. 

“...Thank you.” She said softly.

Bakugou just grunted in response.

One day, Bakugou had been sent to the nurse’s office for yet another injury. Nothing severe, but enough to hinder him. 

He was waiting on (Y/N) to finish healing another guy’s broken leg.

Bakugou wanted to break that guy’s face to the point that not even Recovery Girl would be able to heal him.

The entire time (Y/N) was healing him, he kept making unwanted advances towards her. This guy couldn’t take a hint. 

“Why don’t we go out sometime? I know a nice ramen place.”

“Sorry, but I’m really busy. Being Recovery Girl’s assistant takes most of my free time.”

“Aww come on, I’m sure they won’t miss you for one day.”

“I think they would.” 

At one point he had grabbed a piece of (Y/N)’s hair and was twirling it around his finger. Bakugou’s fingers were itching to make an explosion.

(Y/N) pursed her lips and her eyes hardened, “Please stop that.” 

“Sorry, sorry. You just have beautiful hair. Hey, have you ever thought of working in a hospital? I bet you’d make a really cute nurse.”

Just as Bakugou was about to blast that guy out the window, (Y/N) spoke.

“I apologize, but this is as far as I can heal your leg. I’ve used up all of my energy for today. You’ll just need crutches for a few days, or you can come back here tomorrow when Recovery Girl will be in.” 

Asswipe smiled, “Hey no worries, I totally understand.” 

(Y/N) gave him a pair of crutches.

“I’ll be seeing you around then.” He said and hobbled away.

Bakugou got up to leave, seeing as there was no point in staying.

“Where are you going, Bakugou-san? Don’t you need healing?”

He turned to her, “I thought you were at your limit?”

(Y/N) suddenly flushed and averted her gaze. She started fiddling with her fingers. Bakugou only raised an eyebrow at her.

“I-I lied. He was just annoying me.” She said bashfully.

Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly before a smirk appeared on his face. “Hah! Not fucking bad.” He grinned. 

That’s when he realized he respected her.

It was a weekend night when the girls in 1-A had been allowed to have a sleepover with a few girls from other classes. (Y/N) was among one of the girls invited. The living room was a cacophony of giggles and girl talk.

As was expected, the perverted grape and the human phone charger tried to snoop around some of the girl’s things. Only to get completely knocked out by Kendo’s big fist. The rest of the boys were either in their respective rooms or training.

At some point during the early night, Bakugou was heading towards the kitchen to make food after an exhausting training session. Just as he was about to turn the corner in the hallway that led to the kitchen, he heard a girl’s loud voice.

“EH?! (Y/N)-chan you have a crush?!” Nejire exclaimed.

For some reason, this stopped him in his tracks. He listened.

(Y/N) sat in the living room floor, the table that was normally in the middle of the living room had been moved to make more space. They planned on moving it back once they headed off to bed. The girls that were staying over were going to share a room with the girls from 1-A to not be an inconvenience to the boys if they needed the kitchen or living area later on.

Uraraka was painting (Y/N)’s nails when the topic of boys had come up. It had started off with talking about which pro-hero they found the most handsome. Which shifted to why the boys in their classes couldn’t be more like them. And again shifted to the subject of crushes.

(Y/N) had let it slip that there was someone she liked, which caught the attention of the girls. All of them looked at her now with wide eyes and curious gazes, eager to know all the details.

“That’s so cute!” Mina said while braiding Nejire’s long hair. “You need to tell us everything!”

“Ooo, we can help you confess to him!” Hagakure chimed in. “We can dress you up all pretty so that when he sees you he’ll be speechless and then-”

“No!” (Y/N) squeaked, red-faced. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I don’t plan to confess. I plan to just let the feelings go away.”

“But-but, that’s so SAD and DEPRESSING!” Exclaimed Mina, “Why not just confess?”

They all looked at her confused, wanting her to elaborate. “He can hardly stand me, I think he’d just laugh at my face if I ever confessed.”

“What? Who could ever dislike you?” Jiro said, genuinely looking offended.

“(Y/N)-chan is kind and looks out for everyone. I think that boy isn’t worth your attention.” Tsuyu piped in, making (Y/N) smile.

“I agree,” Yaoyorozu said, “he must be a bad judge of character if he dislikes you.”

“Why do you even like him, (L/N)-chan?” Kendo asked. A few girls made sounds of agreement.

(Y/N) smiled, “He’s just very strong. Not just in strength. He has a clear goal in mind and doesn’t let the criticism of others bother him. Even when he knows he’s outmatched he still gives it his all and doesn’t give up. He also has a caring side. I’m sure that with enough hard work he’ll be an amazing pro-hero someday.”

The girls looked amongst themselves before one of them asked.

“Who is it?’

It’s-”

Bakugou walked away before he heard her answer. An uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He scowled and decided to skip dinner altogether and headed to his room.

It was 11:09 P.M. (according to Bakugou’s clock) when the hunger was too much for him. His stomach growling was annoying him. He got up and made his way down the floors to the kitchen, figuring that the girls had gone off to bed. 

He smelled something burning before he even saw the kitchen.

Then he heard a frantic voice.

“No no no no!” 

Then the faucet turning on and a hissss as something was put out.

Once he entered the kitchen, he saw (Y/N) in her pyjamas over the sink as a small smoke cloud rose from whatever she had put out. It was a miracle the fire alarm hadn’t been triggered. 

“The hell did you do?” Bakugou asked her.

(Y/N) jumped in surprise and looked at him. “O-oh. Uh, hello Bakugou-san.”

He only raised an eyebrow at her.

“I, um… I was trying to make hot chocolate but then the milk caught on fire so…” She trailed off

Bakugou gave her an incredulous look, “How in the fuck do you even get milk on fire?” 

She blushed and shrugged sheepishly.

“Tch, move out of the way, I'll do it. You’ll only burn down the entire goddamn building if you tried again.” 

He took over while (Y/N) took a seat at one of the tables nearest to the kitchen, watching him curiously.

Bakugou went on to add some extra spices to it. The sweet aroma was making (Y/N)’s mouth water. She was surprised at how skilful Bakugou was in the kitchen. Even with something as simple as making hot chocolate. A pang of jealousy hit her. Though she could use her hands to heal, she couldn’t use them to cook. Her mother, on the other hand, used to be a master in the kitchen. She used to tease (Y/N) and her father by saying that they both had a secret quirk that destroyed kitchens. (Y/N) was glad she at least inherited her mother’s quirk.

 She was snapped out of her thoughts when Bakugou placed a mug in front of her.

“Thank you.”

It looked so tasty. A cinnamon stick was in it and she swirled it around the drink before blowing on it and taking a sip. 

Immediately, tears welled up in her eyes and poured out, making Bakugou’s brows furrow. 

“If it’s that fucking bad you don’t have to drink it.” He frowned.

(Y/N) shook her head, “No, it’s not that. It just… it tastes exactly like how my mother used to make it.” 

She smiled brightly at him through teary eyes. “Thanks Bakugou-kun, it’s really good.”

Bakugou looked away from her, unable to hold her gaze. Warmth spread in his chest and his face. 

He suddenly realized that he was screwed.

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- THE PREQUEL- Part 1 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so basically,,,, i took my adhd meds for class this morning, and then suddenly got super inspired to write this, so i figured i couldnt waste the focus and wrote this whole ass thing in a few hours. this is the first part of a 3-part prequel series, which details the events leading up to the first part of iiw! just a whole lot more teen angst, drama, fuckboy michael, and more... there isn’t going to be any SMUT smut for obvious reasons, but in a future part there is going to be some dirty stuff ;) anyway i know this will prob flop but this is the first full length fic i’ve written in months and i had a lot of fun writing it, so ima post regardless ^__^

plot: things are turning upside for you now that the biggest fuckboy in school, michael langdon, is about to become your stepbrother. if you think shit is crazy now, wait til you find out that this is just the prequel 😏

warnings: underage drinking, talk of sexual shit, teen angst, sexual tension, taboo relationships 

wc: 4.2k 

i.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

You did, of course you did.

You’d seen him, engulfed in his loneliness, floating from day to listless day like some kind of cheesy Victorian spectre. Too many times you’d found him alone at night, one hand cradling a glass of sewer-brown liquor, the other thumbing through worn photo albums extracted from dust-ridden shelves in the living room. You hadn’t known your mother well- she’d died back when you were still in diapers, but what you did know was that she’d been a vibrant light in your father’s world that had been unjustly snuffed out in its prime. He was a good father to you, and you knew you made him happy despite the dull ache ever-present in his heart, but it was evident that deep down he craved a companionship you could never provide.

So of course you were glad when he met Miriam. Of course you were glad when you’d seen his beaming smile, sharing the news, with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love, that he’d found somebody. He was practically glowing, that night he’d gone out for their first date. You’d known it’d been special to him, because he’d shelled out a few hundred to treat them both to a fancy dinner; he’d even gotten her a bouquet of flowers on the drive there.

You hadn’t said anything when he’d gushed to you the next day about how he’d found the one, despite having known her for only a week; sure, he was rushing into things, but at least he was happy! And that was all you wanted- for him to be happy.

That was why you were especially crushed when you finally met Miriam’s teenage son, whom your father had briefly mentioned with a passing “he goes to your high school, maybe you know him”.

There were so many boys at your school that it was impossible to guess who your potential stepbrother might be. The prospect that you might know him didn’t bother you too much, though you did think it might be a little awkward upon first meeting, but really what did it matter? A little bit of teenage shyness was a small price to pay for your father’s newfound happiness.

That is, until you met him.

So really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

That wasn’t the case at all.

You just really, really, wished he’d fallen in love with anyone other than the mother of Michael fucking Langdon.

ii.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Miriam gushed over a glass of Chardonnay, which had already been defaced with aubergine lip prints around the golden rim. “Gosh, I just wish I had your hair. Mine was fried from years of coloring, so I just chopped it all off!”

You smiled sweetly, observing your father’s glimmering eyes as he hung onto every word that rolled off her tongue, menus still stacked neatly in the middle of the table as you awaited the fourth and final guest. The three of you had been there for fifteen minutes already, and still her son had not arrived.

I guess his study session is running late, she’d explained, after seeing your furrowed brows at her lack of accompaniment. It was the first time you were meeting your father’s new love interest and her son, and you were rapidly growing more and more anxious in anticipation of the big reveal.

Studying, you’d thought, racking your brain. So maybe he’s one of the nerdy teacher’s pet types? You could certainly live with that; there were a great deal of others you could think of who would be far worse to potentially become step-siblings with.

“Thanks, Ms… Mead, did you say it was?”

You weren’t sure you knew of any boys whose last name was Mead; he definitely had to be someone you hardly knew.

“Oh, honey, call me Miriam,” she said warmly, and you nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Miriam was certainly not what you’d imagined your father’s girlfriend to be like, not that you cared either way; she sported short, dark hair with vampy makeup, clad in all black with a tasteful leather jacket to match. She was also a bit older than you’d anticipated, with fine lines adorning her rounded face, but again, none of that mattered to you at all. She seemed perfectly sweet, and you had no complaints about her thus far.

“Okay, Miriam,” you said, feeling somewhat peculiar addressing an adult by their first name, “so, remind me, how’d you guys meet again?”

“Well, it’s a funny story, really,” Miriam chuckled, plucking a dinner roll from the woven basket across from her and dropping it onto her plate. Her dark eyes shifted from you to your father, poising an impeccably groomed raven brow. “Should you tell it, or should I?”

“Oh, you should, definitely,” your father said, sipping his wine.

“Okay, okay. Well, we were in the meat section at the grocery store when we both reached for the last steak on sale. So I looked at him, and I told him- oh my, this is embarrassing- (your dad’s name), you finish!”

Your father looked like he was about to bust out into laughter, and, suppressing a snort, he blurted, “she said she’d cut off my hands if I took it!”

Immediately after the words left his lips, the two fell into boisterous hysterics that ushered forward a few disapproving glances from the stuffy rich assholes at the next table over, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself. Well… she definitely was a character, but as long as your father was being kept entertained…

“Hey mom,” came a sudden, inappropriately loud male voice from behind you, so out of place that you nearly jumped from your seat. “I was helping Dan with the world war three chapter in our textbook, he sucks at geography shit.”

The voice’s owner revealed himself as a tall, blond boy, who promptly slid into the empty chair beside you, chiseled face slightly obscured by the deep shadows resulting from the dimness of the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

This was, indeed, somebody that you knew, and you blinked twice to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

It took you a few seconds to register the direness of the situation at hand, but once the thought processed in your mind, you about descended into an out-of-body experience.

This couldn’t be.

No way.

No motherfucking way.

You’d never been all too much of a religious person, but in that moment, you found yourself silently begging whatever higher power was out there that this was all just some sick, cosmic prank.

The boy turned his head to give you a good, uncomfortably long look, stupidly perfect mouth twisting into an amused sideways grin, and then he spoke. “Ohh shit, (y/n)? (Y/n) (y/l/n)?”

He spoke your name like it was a punchline, tongue darting out to lick his teeth like a lizard about to gobble up some poor, helpless cricket as you sat there with your jaw unhinged. You were at a loss for words, or at least almost, managing to croak out a pathetic, puny, “Michael.”

“Oh, good! You guys know each other already!” Miriam exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the complete and utter horror that had just about finished swallowing you whole.

Michael let out a snort, roughly translating to ‘uhh, yeah, not that well… I’d never be caught dead hanging around with someone like (y/n)’, and you grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. You were in math class with me last year, right?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to regain your composure for fear of feeding into this complete asshole’s already massive ego. Yeah, in fact, you had been in math class with him last year, and, not-so-coincidentally, that very same class had turned out to be the one you dreaded the most.

Michael Langdon was the most insufferable, mind-numbing, self-obsessed asshole that you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing; he was easily the most popular boy in the grade, and it was clear he was fully aware of his own high school bullshit prestige. He was loud, cocky and obnoxious; the type of fuckboy- yes, you knew the word fuckboy was overplayed, but in this case there was no other way to describe him- who’d loudly brag about his sexual escapades in the middle of the hallway to his flock of adoring fuckboy minions. He was an I-don’t-do-relationships type, a U-up-text-at-3am type, a Yo-dude-did-you-see-Zoe-Benson’s-tits-today type, a bro-I’m-so-fucking-baked-right-now type. Just the sound of his voice from across a crowded hallway was enough to make you physically recoil. And the worst part?

Every-fucking-body loved him.

Your complaints about him during lunch would only result in your friends cooing dreamily, as though he were some kind of sympathetic creature that needed babying: But he’s so cute, they’d say, twirling locks of their hair and fiddling with their bracelets. I’m sure he’s not that bad.

But he was that bad, and if they took off their shit-stained, teenage hormone-clouded rose tinted glasses for only a second, they’d see exactly what you saw.

It wasn’t only the students, either. He was able to get away with everything and anything he pleased, whether it be sneaking sips of vodka in a water bottle between classes or ditching class to smoke a joint behind the bleachers. There’d even been rumors that he’d fucked some senior girl in the handicap stall during the autumn pep rally while the rest of the student body was packed like sardines in the sticky-hot gymnasium, subjected to incremental barks from the football coach to scream louder and louder.

How the hell was somebody as pleasant as Miriam the mother of such an incurable douchebag? And how, in all the unholy realms of hell, did your luck get so miserably bad that she ended up with your father?

It was all so fucking unfortunate that you almost wanted to laugh. And you probably would have, if not for the chance that you might puke all over your nice new sweater if you opened your mouth.

“You smell funny, hon,” said Miriam before you could reply. “Was Dan burning incense in his room?”

Oh, god. So she was one of those oblivious parents. You rolled your eyes; it made a lot of sense when you thought about it.

“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Incense,” Michael said, before suddenly extending his arm across the table to your father. “Oh shit, how rude of me. I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, man.”

Your father seemed unfazed my Michael’s distinct lack of manners as he accepted the boy’s hand and shook it, and you felt yet another knot twist up in the pit of your stomach as you realized that your father, too, had somehow been cast under Michael’s spell.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Miriam said under her breath, like she was scolding a child who didn’t know any better. “Keep the potty mouth to a minimal when we’re out in public, especially while we’re in such a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, sh…oot, sorry, mom,” Michael said with a faux-sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with amusement despite his supposed remorse. “And sorry to you too, sir. Bad habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike- can I call you Mike?” your father said as they released hands, moving his to rest atop Miriam’s on the cloth-sheathed table. “I remember what it was like being a boy your age.”

You scoffed, loud enough that the table fell silent for a moment, and quickly you disguised it with a cough. Your cheeks went hot as all eyes laid on you, and you frantically scanned your brain for something to fill the silence with.

“So, um,” you said, clearing your throat. “Michael’s, uh, how come Michael’s last name isn’t Mead?”

Fuck. That sounded so fucking stupid. Instinctively, you felt your eyes wander to Michael to see if he was laughing at you, which you hated yourself for; why should his stupid, pea-brained opinion mean anything to you anyway? As much as you wanted to distance yourself from that idiotic, made-up high school hierarchy, you always wound up finding yourself being sucked back in, it seemed.

“Well, my late husband’s last name was Langdon, and since he was kind of a dirtbag, I decided not to keep his name after he passed,” Miriam said slowly, as if taking very careful thought to word herself correctly. You took in a breath; this seemed like a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t meant to open up.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t talk about dad like that,” said Michael, his tone only half-playful, eyebrow cocking as he flashed his mother a knowing look.

“You try being cheated on multiple times, Michael. Then you’ll see that dirtbag is really a nice way of putting it.”

Oh, sure, you thought bitterly. As if Michael fucking Langdon is even remotely capable of understanding someone else’s pain.

You took this as your cue to stand up from your seat, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before scurrying off in the opposite direction as fast as you could without drawing attention to yourself. If ten minutes with Michael as your psuedo-stepbrother got to you this badly, you could only imagine how awful your life was about to get.

You could only hope that your father would find some reason to nip things in the bud with Miriam, but right now, that appeared to be an unlikely prospect.

iii.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end my shit right here and now,” you griped to your best friend, who sat crosslegged on your bed as you stood idly before your floor-length mirror, arms dangling limply at your sides in an unintentional stance of defeat. Your face was one that you hardly recognized anymore, forehead creased with worry and eyes shadowed by bruise-colored rings from a seemingly endless barrage of sleepless nights; a week ago, your father had gleefully announced his and Miriam’s engagement; you of course, as his loving daughter, had to behave as though you hadn’t just received the worst news of your life, which somehow you’d pulled off (for a second you wondered why you’d never taken up theater, seeing at how convincing your acting could be sometimes). It was like you’d been plucked from the familiarity of your boring, normal world and dropped into your own personally tailored hell without any warning at all, though you couldn’t think of a single thing you’d done bad enough to warrant you deserving this. “The worst person on the planet is about to be my fucking stepbrother and nobody else seems to think this is a big deal!”

Your best friend shook her head, letting out a snort as if any of this was even remotely funny in the slightest. “So your stepbrother is hot and cool and he pisses you off. They literally make porn about that.”

You resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some semblance of sense entered her head, instead shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans with a loud huff. “Yeah, but this isn’t fucking pornhub, (best friend’s name), this is real life! And I’d rather skin myself alive than sleep with that walking STD.”

“You have a lot more self respect than I do. It’s admirable,” she said, still startlingly calm for your liking, and you were beginning to believe that she’d never understand the mental turmoil you were currently suffering with. “Personally I’d ride him into the sunset, whether he had a herpes dick or not.”

You gagged, shaking your head with adamant disgust. Was she really that fucking horny? “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Sick for diiiiick,” she sang back, batting her eyelashes playfully at you. You turned away, scrounging up every weary shred of self restraint within you not to scream.

“Look, (b/f/n). I’m being serious right now. If you fuck him, or suck his dick, or whatever, I will literally never speak to you again.” Your tone was stern, and you faced her again to see whether your seriousness had computed in the hormonal wasteland that was her brain. There was an extended pause as she blinked at you, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she chewed her lipgloss-slick bottom lip.

“I mean, he wouldn’t fuck me anyways,” she finally said, still infuriatingly chipper. “I’m nobody. And he’s, like, royalty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I don’t care whether you think you have a chance with him!” You realized too late that you were nearly shouting, so you took in a shaky gulp of oxygen and coaxed yourself to soften your tone. The last thing you needed right now was for people to think you were losing your mind, although sometimes that was exactly what you felt like was happening. “Please, just promise me you won’t? I just need one aspect of my life not to involve him. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest and settling her chin on top. “If it really matters that much to you, I’ll just shift my thirst to Dan Mott instead. That boy is a fucking snack and a half.”

A wave of almost-relief cascaded over your body, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself become one with this momentary victory.  

One year. Just one stupid, insignificant year until I can go away to college and forget all about him.

If you could survive that much, you told yourself, you’d be able survive anything.

You just hoped that intoxicating spell of his wasn’t strong enough to bring your best friend into his web of bullshit, alongside all the other girls who’d become entangled along the way.

If she did, you’d be stranded, left to run from Michael and his ever-expanding army all on your own.

iv.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the dreaded date of your father’s wedding ceremony arrived; now you stood amidst a small group of distant relatives at the subdued reception party, seeking refuge from the disturbing thought that, legally, Michael Langdon was now your brother, at the open bar.

You and your best friend had decided to make something of a game out of how many drinks you could finagle from the bartender without any adults noticing, which had ultimately proved to be pointless- an hour into the reception, your father had staggered over with two overflowing dirty Shirleys, thrusting them towards the two of you with a big, sloppy grin on his face.

To say he was in a good mood would be a severe understatement- the man was jovial, and you almost felt guilty for hating the circumstances of his marriage so much. By the raised-brow looks your best friend had been shooting at you all night, you knew she was thinking the same thing: that you were being selfish for worrying so much about yourself when this was the best thing that’d happened to your father in years. And maybe it was true; maybe you’d been so wrapped up in your own teen angst bullshit that you’d willingly blinded yourself from the truth. So, with your father’s beaming face dancing in the back of your mind, you pushed any thought about Michael back to the dredges where they belonged.

Fuck Michael Langdon. You couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing that you were distraught, though you’d surely already made that pretty obvious over the past few months (he’d wasted no time in taunting you about it, seeming to relish in your death glares and eye rolls- hey, future sis! he’d crooned at you as you passed his table in the cafeteria one afternoon, nearly causing you to trip and spill your perfectly mediocre iced coffee all over yourself as his friends cackled like demented hyenas).

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not-

“SIS-TERRRRRR!”

Okay, this had to be some kind of divine test of will.

A blazer-glad arm flung itself around your shoulders and you flinched, immediately jerking away from your intoxicated stepbrother (god, it felt weird to refer to him that way) whose brash motions had sent you both stumbling.

“Getting shitfaced at your mom’s wedding… classy,” you spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest and narrowing your eyes at the blond-haired boy.

He was, admittedly, good-looking (only by conventional standards, of course); his lightly gelled blond hair had long since come undone, now soft and unkempt from hours of attention-whorish dancing, but you thought the disheveled look suited him better anyway (since his whole thing was to look like a grimy, rugged fuckboy, not because you personally found it attractive, obviously). He’d undone the top few buttons of his white top (no doubt the only formal article of clothing he owned), which was now stained beyond foreseeable repair with a colorful variety of liquids, and there was a bead of sweat traveling from his slick forehead to his model-sharp jaw. Even in disarray, he looked good, and you couldn’t help but hate him for it.

“God, you are so uptight,” he said, pale eyes flickering towards the multicolored ceiling in exaggerated annoyance as he dragged out his syllables with leisure. “You need to relax, set up a dick appointment or something. Or pussy appointment, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Your mouth fell open at this remark, too stunned by his vulgarity to even get angry with your friend, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles beside you; it wasn’t that you were some pearl-clutching grandmother- you had no issue discussing sexual matters with your friends, and in fact some would even say you had a perverted sense of humor. But this? This was different: something about the way those words had fallen from Michael’s mouth made you feel dirty.

At your lack of response, Michael flashed a pearly grin that could only be categorized as evil, and he crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re probably still a virgin.”

He glanced over to your friend, whose feeble attempts to suppress her second wave of laughter had proven unsuccessful, before averting his gaze back to you. “Aw, don’t feel bad, (y/n). There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, he smirked.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, you felt something like a storm swirling inside of you, winds thick and unyielding and relentless, and you were almost positive that you’d tear him apart once the feeling aligned with the rest of your body.

It was then that the song blaring through the speakers switched to something inappropriately upbeat, each thump of the dance-friendly bass feeling like punches to the gut.

The storm inside you hadn’t been giving way to anger at all; it was sadness you were feeling in your belly, hopeless and humiliated sadness, though you couldn’t quite understand why: he’d made some stupid, generic joke to try and get a rise out of you- what else was new these days? Maybe it was the fact that your best friend was, by her passiveness and obvious amusement at your expense, encouraging his taunts when she was supposed to be there for you. Or maybe the reality had finally, finally sunken in, that this kind of interaction with Michael would now consume your life for the next year.

Either way, it didn’t make a difference, and as if on cue, the familiar sting of unshed tears arrived patiently at the back of your eyes.

All at once you were were dizzy; Michael’s perfect face was doubling and distorting before your eyes, and your friend’s pitched laughter rang like incessant, robotic television static in your ears.

With very last straw of self preservation you could grasp, you said nothing at all, walking away with the dazed sluggishness of a zombie on autopilot.

You considered yourself lucky; soon enough, you wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away at all.

“She’s too sensitive,” you heard your friend say, faintly, in the background of your thoughts.

You didn’t have the energy to wonder why she wasn’t coming with you, much less the energy to chastise her for being a bad friend, which was what you knew she deserved. If she cared more about getting Michael’s attention than preserving her friendship with you, you supposed there was no use in trying to stop her anymore.

He’s like a disease, you thought as you ambled your way towards the bathroom, surrounded by people but yet still so alone. He’s like a disease, infecting everyone he touches.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before he got to you, too.

Who knew? Maybe he already had.

tagging some people from my old iiw tag list!: (i’m sorry if i tagged anyone twice, i’m literally half asleep right now cuz i got like 2 hours of sleep in the past 24 hrs lol) @wroteclassicaly @ritualmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @trelaney  @kissydevil @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @ccodyfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer  @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @fckinsupreme @hisgirlwonder @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @littledemondani @beriveri  @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @discocalico @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @chocolateandhorror @michaelsfrenchtoast  @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy  @imjustasadhoe @melodylangdon  @codycrazy @perfect-ginger-maniac @baphomet-wears-gucci @bigstudentpatrolbonk @jazzcowgirl @a-n-t-s @langdonsblood @ritualmichael @myluciferiscody @fentycoven @gracebtw @bongwaternation  @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @hoseokchild @witchywcmans @satanicbimbo @lvngdvns​ @langdonskillerqueen​ @aradevil​ @anemia-doll​ @muralskins​ @funtomimagines​ @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes​ @our-mrlangdon​ @lotsofhunny​ @sevenwonderwitch​ @horrorstreet​ @kpopmademedo-it​ @naughtygranger​ @codyshands​ @krazycags01​ @skullag​

[streets-in-paradise]

Battle Scars

Troy 2004 fanfiction

Characters: Hector, sister oc ( it can also be read as a reader insert since i haven’t named her yet and there are no mayor descriptions) 

Word Count:  2101

Genre: Angst Comfort - Fluff

Relationships : Platonic - Family. 

Summary: Paris is determined to fight Menelaus. His siblings are concerned with the high chances of his death and his younger sister wants to take his place. Hector comforts her and warns her about some less discussed consecuences of battle. ( I suck at writing summaries.)

Triggers: Mentions of war and typical war involved violence. (not much. Don’t worry because it is not gory) 

Disclaimers: This is my first attempt of writing fanfict to post. English is not my native language, i translated it to english with the help of an online translator. 

Tags: @hrisity12​ (tag you because i think you will want to see this)

I hope you enjoy this and thanks for reading 

The night after the start of the war had already fallen. The palace was quiet, a silent atmosphere that was nothing more than the mix of grief and exhaustion surrounded the entire place. Pacing around the hallways, Hector seemed to be the only person around, unable to allow himself to have some rest. He was looking for Paris, after the scandal created by his proposition of fighting against Menelaus and the lethal risks involved for him in that reckless idea he felt the need of having a serious conversation with him. 

Unfortunately, his brother was not the only one who needed his words and company that time. In his way he crossed ways first with Helen, stopping a grief induced attempt of scaping in a desperate try to stop the war. After comforting his sister in law, he was approached by his younger sister. The young lady was rageful and worried in the same amount. Without hesitation, she let go all the thoughts that were troubling her and vented to her brother. 

“Paris is the worst swordsman I have ever seen. How can you allow this? He can’t do that, i will not allow it. Why can’t I fight in his place?” she snapped.

 Seeing her state, Hector decided to stop his search for Paris and have a talk with her. The last time they had a few words was that morning in the armory when she begged him to let her fight and stumbled across his refusal. He thought that,after that short altercate in which no one had the time to explain themselves and with the news about Paris worrying both to the core, they needed some time alone. 

“You know you can’t do that. It would hurt his honour. He can’t let his sister fight his own battles “  he tried to explain. 

“Do you really think Paris cares for his honour? He is doing it out of guilt. I can’t let him die.“ she asserted 

“ It is his choice”  he stated. 

“ What about my choice of fighting this morning? I am the little girl so it is correct to take away my will to choose? “  she replied, her tone getting progressively more enraged.” Helen is a trojan princess now, let a trojan woman defend her freedom to choose her own fate. She is not a fighter but she has a sister willing to do it for her. I will be defending her freedom, not Paris’s right to possess her.” 

“ I will not let you get involved in actual combat for the first time against the King of Sparta. That man fought all his life.” 

“ But it is fine to send Paris to his death? It would be his first combat as well but with half of my training as backup. He never cared for this sort of thing, the only weapon he handles with a considerable talent is the bow. He can’t show up to a single combat with bow and arrows and he is terrible with swords.”  

“Don’t put me in the situation of being the one who has to choose between you two which one of my siblings will be sacrificed.”

“ Of course, because you already decided it.”

That thoughtless reply was more of what the man could handle. Abandoning his conciliatory tone, Hector allowed himself to let his own concernings go and said exactly what was going through his mind. 

“Do you think i want to burn our brother’s body?? I love him as much as i love you. I can’t allow you to fight, it is not your right to die in his place.”

“ How can you be so sure i’m going to die? Is your trust in me so small and weak?”she asked, confused by the switch in her brother’s approach.

“Real life is not like training in the safe space provided by the security of our walls. Battle is screams, blood,sweat, excrements and desperation. Nothing more. Your skills are worthy of trust but you are still very young and naive. You think you will go out there and end up crowned as trojan champion after doing some heroic act. That sort of attitude can get you killed.”  he explained in the most honest and realistic way he could use without upsetting her more. 

“Menelaus is a slow old beast. I’m young, fast and flexible. I’m a better choice than Paris for that combat and you know it.” she insisted. 

“I may be aware of it but i don’t care. “ Hector replied. The only way to go with this sort of conversation, especially considering the stubbornness of his sister on the topic, was through full honesty. 

He decided he was going to give her a complete explanation of his reasons on that choice. 

“Since the first time you picked a sword i told myself i would let you have your fun but i would also protect you from what would be waiting outside if you actually tried to pursue that path.”

The princess listened carefully and, imagining the route the conversation was heading, spoke her mind. 

“Death? That 's all? Your greatest fear is for me to end up dead in the battlefield? I am not afraid of it. I will die with glory if it saves our brother. Stories of my sacrifice will be tell all around our country and i will live in them. “ 

Hector was visibly angry this time. He wasn’t able to let himself believe what he was hearing. 

 “That is nonsense. Stories? You are asking me to let you die with stories as consolation? The songs of the bards are party entertainment, they aren’t worth your life “

“Even with the result of my death the outcome is good. If i leave my mark in history men will notice they need to change their ways. My death will save Paris and inspire more shieldmaidens.” she explained

“Had you realized who you are sounding like? That is exactly the sort of pointless nonsense i heard from Achilles. It is not what i taught you.”  he warned her 

“You taught me about sacrifice for my family and my country. That is your moral code, and it is the exact thing you don’t let me practice.” she complained, hurt by feelings of injustice. 

 Becoming desperate witnessing how nothing seemed to make her understand, he tried to show her understandment of her point of view and spoke from his own feelings and fears.

“I don’t want to lose you! I’m not even talking about death when i say it. That is indeed a big fear of mine regarding you but it is not the only one. I will not be talking about death now.” he said, lowering his tone trying to sound more calm to show her that his anger was not related to a misunderstandment of her point. “ Real combat, a battle in the middle of a war unleashed at our gates ... It is a terrible event to witness. I would not wish that to my worst enemy. It changes you, leaves scars on you that you would have to carry your whole life. Not just the physical ones, in your inside. Your mind and your heart are not the same after you survive your first battle. I hate to fight, it consumes you. Why would i want you to go through my same suffering? I don’t  forbid you to fight because you are a girl and i am some traditionalist who can’t come across to understand your will to challenge our ways. You know i am not like that, i wouldn’t had let you get involved in combat training sessions in the first place.”

The girl seemed less upset in her approach after hearing him. 

“You said it was a good way to wake some sort of interest in Paris and it was part of his formal education. We were very hard to separate back then.”

“And you still are. Menelaus would find you both sticked to each other in combat if i wouldn’t interfere in your choices.” he teased . She smiled briefly while hearing him. 

“ Combat has a terrible effect on people.I don’t wish such a terrible fate for you.” Hector stated, going back to his point. “As long as i live i will protect you from it. I love your sweet enthusiasm, your kindness and concern for our people. I already know you sneaked out to help in the expedition I sent to look for people in the camps. I should be mad about it but i am not because in that action you showed who you are. You are caring, you are full of hope and life. I love you as you are, Troy loves you as you are. Don’t ask me to take that away from you.” 

The words of her brother had a clear effect, she was on the edge of tears. 

“ But i want to help you!! I want to share the weight of the war with you.”  she yelled. “It is not fair for you to carry it all on your own and you know well Paris will not help” 

“He is trying”  he said, trying to comfort her

“He will kill himself!!” she shouted while tears started falling through her cheeks 

“ I promise i will help him as much as i can.” he reassured her 

 “It is not enough, i want to help you” 

“Your cheerful welcomes after every battle are more helpful to me than the strength of your arm.” 

With her feelings overwhelming her, the young lady hugged her brother tightly

“I want to fight for you and for our people. I love you so much, it hurts me to see how you work so hard on your own for all of us.”

Hector caressed her cheeks to clean her tears. 

“Do you want to know why it’s said that Achilles is a better warrior than me?” he asked in a trivial tone 

“ Because it is said that he is the son of a sea goddess?”  she answered in a slightly doubtful way. 

“ That is what people who have never stepped into combat believe. What i saw in him today, he is so good because he doesn’t care about anything. It’s clear that the scars war left on him took over and at some point he stopped caring. He has no mercy, no respect. He talks of war like it’s a game. When he is fighting he stops existing as a man and becomes only the tool war requires him to be. He became desensitized to all the death surrounding him. His only concern is to win glory because, once this lifestyle takes everything from you, that’s all what’s left for you to collect. He is a broken man, an extreme example of what war makes on soldiers.” he explained

“ You are my moral guide, my example of behaviour. I would never allow myself to get lost like that because i have you.” 

“ And i am not the almighty hero you see in me. I am another man changed by war. I fight hard to stay in my path, to remain as myself. I don’t want to look at you one day and see just a shade of the kind, lifeful girl you are now.”  he confessed. 

“ I have to assume you are protecting me from myself then?” she asked, without the connotations of assertiveness in her ways previously displayed. She felt regret for the rude ways in which her anger made her judge him 

“I am, even when you don’t notice it.” 

“ I don’t want our countrymen to die protecting my spirits.”

“I love you and i can’t allow it. Call me selfish if you want but even i have the right to a bit of selfishness on occasions.”  

After hearing her usually selfless brother admitting he was incapable of an impartial view of the issue when she was involved she was done with the talking. There was nothing more left to say that could mean as much as that. Hector’s life was full of sacrifices, she felt unable to question him. She wasn’t going to complain about the first time she ever heard him thinking of himself to make a choice. 

Instead, she thanked him for his concern and told him once more about how much she loved him. Hector kissed her forehead, wished her goodnight, and went to see their brother. He had brief thoughts about the very little time of sleep that was left for him but it didn’t matter. His siblings needed him that night and, as always, he was going to be there for them. 

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 1st, 2001

Remy was trying to stifle giggles and failing miserably at it. He had come to check on how Emile was doing with his final tutoring session of the day, and arrived at the scene of Emile being pinned down by six kids while two or three more ran circles around his body, chanting something or another. Remy wasn’t entirely sure that Emile wasn’t being used in a human sacrifice to some eldritch being. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

One of the kids’ heads popped up. “Mister Remy! Is dinner ready?”

“Just about,” Remy confirmed. “So you might want to give Mister Emile a break, sound good?”

The kids all left the room in an instant, and Emile sat up, groaning. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Any time, my dear partner in all things illegal,” Remy said with a smile. "Anything for you."

  July 18th, 2001

Remy knew that he had to do something special. Emile had to work three night shifts in a row, restocking and working the floor and being wherever he was needed at that point in time. On one hand, it was nice that they would have a little extra cash from all the long hours, but on the other, Emile was constantly dead on his feet, when he wasn’t flat-out sleeping the entire day in his room.

Now, Emile had slept for ten hours, and Remy had everything planned out for a domestic day in. He had taken the liberty to get what they needed for pancake batter for breakfast, and he had all the She-Ra episodes Emile had compiled set up for a mini-marathon, plus a couple other animated movies Remy knew Emile had a soft spot for. Then, he had stuff for a simple lunch. Sandwiches, mostly, but it was still nice. And that evening, they had plans to help at the shelter, so dinner was taken care of for them.

Remy crept into Emile’s room, where Emile was still passed out on the bed. Remy shook Emile’s shoulder. Emile grumbled and buried his head in the pillow. “No, if you don’t let me get away with napping for more than an hour, I won’t let you sleep for more than ten hours in a row unless something super drastic happens,” Remy laughed.

“Remy, lemme sleep,” Emile grumbled.

“But if you sleep, you miss out on a domestic morning in with me!” Remy said with an exaggerated pout. “And I was so looking forward to making pancakes with you.”

Emile removed his face from the pillows. “Pancakes?”

Jackpot. “Pancakes, mio amore,” Remy confirmed. “Made just the way you like, provided you help me.”

Emile sat up with a stretch. “Do we have blueberries to toss in?”

“That we do, I splurged a little on our last shopping trip,” Remy confirmed.

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up,” Emile said, getting out of bed. “Let’s cook us some pancakes.”

Remy grinned and ushered Emile out of his bedroom with a bow. “The most handsome men go first,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, then why are you insisting that I go first?” Emile retorted.

“Because I am not handsome, I am drop-dead gorgeous and what I say goes,” Remy teased. “You. Out. Kitchen. Pancakes.”

“All right, all right!” Emile laughed.

They went to the kitchen and Emile sighed happily. “I’m really happy that we can do something special on a day that is just...kind of...there.”

“Well, we both appreciate the little moments,” Remy reasoned. “So I figured, why not, you know? Let’s make a special morning after you’ve been running yourself into the ground.”

“In other words, give me a reason to not sleep the entire day and then some?” Emile asked, arching an eyebrow.

“More like a thank you for the extra cash we’ll have from you picking up shifts,” Remy said. “I can’t thank you enough for giving us enough money that we could buy blueberries of all things.”

Emile laughed. “Well, I’m happy I could help,” he said. “I actually have a trust fund from my late grandmother, but according to her will, I don’t have access to it until I’m twenty one. Maybe at that point we can get blueberries and strawberries, though.”

“That would be great,” Remy said with a grin. “We could get actual fruit once a month without worrying about our bank accounts. Is it lame that I find that exciting?”

“No, I think it’s pretty cool, too,” Emile said. “Having fruit once a month, being able to go to places other than pizzarias for dates, it would be fun.”

Remy nodded and got everything that they needed for the pancake mix onto the counters. “You know, there’s a manager position opening in the next few months at the local shop. The current manager is being moved to a secondary location which needs more help.”

“Think you’ll apply for the position?” Emile asked.

“I was gonna try, but I’m not expecting much to come out of it,” Remy admitted. “After all, I haven’t even been working with them for a year, yet.”

“You’ve told me you have better work ethic than most of your coworkers, or at least you care more than they do. Don’t most people at the local chain just...skate by?” Emile asked.

Remy shrugged. “They generally favor people who work there for a long time, even if they don’t actually work that hard. I’m lucky that Marcy saw that I was pulling most of the weight at work and decided to give me a small raise. And I hate to say it, but I think I have better co-workers at Starbucks. August is great, and so’s Brian, and while the manager there sucks, each of us can keep the others’ spirits up pretty easily. I don’t know which chain I’d stick with if I only had to work one job.”

Emile hummed in thought as he measured out water. Remy turned to him. “What?” he asked.

“Meh, it’s probably nothing,” Emile said. “But I was wondering, I mean, you love cooking and experimenting with all kinds of food and stuff...would you ever want to branch out from being a barista, and try being a chef of some sort? Go to culinary school, or whatever?”

“Not really,” Remy laughed. “I love cooking, Emile, don’t get me wrong, but being a barista is somehow relaxing after a while. I’m good at it, and I know what I’m doing. I talked to Marcy recently about how the shop was doing and was able to follow most of what she was saying about the business side of things. I don’t think I’d want to move out of coffee shops. But I wouldn’t object to being a manager instead of a barista.”

“What about an owner?” Emile asked.

Remy laughed. “Emile, that would never happen in a million years. I don’t have the money to start up my own shop.”

“Hey, if I can do mental exercises about what it would be like to be a dad, then you can do some about being a shop owner. Would you like it, do you think?”

Remy considered. It would be a lot of pressure, and everything would rest on his shoulders, but that wasn’t a bad thing. And he knew enough about business to run a small shop. Maybe not a chain, but he didn’t have to run a chain if one shop theoretically sustained them both. “Probably,” he eventually settled on. “I’d get to make my own recipes, be my own boss, I could kick customers out if they weren’t being kind to either the workers or myself. It would be a lot of work, but it would be worth it, you know? Theoretically.”

“Yeah, theoretically I think it would be great,” Emile said. “Sounds like something you could do out of spite, too. They don’t move you up the food chain? Quit and start your own shop, that outdoes theirs and makes them have to leave town.”

Remy laughed. “Of course, because I could totally have the money and the means to do that.”

“Hey, like I said, it’s just a ‘what if’ situation,” Emile shrugged.

Remy shook his head. He really didn’t understand Emile sometimes.

They made the pancakes together, enjoying each others company and poking fun at each other as they worked, and then ate. Remy told Emile about his plans for a cartoon marathon and Emile looked like he was about to cry happy tears. “What’s the big deal?” Remy asked. “I let you watch cartoon marathons all the time.”

“Yeah, but you don’t do it with me, and you don’t encourage it,” Emile pointed out. “And considering that you started out being convinced that cartoons were entirely childish and I should have grown out of my love for them, this is a big step in my opinion. You might have come around slowly, but I haven’t seen that progress, so when you casually show support it’s like a shock to the system. A good shock, but a shock nonetheless.”

Remy sat there for a moment, stunned. He had forgotten that Emile didn’t see all his progress, all his talks with Kim, everything that went into his therapy sessions. He only saw the end product. He didn’t want to show Emile that whole thought process, though. That was a conversation Remy didn’t feel up to right now. So he said, “I guess you have a point,” instead.

They watched cartoons until it was four in the evening, and then they headed out towards the shelter. Remy generally helped cook food and serve it for dinner, while Emile helped entertain the small children, so they didn’t always work side-by-side, but they got to talk on the way over, and the way back, and of course, they got to have dinner too before they left.

Today, though, the walk to the shelter was done in companionable silence. They just walked side by side, a little too close to be just friendly, hands brushed against each other, but neither of them reached for the other. When they got to the shelter, they walked in and immediately Emile was swarmed by a dozen tiny humans all vying for his attention at once. Remy laughed and pecked Emile’s cheek as he went to the kitchen.

Cooking was entertaining enough. Remy had become the unofficial head chef on accident after revealing how good a cook he was when he wanted to put in the effort. He had to keep the others on track, sometimes, but everyone there worked their best and he got to have a few laughs with them every time they worked together.

They rang the bell to start dinner and people lined up as usual, Remy serving them as usual, and when everyone had food, the volunteers came into the back grabbing the remains of the dinner, heading out to eat at the tables as well. Remy sat next to Emile and they both worked on sandwiches. “The kids were very excited to see you kiss me,” Emile said casually.

“I kiss you all the time,” Remy said, frowning.

“Yeah, but apparently they didn’t realize you were my boyfriend, and some of them hadn’t realized that boys can like boys and girls can like girls. So what usually involved me being a monster with the kids grabbing on my legs and me roaring like Godzilla became an actual discussion about romance, and love, and all that good stuff,” Emile explained.

“Huh,” was all Remy said. The mental image of Emile being a giant monster for the kids made him giggle, though, almost as much as the time he found Emile lying on the floor, laughing as half a dozen of the gremlins were keeping him pinned down.

“Yeah. Kids are incredibly accepting, believe it or not. Provided you tell them something is okay, they’ll generally believe you. And the older ones might ask questions, but generally it’s nothing too invasive. And it’s fun to get to play with them in the off-months when they don’t have school. Sure, tutoring is useful, but it’s nice to play with them, too, you know what I mean?”

“Not really, but I appreciate your enthusiasm and enjoyment of it,” Remy said with a shrug.

Emile grinned and Bernie looked at the two of them. “I’m pleased that the both of you help here regularly. It’s nice to have people I can count on, and you two make a good team. I’m sure that if you ever had kids, you both would be excellent fathers.”

Remy made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know, Bernie. Helping kids for a couple hours a day is one thing. Dealing with them virtually twenty four-seven is another. I’m not entirely sure that I could handle that.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it alone,” Emile offered. “But I agree. I don’t see kids being part of our future. Raising them seems like a daunting task. Obviously, I’d do it if needed, but it would definitely take a lot.”

“We do make a good team, though,” Remy said with a grin.

Emile ducked his head and smiled. “We do,” he agreed.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

 LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 6, 2020

Heather Cox Richardson

In the past three years, it has so often felt like things were reaching the breaking point. But the image of Trump on the balcony of the White House last night, defiantly taking off his mask as he gasped for breath, truly looked to me like the beginning of the final chapter.

Today coronavirus infections continued to mount in the vicinity of the White House. At least 34 people near Trump have contracted the virus in the past few days. The press corps near the White House is down to a skeleton crew as the White House press secretary, Kayleigh McEnany, and four press aides have tested positive. So have top aide Stephen Miller and Admiral Charles Ray, the vice commandant of the Coast Guard Admiral.

Along with other military leaders, Ray attended an event celebrating Gold Star families last Sunday at the White House. That event included some of the same people who had been at the event the previous day in honor of Amy Coney Barrett, whom Trump nominated to take the seat of the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg on the Supreme Court. Those who attended both events included Trump and the First Lady.

Senior military leaders attended meetings with Ray last week in a secure room at the Pentagon, and now are self-quarantining. They include the Chairman of Joint Chiefs of Staff General Mark Milley; the Vice Chairman; the Army chief of staff; the Naval Operations Chief; the Air Force chief of staff; the CyberCom Commander; the SpaceForce operations chief; the director of the U.S. National Security Agency, Gen. Paul Nakasone; the Chief of the National Guard, Gen. Daniel Hokanson; and the deputy commandant of the Marine Corps, Gen. Gary Thomas.

The White House has apparently not done any contact tracing, and it declined the help of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to do it.

The administration appears to be committed to a strategy of community spread, rejecting the use of masks and of distancing. Deputy press secretary Brian Morganstern told NPR’s Mary Louise Kelly that the White House still does not require masks because “everyone needs to take personal responsibility.”

That the White House appears to be the center of a coronavirus hotspot has hurt Trump’s reelection campaign. The infections in the face of the fact that the administration refused to take the virus seriously, the ride around the hospital to wave at supporters while endangering Secret Service agents, the struggle to the balcony in a strongman scene, all appear to have demonstrated not Trump’s strength, but his weakness.

His behavior today has reinforced that sense. Trump left the hospital last night and returned to a locked-down White House. The few aides who met with him were dressed in PPE, while the West Wing is virtually abandoned as people have decamped to work from home. Trump has been on a Twitter spree today, tweeting and retweeting his old material, “the Russia Hoax” and Hillary Clinton’s emails, which now feel like ancient history, disconnected from today’s pressing crisis. Tonight, he tweeted: “I have fully authorized the total Declassification of any & all documents pertaining to the single greatest political CRIME in American History, the Russia Hoax. Likewise, the Hillary Clinton Email Scandal. No redactions!” He hit the same points again in another tweet: “All Russia Hoax Scandal information was Declassified by me long ago. Unfortunately for our Country, people have acted very slowly, especially since it is perhaps the biggest political crime in the history of our Country. Act!!!”

He sounds desperate. And on the heels of his tweets, Representative Ted Lieu (D-CA) tweeted to the Justice Department “Per the President’s orders, can you please provide the [House Judiciary] Committee the full unredacted Mueller Report immediately? Thank you.”

Other dropping stories make it look like the tide is running against Trump.

Patricia and Mark McCloskey, the St. Louis, Missouri, couple who held guns on protesters in June, were indicted today by a grand jury on charges of exhibiting guns and tampering with evidence. Trump invited the McCloskeys to speak at the Republican National Convention. “What you are witnessing here is just an opportunity for the government, the leftist, democrat government of the City of St. Louis to persecute us for doing no more than exercising our Second Amendment rights,” McCloskey said.

Two weeks ago, the administration blocked strict guidelines for a coronavirus vaccine, but today the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) released those guidelines over White House objections. This will make a vaccine before the election unlikely. Trump tweeted “New F.D.A. Rules make it more difficult for them to speed up vaccines for approval before Election Day. Just another political hit job!”

Today, the New York Times revealed the findings of an internal investigation by the Justice Department’s inspector general Michael Horowitz into the policy of separating children from their parents at our southern border. The policy was engineered by Stephen Miller, but the Justice Department has tended to blame then-Department of Homeland Security Kirstjen Nielsen for the policy. Horowitz’s investigation has established that then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions and his deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein were far keener on the policy than she was. In a sign of changing times, a 32-page response to the Horowitz’s investigation, written by Miller’s ally Gene Hamilton, said that Justice Department officials had simply followed orders from the president.

Facebook, too, sees the writing on the wall, and has announced that it will ban all QAnon conspiracy theory accounts. These accounts spread disinformation, including the idea that a heroic Trump is secretly leading an effort to round up a ring of pedophiles and cannibals based in the nation’s entertainment and political elites. The ban is one of the broadest Facebook has ever enacted.

Today, Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell said that a new coronavirus relief bill is imperative, but just hours later, Trump announced on Twitter that he was cancelling further talks between the White House and House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. Stocks dropped 600 points, and vulnerable Republican senators panicked. Biden released a statement including a pithy condemnation: “Make no mistake: if you are out of work, if your business is closed, if your child’s school is shut down, if you are seeing layoffs in your community, Donald Trump decided today that none of that — none of it — matters to him. There will be no help from Washington for the foreseeable future. Instead, he wants the Senate to use its time to confirm his Supreme Court Justice nominee before the election, in a mad dash to make sure that the Court takes away your health care coverage as quickly as possible.” A few hours later, Trump changed his tune.

Today both the New York Times and the Boston Globe endorsed Biden, and General Michael Hayden, the retired four-star general who served as the Director of the CIA under President George W. Bush, released a video not just endorsing Biden, but also warning that "If there is another term for Trump, I don't know what happens to America." “Biden is a good man,” Hayden says. “Trump is not.”

Financial services company Goldman Sachs today forecast that the Democrats will take both the White House and the Senate, and said a Democratic sweep would mean a faster recovery and thus would be good for the economy. Moody’s Analytics, a subsidiary of another financial services company, recently found that Biden’s plans would add 7.4 million more jobs to the economy than Trump’s would.

Today in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a town hallowed by history, Biden gave a blockbuster speech calling for the nation to put aside division and come together. He talked about race: “Think about what it takes for a Black person to love America. That is a deep love for this country that for far too long we have never fully recognized.” He talked about disparities of wealth: “Working people and their kids deserve an opportunity.”

And he talked about Lincoln, and how, at Gettysburg, he called for Americans to dedicate themselves to a “new birth of freedom” so that the men who had died for that cause “shall not have died in vain.”

“Today we are engaged once again in a battle for the soul of the nation,” Biden said. “After all that America has accomplished, after all the years we have stood as a beacon of light to the world, it cannot be that here and now, in 2020, we will allow government of the people, by the people, and for the people to perish from this earth.

“You and I are part of a great covenant, a common story of divisions overcome and of hope renewed," he said. "If we do our part, if we stand together, if we keep faith with the past and with each other, then the divisions of our time can give way to the dreams of a brighter, better, future.”

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

Heather Cox Richardson

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Mercenary Chapter 7

Maul x reader

Word Count: 1849

Summary: So Qi’ra exists, and you’re not happy about it.

“Dryden Vos is coming tomorrow to introduce us to his new pet,” Maul informed you as soon as he came storming out of the room that housed his holocom.

Earlier that morning, it had been the incessant ringing of that exact holocom that woke the two of you from a peaceful slumber. It was housed in the room immediately next to your bedroom so no one would be able to eavesdrop without having to go through your private quarters. And no one would live through trying to do that. So already, neither of you was in a good mood.

“Why is his pet our problem?” you complained from your place still lounging on the (admittedly luxurious) bed. Making the bedroom as nice as possible was your top priority after security after returning to the fortress on Dathomir. You were not blind enough to miss the way Maul’s eyes trailed up your form, clearly liking the sight of you lying partially exposed on the blood red, satin sheets.

“Apparently, he sees a future for her. He’s been training her in combat, and she’s proven to be quite bloodthirsty.”

“She’s using him,” you deadpanned. “I know her type. She’ll use him for power until she gets the chance to get rid of him; then she’ll kill him.”

“Which is precisely what I said, but he argued that I haven’t met her so I couldn’t know that. According to him, she is a ‘dancer’ while fighting.”

You giggled a little at the way he rolled his eyes while quoting Dryden. “That doesn’t mean she’s not going to kill him one day.”

“If Dryden is that fooled by her, he deserves his fate. We do not have room in this organization for such idiotic behavior.”

“He wouldn’t be the first to have his brain sucked out through his dick by a woman.”

The zabrak raised a brow. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Yes, I’ve been fucking you for years just to take your place at the head of an organization that I helped you build.”

“Except you fell for my sparkling personality in the process, and hoped that I’d never find out about your original plan, right?”

“Oh, exactly,” you grinned. “Come here,” you demanded, reaching a hand out towards him.

Entertaining you, he offered one of his hands to you as he stepped forward. “Yes?”

“Tell me, did he realize that you were wearing a bathrobe?”

Maul snorted. “No, he believes that I wear dramatic cloaks like he does.”

“If I recall correctly, you used to wear things like that,” you teased.

“That was a long time ago.”

“So was the last time you laid with me.”

“Now, that is a lie considering that I left you less than twenty minutes ago.”

“See? Forever.”

~

The next day saw you and Maul in the central area of the fortress, dressed to impress while waiting for Dryden’s ridiculous ship to arrive. Maul was wearing his usual attire: black clothes fit for combat at any moment, lightsaber hanging from his belt. You were in full armor for the first time since you reclaimed the fortress two months prior. Beskar pieces decorated your right shoulder and left thigh--raided from a Mandalorian settlement long ago--while strong, flexible leathers guarded everywhere else. You prioritized mobility with your armor given your fighting style, so full metal like the Mandalorians wouldn’t do. A staff was strapped across your back along with a sniper rifle, a knife at your calf, and a blaster at your hip. This was to be a show of power to an extent; the object of the presentation showing Qi’ra who was truly in charge.

Every other guard was in standard armor derived from a mixture of old Nightbrother and Mandalorian in looks. The people that worked directly under Maul in the fortress were the most trusted in the entirety of Crimson Dawn, and they were sworn to secrecy about the nature of your relationship with him. Neither Dryden or Qi’ra would be seeing any sort of attachment that could be seen as a weakness today.

“Relax,” Maul muttered under his breath after you shifted for the too-many-ith time. “You’re a professional.”

“Yes, but she isn’t. I don’t like the idea of someone like her claiming the same position I hold; makes it seem less . . .” You couldn’t come up with the word.

“She is the bed-warmer and bodyguard to a figurehead. I would hardly call that the same as your position.”

“There are those that would disagree,” you grumbled.

Finally, the door opened, revealing Dryden Vos and an admittedly beautiful woman you assumed to be Qi’ra. She was dressed to impress, that was sure, in a simple yet stunning dark blue dress that looked completely impractical for any sort of combat. Apparently, she assumed that since they were going to visit Dryden’s boss, protection would be insured. Your eyes narrowed when you noticed how her dark eyes trailed over your lover’s frame.

Foolish. Never trust people you haven’t met, and then still don’t trust them.

“Dryden,” Maul greeted cooly, “and Qi’ra, I assume?”

“That she is, a true marvel wouldn’t you say?” Dryden grinned, clearly proud of his second-in-command.

“Beautiful, I’ll give her that,” you decided. You didn’t miss the way Dryden’s facial markings flushed with his anger, but even he wasn’t bold enough to speak out against you. “Matches the rest of your collection.”

“Excuse me, who are you?” You had to respect the level of control she displayed over her facial expressions. “I’m afraid I’ve heard nothing about either of you.”

“Such caution is the reason any of us are alive,” Maul spoke up, glancing at you over his shoulder. The warning in his gaze was clear: ‘calm down.’

“Darling, this is Lord Maul, the true head of Crimson Dawn. I run the face and keep everything clear with the other Syndicates; he provides the backing we need.” You gritted your teeth at Dryden’s overinflation of his job. “This is his bodyguard, Y/N. She’s been in the position for at least as long as I’ve known him. You’ll probably never see him without her.”

“That’s how bodyguards work,” you muttered.

“And she’s worked for me since the Clone Wars,” Maul informed both of the guests. “You’d do well to respect her, and better to get her to train you. Dryden has mentioned that you’ve been training with him.”

“That would be lovely,” Qi’ra said respectfully. “Perhaps while we are here?”

“That is unlikely,” Maul replied. “Your visit was so short-notice that we couldn’t adjust our schedule accordingly. We are leaving in the morning on a business venture.”

You resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. We don’t have any such plans . . .

“You will stay for dinner, rest here for the night, and be on your way shortly before us.”

“We would love to,” Dryden lied.

Truth be told he and Maul rarely saw eye-to-eye, and it showed at that dinner. While Maul enjoyed decadence in certain areas, Dryden was far too greedy to get along with the zabrak. Dinner was a far more simple affair than any of the parties you had seen on the First Light, you never attended, but you saw the footage for various reasons. The silence was tense. The long table was covered in just enough food for all four of you. You were at Maul’s left hand like always while he was at the head of the table; Dryden was on the end opposite with Qi’ra on his right side.

Telling, was all you could think. If he’s already that comfortable with her, he might be worse off than I thought . . .

Conversation was stilted, but you were hardly surprised. Maul was rarely conversational with other people, so Dryden and Qi’ra entertained themselves by flirting among themselves. As soon as the dinner was over, you and Maul retired to the training room for your nightly sparring session. Feeling particularly malicious, you invited them to watch. The better to show them proof of your prowess.

Once the fight started all thoughts of the onlookers went out the window. The fights were always all-out; neither of you pulled punches, never had. The only thing you were cognizant of was keeping the usual level of flirting through the floor. And based off the split-second glance of Qi’ra’s face you managed to catch while falling, she clearly didn’t expect the zabrak to pull such a cheap move as headbutting you with one of his horns. Dryden apparently wasn’t going full-tilt with her training . . .

By the time you ended the fight (you lost) and called it a night, you were both sporting bloody injuries in various places on top of new bruises. You and Maul escorted the other two to their separate rooms and left them for the night.

“I don’t trust her,” you muttered as you two walked to your rooms.

“You said as much to the idea of her, my dear,” he replied simply. “I didn’t expect you to change your opinion.”

“She’s a presumptuous little snake, and don’t think I missed the way she eyed you up the second she saw you.”

“She would not be stupid enough to try it yet.”

“Yet being the operative word.” You reached the bedroom door. “Goodnight, sir,” you said formally. 

Maul’s brows furrowed, but fortunately he was smart enough to catch on quickly. There’s someone watching, he realized. He now sensed Qi’ra’s presence in the Force far too closely to be her in her room. He was mildly impressed that you noticed when he did not; granted it wasn’t that surprising since he was generally distracted when you were around. “Goodnight. Be ready in the morning.”

Qi’ra frowned. She snuck out of her room as soon as your voices sounded like they’d rounded a corner, hoping to gain more information on the pair of you. Unfortunately, all she learned was your distaste for her was genuine and accurate. She lingered long enough to see if you would do anything after he retired, but you simply crossed your arms and waited. A hard life if she remains here all night. Her exhaustion may be my advantage, was what she thought as she slunk back to her room.

As soon as you heard her door shut in the quiet of the hallway, you snapped your fingers. Instantly, another guard took your place. “Keep an eye out for uninvited eyes,” you ordered quietly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And then you could finally retire.

Upon entering the bedroom, you were greeted by the sight of your lover lying nude among the freshly changed, black silk sheets. Already, he was dozing, giving you ample time to enjoy the site of him relaxed and beautiful in a way he rarely was. As quietly as you could, you stripped down yourself and crawled onto the bed with him. He roused enough to share a sleepy kiss when you pulled the sheet over both of your bodies, but otherwise remained asleep. While you were not content with the whole guests situation, you were more than content with your position and quickly drifted off yourself.

[zankivich]

Neighbors: Shawn x Plus-Size Reader: Epilogue Part 2: The End

a/n: I can’t believe this story is done. It gave me so much happiness and so much goodness just to get to know these two characters and to get to be a part of how they loved. When I first started this story I really just wanted to see myself. I had just started liking Shawn and I couldn’t envision myself in his world yet, not that I need to be there, but that a part of my young little fangirl heart really needed. It was such an honor to write this story. I hope it meant something to you. It sure as hell meant something to me. K bye. 

*Shawn’s point of view*

When the morning sickness comes, it comes with a fucking vengance. It’s like clock work. Every night by three am she’s up out of bed, with her head in the toilet. So, every night by three am he’s got her legs in his lap while her head is in the toilet. For a while she can’t keep anything down, and it worries him endlessly. She loses some weight, which just seemed like the opposite of what was supposed to happen, so he begs her to go to the doctor, and she obliges him. He switches to flying exclusively on the private jet, just so she can come with him on the off chance he needs to leave home. At that point he would’ve done anything to make her more comfortable.

And that’s the good news. He read horror stories about the strain that pregnancy could put on a marriage or a relationship. Mostly because he was buying any pregnancy book he could get his hands on at that point. His own mother had told both of them a detailed account of the time she threw a sandwich at his father’s head because it didn’t have mayo on it. A sandwich. But y/n seemed to lean on him more than ever. Instead of pushing him away, she felt like she could rely on him, and she wasn’t afraid to ask him for things anymore. He loved it.

He’s in a studio session with Teddy and Scott trying to figure out how to do whatever it is that they do again when she calls him. He’s in the booth, mid vocal and everything, but he leaves his phone on just in case she needs him.

“Baby? What’s wrong, is the baby okay?” he asked slipping his headphones off to hear her better.

Her voice is small like she might get in trouble.

“Yea, the baby is fine. Sorry, I know I keep scaring you every time I call.”

“No. No, I want you to call every time. No matter what. What’s up?”

“Well….it’s just that I was really craving french fries.” She mumbled. “And so I was kinda hoping you might want to meet for lunch today?”

Literally the cutest human on the face of the planet.

He chuckled. “I’d love to. Where you do you wanna go?”

“We can figure that out when you pick me up from work, just bring the fries with you.”

“You want the fries before lunch?”

“Yes. Yes. I do.”

Of course she did.

“I’ll be there in an hour okay?”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you.”

He gets off the phone and finally stares up through the window of the booth where his friends have all heard him completely ditch his recording session to take his person french fries. He smiled and waved, but they were not impressed. And thus were the trials of pregnancy.

***

y/n’s pov

No one prepares you for the sex thing. In all of the stories from Shawn’s parents, from Zubein and his wife, hell even your mom on occasion, no one had ever mentioned that you were going to turn into a boarderline sex addict in your second trimester. And certainly no one told you that your person, your human, your love, was going to not want to touch you. No one ever told you about that shit.

When the morning sickness lets up, and you can finally stomach food again, some cravings naturally start to pop up. Not that nasty pickles and peanut butter shit, but like real food. For instance once at four o’clock in the morning, you needed to have your famous yellow cake with chocolate swiss meringue, which meant Shawn needed to make it for you right there and then. It was terrible. He nearly set the kitchen on fire. But he took you to a 24/7 diner and bought you chocolate chip pancakes and let you snuggle into his sweater, so honestly it was a win win type scenario. After the weird cravings comes an absolute fire in your loins. Your lobido fucking skyrocketed and there wasn’t much you could think of to help besides him.

Morning times meant sharing the shower with each other to spend time together before you both went to work. When you see him standing there beneath the showerhead, his curls soaking wet and the water flowing over his belly and down his thighs your body naturally had questions of the dick variety.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, lips pressing against his skin into a smile.

“Someone’s happy this morning.” He chuckled.

“You have no idea.” You hummed. “Shawn?”

He turned in your arms, hands immediately going to your belly instead of any other part of your body.

“Yea, sweetheart?”

You frowned slightly and lifted up onto your tiptoes to kiss at his jaw. “Can we have a little fun before work? I don’t have any meetings this morning.”

“O--Oh...But I gotta get to the studio, honey.”

You shook your head tugging him closer. “It can wait. Please? It’s been a while.”

You weren’t used to having to...beg. It felt kind of beneath you. Years of Shawn getting a whiff of your shampoo and knocking you into the headboard had made you grow soft. Shawn had never turned you down before. Not without it eventually leading to sex. This was your new territory. And quite frankly you were not a fan.

“I’m sorry, love. I really do have to go the studio okay? We can talk when you get home from work.”

He kissed your forehead and leaned down to kiss your stomach before he was out of the shower so fast you weren’t so sure he’d been there to begin with. It was….odd.

You had like...girlfriends now. After your reawakening at twenty-six, you had taken it upon yourself to be more intentional about creating relationships with people. It resulted it in some really incredible friendships. The kind of friendships where you didn’t feel bad relying on people, didn’t feel like a burden on them because they never let you. Enter your friends Cynthia and Taylor.

y/n: Can we do a woman’s lunch today tbh? My person is ruining my life.

Cynthia: WHAT HE DO? You want us to cut him?

Taylor: Down kitty. You have to stop threatening to cut people. Let’s do lunch, you can vent to us. We’ll fix it!

y/n: God, I love you both. Yay.

You leave work early and wobble your ass off to lunch with your bitches. Shawn texts to check in twice before noon, but both times are of the baby variety and nothing more. You get a little angrier each time. And then you sit down at lunch and your best friends order cocktails and you get even angrier. Ugh.

“I can’t believe I let a man impregnate me.” You huff stabbing your fork into your salad. “I really let him catch me slipping. The patriarchy. Disgusting.”

Taylor snorted. “I quite love the fact that your second trimester is full of feminist rants by the way. I find it to be very entertaining.”

“Well I’m glad that we’re all revelling in my misery. I’m glad I’m providing quality content for the both of you.” You grumbled. “It’s fucking cold. My tits are numb and I hate everything.”

Cynthia chortled. “Girl you are on one today. Why don’t you just tell us what the hell happened?”

You squirmed slightly in your seat. The frustration was taking its toll on your body and your emotions. You’d had enough and it wasn’t even just Shawn at this point. You were just...angry.

“I have an eight ounce sirloin steak kicking at my uterus. I’ve gained twenty pounds. My mother-in-law sewed spandex into my jeans the other day. I ran into a door and my boobs are so sore I cried for thirty minutes. And I haven’t even been at work for four hours. I’m annoyed okay. And all I wanted ...the only thing I really wanted was an orgasm! Is that too much to ask for?”

Cynthia, and this is why you loved her with everything in you, followed you for every word. As if she just knew what you were saying and agreed with you endlessly. She was a ride or die through and through. A beautiful, ethereal black woman with a brilliant afro and these badass circular rimmed glasses that were gold and complimented her skin perfectly. She was beautiful. And vibrant. And loud. And completely unapologetic.

“Yes. I mean that’s what you deserve. For sure.” She shrugged. “So, he couldn’t make you cum, is that it? Men. The worst.”

“”Couldn’t?!’ He didn’t even try. He won’t touch me unless it’s my stomach, or talking to the baby. I am no longer his life partner, I am no longer his lover, I am just a vessel for a baby. And that’s it.”

Taylor was the thinker of the group. She was damn near a philosopher. When you needed advice, she was the one you went to. Taylor was Canadian born and raised, but her parents were turkish immigrants. She was similarly incredibly gorgeous. She was thick in every sense of the word. Thick in her thighs. Thick in her hair. Thick in her eyebrows. She was a beautiful Brown dream. And you were just quite honestly stunned by their beauty most of the time.

“So… let’s backtrack. You’re frustrated, of course. You’re in the middle of your second trimester. Emotions are rampant. Let’s focus on what’s really irritating you.” She murmured.

“Shawn. Shawn is really irritating me.”

“Okay. And Shawn is really irritating because why?”

“Because...Because I need to cum.” You sputtered. “He’s always made me cum. Why would he choose now of all times to not make me cum.”

“She’s got a point. They have more sex than an episode on Showtime.” Cynthia butt in.

You nodded in agreeance.

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Well yes. I understand. Why do we think that he’s not making you cum? Have you talked to him about it?”

“Maybe it’s because I look like a beach whale?”

“No negative self-talk!”

“I have got to get a friend who is not a therapist.” You whined.

“You need me. You’re lucky I don’t charge your asses. Now think it through. Talk it out. There’s no wrong way right now. Shawn isn’t here. You can be honest with us.”

Taylor was genuine. And most geniuses are often times unappreciated in life.

You reached for your iced tea all frowns and indigestion.

“I think, based off the signals that I have been receiving, that he isn’t attracted to me like this. I think that he sees me as a mom now, and not at a sexual being.” You said honestly. “He’s just always touching my stomach and always talking to my stomach, and always talking about the baby. Sometimes I feel like I don’t exist anymore.”

“Awww babes, that is so sad.” Cynthia murmured reaching for your hand.

Taylor nodded. “That’s fair. So let’s unpack it. How do you view your body right now?”

“Oh, T, can we please not analyze me right now? Please? I just need you be my friend right now okay? I didn’t come here to get my problem solved. I came here to eat lunch with my friends and complain a little bit.”

“Fine, fine! My bad.” She raised her hands in defense. “Why don’t we just talk about what it is you want instead? No filter. Just go.”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly at her. “I really...just want him to rail me like a car hitting a light pole at maximum velocity.”

At that very moment, your waiter arrived with the check, and seemed to blush head to toe. Whoops.

“She’s pregnant.” Cynthia explained. “It’s the hormones.”

Friendship.

***

Shawn’s point of view*

“I don’t care about what they want, Andrew. I’m thirty years old for Christ’s sake, I’m not a teeny bopper anymore.” He grunted trying to balance the groceries and still unlock the front door.

“Yes, no I understand. They just want to manage the sex appeal a little bit. Timberlake, Bieber, Mayer, doesn’t matter who you are. It’s important to remind the female dominated fanbase that you’re...you know? A sexual being.”

Listening to andrew try and explain concepts that he himself wasn’t even interested in was always a hoot.

“A sexual being? I’m having a goddamn baby, Andrew.”

“Yes well, the public doesn’t know that yet. Maybe just a photoshoot? A magazine cover? You wouldn’t even have to leave Toronto. It’ll get them off our backs and you can just finish up the album you wanna make, yea?”

He headed straight for the kitchen where the tea kettle was going, but his person was mysteriously missing from her cup.

“Babe! I’m home!” He called, setting the groceries down, finally. “Whatever. Send me a proposal, I guess, and I’ll look over it. I’m not guaranteeing anything. My fans have seen my abs before, I don’t think it’s gonna sell more records than we’re already selling. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright?”

“Sounds good. Love you man.”

“Yea, love you too.” He sighed ending the call. “Babe?! Where are you?”

He hears the door to the downstairs bathroom open, and she walks out in this adorable dress with her fleece lined leggings. She looks soft and cuddly and he’s already hopeful that she’ll let him snuggle her into the couch and watch a movie after dinner. He’s kind of obsessed with her. Like always.

“This child is literally sitting on my bladder at this point.” She groaned rubbing at her stomach.

He reached for her immediately, his hands cupping at her now unhidable baby bump that drove him crazy on a daily basis.

“You gotta let mommy have a break, little one.” He hummed peering down at her bump. “We don’t wanna tire her out too much before you arrive.”

She lets out a little breath and pulls away from him to go back to her tea. He went for the groceries to begin putting them away, and set aside what she’d asked him to grab for dinner.

“Hey I thought we could do a movie night on the couch after dinner? Cuddle a little bit?”

“I don’t know. I’m kind of tired.”

“Oh. Okay. Well we can watch them in bed too. I don’t mind where, just wanna be with you.”

“Yea, maybe.”

He paused by the cabinet with a box of pasta in one hand and flour in the other. She was on the other side of the kitchen pouring water into her cup. She set the tea kettle back and immediately left the room. He could practically feel the emotion coming off of her. The silent treatment certainly wasn’t subtle either.

“Hey,” He asked softly plopping down on the couch. “Are you feeling okay? Everything alright with the baby?”

She rolled her eyes and let out a sarcastic snort. “The baby. Is. Fine. Shawn. They’re fine.”

“Okay, well is something else bothering you that you’d like to let me in on?”

“I don’t know, is there something you want to tell me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No? Is there something you would like me to tell you?”

“No. I guess not. “

His person, and she was his person for sure, was a little hard to read sometimes. And by hard to read, he definitely meant incredibly easy to read, and so deeply difficult to get through to. Perhaps pregnancy simply amplified emotions, because she might as well as had a neon sign that said, “I AM PISSED AT YOU” on her forehead.

“Look in the interest of time, and both of our headaches, why don’t you just tell me what I did wrong so I can get to apologizing already.”

Mistake. Total mistake. You can love someone for years and you can learn and grow together and allow yourself to be vulnerable with them in every way. It doesn’t mean you’re always gonna get it right. That’s never guaranteed. Clearly.

“No! No you don’t get to just make me share my emotions before I’m ready! I’m a goddamn human being, alright I’m not just a reciprocal. I’m not just a place for you put it! God, Shawn. You are such an ass.”

And then she’s off the couch and stomping up the stairs in anger. She definitely also quoted Lady Gaga’s documentary. He made a mental note to stop watching documentaries before bed. It never went well. Last month she woke up in the middle of the night, thought he was a prison guard from a documentary on the prison industrial complex in the states, and definitely jabbed him in the throat. Documentaries. Big no no.

He figures that’s his cue to make dinner. She almost never let him cook, but he knew she’d be even angrier if there was nothing to eat when this was over. He spends a little time trying to figure out what he could have done. But things had been going so well, that he’s truly at a loss. They both went to work every day. They spent their evenings together. He rubbed cocoa butter on her stomach every night for Christ’s sake. He spent hours whispering to her belly and playing guitar so that their baby would know the scales straight from the womb. What could possibly be wrong?

He makes her famous spaghetti bolognese and only burns the garlic once, so that’s a first. He leaves the food on the stove and heads for the stairs in the hopes that she’ll be ready to talk to him. Outside of their bedroom door though, there’s the sound of crying and his heart just instantly breaks. He doesn’t do well with a sad y/n. Ever. It killed him. This was a well known fact.

So maybe he burst into the room and collapsed a little bit at her feet. Who was keeping track? Not him. That was for damn sure.

“Hey, please don’t cry. Please, I can’t watch you cry. Whatever I did just--just tell me and I’ll make it right. I never wanna hurt you, you gotta know that.” He begged.

“It’s stupid. This is stupid!” She sobbed.

“Okay. Okay, this is new for us. I am just slightly freaking out that I may have broken you! Please talk to me!”

“You’re not attracted to me anymore!”

That certainly gave him pause.

“That’s crazy, sweetheart. What are you even talking about?!”

She keeps sobbing. Her face is red. Cheeks wet. And his heart is exploding in his chest. He’s got no fucking clue what he’s supposed to do. He broke his person!

“I looked like a whale ate Kim Kardashian when she was pregnant with North West! My shoes don’t fit anymore, and my goddamn feet hurt. I feel like Mike Tyson has been punching my fucking tits. And you don’t wanna have sex with me anymore, now?! Out of all the times in the world? Now I’m so fucking repulsive that the love of my life won’t even touch me?! I JUST NEEDED DICK OKAY?”

She keeps crying , and his heart keeps hammering, and he knows that he has to figure something out, or this isn’t going to get any better. She’s in absolute hysterics and it is somehow, even though he was still struggling to figure that part out, completely his fault.

He reached for the box of tissues and patted gently at her eyes to get rid of some of the wetness. He held another tissue to her nose and ordered her to blow, which somehow only made her cry more. It is the most heightened expression of emotions he had ever seen from her. And it’s awful, and he hates it, and he just needs to make her smile. So, he wraps her up in his arms and he shhh’s her as he rocks her gently back and forth waiting for the sobs to subside before speaking.

“Honey, I don’t know what I did to make you think I’m not attracted to you.” He murmured playing with her hair soothingly. “But I’ve never not been attracted to you. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I love you so much.”

She pulled just slightly away enough to look him in the eyes, her own red and swollen with a sadness in them that cut him deep.

“Then why haven’t we had sex in over a month, Shawn?” She sniffled. “You’re repulsed by me. Just admit it.”

He sighed peering down at his person who he’s somehow managed to deeply hurt without even being aware of it. He felt like the world’s biggest asshole.

“How could you say to me?” He asked. “I’m not repulsed by you, y/n. I just...I just I don’t wanna hurt the baby.”

She bit her lip, her sadness turning to anger like the flip of the switch. She yanked herself from his arms and moved to the opposite side of the bed.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You don’t even view me as a human being anymore. I’m just a casing, I’m the thing that holds the thing you really care about.”

“What the hell, y/n; where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from the fact that you don’t treat me like anything other than the thing that’s holding your baby anymore. You don’t talk to me, you talk to my stomach. You don’t look at me unless you’re mentioning the baby. What’s the fucking point anymore. Why don’t I just lay down in bed for five more months and maybe the baby will roll out and you can go live happily ever after.”

He’s admittedly angry at first. Angry because his person is telling him something he doesn’t want to hear. That he’d failed somehow at loving her, had let her down and made her believe that he didn’t want her the way that he used to. He’s angry because she’d reverted back to a place they hadn’t been in years, a place of being unable to be honest and upfront with each other. She hid it away until it boiled, until it was undisguisable, until she literally exploded, and he hated when she did that.

But he’s older now. He’s a little wiser. Maybe. He at least knows her better. Understands her better. It’s when he takes a deep breath and just allows himself to actually absorb what she’s told him that he understands. This is about insecurities. It’s about fears that had been eating her up inside for who knows how long, and her not wanting to admit that to herself, let alone him. He’s in the wrong for not explaining himself, and he can see how he fed into her insecurities. It’s both of their faults, as it so often the case in these scenarios. But, he’ll do just about anything to make it better. Always.

“Okay. I--I understand. I see that I’ve hurt you, that I haven’t been treating you the way that you want and deserve. I’m sorry.”

Her arms are crossed and she tilts her head in his direction, but still barely looks at him. He takes a chance and scoots a little closer.

“Y/n...At the risk of sharing too much information in the wrong moment. . . I haven’t been able to masturbate to something that isn’t you since our four month anniversary.”

Her eyes widen and her anger falters.

“W--What?”

“Trust me, I’ve tried. My dick is kind of emotionally invested in you, and it hasn’t been the same since.” He shrugged. “I am...so incredibly in love with you. I’m never going to want anything else. Even when you’re screaming at me until you’re red in the face, I’m still gonna want you. The only reason why I haven’t wanted to have sex is because I don’t want to hurt you, or the baby. I know it’s silly. I’ve read the books. But you are the most important thing in my life okay? You and this baby are all that I have; you’re all that matters. I need you to believe that. Tell me you believe that.”

She bit her lip, fingers picking anxiously at the skin of her nails that sat in her lap. He moved even closer and wrapped his arms around her.

“You’re gonna be the mother of my child, y/n. That is literally the sexiest thing I could think of. I don’t hate your body. I love your body! And I’m so sorry I haven’t been showing you that. I thought that by showing you how much the baby meant to me that I was showing you how much you mean to me. I understand now that it needs to be seperate a little bit, that you’re still a person too. These are the last months we’re ever gonna have to ourselves, and I should be cherishing the hell out of you. I’m just--shit I’m sorry, okay?”

He tugs at a strand of her hair, and she peers up at them with those big ass eyes and he just falls all over again. He means every word, and he means it more when she looks at him like that. When he pokes at the dimples in her cheeks and she finally smiles, he feels accomplished in life.

“Why didn’t you just say that a fuckin month ago.” She whined.

He snorted softly. “Why didn’t you tell me I wasn’t keeping you satisfied a month ago?”

“Excuse me?! I tried! I practically begged your ass. What did you want me to do, get on my knees?”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt.” He joked.

Something in her broke. Maybe not in that moment. Maybe it was the time her blatter turned to the size of a pea, or when her breasts turned into over abused punching bags from hell. Regardless in that moment she seemed to think of nothing more reasonable in the world than twisting his nipples. And thus she did. And thus he was in pain.

“Y/n what the fuck!” He cried covering his chest. “That hurt!”

“Haha motherfucker!”

Wow.

“I’m pregnant, dammit; I cannot be held accountable for my actions.” She shrugged.

“Jesus Christ.” He huffed. “How much longer are you going to be pregnant?”

“You did this to me! You and your fucking ‘holier than thou dick’ that just had to bring another child into this fucked up world. Deal with it, alright?”

“You’re...so scary. Can we please stop fighting now? I don’t like it.”

He tucked her into his side hugging her tightly against his body. She hid her face in his neck and he could smell the scent of lavender and cocoa butter. And his heart felt like it expanded against his ribcage. How dare she ever think he couldn’t be attracted to her. He was obsessed with her. Had been since he laid eyes on her.

“Can you just kiss me for once? And not my stomach. Me.” She whispered.

He reached for her face, fingers tracing at the shape of her jaw as he pulled her close. He poured himself into the kiss as much as he could. She’d always been an incredible kisser, always gave just as much as she received. He knows that he’s got her, when she does this little whimper and her shoulders relax. He kisses her with tongue and with his teeth and with his hands on the back of her neck. Granted it’s a kiss they haven’t shared for some time now, but it’s still one he’s always willing to give her.

She’s the first one to pull away and it’s only because she’s out of breath. He presses his forehead against hers and smiles a little dopely.

“I love you.” He mumbled. “Always. Please believe me?”

“I believe you. I do.”

***

*y/n’s point of view*

“What are we gonna name ‘em?” Shawn asked.

It was on a random Tuesday dinner date. You tried to go out and spend time together outside of the house whether it was bowling or food or random art fairs. You prefered the food ones obviously.

“Huh?” You asked over your pasta.

“The baby? We never really discussed it.”

Shawn reached for his pellegrino, because if you weren’t drinking he sure as hell wasn’t, as you took a second of pause. You’d unanimously decided not to know the sex assigned at birth until...well the sex was assigned at birth. It meant a lot to you, to try not to enforce gender norms as much as you could, and Shawn was just as supportive if not more after growing up being called a girl for five years when he decided he wanted to sing.

“Hmmm I guess you’re right. Anything in mind?”

“Shawn Jr sounds good to me.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “Anything else in mind?”

“...I really like the name Penelope. I think it’s cute. Or, Isabella maybe? We could call her Izzy.”

“You think we’re having a girl, aye?”

His cheeks turned red and you remembered that you loved him more than anyone could ever love.

“N--No. I just...you know I’d love any baby in the world that we made.I just certainly would not be mad if that baby happened to be a little girl.” He shrugged.

“And you don’t think that it will be too much estrogen? Too much femininity around you for the rest of time? Periods and uncontrollable emotions and what not?”

He rolled his eyes. “What is it the seventies? You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. The strongest people I’ve ever met are always women. I’d be lucky to live in a house where we get to raise another one.”

You couldn’t help the smile that grew wide and full on your face. He was cute. And mature. And smart. You were kind of obsessed with him. And still...where did he come from?

“Penelope, aye?” You hummed.

His eyes widened and he smiled nodding in that very goofy way of his that had his curls flopping this way and that.

You loved him far too much for your own good.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

8 months. 8 months of buying a new bed because the old one made her back hurt. 8 months of baby proofing a house that was suddenly way too big. 8 months of pancake runs at two in the morning. 8 months of massaging her feet for forty minutes because every time he touched them she grew physically repulsed by the thought of someone touching her feet. 8 months of some of the most trying arguments they’d ever had. Yes, choosing between lavender and grey or yellow and grey as a color scheme can wind you up sleeping in the guest bedroom. Who would’ve thought that the greatest argument they would ever have would be over her working? Oh wait, literally anyone but his moronic ass. Of course.

“Babe, the tension in your shoulders is insane.” He grumbled digging into her back. “I really think it might be time to start slowing down.”

She rolled her eyes. “Slowing down, eh? And just where do you want me to slow down Shawn? You already do everything. I haven’t been allowed to do laundry since I could no longer see my toes because of my belly and not my boobs for once.”

“I think...I think maybe we should broach the topic of you taking some time off work again.”

“Nope. Absolutely not. I’m not taking time off.”

He sighed. “Honey, your job offers 15 weeks of paid leave. We don’t even have that much time left at this point. And even if it wasn’t paid leave, I am an actual millionaire. The baby is going to be here soon. Maybe you should rest yourself while you can.”

She tugged her way out of his arms, flustered and frustrated immediately. He could feel even more tension coming off of her. It was the absolute opposite of what he wanted, but with y/n it was also sort of inevitable.

“I don’t need rest, Shawn! It’s not about the money; it’s the principle. You think my mother took maternity leave when she was raising four kids with a husband who was a filthy drunk?”

He scooted a little closer and reached for her hands, fingers intertwining stubbornly. But she’s got that furrow in her brow, and that firm set of her lip that she always gets when they fight. And he hates it because she still wants to kiss her and it always makes his brain very confused in these moments.

“Your mother was in a completely different situation! We are extremely privileged and extremely lucky to bring a kid into this world in the healthiest way that we can. I want you to be the healthiest that you can. Now you have fought me every step of the way, but please just--can we please just look at how many hours your putting into this place?” He huffed. “Because whether you want to believe or not, when we’re parents you’re going to have to cut back regardless.”

“Cut back?” She asked softly.

His person had the ability to be more terrifying than a hitman sometimes. This was most definitely one of those moments.

“I have to cut back? What the fuck are you going to be doing, aye? Are you cutting back, Shawn? Are you gonna stop touring? Stop doing promo tours for weeks at a time? Why does the woman always have to cut back?! How fucking dare you.”

“This is not that! Don’t make it out to be some attack against your womanhood. You’re pushing a human being out of your hips, y/n! I get a cold and I’m down for a week, one might think that BIRTHING A HUMAN deserves some recovery time!”

“It’s my fucking body! Why don’t you let me decide me what the hell I do with it, aye?!”

“Because if I left it up to you, you’d be working more than an eight year old in a sweatshop in Taiwan! It’s not just your body anymore. We’re about to be parents, y/n. Every decision we make has to have another human at the core of it. We don’t get to come first anymore. Not our careers, not our wants, none of it. You working your body into the ground isn’t an option!”

When her eyes well up it’s the worst thing ever. The amount of time he spent trying to balance her emotions was enough for him to recognize when he was doing a really shitty job at it. Not that it changed how he felt. Y/n was the hardest working person he’d ever met. She worked harder than he did, and that was saying something. She was so important to him though. He didn’t quite know how to explain that as much as the baby mattered, as much as the baby was already infinitely important, the baby wasn’t there yet. All he had was his person, his love, his light. And he’d do anything in the world to protect her. Anything.

“Great so… I am a shitty mother already and apparently a shitty person.” She mumbled tears dripping over her cheeks. “I’m really glad we had this talk. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Y/n. Y/n, baby please. Please just let me talk to you.” He begged. “That is not what I’m saying and you know it.”

Even with her adorable pregnant waddle and her hands up on her lower back to support herself, she gets to the bathroom and locks it before he can get to her. Which just leaves him on the other side of the door calling out for her.

“Sweetheart, please open the door! I--I didn’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk like adults, okay? I just, I’m worried about you and I want you to be safe.”

The water turns on to the bathtub instead of the shower and he knows he’s in for the long haul tonight. He’d be lucky if she came out of there by the weekend.

*Four hours later*

He’s woken up by the door opening. He must have fallen asleep against it because he nearly falls when she opens the door. Not that that mattered in the slightest to y/n who simply stepped over his body and kept it pushing. She gets dressed in their closet in silence. Doesn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. It’s like walking on eggshells. And he honestly doesn’t mind. Her emotions had been out of whack for the duration of her pregnancy. If she needed to be mad at him, that was okay. He just couldn’t go to sleep without letting her know that he loved her. It was their thing. No matter how angry, how annoyed, how tired. They had to tell each other they loved each other every night.

He finds her in their closet, big t-shirt stretched over her stomach with her belly button sticking clear out. When he makes eye contact with her, she immediately looks away.

“Move, Shawn.”

He moved his arms to either side of the doorway, only blocking her further.

“No. Not until you tell me you love me.”

Her eyes turned to slits. “Excuse me? That’s not fair and you know it.”

“What’s not fair y/n? Asking you tell me you love me? Are you really so angry with me you can’t say it, cause if so I think that’s something I deserve to know.”

She tugged at her hair, fingers knotting in the strands anxiously.

“I just don’t want to be pressured into saying it. Is that too much to ask?”

He bit his lip stepping closer so that her stomach was pressed to his.

“But...we never go to bed without it. I’m not saying we need to fix it all tonight. I’m saying, I just want the love of my life to assure me a little that we’re still in this together. Is that too much to ask?”

She rolled her eyes so hard he worried they might pop out of her head. And then she pushed forward, knocking him out of the way so that she could get out of the closet.

“I love you. And I am pissed at you. And I don’t want to speak to you for the rest of the night.”

He knew he was in deep shit when her body pillows had been stacked into a literal barrier between his side of the bed and her’s. She always let him hold her at night. She said the baby tended to sleep closer to him, as if they knew their daddy was close by. It was the sweetest thing in the world anyone had ever said to him. He cried for like an hour over it. Now he was left staring at a pillow that entirely covers his person. Wonderful.

***

*three days later*

He’s at the gym with his trainer trying to push out his fifth mile when his phone rings. It’s summer in Toronto and his view of the sun from the gym is just enough to keep him motivated to keep running. His air pods are already in so he takes the call trying to push through the wall that says, “ five miles is dumb, please stop”. His phone is still in his pocket, so he doesn’t get to see who the number is before he answers.

“Hello, is this a Mr. Shawn Peter Raul Mendes?”

“This is he.” He huffed, stilling running.

“Sir, I have you listed as the emergency contact for a Ms. y/f/n y/l/n. Your wife was admitted to St. Joseph’s Health Centre this afternoon. She--”

“Y/n?! W--What happened?! Is she okay?”

He went to jump get off the treadmill, tripping just enough on the mat to send him scraping against the machine with his shin. It doesn’t matter though, he’s up immediately. Nothing else matters in that moment. He doesn’t even tell his trainer goodbye, is already running to find his keys before the voice on the phone can even get a word in.

“Sir, she experienced a fall at work it seems. The doctors are running tests to check on your wife’s pregnancy as we speak.”

“I--I’m on my way! I’m coming right now!”

It’s a thirty-six minute drive to the hospital from his gym and his heart is racing the entire time. He stupidly tries to call her phone only for it to go to voicemail five times over. His hands tremble against the steering wheel so bad he’s afraid he might crash. It doesn’t occur to him to call his parents, call her mom, call anyone. He just has to get to her. He really needs to get to her.

He almost left the keys in the ignition, car still running, and had to run back to get to them. It only eats up more time. He still has zero idea how serious things are and there are a million and one thoughts of how bad it could be running through every nerve ending in his body. He needs her. He needs to see her. Now.

“I--I’m here to see y/f/n y/l/n?!” He gushed at the desk, his heart rampant in his sturnemum. “Please. Please it’s my person. She’s my person I--I have to see her.”

“Sir. Calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” The nurse shushed.

He shook his head voice on the cusp of begging. “Ma’am, please. Please just take me to see her. You--You called and said that she was in pain, that she fell. She’s pregnant. Please, ma’am just tell me where she is?”

“Okay now just take a deep breath. What’s the last name again?”

“y/l/n!” He replied impatiently, no breaths to be taken.

Her fingers begin working on the keyboard, and he nestles his fingers along the swallow necklace he still wore to try and calm himself down. It didn’t work.

“And sir what is your relationship to the patient? Are you her husband?”

“I--I...she’s my person. We’re not married, but we’ve been together for over six years.”

“Are you her emergency contact? You’re not technically immediate family, sir.”

It’s definitely not a great moment for him. Y/n is hurt and no one can seem to tell him anything that isn’t prolonging his eyes being on her. He’s frustrated and his blood is rushing through his ears. He’s terrified. Actually terrified. And this just happens to be the straw to break the Canadian kindness’ back.

“I am the only goddamn family that matters! Now you called me. She’s in pain. She’s hurt. You called me, and I need to see her. She’s holding our baby and I want to see my person! Now dammit!”

*y/n’s point of view*

There is something truly remarkable about the way he runs into the room. Maroon nike running shorts. Tube socks. Head band firmly in place. There is blood running down his leg and he looks as scared as you felt that morning. Something about seeing him run into your hospital room with some tiny woman chasing him with a clipboard of paperwork is actually the funniest thing you may have ever seen in your life. So, excuse you if after a somewhat tragic day you can’t help but giggle in the face of his fear.

“Are you okay?! Are you okay? Oh my god, let me hold you.” He sighed taking you into his arms immediately.

Your giggles died down as he quickly began to inspect you with cautious, tear glazed eyes. His palms cupped your cheeks, his lips frantic against yours, and still not stopping there. He touched you everywhere. His fingers dipped hesitantly over your shoulders and down to your stomach cupping it softly. You pressed your forehead against his and breathed deeply as each of you let a few tears escape. It had been an event free pregnancy all things considered, and a scare now was perhaps the worst thing imaginable for the two of you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. “I--Is the baby okay? Please talk to me.”

“We’re okay.” You assured him. “Everything’s okay.”

When his lips find yours a second time, it’s a lot less frantic and a lot more loving. You tuck yourself into his hold, fully content with the way he’s breathing life back into your being. His tongue teases your bottom lip and it all feels better instantly. He does a familiar dance of rubbing your thighs in his too large hands, and you practically purr. And then the doctor clears her throat.

“So sorry to interrupt!” She smiled. “I’m Dr. Cohen.”

Shawn pulls away with a bit of a huff, his entire body still blocking you from view from anyone else. It’s possessive and needy and everything you could ever ask for.

“I think we have to get a marriage lisence, or I might actually have to commit murder.” He grunted.

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you just propose to me? Also why are you bleeding?”

“Maybe. Probably.” He shrugged. “I fell on the treadmill when I got the call. Needed to get to you. The nurse assumed I was your husband because I’m your emergency contact, but when I got here and she realized the last names were different, she didn’t want to let me get to you.”

Another giggle passes through your lip. Of course this was the love of your life. An actual, genuine fucking dork. Thank god.

“Let’s unpack that later.”

“Okay.”

Shawn refused to take the seat that Dr. Cohen offered him, choosing instead to squish beside you on the examination table, hands touching or rubbing some part of you at all times. You don’t mind. After the morning you had, you thought maybe being in his arms forever was all you needed.

“Alright, Mr. Mendes. Your wife wanted to wait for your arrival to discuss what happened.” She explained. “She fainted in the middle of a meeting at work. Luckily a coworker was able to catch her and help her in time, so that no damage was done to the baby.”

He immediately looked worriedly over at you, his eyebrows and forehead wrinkled as he squeezed tenderly at your fingers.

“W--Why though? She’s never fainted before. Not once. Is it the baby?”

Dr. Cohen smiled reassuringly. “So, technically, yes it is the baby. But neither the baby or y/n are in any danger. What happened to you is actually fairly common. Basically what’s happening is that your blood vessels are widening and relaxing so that enough blood can get to your baby to keep them healthy. Really helpful for the baby, but it takes a longer trip now to get back to mommy. Usually this just means a little dizziness, but y/n in your intake paperwork it says you had been leading a workshop at the time you fainted is that correct?”

You raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Yes. I’m always in charge of training our new higher level managers who come in.”

“Mhm. And how long were you on your feet in the midst of this training?” She asked.

“I--I don’t know. Maybe one and a half, two hours? Why?”

“Because the longer you’re on your feet? Especially without movement, the worst the circulation of blood becomes. What probably happened is that you first started to experience some dizziness, but maybe you fought through that. These aren’t really the type of symptoms to fight through though. You needed to rest.”

There’s an image somewhere in the film of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It’s the moment where the grinch comes up with his evil plan to steal happiness and joy from all those around him. He smiled a smile that pulls at all of his features squishing his face into this truly horrid little grin. This. This is the smile that Shawn gave you in this moment. The smile of a man who was finally right about something for once. The bastard.

“Wait, I am so very sorry,” Shawn interrupted. “Are you saying that all she needs to do is rest?”

You turned to him with a look so hot you could feel it sizzle in your eyeballs. You had still not exactly forgiven him for the last time you had this conversation. He was walking on thin ice.

Dr. Cohen nodded. “Yes, I am. Typically at this point in the third trimester, especially depending on the patient? I don’t even recommend for my patients to take the stairs, let alone work ten hour days. Y/n I’m afraid if I have any recommendation for you it’s going to be bed rest. I can write a letter for your work if need be, but with your high position in the company I doubt that would be necessary..”

It’s like your stomach just drops. With one month left in your pregnancy you didn’t even know how to go about not working. Working gave you purpose outside of being pregnant. It was what got you through the long days. You didn’t know how to take a break anymore than you knew how to stop loving Shawn and we all know how well that went the one time you gave it a shot.

“B--Bed rest? Like I can’t leave my own fucking bed? I--I’m not broken here!”

“Honey,” Shawn sighed taking your hand in his. “It’s alright, okay? Just let the doctor explain.”

Dr. Cohen smiled softly. “I understand. I know the prospect of taking time for yourself is hard. They had to pull me out of the hospital when my first was born, literally. But in these final weeks I want you to think about yourself for just a moment. There’s no harm in taking a rest, y/n. You’re about to be a mother for the rest of your life, believe me when I say these days to yourself will be magical, okay? I know it’s hard, but I need you to do it. For yourself and for the baby.”

And that ladies and gentlemen is how you ended up in your house on a Thursday afternoon lying in bed like you were on the verge of death, while your dumbass smirked at you like you didn’t know how to kill a man with a remote. It was actually your definition of hell. Sitting there wondering what the idiots at work were doing, who was fucking up what, and who was going to add more work to your plate for when you got back. You hated it. But what you hated even more was the image of Shawn walking slowly into your bedroom with a cup of chamomile tea to make sure it didn’t get spilled. You hated the way he slid into bed and wrapped his arms around you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever laid eyes on. And you hated the way that your body just completely gave into him because how could you ever want or need anything else with him beside you?

“I’m sorry you can’t work until the baby’s born, sweetheart. I know how important it is to you.” He hummed tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You snorted. “What happened to all the excitement you had at the doctor’s office?”

“I’m excited you’re safe, and that I get to spend time with you relaxing until the baby comes. I’m not excited that you’re upset, honey. I could never feel that way.”

You bit your lip softly and nuzzled a little closer to your person.

“Relaxing?”

He nodded with a smile. “I’m not going anywhere. I thought we could...visit my parents? Maybe ride up to Vancouver for a weekend? There’s this cabin Brian and I went to once in Whistler when I was young and stupid with my money, but it’s just as beautiful in the summer as it is in the winter. I’ve got plans. I don’t expect you to stay bedridden until you give birth, my love.”

“That actually sounds really nice.” You giggled.

“Yea? Can we give it a shot?”

“Yea, Why not?”

“Good. Come kiss me already.”

Finally.

***

Leave it to your kid to come out in Pickering, Ontario of all places. Shawn had kept true to his word. No label meetings, no photoshoots, do endorsement deals until after the baby was born. And it was perfect. You cooked together and watched movies together and went on walks and to the beach. He took pictures of you for no other reason than to remember your time together. It was a moment of serenity, of reflection, and of love.

That night, he sat beside you in bed and rubbed cocoa butter over your belly just like always, kissed your stomach and sang the baby to sleep just like always.When it was time for the two of you to go to bed, he ran his thumb along your cheek and kissed you goodnight.

“I love you so much.” He whispered. “I can’t wait to spend forever together.”

You smiled and kissed at his thumb upon your cheek.

“Me neither. Kinda weird. I can’t believe we made it all this way.”

“But we did. It was meant to be. And we worked damn hard for it.”

You fall asleep, like you did most nights now, with Shawn’s wrapped around you and your handy dandy pillow below your lower back. It’s just like every other night. Until it isn’t…

*four hours later*

“Baby….Sweetheart ...Y/N!!”

“What. What is it?” You muttered still very much asleep.

“I think you peed the bed, honey.” Shawn whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open in the dark and there was the love of your life, People’s sexist Man Alive three years ago, saying that you had essentially pissed yourself. And they say romance isn’t dead?

“Are you fucking kididng me?” You huffed. “Oh my god that’s so fucking embarassing.”

He went to reach for you only for you to pull away. The last thing you needed was for him to help you out of a puddle of your own urine. Jesus Christ.

“Sweetheart, It’s okay. I--I don’t care. You know I don’t care.”

You leaned up out of bed and all of sudden there was a pretty bad pain in your stomach that left you a bit winded and unable to get up.

“Well shit, that fucking hurts.” You whined.

Shawn flicked on the light on the bedside table.

“What hurts?”

You took a deep breath like your doctor instructured.

“Fucking contractions are starting up again.”

The room goes silent as you breathe through the pain. It lasts far longer than you’re used to and hurts like a bitch, but with the breathing technique it isn’t unbearable. And then...he loses his fucking mind.

“OH MY GOD!”

“What?! Why are you yelling?!” You gasped.

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY. OH MY GOD. HOLY SHIT!”

He went to stumble his way out of bed, only to fall flat on the floor. That didn’t stop him from jumping right up and running around in circles. You know? Like a lunatic? So much for the lamaze classes.

“Shawn. Shawn! SHAWN! Calm the hell down.” You yelled rubbing at your belly.

“Sweetheart it’s your water. It’s your water, not piss. We’re having a fucking baby!”

“Excuse me, I’m aware! It’s inside of me. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Go wake your parents, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

Shawn nodded taking some deep breaths of his own before turning to wake his parents. You barely rolled over like a bowling ball on the bed before he was back, this time a lot calmer thankfully. He reached straight for your face, warm hands stilling you instantly as he kissed you like you were all that mattered.

“I love you. We’re gonna have a baby.” He whispered, a smile so big on his face that it felt like it radiated within you.

“We are.” You chuckled. “I love you too.”

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

Something shifts drastically in the car. In the house, he could barely tell she was in labor except for every few minutes when she would have contractions. By the time the doctor told them to head to the hospital it was three in the morning. His dad drove, mum in the passenger seat. It meant he got to sit in the back with her and hold her hand, rub at her back, whisper how much he loved her even. And for a while it was fine. But then all of a sudden hell descended on earth and it was fully and deeply embedded in the love his life.

She let out a sound that was maybe the most painful sound he’d ever heard in his life. It was high pitched and bone deep and it rang out so loud his ears hurt. But that was nothing in comparison to the feeling of the bones in his hand crushing beneath her grasp.

“Ow! Oh my--Fuck!  Sweetheart my hand!”

“I’M DYING! FUCK YOUR HAND!” She cried. “AHHHHHHHHHH!!

A vein appeared deep in the middle of her forehead as she sobbed and panted against the back seat. It was as hard to watch as it was to let her break every single bone in his goddamn hand.

The last thing he remembered before they got to the hospital was her turning to him, cheeks tear stained, and lips panting as she told him:

“Shawn?”

“Yes, honey? What can I do? Is there anything I can do?”

She nodded her head softly and swallowed.

“Yes. You can absolutely never fucking touch me again!”

His mum thought it was particularly funny if her snorts from the front seat were anything to go off. His fragile, overworked heart did not think it was so funny.

“Yes. Okay. Never touching you again. Got it.” He mumbled continuing to rub at her back.

He was certainly in for a night.  

It takes twelve hours to bring their baby into the world. And they’re the longest hours of his life. He had to watch her be in pain, watch her struggle and flail and cry, all while knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He hated every second of it. It was the most helpless he’d ever felt. His parents were amazing running off to make calls to the rest of their family, which left him directly by her side. He would’ve stayed another twelves hours too if that’s what it took. Anything for her. Anything.

Another one of those moments that he’d be able to recall on the last of his life is the moment he heard his child cry for the first time. It was as if his center of gravity shifted. He was completely and utterly transfixed. He changed instantaneously in that moment, never to be the same again. It was one of the most magical moments of his life.

They go to lay the baby on her chest, y/n exhausted and red faced and so utterly happy, and his heart sores.

“This is your little baby girl.” The doctor told them.

“Shawn. Look what we did.” y/n whispered. “Look.”

His hand covers her entire back. She’s tiny and crying and wiggly and slimy. She’s beautiful.

“That’s our baby.” He sniffled just in case it might not be true. Just in case someone might have to correct him.

It’s easily the greatest day of his life.

***

He doesn’t sleep. And how could he? There’s a human in his hands. A tiny human. One that squeals and yawns and flails. She’s already immediately like her mother. Can’t sit still even in sleep, though y/n was so exhausted that she hadn’t moved in hours. But that’s okay. Everyone’s okay.

At one point, she wakes up and he freezes. In every movie he’d ever seen this was the moment that surely his daughter would begin to scream her head off like a lunatic until she turned twelve. Not quite. Instead she peered up at him inquisitively with this sort of searching look, a knowing look. This too reminded him of his love, of his person. And so he loved her infinitely already.

“You’re so fucking small.” He whispered to himself. “Shit, I said fucking. Who are we kidding your mother is gonna make sure your first word is dumbass before I ever have anything to do with it.”

Her thumb was in her mouth and she flailed sporadically in his arms as if she wanted to explore the world already, as if his arms were too much containment already. He wondered if maybe she got that from him.

“Penelope Ivy Mendes. You’re gonna have the best life a baby could ever ask for.” He assured her. “Your mom is so smart. Like one of the smartest people ever. And she’s funny. And she’s pretty, you’re really pretty too by the way. She’s gonna teach you all sort of stuff. And I’m gonna teach you too. Wait till I play you your first John Mayor record. You’ll love it so much honey. I played Continuum for your mommy when I first met her when she definitely broke into my apartment. And I played it for you when you were in her belly. It’s the greatest album maybe ever. We’ve got so much to talk about.”

She listens to him speak with wide, gentle eyes. Her skin is warm and soft, and rubs gently at her cheek with his palm. He thought he’d be overwhelmed. Thought that he’d mess something up, or that his daughter wouldn’t like him straight from the womb. But, it’s not that way at all. He could talk to her for days, he thinks. Just him and his daughter and his person. His family.

Eventually she starts to cry because she’s only been alive like eight hours and that’s a lot to put on a kid.

“You tired of hearing me talk huh?” He cooed rocking her gently in his arms.

“Did it happen...Did you break her?” Y/n mumbled from her hospital bed.

He chuckled softly slowly slipping out of the chair to move closer to her.

“Look who’s awake. I don’t think so. The nurse said she’s gonna wanna eat like every one and a half hours. She’s like her papa already.”

“Oh wonderful. Give her to me?”

They pass her easily, Y/n lifting her hospital gown to let her little mouth go searching for her meal. With the baby preoccupied, he’s allowed to check up on his other human. She’s really beautiful to him, hair bed crazed, eyes still sleepy, cheeks a little rosy. Something about their daughter on her chest makes him overwhelmed with love though. It’s different. She’s different. Perhaps they both are.

“Are you okay?” He whispered cupping her cheek gently in his palm.

She leaned into his palm.

“‘M okay. Lots of pain though. Lots of soreness.”

“I’m sorry. I really hated watching you in pain. The whole baby part is really beautiful. But the labor part? Not so much. Want me to take the next one for us?” He joked.

Her eyes widened. “The first one isn’t a day old Shawn. My vagina is still bleeding, maybe we wait a few weeks.”

“Kidding, y/n. Totally kidding. I just want you to be healthy and safe and I want to hold you. Both of you.”

She smiled dopely up at him with eyes that he loved and lips that he loved and a heart that he loved with everything in him.

“Yea?”

“Yea. I love you more than anything.” He assured her, his eyes watering quickly. “So, so much.”

“I love you too. More than anything. Both of you.”

“And forever.”

“Forever.” She agreed.

That sounded plenty fine to him.

The End.

Permanent taglist 

@simpledomain @liliane106 @xeuphorically-moonstruck @euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @decewill @goldiean @bitchacho25 @bruhh-whateven @justbeingoceana @loveylangdon @iloveshawnieboi  @september-lace @valedictorian65  @dimestorebieber22 @sinplisticshawn @kamahriii @lifeoftheparty74 @thecurlsofgod @disaster-rose @justbeingoceana 

[dearosamu]

DESPERADO - PURGATORIO

SYPNOSIS:  she, a dancer with personified problems all the while more that intrigues osamu dazai who came into her life amidst the chaos that is [name] [last name].

WARNING/S: implied nsfw

three - four

dinner was .. entertaining, more or less. but it seemed such a drag to [name].

she hated dazai. she hated letting someone else pay for her. she hated how her younger brother liked him easily out of all people.

though, dazai with any means, isn't good with children. even with yumeno basically flooding him with questions he could easily answer, yet the questions itself were too .. peculiar.

"osa-chan, how did you meet onee-chan?"

"have you two known each other before? onee-chan, why didn't you tell me!-"

"yumeno, no i don't. he's just..an acquaintance from work." [name]'s eye twitched from the sentence that left her mouth.

"hmm," yumeno picked on his cake tart before taking a bite. "whyth ish thathf soth?" his question came out muffled.

"don't talk when your mouth is full, yumeno."

the boy only groaned and nodded before swallowing his food and asking his question more properly. "why is that so? onee-chan and osa-chan seem close.."

[name] scoffed while dazai only chuckled. "mhm, we do seem very close don't we, [name]?"

"don't even consider it."

"oh dear, i dream of it."

"you're gross."

"you're pretty."

"please," [name] rolled her eyes. "flattery won't get you anywhere."

"but i am trying," dazai grinned teasingly referring to what she does for a living. [name] stared at him with disgust, slapping his arm which she only received a stuck out tongue in return. yumeno looked between the two confused.

"onee-chan, what does osa-chan mean by that?"

dazai looked at yumeno with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "well you see yumeno-kun, your osa-chan wants to court your onee-chan, but she rejects me every time!" he dramatically lifted an arm to his forehead.

"dazai.." [name] spoke his name in an irritated tone, wanting to pummel the male six feet to the ground already.

"oh really?" yumeno's lips curved a cheshire grin, tarted with cake crumbs. "do you think she'll accept one day?"

"i hope so," dazai sighed dreamily. "i await for the day i'll get the chance to spoil her rotten."

"don't get your hopes too high," [name] interjected. "what even makes you think i'll ever like you? you're a jerk."

dazai waved her off. "you'll see, mon cherie."

"what's with the nicknames?"

"simply because you are one of a kind."

"har-har, i'm flattered," the woman replies with gritted teeth.

"onee-chan! what are you having anyway? you're not gonna eat?" yumeno interrupted upon seeing the woman only drinking her cold beverage.

"no, i'm not hungry."

"but you should eat!"

"yumeno, no--"

"listen to him [name]~" dazai crooned. "you really should eat. yumeno-kun, what do you want your onee-chan to have?"

"cake tarts!" yumeno cheered.

"big sister can't eat cake tarts, she'll get fat," [name] said, taking a sip of her [f.d.].

"eh? onee-chan, fat?" yumeno blinked. "but onee-chan, you don't care if you eat too much or get fat don't you? isn't that what you said when you ate a big chunk of-"

"ahaha, yumeno that's enough of you," [name] nervously laughed as she covered yumeno's mouth with her hand to stop him from embarassing her any further.

dazai chuckled at the sight. "you worry if you get fat?"

"shut up and no i don't," she denied.

"how cute."

"why are you even here?" the woman groaned.

"because yumeno-kun invited me for dinner." [name] scoffed.

"then can you leave if i ask you to?"

"yes."

"then why won't you leave?"

"because i was invited and it would be rude to come here and then leave so sudden," dazai answered, crossing his arms. "besides, i am hungry."

"you're such an idiot," she huffed.

"why, thank you."

"that was not a compliment."

"if it comes from you, then it is," dazai winked. a vein popped out of said woman's forehead.

"you're really annoying, you know that?"

"countless of times, yes."

[name] only groaned once more for she had to endure this for the entire evening

.

---

"i'm not your personal favorite, so why did you ask for me?" akutagawa asked dazai slightly confused but amused at the situation. dazai only responded with a light groan before slumping on the leather chair. "my little kitten is a bit off-put at the moment," he pouted. "i don't really favor anyone else here."

"chuuya-san is here you know." akutagawa says in a questioning tone but it sounded more like a statement.

"yeah, but that good for nothing hat rack simply isn't enough to please me. plus we hate each other." akutagawa scoffed. "you should see how much money he makes in a day."

"ah, but i think you provide much better service than him," dazai grinned at akutagawa teasingly, in which the latter huffed at this action. "[name] and chuuya-san may come off as rude to their clients, but believe me when i say they're good at what they do."

dazai exhaled through his nose as akutagawa sat on his lap, running his hands through his brown locks of hair. he came back to the strip club to meet his belladonna for a night out alone. as usual, chuuya was there to bash on him and to insult the male. before leaving, chuuya informed dazai that [name] did not go to work today; something about calling in sick but dazai went on in and called for akutagawa instead. he was conflicted about coming to the strip club but he could not refused for had oda didn't invite him, he wouldn't even be there in the first place.

how oda was able to put up with dazai's perspective of things was honestly impressive since it was no secret that dazai enjoyed oda's view of things since he was less systematic than dazai. he'd often accompany dazai with whatever he had up his sleeve but it's not really safe to say that his plans never had excellent result. its dazai after all.

things went downhill once he got back to his office after having dinner with [name] and yumeno. higuchi had been waiting for dazai to get back to report terrible news that their sales are going down and a few people -- to be more specific, con artists had been scamming people with their products that they previously sold at auctions and it made people believe that the corporation were only after their money and sold fake items in their past auctions.

dazai had been stressed over by his colleagues and needed to cool off, though thinking of ways to somehow restore the mafia's reputation and to get rid of the people who were dumb enough to even try and bring down the mafia.

"think you can handle it?"

"psh, you called for me of all people," akutagawa rolled his eyes before placing a chaste kiss on dazai's head. "but i promise to make you feel good."

still, it was weird to see [name] -- even akutagawa stri- dance for him. he'd even expect it to himself that he'd be denied of his desires, but it was still given to him with little difficulty. he was a mess inside.

"you know, it's not like you to switch out on dancers."

"needed a change," dazai mumbled. "is that a problem?"

akutagawa pursed his lips. "not really, it's just that when i used to be your regular, you wouldn't let anyone touch me," he placed a hand on dazai's broad shoulders. "you were possessive."

"that was back then." dazai growled lowly.

akutagawa hummed. "what's on your mind?"

"nothing that i'd like to speak about." akutagawa sighed heavily. "i'd press on you to tell me, but you've always been stubborn." it was a trait he and [name] both shared.

"always have, always will." dazai stated with a close eyed smile.

"..right since this isn't a therapy session." akutagawa deadpans. dazai placed both his hands on akutagawa's thighs and hips, knowing he had permission to.

"i trust that you'll get rid of all my stress away?"

"like i said before, i promise i'll make you feel good."

---

oda patiently waited for dazai, knowing he always takes longer on his time -- specially if it's with akutagawa. he knows he never really keeps his meetings 'formal' with the younger male. dazai stumbled out of the black curtains looking very much disheveled then he was when he entered the strip club, his neck tie missing and a few bruise marks were on his neck. they were small, but visible enough. a sly grin was on his face which reminded oda of a cat.

"had fun?" oda downed on his third shot of vodka.

"you bet i did," dazai snickered as he stumbled to the stool next to oda. "can i have some of that special sake you keep at your place? you know how much i love those."

"sure. when you're much more sober that is," oda shook his head. "you probably had akutagawa hit you up with heavy shit."

"oh, come onn!! it was only a little~!" dazai slurred, throwing a hand over oda's shoulders. "it's not like i got overly high again!"

"tell me that again once you're actually sober would you? this is why i always give akutagawa head warnings." he removed dazai's hand from his shoulders, making the brunette whine and slump on the counter top. oda held a hand against his temple and massaged it, muttering things about dazai not listening to him again of the sorts.

"come on odasakuu! not even a little bit?" dazai pouted as he turned his head sideways from the counter to face oda.

"no."

"please?? i swear i'll only get one shot!" dazai insisted, shaking oda's left arm. oda groaned before reluctantly agreeing to dazai's request. ".. fine, but don't blame me if you can't get home."

"relax! i can take care of myself just fine."

"i'll message my assistant then," oda huffed, taking out his phone and texted his assistant to bring a bottle of sake to his office later. dazai hummed, twirling his index finger on oda's glass of tequila.

"he's still around?"

"you bet." oda tapped away one his phone. after a few seconds, he slipped it back into his pocket and turned to dazai. "chuuya told me you didn't visit your favorite?"

"she would not appreciate seeing me here," mumbled dazai. "plus she didn't even go to work today."

oda let out a soft chuckle. "you think she ever did? that girl hates your guts."

"it gets worse," dazai groaned, standing up from his seat and heading towards the exit. "i'll tell you later at my office."

"still want to keep on leaving people hanging?"

"i'm just a poor man, odasaku."

"please, you just got laid and run a company. you're basically the definition of spoiled."

".. quiet you."

---

oda poured a minimum amount of sake on dazai's glass, who accepted it with glee. he downed on it and sighed in content. "you keep the best stuff, odasaku. why don't you ever give me some?"

"wouldn't want the risk of a suicidal man holding a bottle of sake running around the building naked .." oda muttered, taking a seat on one of dazai's office couches.

"hey! i do not get that tipsy! i'll have you know that i hold my liquor very well." dazai boasted, holding a hand to his chest.

"sure," oda leaned onto the coffee table, placing his chin on his interwined fingers. "anyways, humour me already with what you were supposed to tell me."

"well, i ran into [name] into the mall yesterday with this kid--"

"she has kids?!"

"jesus odasaku, no!" dazai exclaimed. "it's just her little brother.. i think.." dazai said lowly.

"god, dazai," oda huffed. "you're such an idiot."

"why are so many people calling me an idiot??" dazai sulked.

"because you are one," oda shook his head, sighing. "do they have any caretakers?"

"no. [name]'s the one taking care of her little brother."

"what did you do this time?"

"i just ran into her in the mall since i was hurrying to our business meeting, but her little brother ran into me and asked between two things he wanted to buy. [name] didn't want me to talk to him but he asked me a question and i gave him an answer. i also insisted that i pay for yumeno's sweets instead and later then he invited me for dinner and i made [name] eat. i basically paid for her entire day." dazai explains.

oda sunked even further into the cushioned couch. "you really are an idiot .." he muttered, shaking his head. "first of all, you pay her ridiculous amounts of money just for her body -- which, in her eyes, is already degrading on it's own -- and now you pay for her too?"

"i don't get what's the problem here," dazai mumbled. "i have the money, she needs the money. it can work."

"no, dazai. it doesn't work that way." oda scratched the back of head, thinking of a way to explain the situation thoroughly. "think of it this way; [name] and yumeno were abandoned by their parents at a young age for whatever reason and that left [name] to raise her little brother by herself. she struggles with financial problems as she had no one to support her and her little brother."

"and what you're meaning to say is?"

"she dislikes the fact that you figured out the limbing situation she is in. and possibly only giving her more money out of sympathy. she doesn't want to connect her home life to her job."

"but i'm helping her, aren't i?" dazai grumbled, frustration slowly building up.

"in her case, she feels as if you're intruding," oda frowned. "it really is none of your business to be sticking your nose around what she does in her personal life and her connections with people." oda poured a small amount of sake on his glass and took a quick gulp.

"you really think that's why?"

"hey, i'm not entirely sure. it's just an analysis i have figured from what you've told me." he shrugged.

"then why won't she take me?" dazai pouts. "i have the money that she needs to live the life she wants for her and her brother. it seems too easy."

"that's probably just from her nature," oda chuckles. "now, about that plan to rebuild our reputation and to get rid of the con artists ..”

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (2/18)

Chapter 2: How to Be a Detective in 10 Easy Lessons

It’s a new year, and Madelyn is trying to stay busy. Hancock pays a visit to the Detective Agency with an olive branch in the guise of a case for Nick. On the beat, a former mercenary turns informant with more information about the mysterious Railroad. Nick and Madelyn track down their missing person while Eddie Winter makes his first deadly move.  

“Well, sure there is. It comes complete with diagrams, on page 47 of 'How to be a Detective in 10 Easy Lessons,' correspondence school text-book and, uh, your father offered me a drink.” - Philip Marlowe as played by Humphrey Bogart (The Big Sleep, 1946)

x - x

Without giving much away, this is a content warning for a minor character suicide that mirrors the canon in-game side quest.

[read on Ao3] ~ [chapter masterpost]

January 10th, 1958

Nick’s desk was covered in case files, whiskey and cigarette ash—an organized chaos was what he liked to call it, but all Madelyn saw was a fire hazard. This was the way Detective Valentine worked best, however, frazzled and hunched over his scattered notebooks, mumbling incoherently behind the wafting plumes of smoke. The agency was for many the one gleaming beacon of hope in an otherwise dark and dishonest world. Nick had proved his reputation with the people was well earned by helping the community the best he could with the limited resources he had, maintaining a network of clients that kept him in business over the years.

“Everybody deserves their fair chance,” Nick always said, so much so that Madelyn considered putting it on a plaque for his wall—if the walls weren’t covered in photos, wrinkled maps and scribbled handwritten notes.

She found it all admirable, part of the reason she agreed to work with him when initially assigned by the District Attorney’s office two years prior. She didn’t realize that by staying, she’d be forging one of her strongest friendships, discovering one of her most trusted of confidants. Yet, as Madelyn lingered in the doorway of his office, she found it difficult to find the right words to say. She wanted to tell Nick about the clandestine note she received on New Year’s Eve, tell him she felt paranoid about being followed and wanted another training session at the shooting range. Instead, she continued to worry at her bottom lip, awkwardly shuffling the small stack of papers in her hands.

“You can stand there lookin’ like a doll or you can come in here and help,” he spoke, not bothering to glance up at her. Still, she noted his little smirk, eyes lit up as he scrawled away on his notepad.

“I know you didn’t hire me to be a pretty face,” Madelyn bantered, knowing it was all in good, clean fun.  She crossed the small space, planting herself comfortably on the cushioned seat in front of his desk.  

Nick gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “I didn’t exactly hire you. You just showed up here on my doorstep like some kitten left out in the rain.”

She laughed, thinking back to the early days of their partnership. Providing legal aid to a private detective that didn’t always play by the rules—it wasn’t the easiest of jobs for Madelyn. It wasn’t until she realized Nick was forced into the unscrupulous position by the Boston Police Department, who saw his presence as interference rather than assistance, never giving the agency the insider access they desperately needed. Perhaps if they did, there wouldn’t be so many unsolved disappearances or murders plaguing the city. That being said, she made sure Nick stayed out of trouble, pulling in favors where she could, the two using their powers of persuasion to find answers to burning questions. It was easier to toe the line than cross it, but each day as the violence and corruption spread across the city, the line became harder to see.

“What’s on the docket for today?”

The question had barely left her lips when there was a commotion in the lobby, Ellie’s frantic voice calling out as her heels clicked across the wooden floors. “Sir, sir! You can’t just walk in there. You have to have an appointment and—"

“No worries, sister,” the familiar, dulcet voice approached. “They’ll be happy to see me.”

John McDonough—Hancock—strolled through the doorway like he owned the place, ignoring Ellie’s protests. The mayor’s younger brother looked considerably different than he did the night of the police gala—dressed in dark slacks and half-buttoned up shirt, a faded red jacket with golden, frilled trim more suited for Halloween than streetwear. He plopped into the empty armchair, hooking his knees over one side and glancing to Madelyn with a wink.

Nick’s demeanor immediately soured. He pointed at the other man. “Speak for yourself.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have come all this way if it weren’t for nothing, Nicky boy,” Hancock grinned. “Can’t you bend an ear to an old friend?”

Madelyn focused on the detective’s expression, eyebrows knitted together in quiet contemplation as he rummaged for a cigarette before realizing he was fresh out. Hancock noticed, instantly reacting to produce a pack from his jacket pocket. He leaned forward to offer her first, but she declined with a silent wave, causing him to move to Nick. He hesitated, scrutinizing the gesture with narrow eyes before ultimately obliging.

“What are you doing here, John?” he asked, sounding more like the start of an interrogation as he struck a match.

Hancock appeared amused by Nick’s insistence on the name as he lounged back in the chair. “I have a peace offering for you. A case that the local police can’t be bothered with because of the victim’s so-called lifestyle.”

At Nick’s silence, Madelyn interjected. “What is it?”

“Missing person.”

Finally, Nick sighed, relenting. “Give us the details.”

As Hancock spoke, Madelyn wrote in her notepad, neat and succinct lines—they’d have more luck with her organization skills. The missing? Earl Sterling. Twenty-five-year-old bartender from the Fens who worked at the local sports bar across the street from Fenway Park. “Vadim, who owns the bar—close personal friend—came to me crying, thinking Earl had been snatched up by the boogeyman. But who would want to hurt Earl? He ain’t out to hurt nobody.”

Nick was nodding along, jaw clenched, clearly in frustration of another disappeared citizen. That would be thirteen—that they knew of. “And Boston P.D.? They think Earl was undeserving of a proper investigation?”

Hancock scoffed. “Friends in low places. Doesn’t matter that he’s squeaky clean. But since Vadim’s a Russian immigrant, a refugee that has had his run-ins with the law…”

“Of course,” Madelyn sighed, disheartened. It was a cruel underlying fact that not all Bostonians were keen to the changes the war brought. Most carried on with quiet discontent, but others were far more vocal to the point of outright bigotry. A child raised by virtuous parents, Madelyn knew better, ashamed of the city she had lived in all her life.

Nick could sense her stewing restlessness and spoke, nodding at Hancock. “We’ll take the case, track Earl down. One way or another.”

Curiosity got the better of Madelyn as she stared at the two men, sensing the lingering tension. Ever since Piper first mentioned the younger McDonough brother, Nick’s attitude had been uncharacteristically dismissive, and without explanation it was gnawing at her mind. “What’s the deal here?”

Hancock’s eyebrow arched high against his forehead. “Whatcha mean, sister?”

“The animosity in the air is thick enough that I could bottle it up and sell it as a fragrance,” she joked. “Might get rich enough that I could retire early. Buy that cabin up in Maine I always dreamed about.”

While Hancock bellowed out an impressed laugh, Nick sighed through his nose, lips set in a flat line as his cigarette dangled. Still, Madelyn knew he was amused, green eyes bright as he rolled them her way. Hancock’s entertainment settled as he crossed his arms over his chest with a final, breathless chuckle. “I’m surprised ol’ Nicky never told you about me and our time overseas.”

“You two served together?” she asked.

Nick reluctantly nodded, fingers tightening around the wrist of his prosthetic hand, the plastic-metal blend flexing. He didn’t like to talk about it—no matter how many years had passed between the end of the war and the present, it was still an open wound for many, including the detective. He balled his hand into a fist.

“London, during the Blitz,” he explained, in grim conciseness. “Was stationed in Kent in ‘41 during the bombsite recovery. As was John, though he was mostly preoccupied by the local…entertainment.”

Hancock hummed, with a faraway look in his eyes. “There’s something about the English accent, ya’ know?”

“You were disillusioned then, and you’re disillusioned now!” Nick suddenly snapped, hands smacked against the table as he stood up to loom over the other man. Hancock hardly looked intimidated, not even flinching as Madelyn did. “Sneaking off base to get your kicks in some back alley, coming back high as an Air Force bomber. No wonder you’re turned into a beatnik.”

“Better a beatnik than a dick,” Hancock murmured.

“Boys! Boys!” Madelyn stood up with a loud clap of her hands, garnering both of their attention as she stood. “Jesus Christ! Do I need to put you two in separate corners for time out like the curtain-climbers you are?”

Nick scrambled to sit back down, knowing it was a rare thing for her to use the lord’s name in vain, even lightly. Hancock snickered, but flinched when she whipped her head in his direction. “I think you owe Nick an apology, Mr. McDonough.”

He shifted uncomfortably like she had asked him to perform one of Houdini’s acts. “Sorry, Valentine.”

“We’re good, John,” Nick stood again, this time reaching over to extend his hand in some display of goodwill. Hancock took the offer, shaking it with a satisfied grin. “We’ll find out where Earl is.”

As the conversation came full-circle, Hancock tugged on the lapels of his coat and smoothed out the lines of his pleated slacks. He regarded Madelyn with a toothy smile, nodding his head once. “Miss Hardy.”  

She watched as he turned on his heel, slinking out the way he came. Ellie’s disapproving voice called out to him again in the lobby as the bell above the front door chimed, signaling his exit. Miss Perkins’ usual sunny disposition was marred as she leaned into the doorway of Nick’s office, bottom lip jutted out in a frown. “Who was that?”

“Sorry Ellie,” Nick sighed, moving to grab his faded trench coat from the nearby rack. Madelyn smirked, knowing Jenny had purchased him a new one over the holidays—one for Hanukah and Christmas—but there he was, slipping his arms into the same dusty rag. “Hopefully you won’t need to experience such indecency again.”

“Heading out?” Their secretary questioned, looking between the two of them with a shine of excitement in her features. She always liked when they were busy.

Madelyn gathered the case notes under her arm before quickly shuffling back to her own office, pulling on her cream-colored coat that was in much better condition than her partner’s. Purse and papers in hand, she met him and Ellie in the front room.

Nick was adjusting his hat. “Keep a light on for us, won’t you?”  

Ellie flashed a charming smile. “Always.”

Outside, there was a fresh blanket of snow on the sidewalk and a crisp chill in the air. Their destination was a short distance—only a few blocks east. She thought about what sparked their journey.

“Did you really mean that?” Madelyn questioned Nick as they walked in the direction of the Dugout Inn. He glanced at her, unsure of what she meant. “Disillusionment? Do you really not believe in Hancock’s cause?”

He made a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan as he rubbed at his chin. “I believe in results,” he answered, keeping his eyes focused on their path. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The Dugout Inn was a tiny hole-in-the-wall, located right on the corner of Boylston Street, opposite of Fenway Park. The clientele were mostly refugees, thanks to the owners, Vadim and Yefim Bobrov—immigrants from Russia who established the bar shortly after V-Day in 1945. Unassuming enough, though the two had their fair share of run-ins with Boston police over the years, mostly for expired liquor licenses or smuggling illicit moonshine. Never anything as serious as money laundering, tax evasion or murder. Mr. Bobrov’s good natured attitude had made him a valuable ally to Nick, perhaps even a friend, somebody the detective could turn to when searching for leads among the downtrodden and forgotten within the city.

Being a mid-morning Friday, it wasn’t surprising that the Dugout Inn was mostly devoid of patrons, save for Vadim’s twin brother and their lone waitress Scarlett who was dutifully sweeping near the back. There was one daytime drunkard, however, sleeping off his hangover in a faraway booth. Yefim was balancing the books at a nearby table, muttering about needing to pay the gas bill, barely acknowledging the passing duo with a wave. As they approached the bar, Vadim was beaming, wiping the countertop before them in earnest.

“Ah, my favorite gumshoe back to see old Vadim,” he set out two glasses, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Want to try the latest batch? May not have ripened yet, but…you always had a good sense of knowing!”

Nick softly chuckled, but shook his head as he removed his hat, placing it on the bar. “I’m not going to be your guinea pig again, Vadim.”

“And what about the lovely lady lawyer? My lapochka?”

Madelyn smiled at his flattery but waved her hand at his offering. “No, thank you.”

Vadim went to speak but hesitated, instead scrutinizing their appearance in his bar. Sudden realization dawned in his expression as he tightened his fist into the cleaning cloth. “Are you here about Earl?”

Nick had barely nodded before Vadim continued with a sagging hang of his head. “Oh, poor Earl. Gone, just like that. Such a good bartender. Good friend,” he trailed with a forlorn expression that morphed into one of slight amusement. “Terrible with the women, mind you.”

“Always in his cups about his face getting in the way,” he further explained. “I say, no mug is too ugly for any woman! What says you, Miss Hardy?”

She joined him in laughter, humoring the old flirt. “Oh, Mister Bobrov, if you were thirty years younger you might have a decent chance at making an honest woman of me…again!”

Even Nick snickered, shaking his head at the exchange. But they were here on business, not for a friendly exchange of words or a casual drink. They had a man to find, sooner, rather than later. At his signal, Madelyn pulled her notepad from her purse, pencil at the ready for any information they might gleam.

“See anybody from Winter’s gang around here lately?” Nick asked, eyes narrowed when Vadim quickly shook his head, coughing to clear his throat as the tone shifted. Nick quickly glanced to Madelyn who offered a quick shrug. Maybe zeroing in on Eddie Winter wasn’t the best idea. Would Vadim even know what a mobster type looked like?

“Oh!” The proprietor said excitedly, hands waving for emphasis. “A few days ago, there was this young mercenary type that I’d never seen before. Lingered about for a few days. Greaser kid that looked like he belonged to a bad crowd.”

“Did he and Earl speak?” Madelyn questioned.

Vadim shrugged, eyes glanced upwards as he remembered. “Yes? No. All I know is he looked suspicious. A—and I haven’t seen him since Earl disappeared!”

Nick was twisting his lips—a telltale sign he wasn’t entirely sure he liked the credibility of the information—but they had nothing else to go on. He tapped his finger against the counter impatiently. “Do you have a name? A location? Think carefully, Vadim. For Earl’s sake.”

A moment passed as the bartender mulled it over in his head. Vadim then straightened, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. “MacCready! That’s his name! Rum and cola. Overheard him mention a hotel near Scollay Square…”

“The Rexford?” Nick mused, more to Madelyn than Vadim.

She nodded. “The Rexford.” 

Scollay Square by 1958 was not the thriving center of Boston theatre and community it once was. Practically a ghost town, with most buildings boarded up after being destroyed by fire or looters, few businesses remained. The Old Howard Theatre—long shut down by the Boston vice squad stood at the epicenter like a shining reminder of the past. Always Something Doing—but not anymore. The area was now known colloquially as Goodneighbor, nicknamed after Mary Goodneighbor’s 1953 striptease that ended it all. Goodneighbor was a hive of sex work and drug runners, bootleggers and mobsters, all just out to make their living in the world—the perfect place for a person to disappear.

Nick decided the trip west warranted the use of his black Cadillac. They’d make better time, and even he wasn’t one to be caught walking through Boston Common—even armed—at any time of day with the increasing crime rates. As they pulled up outside the Hotel Rexford, they observed a disturbance on the sidewalk, snow flurries disrupting their view. Madelyn was exiting the vehicle before Nick could rush over to pull open the passenger door, ever the gentleman as he offered his hand to her. But she was more focused on the three men in a clear argument on the hotel steps, carefully observing the interaction as she hooked her elbow around Nick’s arm.

“Well, we’re outside now!” The scrawnier of the three shouted from the stoop.

On the sidewalk below, a man with wide shoulders and a crew cut snarled back. “Didn’t have to be like this, MacCready! We were just here to deliver a message!”

Madelyn and Nick exchanged knowing glances but refrained from interfering. While they had their lead identified, the situation was hardly any of their business. It didn’t mean that they weren’t going to eavesdrop and make it their business, gather information that might come in useful later on.

“It only took you six months to track me down,” MacCready spoke, taunting his aggressors. “Winlock and Barnes. You two always hold hands across Boston? Don’t you know I left your wannabe gang for good?”

The man Madelyn assumed as Winlock shook his head, irritated as ever. “Yet here you are, taking jobs where you shouldn’t be. Listen carefully, MacCready, it has to stop.”

“Like I have to take orders from you,” he laughed and for a split-second Madelyn wondered if there was going to be a firefight the way the third man’s hand flinched along his side, reaching under his jacket.

Instead, Winlock defused the situation with a curt nod, signaling to his partner Barnes to step back. “We aren’t going to kill you. Today. Wouldn’t want a war with Goodneighbor, or with Winter.”

Nick’s hand around Madelyn’s arm tightened at the mention. Whoever these people were, they weren’t affiliated with the mob organization terrorizing Boston. MacCready crossed his arms, seemingly bored with the conversation. “Are we done here?”

The two thugs traded steely looks—this wasn’t over—not by a long shot. “We’re done. For now.”

As Winlock and Barnes passed the Cadillac, they took one slow, up-and-down look at the pair of onlookers before disappearing down an alleyway. Madelyn looked after them, deeply unsettled, but snapped back to the present as Nick swiftly led them to the lone man left on the hotel stairs, pacing as he kicked at the snow with his sneakers.

“MacCready?”

“Look pal, I’m not looking for any friends,” he said with a wince, shaking his head.

Madelyn looked at their would-be suspect now that they were up-close. For Vadim to have called him suspicious was not wrong, but if anything, the man simply appeared to be down on his luck. Overall, he looked nonthreatening: faded, rolled up jeans, dark flannel shirt with an army bomber jacket and a matching cap atop his dusty brown hair. He was skinny, like he had missed a few meals, and it made her wonder if he was another veteran of the streets that had returned from the war with no home to return to.

“We aren’t here to make friends,” Nick’s tone was firm, signaling it was time to take the proverbial gloves off. The man was squirmy and would need the two of them to act fast if they wanted the right information. “Do you know anything about an Earl Sterling?”

MacCready didn’t take to intimidation lightly. He narrowed his eyes, looking over both of them. “What are you, some kind of cop? Can’t do his job without his lady wife?”

“Lawyer,” Madelyn corrected, removing her hand from Nick’s arm. She gestured in her partner’s direction. “Detective. Best not say anything that incriminates yourself.”

Nick laid it on thick. “We know you were at the Dugout Inn when Sterling disappeared, MacCready. So do us both a favor and tell us everything you know!”

The man held up his hands defensively, bewilderment spread across his features. “Jeez! Okay!”

“I was only there for two days, following up on…something. Yeah I saw Earl there. Nice guy, if not a bit ugly, but who am I to judge?” MacCready talked and the pair listened, Madelyn scribbling away in her notepad the important details. “He kept talking about needing to get out of town. At first it was innocent like…for a fresh start to meet the perfect woman, but the more drunk he got, the more it sounded like he was running from the wrong kind of people.”

“Who?” she followed up quickly.

“Heck if I know,” he responded.

Nick prodded further. “He didn’t mention the mob or a loan shark? The Railroad?”

The mention sent a shiver down Madelyn’s spine. Why, she wasn’t sure. For all of their digging in the last two weeks, the organization—if it even existed—was still shrouded in mystery. She stalled in her notetaking and tuned out most of Macready’s response. “…it’s just a myth.”

A familiar expression fell across Nick’s face as he mulled over MacCready’s words. Helpful? Hardly. It was more of the same of what Vadim had offered, leaving them at square one. Earl was still missing, and they were no closer to determining why beyond a vague threat of needing to get away.

“I might have something you can use,” MacCready voiced, shifting awkwardly down the snowy stairs so he was closer to them. “But if I’m gonna help you, you gotta help me.”

“What happened to ‘not looking for a friend’?” Nick remarked with a light smirk.

MacCready grumbled under his breath, clearly uncomfortable with the circumstances of their visit. He wasn’t having a good day, it seemed. “All bets are off when your life gets threatened in broad daylight.”

“Is that what that was all about?” Madelyn asked, motioning towards the alley where Winlock and Barnes had wandered off to. She flashed a teasing smile, hoping to get a rise out of the man. “Colleagues of yours?”

“Fu—heck no,” he answered, censoring himself. Odd. She chalked it up to a man not wanting to curse before a lady and rolled her eyes. “They are Gunners. Small town gang that operates out of Quincy. I—I uh, used to run with them about five years ago. When I was younger. Dumber. But then I wised up. Got married and had a kid. Gig like that doesn’t really pay the bills, you know?”

“You’re married?” Nick asked, the two seemed to simultaneously note the missing wedding band. He was trying a different, more sympathetic angle.  

MacCready gave a solemn shrug, but his eyebrows furrowed with annoyance. “I was. But that isn’t any of your business.”

“Excuse me,” Madelyn blinked, the math not adding up in her head. “How old are you?”

MacCready chuckled like he was asked the question every day. “Twenty-two.”

Both her and Nick made the same surprised sound, staring at their suspect-turned-dud in disbelief. There went her veteran theory.

“I have a son, Duncan. He’s five years old,” MacCready continued, the emotions he expressed sincere. “I’m just trying to do the best I can by him. Can’t do that if I’m dead.”

“How do we fit into this equation?” Nick asked, tone softer than before. Madelyn smiled, knowing he couldn’t resist a hardship tale.

MacCready tilted his head back and forth with a low hum. “Two hot shot detectives like yourselves need an informant on the streets, right? Let me help you, and in return…”

“Lawyer,” Madelyn corrected, again.

“Exactly!” he replied, far too excited. “Crime and Punishment that sh—stuff.”

She decided not to lecture him on Russian literature and its vast differences to her actual career, which in itself were completely separate than what services she provided for the Valentine Detective Agency. She exchanged a silent, somewhat amused look with Nick, who seemed just as bewildered by the person they had crossed paths with. Finally, the two nodded and the detective extended his hand.

“Nick Valentine, Valentine Detective Agency,” he formally greeted.

MacCready chuckled as they shook hands. “You couldn’t make that stuff up, could you?”

His handshake with Madelyn was much softer, less amused. If anything, he seemed genuinely impressed. “Madelyn Hardy, attorney at law.”

“Robert Joseph MacCready,” he grinned. “RJ, Mac, MacCready. Whatever’s cool.”

“You have something for us?” she reminded, and he quickly removed his hand from hers with a short, excited inhale. The two watched as he patted the front of his jacket before digging through his pockets, finally producing a small key on a golden chain. “Is that…”

“Earl’s key,” MacCready answered with a sheepish smile, shifting his eyes away. “Figured if he was going to be running away, it might come in handy later on. Lives in those apartments near the stadium.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear this,” Nick muttered, shaking his head.

Madelyn wasn’t pleased that their best lead was stolen property, but at this rate, it was their best chance of tracking Earl Sterling down. She snatched the key from him before he could change his mind, tucking it away into her purse along with her notepad.

MacCready regarded her with a stern expression. “Remember my offer!”

She would. But for now, she and Nick had more work to do. 

That wasn’t the first time Madelyn and Nick had backtracked across town, chasing a lead on a case. As they raced through the Fens past the stadium to the grouping of apartments that matched the name on Earl’s golden key, she was grateful that at least this time they hadn’t been sent to Quincy, or Concord. By the time they reached the Parkview Apartments, the sun was setting and the frosty chill from the morning had settled to a near freeze. She couldn’t explain it, but an eerie sense of dread settled in her gut, putting her on edge. Nick seemed to feel it as well, the two dashing up the flights of stairs to make it to Earl’s door.

“What do you think we’ll find?” she asked, nervous.

“Not sure, but we’re about to find out,” he answered, prompting her to unlock the door.

Madelyn was careful, quiet in her actions as she clicked open the lock, Nick taking the lead as he pushed open the door inch by inch. She followed closely behind, the two making their way blindly in the darkened room, the only guiding light the moon that shined in through a broken window shade.

“Mr. Sterling?” Nick called out in a low voice, scanning the area. It was a tiny, studio apartment, with a kitchen nook, a foldaway bed, a small closet and a door that led to the bathroom. From what Madelyn could tell, their missing person wasn’t there. Still, Nick called out again. “Earl? Are you here?”

“Nick, something doesn’t seem right,” she whispered, stepping away to inspect the foldaway bed. Even in the darkness she could see the mismatched stains in the carpet, an overturned nightstand and a few pieces of broken glass. She held her breath before tugging sharply on the release, jumping backwards as the bed—and Earl—came tumbling out. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

Nick managed to turn on a lamp, revealing what she had found, rushing over to her side as she turned away from the horror, covering her nose and mouth as to not retch. He wrapped a comforting arm across her shoulders, exhaling a low, defeated sigh. Earl was dead, but more than that, he had been brutally murdered.

“This wasn’t Winter,” Nick mumbled, drawing a quick conclusion. Madelyn had to agree, even if they only had the scene to go by—Eddie’s men weren’t into butchering their victims. “We need to call—”

They both froze as a clattering sound echoed from beyond the closed bathroom door. Nick swiftly pulled his weapon from its side holster—a well-cared for .44 revolver—and motioned for Madelyn to move behind him. She followed his silent instructions, and reminded him that she too was armed, calmly removing the small pistol she carried from the purse on her arm. He glanced at her with a startled expression—she’d hear about this later—but kept moving closer towards the closed door.

“We know you’re in there!”

When the door creaked open, the two were faced with a familiar, but horrifying sight. Doctor Crocker, a local cosmetic surgeon stood with a wild and strung out look in his eyes—a far cry from the friendly face on the billboard ads plastered around town. He cackled out a laugh. “Naughty, naughty! You’re not supposed to be here! But that’s okay! I can fix that. I can fix anything!”

Madelyn resisted the urge to curse or to scream. For a brief moment, she wondered if she felt this terrified when held at gunpoint more than a year prior by a different madman. Doctor Crocker, however, appeared completely unhinged, dangerous and unpredictable. He hadn’t just shot somebody. He had cut them apart and used their blood as paint for the walls.

“Take it easy, doc,” Nick attempted, raising one hand in a calming gesture, all the while keeping his gun aimed towards the doorway. “Let’s talk.”

“I—I didn’t mean to do it! Doctor Crocker is a brilliant surgeon!”

Talking in the third person was never a good sign, she decided, thinking he had to be high on some kind of illicit drug. Mixed with the adrenaline, the doctor was teetering on the edge of outright disaster.

“He never makes mistakes or loses patients! Only happy patients for Doctor Crocker!” he announced, reaching back to grab what turned out to be his own pistol. Now, Madelyn was petrified. And yet, she didn’t scream, resolve getting the best of her.

“You made a mistake, Doctor Crocker,” she tried Nick’s brand of persuasion, even if it made her skin crawl. “Do the right thing. Just think it through. Come with us quietly.”

At first, her words seemed to have an effect, the daze lifting from his eyes as he glanced down at the red stains that covered his clothes and the state of disarray surrounding them. Doctor Crocker flicked his gaze back to Nick and Madelyn, and the panic returned. “Oh god! I killed a man! There’s so much blood! Blood! All over me!”

He was weeping now, loud and hysterically. Hesitantly, Nick stepped closer in a last-ditch effort to resolve the situation. The doctor lashed out, pushing him away. Madelyn’s heart skipped a beat, and she thought she would be reliving the past all over again. “No! No one can find out!”

But Doctor Crocker didn’t aim towards them. Instead, he turned the gun on himself, barrel pressed firm against his chest before firing. The action took less than a second, faster than Nick or Madelyn could react or intervene. His body collapsed in the bathroom doorway, clearly dead on impact.

“You should’ve seen that,” Nick hushed, his faded coat coming into view as he tucked her head close into his shoulder. She didn’t even realize she was trembling. “You shouldn’t have seen any of that.”

A voice, somewhere in the back of her head told her it was just the beginning. She would become tempered, experienced. Most of all, she would heal. But first, she would see so much more.  

Just like that, the Earl Sterling case was closed.

The Boston Police weren’t pleased with them, but then again, they never were. It wasn’t until past midnight when they were released from the scene, not without a scolding from Sergeant Danny Sullivan. It didn’t matter that they had tracked down Earl Sterling when Boston Police wouldn’t (or couldn’t) and had managed to hunt down a killer in the process. As the police saw it, because any blood was shed, it looked indecent on their behalf, and it all had to be handled very carefully. Nick and Madelyn feared that was codeword for coverup. But they weren’t threatened, or told to keep quiet, which further fed into the detective’s either hypothesis—that Winter had nothing to do with Earl’s death. What had started as a run of the mill case had left them with more questions than answers.

Madelyn and Nick were exhausted by the time they returned to the agency. Ellie had left her little glass lamp turned on, just as she promised, but the brunette was long gone. Instead, a different, familiar voice called to them from Valentine’s office.

“Rough night?”

Piper winced as soon as she saw them come through the door, clenching her teeth in a sharp hiss. It was likely obvious how ragged they appeared, and Madelyn was sure some of their clothes were splattered with blood from Earl’s apartment. Nick pulled off his coat with a groan, tossing his hat across his desk as he snatched up the fresh pack of cigarettes Ellie had left behind. Madelyn didn’t bother, practically collapsing into her favored armchair on the left and slinking down, no matter how undignified her posture appeared.

“That bad?” Piper asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Nick responded, puffing out smoke before taking in another deep inhale.

The reporter tapped the rolled-up newspaper she carried against her palm, shifting her gaze between the two of them. “Well, since we’re already swimming in it,” she half-heartedly joked before unfurling the newsprint, dumping it atop Nick’s desk so he could see. “Johnny Montrano Jr. is dead. They found his body in the Harbor this morning while you two were running around.”

Fury seemed to be fueling Nick now, who was already starting on his second cigarette. Madelyn perked up at the news, realizing what his reaction would be. “The bastard’s finally done it. He’s finally had him offed. Fed to the fishes.”

“Fishes didn’t really get to do their job though,” Piper mused, rolling her eyes when the two remained silent, too focused.

Madelyn looked to Nick. “He’s looking to take over the northern territories.”

“If he hasn’t already,” Nick replied in an ominous tone. “Nobody is safe anymore.”

Eddie Winter had just made his first deadly move.

[positivlyfocused]

What a Positively Focused 1:1 Session Looks Like

Prospective clients sometimes ask about what client sessions are like. Some wonder what I do with clients. Let's take that last question first.

I provide context where clients get clear about who and what they are. In that clarity, they find what I found in my own clarity: That they create their life experience ongoingly.

When they find that, life takes a turn. It becomes fulfilling, fun, fantasical seeming, although it's not fantastical, it's just how life works when Positively Focused.

Gradually clients enter their creative powers while learning, or re-learning how their creative powers work. They find happiness, freedom and joy.

I show clients their power and how to get it through a mystical experience that feels like a conversation.

Now the first question:

What are client sessions like?

Client sessions are conversations where I share insights about what my clients talk about. The insights open greater awareness, both for clients and for me. Since I give clients access to me through text and email as well as our in-person sessions, I can share an example of how a session sounds.

The following is an email from a client who lives with his wife. Married many years, Clifton (not his real name) now wants out. He wants out because he finds his situation, including his wife Margo (not her real name either), intolerable.

Behind Clifton's perceptions are belief constellations creating his intolerable situations, including Margo. Clifton is on his eighth session. Already he's seen seemingly extraordinary shifts in his wife. Only they are not extraordinary.

By learning how to create his reality on purpose, Clifton has created a new-to-him version of Margo and a new-to-him version of their marriage. Clifton wants his freedom. But he knows he can't have that until he makes peace with his current reality.

Being Positively Focused does that. It also makes his experience of his changing reality more fun, as you'll read from this email exchange. Clifton gave me permission to share this exchange provided I remove identifying details. The bolded sections are Clifton's comments, with mine following.

^^Photo by Jeremy Yap on Unsplash

It's the dreading one feels liberated from

So, I paid my income taxes today. Almost $4500. I had been dreading it and still haven't filled out a return (though now I have REAL motivation to do so, ha ha), and was thinking , "Send them a crumb" -- which is how I've done it for years. Throw the wolves a bone now and again and they'll back off for a while (until they get hungry again). This year, practically at the last minute, I threw them the whole carcass. It was liberating. I realize that I've always felt "liberated" (at least temporarily) whenever I am able to pay these creditors off at the calends (first of the month), and then I don't have to worry about it anymore. Gives one a feeling of power.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how something “dreaded” once done turns “dread” into “liberation”. Remember what emotions are about. Then ask yourself: what is it I feel liberation from? Is it really the taxes? Or is it the “dreadful” feeling, which indicates something important, and when freed from that you connect with something that feels comparatively liberating and powerful? Interesting thing to consider.

I have $50,000 tied up, but currently collecting nine percent annual interest compounded, some gold coins and another $10,000 currently tied up in the van (I cleaned it up and put a "For Sale" sign on it, but have yet to put an ad on Craigslist)

Most of the day was spent in that "Joy/Freedom" space. I had a good piano lesson with Sergi (graduate of a music academy in the old Soviet Union - can't recall which, but it was a prestigious one). Earlier that day, I had been looking at a very wide screen monitor, 2nd hand at a local computer store. The store owner called me and informed be the price was almost $400 - more than I cared to pay, and I politely told him so and thanked him for getting in touch. I could have, of course - but I feel I should be spending those dollars on other things. Anyway, sure enough, I had a "hunch" on the way home and stopped at Goodwill. Found a working 48-in. TV that will double very nicely as an entertainment screen and a computer monitor. Price - $50. I liked that a whole lot better than $400. And it's bigger. Yes, the stand's a bit wobbly (probably why it was given away), but I imagine that's just a matter of tightening a screw or two.

Nice job following the hunch. Life is an adventure, or can be, when one connects with All That Is and allows it to lead one to all one wants. It also becomes treasure hunt-ish. Who knows what lies around the next bend or building? And, the best footing from which to play the adventure is in “Joy/Freedom”. Absolutely.

^^Photo by Beth Jnr on Unsplash

Everyone seeks internal connection on their way...

Also feels good to me to reuse and/or repurpose something. That includes composting. I am not a fan of gardening (one source of conflict between Margo and I), but at least composting is a good way to make use of food that has "gone off" and would otherwise be wasted.

See the differing interests between you and Margo as wonderful sources of both joy and variety. Joy in that what you love you love and what she loves she loves…and you both get the same thing from both your loves: connection with your Broader Perspective.

Variety in that, in the relief of your partner’s passion, you, rather than being turned off by that, can turn instead (turn the other cheek) to YOUR passion and feel exactly what she feels when she’s tending to her plants: connection, flow, fun, exuberance.

Then, perhaps, you can feel appreciation – not conflict – when you turn back to what she enjoys, knowing she’s getting from her passion the same thing you get from yours and so your passion and hers are not all that dissimilar.

Not that it matters, or maybe it does - but I was in the market for a large monitor because as a composer, I often work with very large scores - and it is tremendously helpful to see as much of it as possible. Not practical on small monitors.

That you are "in the market" matters. You’re on your way…you’ve been on your way, but also have been resisting the “way”…to your dreams. The monitor is a manifestation – a sign post – indicating your waywardness. I use that word not in it’s traditional definition, which is negative, but in a new way, indicating “toward your way”. The way you connected with that TV indicates your “compliance” with your Broader Perspective.

And just as you were compliant [in such a way you realized previous, important manifestations] and now this manifestation, there will be many more instances of delight on your way….which is why life never creates wham-bang manifestations that happen in an instant like magic. Instant manifestation happens in nonphysical. But in the world of manifested things, All is set up so you can enjoy and savor the JOURNEY towards the destination. Each moment is a realization. The more you come into this conversation, the clearer your awareness and the more you’ll see this statement’s accuracy.

^^Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Most don't see manifestation evidence because don't know what it looks like

This week, I also had the impulse to add something to an unrelated tweet [on Twitter]. Some actor had put himself out there, advising any directors or producers of his availability and experience.  I retweeted and added that if anyone was looking for a great film composer, please consider me - and added links to samples of my work on YouTube. A couple of people retweeted it...usually, I don't hold out much hope for these sort of things, but one never knows...trying to stay open to the possibilities.

This is a great example of your mixed energies. You don’t hold out much hope, but at the same time you “never know”. So you took action based on hope/who knows…and you saw a tiny manifestation of desire (that someone retweeted the tweet) outweighing your disbelief [expressed as "don't hold out much hope". Most miss these instances of evidence. Now you know it's more evidence of you on your way. Nice.

Like the double recliner I bought for what I plan to be my "apartment/suite." I sleep best in a recliner, which are typically for one --  but when I saw it, I started thinking, "Hmmm...what if I get lucky?" Wouldn't want to live with someone in that space (it's pretty small), but it could be a nice place to entertain... 😆

Enjoy this unfolding process right up until you wake one morning with someone beside you and you get how you manifested them as you manifested the recliner! Objects, people, circumstances…the entire Universe: at your command.

Margo and I have been getting on better, I think. Monday evening, she apologized for being short with me earlier, but she had been feeling poorly (infected insect bites) and just wanted to do the Garbot thing ("I vant to be alone!") I told her I felt her pain and understood completely - but in the future, please just come out and say that. I'll respect it. (Actually, I'm glad to, ha ha)

I’m sure you would be happy to respect it. Isn’t it nice to see the movement forward with her? And didn’t it confirm our conversation about her that whenever someone appears upset with you, it’s never about you? It’s about THEM. ALWAYS.

Their connection (or rather their LACK of connection) to their Inner Being...that’s always the source of negative emotion. So next time you can know…and accept…and then run for the hills, when she indicates disconnection through ornery emotional expression!

Her infection and current state of well-being is also why I am yet again postponing telling her we need to get a divorce. Yes, because I think we have grown in different directions and neither of us are happy in the relationship the way we should be. Officially however, it is for financial reasons.

I have consulted with lawyers and financial advisers, and they basically say the same thing - I will be better able to provide for her if she is not my legal spouse. There is nothing illegal about it, couples often do it because one needs disability payments and it is impossible for one spouse to totally support the disabled one. Also true if they continue to cohabit. I knew someone who continued to live with his ex. And of course, we haven't shared a room for years - and soon, I'll have a whole space, complete with kitchen and bath, to myself. I have put this off for way too long. And I need to do it like, yesterday. But she's feeling bad right now, and she's not terribly stable in general. I am afraid for her.

“Fear” is an emotion. Fear for another indicates you, looking at another and seeing that person differently from how your Broader Perspective sees that same person. Yes, there are aspects of reality you think confirm the “truth” of what you think might happen if she were on her own. And, your strong fear indicates you creating a reality in which you get to witness her being exactly as you are creating her.

And…there’s another version of her you could draw to you and so experience. The same way you’ve done with her and her disconnection caused from insect bites. You are allowing more of the person you know her to be to shine through. But for now, it’s prudent to proceed on this path. It is, for both of you, the path with the least angst. Always a good idea: following that path.

^^Photo by Juan Miguel Agudo on Unsplash

Everything you want is right on your path

Eventually, I really don't want to be living under the same roof with her - but for now, I have been attempting to rebuild some kind of relationship so she knows she's cared about and won't have to worry about her basic needs and won't be abandoned to fend for herself (at this point, it would be like abandoning a child).

Anyway - this is how I must present it. As a strictly financial decision. Nothing else changes. We continue going on as we have, living in the same house (which will continue to be community property). She remains my sole heir and beneficiary. She'll be able to get disability payments and EBT and remain eligible for Medicaid.

The difference is, I'm a free man. Period. What I will do with that freedom or how it will play out, I have no idea, but I'm staying open. She'll be free as well. Gods know, I've tried to encourage her in her writing, and mostly the way she relates to animals. If there was an office of Ambassador to the Animal World (or at least carnivores, bovines and equines), Margo would do the job better than anyone else I know.

All this is good stuff. Mahayana Buddhists would say you’re being her Bodhisattva in creating such a caring landscape for her. It is good as I know you feel good taking this path.

Encourage her in thought, but don’t voice them. Let her and her Inner Being come to the realization wherein she puts her passions into practice and from that she creates a whole new world where money comes into her life easily and swiftly.

Sometimes, I think she'd be happier with her brother, running his huge ranch cabin as a B&B, taking care of the horses and the sheep and the dogs and cats. It's what she spends most of her time and energy on anyway (and she complains about it, but I usually tease her, "You know you love it!") So that's where things stand...I've asked that "Broader Perspective" of mine to let me know when the right moment to announce the divorce is. About all I can do at this point.

Yes. As with the saw, as with the TV, as with everything you want, this is the best path. Do so and watch how easy the conversation goes. The more experiences like these you have, the more convinced you’ll become that this is the only way you want to live: surprised and delighted. Which is how you knew your experience would be when you first decided to come into physical reality.

It's all in the joy

My clients come enthusiastic about what we do together. The moment we start, they feel resonance with what we talk about. In short order they get results. That's why I offer a 100 percent money back guarantee. Everyone gets the result. Schedule your free 1:1 session.

[shametheshadow]

It's been a while. A lot of shit's been going on since I was last kinda active. Sorry, I dont remember how to hide this under a read more line... feel free to scroll past if you arent in the mood for existential whinging. I got a new job and it's pleasant. The people are nice. It's still food, but it's at a fancy restaurant where the management actually cares and tries to keep their crew happy. The hours could be better and I'm currently sick of salads with how many I've made. They give hours based on reliability and if you're a hard worker who is nice to work with. But like... everybody is nice and hard working so it's hard to just muscle in sometimes. But on the positive side I've dropped ten pounds, probably thanks to how light my wallet is. Had an issue with my little brother. Well, there's been an unspoken issue for years that I've been trying to just give him space on, but it finally came to a head. I called him out and he said some pretty hurtful things. I saw him on Christmas, but it wasnt the same. I think it kind of damaged something between us, or at the very least it certainly has me. I think, as people, we build these pillars of absolute truths into our identities. The things we know without a doubt, that we can rely on to stay true even when things are bad. Like, that the sky is blue or that a parent we have will always love us. When those truths are shaken they really make you wonder what else could be wrong or if there was ever any truth in it to begin with. For me, no matter how bad I felt or hated myself, I knew I could be a good sister. I'd throw myself down for it. I have done so, unfortunately, many times before. We all see the world a little differently, so my truth may not be the truth someone else sees. I dont know whether that makes it any better, but I certainly feel unsure about more things now than I used to. Some days I even feel like giving up on our relationship. I'm just too tired, too worn down, and I don't think I can handle being called a failure again. Which sucks, because I dont really want to. I just want to know how to fix it, even though I'm not sure I have any more energy to try again if it's just going to lead to another failure. And on top of all of that my bio dad and all those siblings are tasting the bitter consequences of their actions. My youngest sister got taken away from her parents because instead of breaking up and being adults about it they have to be petty and cowardly. One has unchecked anger issues mixed with plenty of excuses and the other thinks she's owed some sort of respect despite her immature actions. Thing is, I've had plenty of talks with my bio dad about the effects their toxic relationship have on his 6 year old daughter. He knows. He isnt stupid or blind. He'd just rather keep it going despite everyone's unhappiness and dig a deeper hole so he doesn't have to risk losing custody of his daughter if they break up. And here we are now. With his daughter taken away and given to our 21 year old sister who doesn't have a clue. And they've failed to regain custody once already. And you know the fucking hilariously tragic part of it? Me and my sister Des are the only two without some sort of record so nobody else in the family can help. Just a fucking warning for any teens out there who think being a gangster is cool, life always has consequence. Doing drugs, selling pills, pimping, stealing cars, assault, having unregistered weapons... my family has probably done just about anything. Apparently my bio dad's stepfather even threatened to shoot my grandma once. There's an argument to made about the environment they all grew up in, but I really wish people would just have the self awareness to realize that things will always find a way to bite you in the ass and it's it big enough then it'll get the people around you too. I normally get my sister on weekends, but I need to work Saturdays as a requirement for my employment. I try to cut it short so I can be there when they drop her off, but half the time they dont and send her somewhere she isnt supposed to go. I'm risking my job trying to be there when I'm needed, just for them to change their mind at the last second because I wasnt home soon enough. They'd rather risk losing our sister to the system by breaking the rules. CPS doesn't play around. I've had to tell them two or three times that I couldn't take our sister because I was sick or dealing with some really stressful family stuff that Koral didnt need to be there to see. Every time I feel like the punishment is that they stop letting me see her by not bringing her over anymore. Then out of the blue they call on a weekday and ask if I can take her because she has a day off or something. I have never once said no but every time it sends me into an anxiety attack because I can't handle being kept in the dark until they need me. It's got me so worked up that sometimes I genuinely wish I had never been told my dad wasnt my real dad. Of course, I know that by knowing I can help a little girl who needs help, but I wont lie and say that I never wished I didn't have time deal with any of it. I got the news today that my bio dad is in trouble for something else, though they wouldn't say what. So they arent going to give him custody until that's settled at the very least. Shortly into it my sister had asked me to take over the guardianship. I was so out of the loop that I thought the question was absurd. I thought they'd pull it together and get her back in a short time, so what would the point of moving her to another town and school be? How would I go about that? What would the home requirements be? Would I be able to provide for the both of us? I wouldn't be able to leave work until 4 at the earliest shift, so would after school stuff be best or daycare? There's so much that goes into taking care of a kid to just spring that question onto someone. Now it's been four or five months and I'm hating the idea that she's stuck there in the middle of it all more and more. People keep telling me I should take her. Even my manager after I broke down and told him everything after my sister's call left me a mess at work, said that I would be the better option. I know what it's like to be fought over in custody battles and I understand way too well the fear of being taken away from your home as well as what it's like to change schools. I dont want that for Koral. I dont even know if I would be the better option. I talked to my cousin, whom I live with, about it for a while last night and she said she wouldn't be opposed to having Koral with us... but I feel bad making this her issue too. I want what is best for my sister. She's way too smart. You know when unqualified pet owners get a dog breed that is really smart and they struggle to meet the needs to keep it entertained so it just makes trouble? That is what my sister is like. My family has their strengths, but Koral is 6 and could run circles both physically and mentally around them. It might be "funny" now, but Lansing itself is a shitty influence on people and by the time she's a teenager and wants to go to a party, nothing is going to keep her from getting out short of bars on the windows and doors. The only thing stopping her from doing it now is motive. But would I do any better? I genuinely dont know. I wish I could talk to my brother about it. He knows where I come from and, even if he thinks I failed, he could at least tell me how to be better so I dont fuck up again for a little girl who is in a situation similar to one we were in. I asked Des today if she wanted to talk to their case worker about transfering guardianship. She said she's have to talk to her dad... which is bullshit. He lost the right to dictate where Koral goes when he fucked up. How is he supposed to be motivated to fix this if the only thing that has changed is that she doesn't sleep in her bedroom anymore? He shouldn't see her when he wants to or be able to say what happens to her. And I dont say that because I think he shouldn't ever be able to, because I want him to step it up, I just feel like he wont if things keep going as they are. I dont want to lose my sister to the system. Supposedly the social worker said that Koral also has to stay in the same school and can't see anyone not on the already approved list of people for the sake of consistency... but that's stupid. I know that changing schools can be traumatizing, and if Lansing was a good place to live and raise a kid, then maybe I'd try to make that work, but it isnt. So it makes me wonder that if I came to the table with a clearly stable, appealing plan would they change their minds? If it were my choice, I'd have her in therapy to help deal with everything, maybe a sport like gymnastics or whatever else she might be interested in to keep her engaged. I'm planning a kids d&d session for her and another kiddo that she plays with when she's here because last time she found my monster manual and got obsessed. And I know it wont be all good. She's a handful and a brat, and she can be a force of nature when she doesn't get her way, but I've been an older sister since I was five and my family didnt out up with bratty behavior. I know how to deal with it, and I also know how to use the internet and other resources to learn. Hell, I live with a child therapist/youth minister. I know I could do it. Even if it ended up being a permanent thing. I'm torn between the fear of not being enough at the expense of my sister's wellbeing and knowing that I'd gladly twist myself into a pretzel to try and do right. But when it comes to other people, especially a kid, is trying enough? Good intentions don't equal a quality of living. So yeah, that's where I am right now. Trying to be better and figure out who I am while also being incredibly stressed out and lost. If you read through this, thank you for listening to this TED talk. I'm open to advice.

[rike-with-love]

Melody of our Hearts (chapter 3)

Pairings: Okikagu, Gintsu (minor), Takaban (minor)

Rating: M for mature content, bad language, fluff, light angst, enemies to friends to lovers

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gintama or it’s characters, Sorachi Hideaki does. I only own this story.

Chapter 3

<- Previous chapter ~~ Next Chapter ->

The grand outdoor concert was just two days away and Kagura had trained for her performance like a madwoman.

Otsu had planned a very simple choreography for Kagura and she would be forever grateful to her fellow idol for doing so.

After another practice session Kagura felt  better about her performance. But still, she had her doubts. It was like Kagura wasn't at the level she should already be.

Dancing is fun so why can't I get it right, Kagura cursed to herself as she went through the steps in her head.

”Hey Otsu,” Kagura called as they were changing out of their training clothes.

”Yeah?”

Kagura slipped her pastel pink overall skirt over her white t-shirt. ”Thanks for being so patient with me,” she said.

It was true that Kagura knew the steps, but somehow she had difficulties with making the choreo look graceful. And it pained her. She wanted nothing more than to execute Otsu's vision perfectly.

”Oh come on, don't be silly,” Otsu said waved her hand at Kagura. ”You're doing a great job for someone who hasn't danced a lot of choreos.”

”Heh...thanks”, Kagura said and smiled a bit.

”I mean, you have the steps down already. All you have to do now is to get out of your head,” Otsu said and walked closer to the dance studio's mirror.

Kagura followed the girl, she felt puzzled by her words. ”What do you mean by that?”

Otsu tightened her bright purple side ponytail and glanced at Kagura. ”You think about the steps too much.”

”Oh,” Kagura said and scratched her right temple.

”Dancing is about feeling the steps, otherwise you'll just look like a robot”, Otsu explained. ”Do you know what I mean?”

Kagura understood exactly what she was saying. It just wasn't so easy to do that. ”Yeah...I just need to practice some more.”

”Sure, I come and help you when I have the time,” Otsu said and picked up her favourite piece of clothing from the floor. A canary yellow leather jacket. She wore it with everything, no matter the weather or the occasion, Otsu rocked that jacket.

Kagura had always admired the fellow idol for her bold and edgy look. A canary yellow wasn't a color for everyone. Usually Otsu wore a lot of black clothes, with a sprinkle of purple or yellow here and there. Nets and leather seemed to be her favourite materials.

As punk as Otsu's look was, her personality was the opposite. She was sweet as a pie, silly and very talented to top it all off. Otsu was always there to help everyone in need and that was actually the biggest reason Kagura liked her so much.

Today Otsu had chosen black skinny jeans and a black loose t-shirt with a text: black is my happy color. A classic look from Otsu.

Kagura also tightened her ponytails in front of the mirror. She had her vermillion hair pulled into two pigtails on the back of her head.

Kagura was more into cutesy things rather than chains and studs. Her pink overall skirt's hem reached just above her knees so it worked perfectly as a dress. Kagura had attached matching pink fluffy pompoms to her pigtails just for fun. She was truly a sucker for everything cute.

Kagura huffed quietly in front of the mirror.

”What is it?” Otsu asked and turned to look at Kagura.

”Well...I just realized that I'm running out of time with my practicing.”

”Ah...yeah. Two days to go.”

Kagura exhaled deeply, pushing the air forcefully through her mouth. She looked like a wide eyed puffer fish with her puckered lips. Otsu couldn't help but to giggle a bit.

”I'm sure you'll pull it off,” Otsu said.

”Heh...maybe,” Kagura hummed. ”I'm just glad I'm performing first...so I don't have to go right after the great dancing squad.”

Otsu giggled again. ”For me it's quite the opposite.”

”Huh?”

”Gura...you're hands down the best singer in here. The rest of us have to push really hard to reach even half of your level.”

”Pppffffff!”

”You don't have to be so modest”, Otsu chuckled.

Kagura loved singing, she really did. Otsu wasn't the first one to tell her she was a great singer. Gintoki was the very first person to point it out to her and his words impacted her deeply. From a young age, she began to hone her natural talent.

”Eh, we should get going already, yes”, Kagura said to change the subject.

She knew she was a wonderful singer and a very confident one too, but at this very moment Otsu's sweet words unfortunately fell to deaf ears. Kagura was a perfectionist, and her lacking dance skills bothered her.

Kagura knew that she had a lot of growing up to do. Mostly with being able to cut some slack to herself. Then again, she was an artist. Is there even such a thing as a mellow, always self-forgiving artist? I think not.

For Kagura, aiming for perfection was her fuel and bringing joy to people was he rgoal.

”Right, Shinpachi told us to come to the break room”, Otsu recalled. ”I'm ready if you are.”

”Yup, let's go,” Kagura chirped.

* *

Before Kagura and Otsu entered the break-room, both could hear some voices coming from inside. It sounded like a flock of hens assembled into a tiny space, which obviously meant that the four remaining members of Sugar Addicts were already there.

Sugar Addicts consisted of five members: Otsu, Yunah, Minty, Ruby and Soyeon.

Yunah was the oldest, she had long black hair with slightly overgrown bangs. She was serious a person with a calm voice. Similar to Otsu, she showed a more passionate side when she was performing, especially during dancing.

Minty and Ruby were identical twins. They both shared a great passion for music from a young age and aiming to be idols together felt like the most natural thing to do. Minty had long black hair with turquoise tips and Ruby had the same cut but with red tips.

Soyeon was the youngest of the group. She had dark brown shoulder length hair. She appeared to be innocent and quiet girl, but behind closed doors she had an opinion about everything. A quality that could help her or hurt her.

As the girls entered the room, a cheerful greeting was the first thing they heard. ”Otsu-ya! Gura-ya!*” Minty said with a smile and waved her hand.

”Hi guys!” Kagura said and lifted her hand at the girls.

All four of them were sitting on a big green couch which Gintoki had provided for the break-room. It was actually his old couch, but Kagura wasn't going to tell anyone that secret piece of information.

Kagura and Otsu sat on the floor next to the couch. ”You had vocal lessons today, right?” Otsu asked her band mates.

”Yeah, we practiced a lot with Kawakami-nim”, Minty said.

”He was worried for you Otsu”, Yunah said, voice as soft as silk.

”Really? Why?” Otsu asked.

”He said you should focus more on yourself rather than helping others all the time,” Soyeon said nonchalantly. She threw a look at Kagura during her words, arousing a lift of an eyebrow from the surprised girl.

Intentiously or not, it felt like she threw some serious shade on Kagura's way. Luckily for Soyeon, Kagura was too tired to stir up anything from a small thing like that. She just stared Soyeon deep into her brown eyes to show her that she heard the comment loud and clear.

Otsu tried to avoid confrontation at all costs, so she laughed nervously to defuse the slight tension surrounding the small space. ”Ah, stop worrying girls. I'm seeing Kawakami-nim later today.”

Yunah crossed her arms loosely. ”Good.”

”Ah, did Shinpachi-shi* tell you to come here too?” Ruby asked.

”Yes, he wanted to talk about the concert”, Otsu said.

”Well then...I guess we have time to kill before he gets here,” Soyeon said and sighed a little.

”Hmm...Patsuan is usually on time... I hope everything is okay,” Kagura worried and scratched her neck.

Otsu giggled. ”You call him Patsuan?”

”Is he your boyfriend or something?” Soyeon teased.

Kagura frowned her brows and huffed dramatically. ”NO! I've just known him for many years, yes.”

”Ne, I think Soyeon was only joking, right?” Ruby said.

”Maybe, maybe not,” Soyeon snarled. Her annoyingly vague answer raised some frustration in Kagura, but it appeared to amuse the rest of the girls.

”Whatever, I don't care,” Kagura muttered. ”Shinpachi is like a brother to me and that's that.”

Otsu stroked Kagura's arm gently, she felt bad that her friend felt attacked. She firmly believed it was the pressure of the concert pressing on everyone's shoulders that caused some rudeness from some of her band mates.

”Why don't we watch some tv to pass the time,” Otsu suggested.

Minty snatched the remote control from a small round coffee table. ”Great idea Otsu unnie*.”

All six girls turned their attention to the small screen. Kagura hoped that there would be some re-runs of her favorite dramas or something light-hearted like that.

Minty switched channels like she was looking for the holy grail of tv shows. Ruby grew tired of her sisters channel surfing and tried to take the remote to away from her. It naturally resulted in some feisty sibling banter.

Kagura lost all hope on ever getting to watch any show. She shifted her focus on the white walls of the room.

She thought it would be amazing to decorate the walls of the break room with photos from everyone. Pictures of upcoming concerts, tours, music video shoots and red carpet events. That way the room would work as a diary of sorts for the Yorozuya Entertainment.

A simple place to remember where everyone began their journey to stardom.

A sudden gasp snapped Kagura out of her thoughts. She searched for the source of such a loud noise. Her eyes darted at Minty and Ruby. Both girls were frozen still, eyes sparkling and tightly glued to the tv screen.

”Oh! Stop changing the channel,” Soyeon said and leaned closer to the tv.

”It would be plain illegal to change the channel now,” Ruby said.

”Agreed sis,” Minty affirmed.

Otsu took a better look at the tv screen. Even Kagura got extremely curious. What an earth was so intriguing to everyone, she thought.

It was a music video. After the first beats of the song, Otsu started bobbing her head a little. ”Oh! It's Ω mega,” she said.

”Yeah! I haven't heard this song in ages,” Soyeon said and began to move with the music.

Kagura looked at the screen. Ω mega was an extremely succesful boy band who had dominated the charts for the past five years. Kagura had heard about them, but she didn't have a specific interest on the group.

”I love them!” Minty said.

”Me too!” Ruby agreed.

Even the ever cool Yunah had an opinion about Ω mega. ”I've always admired their dancing skills”, she commented

”Me too,” Otsu said.

Kagura turned to look at Otsu, she wasn't expecting her to fangirl over the mighty Ω mega. In Kagura's eyes, they were a somewhat overhyped group with their millions and millions of adoring fans and hefty amount of awards.

”Oh, this is my favourite part!” Minty gloated and pointed her finger at the screen. Her enthusiasm drawed Kagura's eyes back to the screen.

A man with light brown hair took the center spot in a very complex dance sequence. His moves were smooth and effortless, even Kagura acknowledged his dancing abilities.

The video jumped between the dance scene and close-ups of the man. He had icy blue contacts like many idols these days had, luring pretty much any viewer to look solely at him.

”He is so hot,” Soyeon marvelled

”He is seriously unreal,” Ruby said and fanned her face with her hands.

Kagura scratched her head. ”Who is that?”

Every single member of the Sugar Addicts turned to look at Kagura. They looked at her like she had asked if the water was wet.

”What do you mean who is that??” Minty asked with mouth gaped open.

”You can't be serious,” Ruby added.

Kagura felt annoyed. Why the hell was this one so-called hot boy so important, she thought.

”That's S, the main-dancer and vocalist of Ω mega,” Otsu explained. ”And to be honest, the most popular member of the whole group.”

”Uh...okay,” Kagura simply said. She wasn't sure what kind of reaction the other girls were expecting from her. Was she supposed to throw twelve cartwheels for his honor and throw her panties up in the air.

Well...that wasn't going to happen. ”I haven't heard of him”, Kagura said and shrugged her shoulders.

”Oh Gura...you're in for a treat,” Minty said.

”We'll tell you everything you need to know,” Ruby continued.

Before Kagura could turn down the wonderful offer, she was showered with a bucket load of info on the idol.

”His stage name is S, he is 22-year-old Japanese-Korean superstar working under Cosmos Recors”, Minty began.

”He debuted in Ω mega, the greatest boy group ever in my opinion. But he went solo just a few months ago,” Ruby said.

”He is an extremely talented dancer, even said to be one of the best in the industry,” Yunah said to Kagura's surprise. He must be very influential as he even got the attention of Yunah, Kagura thought.

”I really loved his solo debut song Skin,” Otsu said.

”Oh yes! I loved it too!” Soyeon said.

”It was a really dirty song in my opinion,” Yunah pointed out, making all the members of Sugar Addicts giggle.

”But that was the best part Yunah unnie!” Soyeon said tongue in cheek.

Kagura felt a little uncomfortable. All five girls around her were gushing over this mysterious S, so she naturally felt left-out. Maybe if she showed some interest on him it would ease the situation, Kagura thought.

”So...what does the S stand for?” Kagura asked.

”Well...it's never actually been confirmed by Cosmos Records, but fans have many theories,” Ruby said.

”Most of us think it's the first initial of his real name, which we still don't know,” Minty said and playfully shook her clenched fists.

”Or it could be, superstar, Seoul, swag...” Soyeon listed.

”Swag?!” Otsu laughed.

”No-one is stupid enough to call themselves swag...” Kagura said and raised her eyebrow. ”Hey! Maybe the S stands for stupid?”

Kagura's fantastic suggestion wasn't well received among the girls. Who could have guessed that..?

”It could be his hometown's initial or an animal,” Yunah continued.

”That's the part of his charm. The mystery of S,” Soyeon pointed out.

”I think so too,” Minty said and nodded her head a couple of times.

”Also, he is known to interact with fans a lot,” Otsu said.

”Yes, there are hundred of videos online of S appearing in random places to surprise any fan who spots him,” Minty explained.

”Okay...” Kagura said, still feeling a little unimpressed. He wasn't the first idol to interact with fans, althought he seemed to be a bit more active with it than others.

”A-anyway,” Otsu said and turned to Kagura. ”After all the new information we gave you, what do you think about him?”

Kagura felt five pairs of eyes staring right in to her soul. They were clearly expecting some sort of smitten reaction from her. So Kagura glanced at the tv screen to help her form a fair and well thought-out opinion of the handsome man called S.

The music video was on its last frames. S was sitting on a rustic looking chair in a dimly lighted space. The camera's angle was a side-profile of him and the chair. S slumped his back against the chair with a small slow-motion effect.

He ran his hand on his hair and looked away from the camera. A light hit his face just enough to highlight his sharp jaw line. Then the frame faded away with the last note of the song.

Kagura thought the song and video were okay, but when it came down to the beloved S, she had only one word for him.

”Meh.”

”MEH?!” Ruby and Minty shouted in unison.

Soyeon shook her head in disapproval, but Kagura couldn't care less. Otsu and Yunah weren't as baffled as the rest of the girls, but a little surprised. Meh was quite diminishing after all.

Shinpachi walked in to the break-room just in time before the passionate S stans* attacked Kagura's opinion. ”Hi everyone!” Shinpachi said and drawed the attention of all six girls.

”Oh, hello Shinpachi-shi,” Yunah said. ”We've been waiting for you a while now.”

Shinpachi scratched the back of his head. ”Ah, sorry. Sakata-nim had some urgent matters I had to take care of.”

”It's okay,” Soyeon chirped like the two-faced creature she was.

”We need to leave to the park, they finally got the electricity working on the stage,” Shinpachi informed.

Without further words, all the aspiring idols stood up, smiling and ready to go. Kagura snatched the remote control from the couch to turn off the tv, which was apparently running another music video from Ω mega. She sighed and pressed the power button.

As the group of people followed Shinpachi out of the building, Otsu pulled Kagura to slow down her pace. ”Hey,” she whispered.

”Hey,” Kagura whispered back and grinned sweetly.

Otsu looked like she had something on her mind, but for some reason she held her words back. ”What is it Otsu?” Kagura asked.

”Oh...you noticed...,” Otsu said quietly.

”I did. Tell me what's on your mind.”

Otsu shook of the unnecessary nervousness she was feeling and spoke up. ”Uh, it's just that...why you disliked S so much?”

”We're still taking about that guy?” Kagura asked. She was surprised about Otsu's question, maybe S was more important idol to her than Kagura had thought.

”Hey...I'm serious.”

”Okay okay...well, I didn't say I disliked him,” Kagura explained. ”It's just that I don't understand what you all see in him.”

Otsu nodded her head a couple of times, she was happy that Kagura wasn't afraid to speak her mind around her. ”Right...but he is a wonderful dancer. You can't deny that Gura,” Otsu giggled.

”Sure, maybe he is,” Kagura said and flicked her long ponytails. ”I just think that most of you adore him because of his looks rather than the dancing, yes.”

”Yeah, maybe some fans do, but I don't really mind.”

”I mean obviously you don't. You're all gushing about him and it's just a little off-putting to me.”

Otsu glanced at Kagura with a neutral look on her face. ”So you don't like him because we all admire him so much?”

”Uh...I-I don't know”, Kagura mumbled. She had difficulties with finding the right words. ”I just think it's shallow to like an idol just because of their looks.”

Otsu fell speechless, she wasn't sure how to feel about Kagura's statement.

”What?” Kagura asked.

”But I'm not a fan because of his looks,” Otsu said. ”As I said, I admire his dancing abilities.”

”Yes you did. I heard that,” Kagura said to reassure her friend. ”I just feel like everyone are so insanely crazy about him and I don't want to become a fan of someone just because everyone else so passionately are.”

Otsu stopped walking. ”So...if I understood correctly, the only reason you don't like him, is because he is so darn popular”, Otsu said.

Kagura halted her movement at Otsu's words. Her tone was serious.

”Don't you think you're being the shallow one right now?” Otsu simply asked.

Kagura was caught off guard by Otsu's question. She hadn't even thought about her own words from another point of view. And they were hella rude to say the least. Kagura pretty much unintentionally bashed Otsu for stanning a popular idol she liked.

Before Kagura could apologize or say anything at all, Otsu continued walking forward. Kagura watched silently as the purple haired girl caught up with her group and easily joined their conversation.

”Oi Gura! What are you standing there?” Shinpachi called from a distance. ”We have to go!”

”Y-yeah! I'm coming”, Kagura said and skipped after everyone. Her thoughts were all over place after her friends comment. The only thing she was certain about was that she needed to apologize to Otsu for being so inconsiderate to her.

And the other thing she needed to think about, was her own shallowness. Was his massive popularity really the reason she didn't get his charm? Or was there something else?

A/N: *ya: used as a ”hello” when attached into one's name in the Korean language, (Kagura-ya! = Hey Kagura!) *shi: Korean honorific, meaning mr. or mrs. *unnie: a female calls an older female as unnie in the Korean language *stan: a portmanteau of the words ”stalker” and ”fan”, refers to someone who is overly obsessed with a celebrity (urban dictionary), I personally feel like ”stanning” a group/celebrity isn't necessarily overly obsessing, more like a hardcore fan thing (correct me if I'm wrong)